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 Forever the FlameNorah Hess Love SpellCopyright 1987 by Elsie Poe Bagnara All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrievalsystem, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.Forever the Flame A Peanut Press BookPublished bypeanutpress.com, Inc.www.peanutpress.comISBN: 0-7408-1301-3First Peanut Press EditionElectronic format madeavailable by arrangement withDorchester Publishing Co., Inc.276 Fifth AvenueNew York, NY 10001The name "Love Spell" is a trademark of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.Other Leisure and Love Spell Booksby Norah Hess:WILDFIRESTORM
 
SAGEKENTUCKY WOMANMOUNTAIN ROSEKENTUCKY BRIDEHAWKE'S PRIDEDEVIL IN SPURSChapter 1The moon was full, its light reflected by the snow, so that the bare trees and dark pines stood outstarkly on the softly rolling hillsides. On the topmost hill a lone wolf raised his head and sent amournful cry to the yellow disk suspended in the empty black sky. At the bottom of the hill a trapper, his lean muscular body driving into that of a young squawsquirming beneath him, raised his black shaggy head and growled, "Howl, you bastard."The girl, taking his hard, fast thrusts, shifted uncomfortably. The frozen ground was cold on her bare buttocks and she sent a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, her black eyes searching for the half-empty jug of whiskey which she has previously sampled. A few more long draughts of thefiery liquid and she wouldn't care how long this half-wild trapper kept at her, even though a goodhalf hour had already passed. Evidently this white man had been a long time without a woman,she thought, and she was almost regretting her venture into his camp. But she had been belly-twisting hungry and frozen to the bone. The aroma of his roasting supper and the hope of a warmspot before his fire had driven from her mind the thought that later she would have to pay for her meal.The girl felt the trapper's sinewy frame tighten and braced herself for another release. Shestoically accepted the stepped-up battering of her narrow hips, keeping her eyes on the moon asthe man gave one last strong shove, then fell on top of her, shivering spasmodically. She layquietly, hoping that he had at last been satiated and that he would permit her to sleep beside hisfire.But there is no warmth in this trapper who sprawls his weight upon me, she reminded herself, andhe wouldn't hesitate to send me away without a thought.She had suspected his coldness from the moment she had stood uncertain in the shadowssurrounding his campfire. For even as his huge dog caught her scent and raised his hackles andbared his teeth in a warning growl, the broad shoulders hunched before the fire never stirred aninch. Finally, although her legs ached from the many miles she had trudged that day, shereluctantly turned to leave, hopeful that farther along the trail she would run into a man morefriendly.She had taken but a few steps, however, when a gruff voice ordered, "Come into the light, squaw,and let me have a look at you."The girl pivoted on the balls of her moccasin-shod feet, coarse black hair swishing across her dirt-streaked face. "Would you please call off the dog?" she asked nervously, eyeing the snarlinganimal and wondering if she dare walk past him.The rough voice grunted as the man tossed a stick of wood onto the fire. Then the arrogantly heldhead turned slowly and the squaw stared into the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Their blueiciness scanned her slender body in its worn doeskin shift, and the girl shivered, caught by thestrong urge to turn and run. this man could be very cruel if the opportunity should arise. A squawwould have to be on her toes every minute with this one.She relaxed a bit when the man spoke a low word to the dog and it settled down beside him. After a moment she moved cautiously into the circle of light and stood before the narrow-eyed,
 
assessing trapper. "What are you called?" he asked so abruptly that she jumped. When shestammered that she was called Smiling Waters, he grunted, "I'll call you Doxy.""Doxy?" The girl frowned. "I have never heard such a strange name.""It fits you," the chisled lips pronounced."Yes, sir," the newly named girl mumbled, more interested in the rabbit roasting over the fire.Sardonic amusement glinted in the man's knowing eyes as he watched her, and after a momenthe hunkered his whip-lean body down beside the fire and pulled the meat from the greenwoodspit. "Are you hungry?" he asked, tearing a crusted brown leg from the steaming carcass andplacing it on a tin plate. At her eager nod he added a piece of cold pone and held it out to her. After she had almost snatched it from his hands, he turned and filled his own plate.The meal was consumed in silence broken only by the soft soughing of the wind in the pines andthe crackling and crunching of the bones tossed to the hound.Doxy's eyes were busy, however, as she devoured the meat and bread, and for the first time shenoted the sturdy log cabin that sat several feet to their right. It blended in with the pines thatsurrounded it, making the log structure almost invisible to the casual eye. Her bewildered gazesought the trapper, wondering why they sat outside in the cold when warm quarters wereavailable."Is there something wrong with your cabin?" she ventured when her stony-faced companion drewa handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his mouth, signaling that he was finished eating."The cabin is fine." the trapper pulled a blackened coffee pot off the coals and filled two batteredcups with steaming liquid. Handing the girl one of the pewter vessels, he added, "I prefer beingoutdoors as long as possible.""As do my people." Doxy nodded understandingly."And who are your people?" The tone of the question was uninterested."I am of the Pennacook tribe, out of Canada.""You're a long way from home, squaw." Hard eyes raked over the girl. "How did you end up inPennsylvania country?""A redcoat soldier brought me to this territory." A pensive look slid into the thin features. "Whenpeace came, he returned to England.""And left you stranded." The words came flatly, an angry undertone to them.Doxy continued to sip the hot, bitter brew, not bothering to make the obvious answer as thebuckskin clad man studied her thoughtfully.He was facing a long winter, Sate Margruder reminded himself, months of being without awoman. This one seemed healthy enough— no sign of disease, her eyes were clear, andbeneath the dirt on her face he could see no sores. When she looked longingly from her emptycup to the coffee pot and then over at him, he nodded permission to help herself. When she satback, savoring the dark drink, her eyes widened and glittered at the words casually tossed at her."I want you to take note that I like my coffee strong, and that I expect you to make it that way."
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