My Captured Heart Read online

  My Captured Heart

  (Book Seven of the Dream Catchers)

  Rita Hestand

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright© 2016 by Rita Hestand

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN # 978-1370125593

  Cover Design by: Covered Ink

  License Note

  This book, My Captured Heart is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or reproduced in any manner without express written permission of the author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy or copies. If you did not purchase this book or it was not purchased for your use, please go to Smashwords.com to purchase your personal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  My Captured Heart is a work of fiction. Though some of the cities and towns exist they are used in a fictitious manner for purposes of this work. All characters are works of fiction and any names or characteristics similar to any person past, present or future are coincidental.

  Dedication:

  Love is not always where we look for it. It can be elusive and hard to recognize sometimes. Once found, true love can last forever. To all those who seek it, this book is for you.

  Blessings

  Rita Hestand

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Rita's Other Books

  Oklahoma: Indian Territory

  1867

  Chapter One

  The man slapped the woman across the room, the sound echoing through the general store. One lady saw it and left the store immediately. The woman landed near Lone Wolf's feet with a loud thump, he reached to help her up, and she stared at him with such light brown eyes that took him in with one quick veil of her long lashes. Blood trickled down the side of her head. He reached to wipe it away and she moved away from him.

  Unmindful of her wound she stood, with trembling limbs.

  "Thank you," she murmured under her breath, and she quickly disappeared behind the counter.

  The man that hit her was the owner of the store, and her husband, Lone Wolf eyed him with contempt. He was tall, lean, with a full beard, and black eyes that raked her with sullen indifference.

  Why would any man look upon her with such indifference, she was beautiful?

  The store was empty now of people, it was around noon and Lone Wolf always came at this time. The less white people he ran into, the better. Not that he couldn't get along with them, but they didn't always want to get along with him. Most everyone had seen him coming to town for supplies before. He spoke such clear English, many spoke to him now as he was a familiar face to them.

  He glanced around the room, the shelves were filled with all kinds of everyday supplies. From blankets neatly folded on the shelves, to canteens, lanterns, and weapons of all sorts, knives, guns, rifles, even a couple of bows and arrows. Lone Wolf realized that this one room held everything his people would need for the cold winter that was coming. He saw blankets of every color, canteens of different sizes, guns, pickles in a large barrel of vinegar. He saw peppermint sticks on the counter, peanuts in another huge barrel. Jerky hung everywhere. Oats and flour decorated one corner. Sugar and honey from many sized containers made an interesting collection. One corner even held chickens and chicken wire to fence them in with. There was also homemade Johnny Cakes and fudge.

  There were so many things here that would make his people happy. Since the move to the Oklahoma reservation, his tribe was friendly with the whites, and all other settlers. Even though the Indians had become friendly with them, the spirit of giving was not in them. It was trade for trade. Beaver, bear and buffalo hides they would trade for. But the buffalo were few now. It was more deer skins and rabbit furs, even some fox, but few buffalo.

  At one time his people had traveled with the buffalo an taken only what was needed for food and hides. But the white man followed too and killed for the sport of it, leaving many carcasses in the wake. When too many died, the buffalo was very hard to find.

  He briefly remembered the thunder of their hoofs and the sound of a victorious kill. The days of the huge buffalo kill was far behind.

  These days deer, elk and moose were hunted, but the further south, the less moose and elk. Deer were still plentiful. Just after the Sand Creek Massacre in '64, Lone Wolf and his small tribe of Arapaho moved toward the Kansas border then south into Indian Territory.

  Lone Wolf shot the owner of the store a disgusted glance, the man paid no heed.

  "Get this damn place swept out woman, before I lay into you good."

  The white woman moved swiftly taking the broom from behind the counter and sweeping briskly.

  Lone Wolf watched her carefully. She did not complain, nor talk back. She simply swept the room and quietly disappeared.

  Getting his supplies, Lone Wolf took them to the counter, where she took his money and glanced at him with those topaz eyes. She never asked where his money came from, and he never said. He traded deerskins and mocassins and berries the squaws collected. Clearing his throat, he carried the supplies in the burlap sack to his horse out front. He wound the string around the saddle horn and rode toward the back of the building.

  Again, he saw the woman hanging clothes on the line and studied her a moment as he rounded the building. She peeked between the sheets and stared at him with a somber expression. He smiled and waited to see if she would too. She looked away. Even though she was beautiful beyond compare, Lone Wolf knew a few more years of mistreatment and she wouldn't be beautiful any longer, at least not on the outside. He liked her unto a beautiful horse, with a strong spirit.

  From her long golden curls that hung in ringlets down her back, to the sadness that was hidden behind those topaz eyes, he couldn't take his gaze from her. What kind of wife was she? His people did not abuse their wives. Why did this man treat her so? He did not understand. Her sadness haunted him.

  The man came to stand in front of him, "What are you gawkin' at Indian? Be on your way."

  Lone Wolf stared the man down. He noticed the long scar across one cheek. Lone Wolf wondered what woman did that to him.

  The man disappeared through the back doorway.

  Lone Wolf came closer to observe the woman, but the man came out of the back door, hollering at her again.

  She quickly moved inside without a word.

  He'd never known a white woman that did not sass, or talk back, but this woman was silent.

  It was not his concern, but he hated to see a woman treated so. This woman was a slave to her husband, she did not deserve the obvious beatings. The woman hadn't talked back, hadn't said a word. She was obedient, and it made no sense to treat her so.

  He tried to concentrate on other things, like how this winter would be harsh and unforgiving to his people who had made a peace with the white man.

  Government issue of blankets and food was of little help, as he had a large tribe and it promised a bad winter.

  He should be finding ways to provide for his people
. He was an excellent hunter, and a very good shot with both bow and arrow and the gun.

  Living on the reservation, many of his people would starve this winter. But still, peace was better than war, he had learned that the hard way. Fighting the white man was futile. They had too many guns and too many men. More came. More destroyed the land for lack of respect.

  The promise of schools, doctors and supplies for his people was still weak, but the days of war were over now.

  Again, his thought lingered on the white woman. He had seen suffering in her eyes and pain. Yet like an Indian she had not shown her pain. He liked that about her. She had not rebuked the white man, nor scorned his treatment of her. She was strong. Silently strong. And yet when he looked into her eyes something touched his heart. He had looked upon her many times, all of her, from the top of her beautiful hair, to her feet, and if he were truthful it was the reason he rode so far to buy his supplies. That was his secret, and no one else knew it.

  To look upon her was pure pleasure.

  Perhaps it was wrong of him to do so, but he was drawn to this woman.

  He had no time for such thoughts. He could not free her from her bondage, she was white.

  He rode on, making himself forget her. And yet he couldn't get the image of her out of his head.

  He traveled many miles to this store each week, to buy what little supplies he could afford. He hired himself out as a horse trainer for a ranch near his tribe's encampment. The old man that owned the ranch paid him to break his wild horses and help train them, so he could sell them to the army. It was a fair bargin and Lone Wolf could help feed his tribe with the money he made.

  Son of the chief, Lone Wolf did everything he could to help his people survive the harsh winters they faced on the reservation. There was little game to hunt during the winter, and the supplies the army furnished his tribe was never enough.

  Still, it was better than war. He'd seen his two brothers killed in battle in retaliation for the Sand Creek massacre, seen his mother die of the small pox. He'd seen the deaths of many, and peace was better.

  That's what he told himself every day. Peace was better. But did he believe it? The whites of Washington promised much but delivered little. Oft times the warrior inside him rebelled. But his father believed in peace and he followed his father faithfully.

  Educated in the mission schools where his father sent some of the tribe to learn, he knew he must find ways for his people to survive. He thought education was a good thing and encouraged the children of the village to listen to the educators. For the white man prospered and perhaps his people could too, with education.

  A hawk flew above him, and he stopped long enough to watch his flight. It was a beautiful site, to see a bird in flight, free.

  A rabbit scurried in front of his horse and the horse moved.

  "Easy Blackfoot. The rabbit means you no harm."

  He smiled and continued on his way.

  At his camp, there was much commotion.

  "What is going on, Deer Runner?" He asked his oldest friend.

  "Your father is considering a bride for you from the Cheyenne tribe. It would unite our tribes and make us stronger, and we would share in each other's' profits."

  "I want no wife." Lone Wolf cried. "And when I take one it will be of my choosing."

  "It would be good for our people," his friend told him.

  "I will not marry a Cheyenne."

  "They are a handsome bunch, why would you not consider it?" His friend seemed puzzled.

  "Their beauty is only skin deep. Their hearts are colder."

  "The one they have picked for you is very beautiful. The most beautiful of their tribe."

  "I will pick my own bride." Lone Wolf announced.

  "Your father will not be pleased." Deer Runner told him.

  "I will hunt, forage, plant, do anything for my people, including die, but I will not marry for them."

  "You have another in mind?"

  "N-no, not exactly." Lone Wolf frowned. But an idea was planted at Deer Runner's suggestion. He would keep his thoughts to himself. Deer Runner was right, his father would not be pleased about his decision not to marry a Cheyenne. But he'd made every effort to help his people they could not shun him for this.

  That evening after an afternoon of fishing with much luck, he gave the fish to Little Feather, one of the women who liked to clean and cook the fish he caught. She was not that pretty, but she liked him and smiled at him all the time. She was a good woman, and would make a good wife, only Lone Wolf felt no passion for her. Of all the Arapaho women, Little Feather was more pleasing to him than any other, yet he still held back. He liked her, but he did not feel what he should for her.

  It was wrong for him to lead her on. She was a good woman and she would make someone a very good wife. But he would not make her his. He could not find the love a man needed to make her his wife. What he sought was not Indian ways, but white ways.

  He went inside his father's tipi. "I caught many fish, father." Lone Wolf told him.

  "It is good. Did you give them to Little Feather?"

  "I did. She was happy to have them."

  "She admires you. I have seen it in her eyes."

  "I know father, but I do not want to encourage her thoughts. She is a good woman, and will make someone a fine wife, but not for me."

  "It is time we talked." His father didn't look pleased.

  Lone Wolf knew what was coming. He loved his father and considered him a good chief, but this was not something he could do.

  "It is time to talk of a wife for you my son. You have not picked one from our tribe. But the Cheyenne have offered one for you. It would mean we could all share in the bounty of their hunts. Uniting our tribes would go a long way in prospering our people."

  Lone Wolf's head went down, he stared at the dirt and wondered how he would make his father understand. "I cannot marry one of theirs."

  His father looked steely-eyed at him, his jaw set, his brow furrowed. "Not even for our people?"

  It was the same argument he always used, making Lone Wolf feel guilty each time.

  "Why do you do this father? Have I not done everything possible for our people? Have I not been an obedient son? What I seek is not here."

  The old chief grunted, "What have I done?"

  "You make me feel guilty. My every thought, every action, must be for my people, and if it is not, I am guilty. Have I not the right to think for myself?"

  "You do. But I see no wife."

  "Anything else you ask me to do for our people, I would do, and gladly. But, I cannot do this. I am sorry father. I will hunt, plow, forage, I will trade, I will do anything else. But whomever I chose to marry is my concern. I must live with them, I will pick them."

  "But you have not picked them my son. I have waited many moons to see if you would. You have not. I want grandchildren to pass down to the generations."

  Lone Wolf shook his head. "I am sorry father. When the time comes, I will pick my own woman, and she will bare you grandchildren."

  "And when will this come to pass?"

  "I am not sure. No, I would bring shame upon her if you forced this father, as I would not have this Cheyenne woman. It would do no good for you to force me. You would have no grandchildren if you do this." Lone Wolf proclaimed.

  Gray Eye looked at his son with disdain. "You would do this, my son?"

  Lone Wolf sighed heavily. "I would. I have served my people, and my father well. I have taken work to provide more for our people, father. I have worked hard to help. But I will not marry a woman I do not care for. In this I must do my way."

  "You would shame me in front of the Cheyenne?"

  "If you bring me a Cheyenne woman, I will make her my slave, not my wife, for I must love my wife, and only her."

  "That is the white man's way…" His father scolded.

  "Perhaps, and perhaps it has been too long since my mother died for you to remember how you loved her."

  The old
chief turned away and muttered under his breath, "I remember…"

  "You loved her beyond compare. You were happy in those days my father. Can you not remember that love?"

  "I do…. I hold it in my heart."

  "So do I. But it will be my choice for a wife. Father I am half white. And I have found for myself that some of the white man's ways are good ways. One wife is all I need, but I must love her father. It is your way also. You seek peace with the whites, and yet you do not want their ways spoiling our people. Sometimes they are right, and we are wrong. A strong man sees this. I love you my father, but in this I must do my way. Please do not fight me." He left the tipi, unable to bear his father's displeasure.

  Deer Runner saw his distraught face, "Did you speak with him?"

  "I did."

  "What did he say?"

  "He is upset. I cannot do this, will not do this. Anything else my people ask, I will do, including die for them, but I will not marry for them."

  "It is our custom to bring peace."

  "Then it is not a good custom. For I will not marry a woman I do not love."

  "It could bring trouble for our tribe." Deer Runner argued.

  "Perhaps, but in time they will understand."

  "I do not think so, my friend. The Cheyenne will consider it an insult. There could be much trouble."

  Lone Wolf looked at his friend, Deer Runner was a tall and handsome man, he was married though to one of his own tribe and he was a happy man. Lone Wolf sought the same happiness, yet he had not found it with his tribe. He knew his father was upset. And the Cheyenne would not be pleased with his decision. But he would not marry what he did not love.

  He understood his father's thinking as it was custom to pick a bride if he hadn't married, but Lone Wolf had seen many Indian marriages that were miserable.

  His father was old, and his mother was dead, but the memories of her lingered in Lone Wolf's mind. His mother had been a white slave, and his father had loved her above all. So why did he not understand?

  He had not told his father of the white woman from the store that he had looked upon. Perhaps it was an impossible thing, to look upon her as his. She was not his. And yet, Lone Wolf knew that this one woman stirred something inside his heart that no other had. It made no sense, but the feeling was there, and he could not ignore it.