“Go Slow… It Hurts,” She Moaned—He Whispered, “I’ll Die Before I Hurt You” | Wild West Stories
Chapter 5
They came upon the stream at dusk.
The crossing they had used before was swollen with recent rain — a rushing torrent where there had been a gentle creek. Joseph studied the current, his brow furrowed.
“We go upstream,” he said.
They walked for nearly a mile. The stream showed no sign of narrowing.
“I can wade across,” Sarah offered.
“No. Too dangerous. The current will take you.”
“Then — ”
“I will carry you.”
Before she could protest, he had lifted her. One arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. She went rigid. Memories crashed over her — other hands, other arms, never meaning safety, never meant to protect.
“Breathe,” Joseph said quietly. He did not move. “I will not hurt you.”
She forced herself to relax. To trust. He stepped into the water.
Halfway across, his foot slipped on a submerged stone. He compensated instantly, pulling her closer to maintain his balance. For a moment, she was pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Steady. Strong.
His arms around her were protective. Not possessive.
When they reached the other side, he set her down gently. Her body registered the loss of his warmth before her mind caught up.
“Thank you,” she managed, and her voice came out strangely breathless.
Something flickered in his dark eyes. Quickly hidden.
“Come. Camp is near.”
—
That night, she overheard the warriors talking.
“Running Elk spends much time with the white woman,” one said in Lakota. They did not know she had learned enough to understand basic conversation.
“He remembers his mother,” the other replied. “And perhaps it is time he looked beyond his grief for Winter Dove.”
Sarah kept her face neutral as she ladled stew, but her hands trembled.
Later, sitting with Morning Star by their tepee, she could not stop thinking about it.
“Your brother,” she said carefully. “He truly loved his wife.”
Morning Star’s expression softened. “When she died, I thought he might follow her to the spirit world. For two seasons, he was like a ghost. Only duty kept him here.”
“And now?”
Morning Star gave her a knowing look. “Now he teaches a white woman to track deer and carries her across streams. The women talk. They say he smiles again.”
Sarah felt heat rise to her cheeks. “He’s only being kind. He promised to keep me safe.”
“My brother does not make promises lightly. But safety and kindness — these are not why a warrior begins to sing again when he thinks no one listens.”