American Dreams by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online

when he had teased her, which he had done unmercifully, Temple had still thought there was no one as wonderful as The Blade.
    When he left three years ago to attend a college in the North, Temple had been proud of his achievements, though she had missed him keenly in that time. Once The Blade had rebelled against the confinement and strictures of college life and quit within the first year, she had mixed feelings at the prospect of his homecoming. The decision had been a blow to his father, Shawano Stuart, who had always shared Will Gordon's belief in the importance of education.
    Temple could have forgiven The Blade for disappointing his father if he had returned to take his rightful place at his father's side. But he had come back for only a brief stay, then left again to drift to Tennessee, Kentucky, the Carolinas, and finally the mountain gold camps.
    He was back now, but for how long? Would he ever stay in one place long enough to fulfill his duties to his family and the Nation? Could he ever commit himself to a wife and children? To her?
    Temple sighed in irritation and rode out of the woods to intercept the horse and buggy. Reining in beside it, she deliberately ignored The Blade and smiled at the man in the buggy. The darkness of Shawano Stuart's hair was thickly streaked with white. Age lines creased his broad face, but his blue eyes were as sharp and alert as a young man's.
    "It has been a long time since I saw you last, Shawano Stuart. You look well," she greeted him in Cherokee. He understood English well enough, but the use of it came stiffly to his tongue.
    "Young Temple, it is you," Shawano Stuart replied, gesturing eloquently with his hands in typical Cherokee fashion. "You have grown into a woman with the grace and beauty of a swan."
    "She has the hiss of one, as well, Father," The Blade inserted dryly. "Perhaps that is why no one has come forward to make her his wife."
    "How would you know, when you have made yourself a stranger to us?" Temple challenged.
    Shawano chuckled at their barbed exchange. "There will be time enough for the two of you to sharpen your tongues and wits on each other later. We are on our way to see your father."
    "When last I saw him, he was at the cornfield. Look for him there before you go to the house." She backed her horse away from the buggy.
    "Where are you going?" The Blade frowned.
    "To the orchard." With the breeze heavily scented with apples, it was the first place that came to her mind.
    "The Georgia Guard has been seen in the area," he warned.
    "Then you'd best ride with your father." Without waiting for a reply, Temple kicked her mount into a lope. She smiled in secret pleasure when she heard the echoing hoofbeats behind her.
    She halted beneath a tree and dismounted to pluck a green apple from a low-hanging limb. The Blade swung out of his saddle and gathered up the reins. As she bit into the apple, everything seemed suddenly much sharper to her—the tartly sour taste of the apple, the fruity smell in the air .. . and the sound of his footsteps. She turned to face him, feeling very much alive.
    "You should have accompanied your father. I am safe on Gordon Glen," she asserted, then looked at the apple and tossed it away. "I must remember to tell Mother the apples are still too green to pick." She began to walk, leading the mare.
    The Blade hesitated, then fell in with her. She seemed almost a stranger to him, though there were still traces of the girl he remembered visible in the proud tilt of her head and the flashing challenge in her dark eyes. But the rest—the flat chest, the childlike eagerness, and the innocent beauty—they were gone. In their place was a disturbing ripeness.
    "You should not put too much trust in the idea that you are safe from the Georgians on Gordon Glen," he told her, surprised by his own curtness. "They are not above accosting our people in their homes."
    "I know," she replied without concern. "I have read accounts of such incidents