Please welcome Joyce Henderson! Joyce writes amazing Native American historical romances. I instantly fell in love with Silver Eagle, the hero in her newest release,
Capture an Eagle. Find this sizzling story at The Wild Rose Press. First, a little about Joyce, and then an excerpt.
Joyce Henderson is a multi-published author who writes Native American Romance set in Central Texas where she was born. Joyce writes "what she knows," horses and ranching, and she loves researching Indian lore.Her books have finaled in national contests: National Readers' Choice Award, Georgia Romance Writers Maggie, and several others. During her 25-year writing career, she's mentored a half-dozen or more writers who have gone on to publication. And she worked for local newspapers for several years writing a by-lined column "It Ain't Necessarily So."Married forever, she has three children and three grandkids, plus six step-grandkids and six step-great-grandchildren. She loves to hear from her fans. www.joycehendersonauthor.com.Excerpt:
Silver Eagle tugged on the right rein as he stepped sideways. The horse shied, then pricked his ears forward at the calm voice speaking Comanche.
“Easy, boy, that was not uncomfortable. You will soon learn to turn from slight pressure.”
Today he had chosen to plow rein his commands. Separated reins presented the horse with less confusion.
He glanced toward the logs laid end-to-end forming a makeshift barrier on one side of the meadow. Quiet Bird perched comfortably on a blanket, her back resting against a log. His sister had always been a bit fearful of horses. Drawing no pleasure from riding herself, she preferred to watch him train.
At the sound of approaching horses, Quiet Bird turned. Silver Eagle quickly pulled the reins through his hand for a firmer hold on the gelding. He smiled when he recognized Tanner. The pleasure died when he saw Mariah Kelly behind his best friend. His body tightened. The Spirits appeared to laugh at his paltry attempts to avoid her.
“Hey, Sil, mind us watchin’ you school the horses?”
Silver Eagle noted Tanner’s wince as he stepped down. His mouth went dust dry, and his member throbbed just watching Mariah Kelly’s long, shapely legs and lithe body as she gracefully dismounted. Not good.
“Is no problem.” The lie tasted sour on his tongue, her presence sure to destroy his concentration.
Tanner doffed his hat. “Hello, Quiet Bird.”
She ducked her head, cheeks flushed.
Silver Eagle focused on her, his brow creased. Did his sister also long for someone she could not have? Suffer from the same kind of futile wish that burned in his own chest?
The Kellys secured their mounts’ reins around trees. Gathering his wits, Silver Eagle refocused on the task at hand. He again led with double reins, coaxing the horse forward with a gentle tug and release, tug and release, until the sorrel realized he was expected to continue walking until stopped. The sun had climbed halfway into the sky before the gelding finally followed without hesitation.
Every time Silver Eagle put up his hand and quietly said, “Whoa,” the horse kept walking until he pressed his nose into a cupped hand. Silver Eagle shook his head and murmured in Comanche, “We will try that again.” He signaled the horse to walk. He repeated the command a half dozen times before the horse stopped, but still he failed to stand quietly.
“You are not paying attention, my friend.”
Neither was he. Every time he passed by his sister and the Kellys, his gaze shifted to Mariah. And every time he wanted to kick himself in the butt. Though he only gave her a fleeting glance, the horse sensed his divided attention and faltered every time.
This would not do.
But how could he persuade Mariah to leave without divulging his disquiet at her presence? He could not, so he led the horse to the far side of the meadow. Finally focused, he led and stopped the horse with the patient attention he had acquired long ago. Each time the horse responded as commanded, Silver Eagle gave praise, “tsaatï,” and a pat to the jowl or the neck.
As the sun had dipped to near the treetops, the time had come to quit for the day. In English he said, “Is good.” He scratched below the horse’s ear and combed his fingers through the long mane.
“Tsaatï,” he repeated in Comanche and rubbed the shoulder.
The sorrel stood quietly as he gathered the long reins and looped his arm over the gelding’s neck.
“Tomorrow we try obstacles, my friend.”
Silver Eagle had never examined his habit of speaking to the Kellys’ stock in both Comanche and English. His own mount and those of the band responded only to Comanche because that is all they ever heard. Now, he congratulated himself that he had focused so well on the training exercises that he had not thought of Mariah Kelly for quite a while.
He had his body under control, thank the Spirits. That is, he did until he turned to lead the horse across the meadow and spied Mariah leaning against the log, her long legs stretched on the ground before her. She was alone.
Did the Spirits bear him ill? It certainly appeared they intended to send him into his ancestors’ hunting grounds on the receiving end of a bullet or with his neck in a noose.
“I’ve done nothing to provoke you, Silver Eagle,” Mariah said. “Why are you scowling at me?”
Clearly, his expression gave away too much. He assumed he had perfected the indifferent, even bored, appearance over time. Many moons ago, when he had placed the barrier logs here, he had never considered Mariah Kelly would use one as a comfortable backrest. Though he might wish to, he could not banish her from this spot; it was, though on the fringe, Broken Spur land.
“I no scowl.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Realizing he could not win this argument, he changed the subject. “Where my sister is? Where Tanner is?”
“Quiet Bird was ready to go home. Tanner accompanied her.” Mariah gained her feet as she spoke, brushed off her backside. “Besides, he wanted to thank your grandmother for her care.”
“No need.” He barely got the words out, so distracted was he imagining his own hand brushing the leaves from Mariah’s trousers.
She grimaced. “Maybe you don’t think so, Silver Eagle, but Ma would have our hides if either of us was less than courteous to your elders. Not only will Tanner thank her with a small gift, so will I.”
Bewitched by the floral, womanly scent that was uniquely Mariah’s, he barely heard what she said. His member pulsed. When his fingers involuntarily tightened on the leads, the green-broke horse tossed his head in protest.
Silver Eagle turned enough to hide the evidence his body betrayed and brushed a soothing hand along the sorrel’s neck. Mariah did not help the situation at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach, extending an entreating hand to the horse.
“He won’t bite, will he?”
It is not the horse you should be concerned about, woman. Steeling himself, his body rigid, he faced her. “Horse no is danger.” He extended the leathers. “You want, you may lead.”
She cocked her head, ignored his offer, and asked, “Silver Eagle, why do you dislike me?”
Her thick, fiery mane framed that unforgettable face, and her voice echoed as if in a dream.
Spirits, kill me now.He could no longer remain aloof and distant. No one would know how hard he had fought his forbidden attraction to the woman gazing up at him with such bewilderment, such distress.
For the first time in his life, Silver Eagle abandoned his duty and dropped the reins of a halter-broke horse. One that did not belong to him. Focused on Mariah’s grass-green eyes, he willingly stepped into the path of that bullet, the one that would surely find him if Tanner or Mr. Kelly discovered the passion so long hidden in his heart.
“I no dislike, woman.” He reached out and swept her supple body against his.
Though startled, her beautiful eyes wide, she did not struggle. No, she waited and watched as he slowly lowered his head and claimed her lips. Her gasp of surprise fueled his desire. He deepened the kiss. She did not pull away. She did not stop him. Instead, her arms circled his neck, and she kissed him back. The tiny sound in her throat mingled with his own moan of pleasure.
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