Chapter 24
Harris jerks and the entire bed shakes, waking Vanessa with a start. The sound of a storm pounds on the roof, and she holds a hand over her heart to still its mad racing. When his body twitches and he shakes his head back and forth, she reaches out in the dark and rests her hand on his muscular chest. He’s dreaming.
“Harris,” she whispers and gently shakes him. He murmurs grumpily and rolls toward her throwing an arm over her waist. Now she’s trapped face, to face, with him beneath the weight of his arm as he starts to snore loudly. Harris is much larger than the men she’s used to being around. She drops her head to his chest, exhausted, hoping to go back to sleep.
She frowns when he snores, blowing her hair back from her face. Vanessa snuggles closer to him and inhales his scent, savoring the feel of being safe in his arms. She’s just falling to sleep when he rolls on his back, releasing her and throws his arm over his head.
Harris snores, shaking the very cabin to the core. Vanessa groans and tries to poke him, but he just continues snoring and ignores her. Grabbing the pillow, she shoves it over her head and hisses when he rattles the bed again. A feather pokes her in the forehead through the covering of the pillow.
Vanessa grins and grabs the quill of the feather, tugging it gently she pulls the downy treasure free. Harris continues to snore, and she rolls closer to his body and scoots up, so she’s even with his head. Trailing the feather over his face, she has to fight not to giggle out loud when he frowns and slaps a big hand over his face, only to go straight back to snoring.
Vanessa frowns at his face, even in sleep he’s handsome. Strong forehead and full lips, she trails the feather over his forehead and down over his lips, just as Harris’s hand comes down on her rear shocking a squeak from her. His hand grips and squeezes causing her to squirm in shock and drop her feather just as he inhales. Harris jerks, choking, coughing, and sits up knocking her back off the bed with a thud.
“What the hell!” He coughs until his eyes start watering. He coughs and chokes out a feather, and that’s when he sees her on the floor twitching.
“Nessa!” Harris shouts in alarm.
“You, snore like a weda,” she manages to choke out between her laughter. “Feather!” She points and can’t stop laughing. He sits back and glares at her.
“Have you lost your mind? You could’ve been hurt again,” he snaps.
His sharp admonishment sends her into more fits of laughter, even as she points at him. “But your face was so funny!” Harris leaps from the bed and stalks over to her, and her eyes grow wide with shock. He’s completely naked!
“Harris!” she yelps and covers her eyes.
This time he laughs, and before she knows what he’s doing, he picks her up and lays her back on the bed. “Weda! I’ll show you a bear,” he threatens even as he yawns and crawls back in between the covers. “Were you trying to kill me?”
“No! I… you were snoring!” She rolls away from him to tuck under the covers and fights the chill in the room. “Where are your clothes, Harris?”
“Wet, needed to dry,” Harris yawns and rolls over, pulling her against the heat of his chest and forms his body to hers. “Sorry, so tired,” he is asleep within three breaths, and this time she can’t sleep for an altogether different reason.
Chapter 25
“What kind of man would betray his own people for money?” One soldier whispers to the other as they approach the saloon.
“A savage one. Don’t matter what kind of clothes you put on ‘em a savage is a savage. Never forget that” he checks his pistol to make sure it’s loaded. “I’ll do the talking, you hand him the missive, and we leave. Got it.”
“Did he really kill twenty-three Indians alone?”
They stomp their boots outside on the wood planks knocking off chunks of dirt and mud before they step inside. “Yep. They fought back, and he loves a dirty fight. General Barclay is said to pay him extra for Indian scalps.”
“Gotta be a special place in Hell for his kind,” the kid murmurs as they push through the wooden doors. He pulls out the sealed envelope and waits quietly as his partner asks around.
“Blood Eagle?” he hears the bartender say. “Yep, upstairs. You’ll know him when you see him.” He says with a grin as wipes down the bar and grabs a bottle of whiskey for a customer.
A few minutes later as they stand in front of him, he understands what the bartender meant. He sits in the corner of a room with two saloon girls and laughs, drinking and smoking. Dressed as a cowboy, only his hair gives him away. “Mr. Blood…”
“Richard Smith,” the man snaps interrupting his prepared speech. He pushes back his tan cowboy hat and stares up at the two young soldiers. Both ladies jump up and hurry away. His eyes miss nothing, not the tremor of the envelope, not the flare of nostrils when he interrupts him.
“Sir, General Barclay sent us to find, a scout called, Blood Eagle.”
Two chairs skid backward, and he snaps, “Sit down,” and sips on his beer. After they sit, he asks, “Can I get you boys a beer?”
“No, Sir, we’re on duty,” he nods to
