Page 88 of The Spirit of the Wolf
Music from the house filtered over the courtyard, softening the atmosphere, and Marietta swayed to the rhythm. “I have been dancing all night.”
“I know,” he replied. “I have been watching you.”
“Have you?” She smiled up at him. “Why?”
His look at her was intent. “I find you beautiful. Perhaps this is the reason. Maybe also I am a little jealous of these men who have the honor of holding you in their arms, when I can only stand in the shadows and observe.”
“Well, I believe we can remedy this immediately.”
He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Do you dance, Mr. Coyote?”
“Certainly, I dance. I have danced since I have been able to walk.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” she agreed. “But can you dance the white man’s dance?”
“I have done so in the past. You forget that my brother-in-law runs a trading post.”
“Yes, yes. I should have remembered. But which dance do you do?”
His glance at her was surprised. “There is more than one?”
“Undoubtedly, there is more than one. This one they’re playing now is a waltz. Do you waltz, Mr. Coyote?”
“I can try.” He stepped toward her and took her outstretched hand in his own. “Will you teach me?”
“It would be my pleasure, my husband.” Grinning up at him, she fell into his arms.
It was heavenly to touch him, to be touched by him, and he danced as though he had been born to it, keeping time to the three-quarter beat as easily as if he were walking. The moonlight shone down on them tenderly, silhouetting them against the shadows of the night.
What was it about moonlight that cast this man in such a handsome image? He had braided his hair tonight. It was the first time she had seen him with it thus, for he usually left the length of it long and unbound, and more recently, he had fixed it with clay all through it.
Dear Lord, he was probably the handsomest man she knew.
As they twirled round the shadows of the parade grounds, it was as though this place were their own private haven. Glancing up at him, smiling at him, watching him, Marietta spun into a self-evident truth that she should have admitted to herself long ago.
She loved this man.
She had probably loved him for quite a while now. She had suspected it days ago, but she hadn’t been willing to acknowledge it…not until now.
Lord help her, she felt compelled to ensure he knew it. “Mr. Coyote, I have a confession to make.”
“Do you?” he replied. “And what is that?”
“I…I am in love with you.”
His smile was pure admiration directed toward her. “I know.”
“You know? How do you know?”
“Because of who you are,” he said. “You permit me liberties. And you are not the sort of woman to do this without having love in your heart.”
She chortled, half laugh, half sigh. “I guess there’s no fooling a scout, is there?”
“One can try,” he acknowledged with a grin.
She shook her head at him. “When do we leave to find this man?”
