Badland Bride by Lauri Robinson Page A

testing steps. “Much better, thanks.” Her hand wrapped around his again.
    Content, he laced his fingers between hers, and they walked in comfortable silence. When the cliff appeared before them, he trudged up without letting go of her hand. The climb became steeper; reluctantly he released his hold and stepped behind so he could catch her in case she fell. By the time they scaled the top, his eyes had gone dry from staring at her backside for so long, and his britches had become awfully tight.
    Not paying attention, he had to dodge her still form seconds later. She stood as stiff as a new board. Sidestepping beside her, he turned to follow her shocked stare.
    Buffalo Killer waved from his stance near the cave. Skeeter took her hand, glanced her way. “Don't worry. I was just kidding about killing him."
    Lila tried to keep her mouth from gapping, but it was an impossible task. The Native American standing several yards ahead of them was dressed in nothing more than tight hide pants. The span of bare chest wasn't shocking. It was the savage look on his face. A black-eyed gaze covered her from head to toe and was filled with something she couldn't read.
    Skeeter tugged on her hand, but she couldn't move. He glanced at her, then back at the Native American. “It's all right. He's not as mean as he looks.” Leaning closer he whispered, “He practices at looking as mean as his name sounds."
    She glanced up, found comfort in the grey-green eyes, and asked, “Name?"
    "That's Buffalo Killer, but I don't think he's ever killed a buffalo. They've been gone from these parts for many years. I told him they should change his name to Rabbit Killer."
    A giggle stopped in her throat. “That's not funny,” she half-heartedly protested. Skeeter had a way of making everything seem less serious. He had an attitude that said life was a game, and meant to be enjoyed. It was hard not to go along with his playfulness.
    "Come on, I'll introduce you."
    She tightened her hold on his hand, and wrapped her other hand around his forearm, hiding behind the solid span of his upper arm as they walked forward. Her flip-flops scuffed the ground as she dragged her feet. Skeeter kept his pace slow, as if giving her time to get use to the idea of coming face to face with a real American Indian. For that's what he was, not the politically correct Native Americans of the future, but a real, authentic Redman. They stopped a couple feet in front of him. She clutched Skeeter's arm tighter to her chest.
    The dark-eyed gaze moved from her to Skeeter. “She from ghost dance.” It was a statement, not a question.
    Skeeter nodded. “Her name is Lila.” He glanced at her. “Lila, this is Buffalo Killer."
    Before she swallowed the log in her throat, Buffalo Killer said, “She breeding."
    The log choked her. Stifling the coughs ripping at her esophagus made her eyes and nose sting.
    "Yes,” Skeeter admitted.
    "What you do with her?"
    "I'm keeping her."
    Lila snapped her head up to look at Skeeter. His gaze didn't falter from Buffalo Killer, but his hand holding hers tightened.
    "I take her."
    "No, I said, I'm keeping her."
    The wind whistled, a crow called, echoing in the distinct, heavy silence. After a few long moments, Buffalo Killer uncrossed his arms and kicked his knee high moccasins at the ground. Dust fluttered then resettled around his feet. “How you get her?"
    Skeeter's arm had grown solid during the silence and now it relaxed, but Lila still clutch it with both hands. “I'm not telling,” he said. Humor laced his words.
    "I showed you ghost dance.” Buffalo Killer's voice sounded like a child's whine. Lila had to take a second look. She blinked. He no longer looked menacing. An odd, almost comical pout covered his face.
    "Yeah! We have to talk about that,” Skeeter said.
    "Why?"
    "It almost killed me."
    A smile broke out on the man's face. “You got her."
    Skeeter looked down. The gold flecks in his eyes danced in the sunlight. “Yes, I did,