Amanda took an instinctive step back. She didn't know why she expected his big copper hand to come back with a loaded rifle leveled at her chest, she just did. She was taken aback when, instead, he tugged out a woman who was cradling to her chest two small, squirming bundles in either arm.
The woman was shorter than Amanda, thinner, though close to her in age. She had a pretty—albeit thin—heart-shaped face, with smooth white skin and kinky, chestnut colored hair that refused to stay in the loosely coiled bun at her nape. Wispy brown strands curled over her cheeks and brow, softening her features and making her eyes look unusually large and very green.
The woman's attention lifted, locking skeptically with the man's dark, brooding gaze. Amanda sensed the unspoken words flying between them. The man bent forward, leaning his dark head close to the woman's, murmuring something in her ear. The woman's eyes widened, sweeping to Amanda, who shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny of those lovely green eyes.
The woman nodded, then handed the two bundles—one of which, not surprisingly, gurgled with newborn delight—to the man. Smoothing the wrinkles from her faded, yellow muslin skirt, she stiffened and walked with silent, fluid grace over to Amanda.
"I'm Gail Chandler," the woman said, her voice ringing with the twang of a dreadfully familiar drawl. She extended her small hand in a gesture meant to welcome.
How Amanda retained the presence of mind to grasp those cool, work-roughened fingers and pump weakly as her tongue stumbled over her name, she would never know.
Her lips curling into a strained smile, Gail Chandler inclined her head to the man standing behind her. "You've met my husband, Little Bear. And the two bundles he's holding are our sons, Jacob and Kane." She paused long enough for that shocking bit of information to sink into an obviously stunned Amanda Lennox's mind. "You look pale, Miss Lennox, not to mention cold. Please, take off that damp cloak and have a seat by the fire. You can warm yourself while I brew a fresh pot of coffee. And then," she paused infinitesimally, "you can explain to me why my brother sent you to us."
"Brother?" Amanda's eyes widened, positive she'd heard the woman wrong. Her heart slapped a beat when she realized that Gail Chandler had indeed called Jake her brother. And, of course, there was the shared last name to confirm it.
Gail had turned to walk over to the counter nailed to the far wall. At Amanda's shocked tone, she pivoted stiffly and leaned back against the chipped but immaculate countertop. Crossing her arms over her chest, and cocking her head to one side, she sent the blonde woman a shrewd glance. "Jake is my brother." The green eyes strayed to her husband, who'd taken a seat on one of the benches flanking the table. She held Little Bear's gaze, though her next words were undoubtedly aimed at Amanda. "Didn't he tell you where he was bringing you? Who he was bringing you to?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean..." Amanda drew in a shaky breath. Heavens, she was confused! "What he said, exactly, was that he was bringing me here because he didn't want me caught out in the storm. He didn't tell me who lived here."
"He would never tell you that," Little Bear said as he laid one child atop the table and, holding the wiggling infant still with a massive palm, arranged the other baby over his shoulder. "Blackhawk and my wife are not," a stern glance from Gail made him choose the rest of his sentence with care, "close."
"I see," Amanda said, and glanced at the dark-haired woman. Gail's face was pale, her expression strained as she spun back toward the counter and snatched up a dented tin coffee pot. Without a backward glance or word of explanation, the woman grabbed a red-knitted shawl off its peg by the door, then slammed out of the cabin.
"Did I say something wrong?" Amanda asked cautiously.
Little Bear was busy unwrapping the child on the table. "Yes," he said, not glancing up as he tickled the baby's tiny, naked belly with the tips of his fingers.
"Then I should go apologize," she offered anxiously. Of course it would help if she knew what she was apologizing for!
"There is no need. My wife will get water for the coffee, and when she returns she will leave her anger outside." Not taking his eyes off the child, he nodded for her to join him at the table. "Come, Amanda Lennox. Sit beside me and take a look at my sons. I will allow you to tell me how handsome they are."
Amanda peeked at the babies: one cuddling on Little Bear's shoulder, the other laying naked and content atop the scarred plank table. She guessed the infants to be about four months old. Both had Little Bear's inky black hair, and their skin was the same rich shade of mahogany as their father's. On the other hand, both had their mother's luminescent green eyes. The baby on the table giggled and cooed when Little Bear's fingers gently feathered over his belly.
Amanda felt herself soften. She didn't want to—God knows it would be safer for everyone if she didn't—but she simply couldn't help it. The babies were adorable, and their father's pride in them was appealingly open and endearing.
"And what will happen if I don't tell you they are the most handsome babies I've ever seen?" Amanda asked as she untied the laces of her cloak and, slipping it off, flung it over one of the benches beside the table.
Little Bear's shrug was negligent, his voice flat. "Then, Amanda Lennox, I will have to kill you."
Amanda gasped.
Little Bear's head came around quickly. He assessed the white woman objectively, from head to toe, his gaze missing nothing. She was not the type of woman Blackhawk favored—he could tell that at a glance—but she was the type any red-blooded male would want. Her beauty was so striking it stopped just shy of being an actual flaw. She was tall, slender, perfectly proportioned. Her movements and speech were cultured and refined. A lady, if ever he'd seen one.
Those were strikes against her in Little Bear's mind, yet there were other areas in which she excelled. It was those qualities he thought of now, those qualities that made him decide to like this woman.
While she was strong in physical beauty, she was stronger in the type of spirit that Little Bear knew and respected. She had shown courage in entering his home, thinking he was alone here, not knowing what he would do to her. And she'd shown enormous trust that Blackhawk would know what was best for her. He admired the respect she showed his friend, but he admired her courage more.
Her gaze lifted, locking with his. She didn't look away, though her expression said she dearly wanted to. Oddly enough, she did not look down at him. Nor up at him. Instead, her stare was that of an equal. A rare display coming from a white-eyes.
His attention shifted, scanning her face. Her cheeks, he noted, were as white as a freshly laundered sheet. Instinct told him that her unnatural paleness stemmed less from her obvious confusion over the situation in general—and more from his just now-remembered threat to kill her.
His dark eyes widened. He had been making a joke. Amanda Lennox, he realized abruptly, had taken him seriously. Her green eyes were narrow with alarm, her gaze dark, contemplative, as though she was trying to decide whether he would really carry through on his threat. And if he did, should she try to run?
It was as he watched her attention volley between himself and the door that Little Bear realized something else. Something shocking. He averted his gaze to Kane, having found all the answers he needed to know in Amanda Lennox's eyes.
Blackhawk had sent his woman here
for a reason, and Little Bear now knew exactly what that reason was. Somehow, he doubted Blackhawk knew as much.