Savage Desires (1st in Savage Series)

Savage Desires

Montana 1887

Hawke stepped out of his cabin and breathed in the damp forest air. Three days of spring rain had finally ended and the morning sun was shining brightly.

Hawke stretched his arms over his head and then scratched his bare stomach as he yawned. He walked to the small barn and went to work feeding his horse and milk cow and cleaning out their stalls.

"Gotta head to town today, Trigger. We got some furs that we gotta sell and some supplies we need to buy." Hawke patted the black gelding on the neck and then walked back out into the sunlight.

He listened to the birds singing in the trees and the bees coming to life and buzzing around the tiny wildflowers starting to bloom. He bent his head to sniff himself and then wrinkled his nose in disgust. One thing was for sure; before he went to town, he needed a bath.

He went back into the two room cabin and grabbed a clean pair of buckskin trousers and a fringed buckskin shirt. He grabbed his homemade yellow soap and headed down the path to the clear mountain lake.

He could smell the water and the sweetness of the wildflowers. He pulled off his boots and his buckskin pants and dove headfirst into the calm water.

He came up cursing and gasping for air as he realized that the water was colder than he had thought it would be. He shook his head sending water droplets flying from his shoulder length black hair and swam back toward shore. The cold water making his body come alive and working out the soreness that three days cooped up in his cabin had caused.

He pulled himself halfway out of the water on the rocky outcrop and grabbed his soap. Once he was sure that most of the stink was washed off of him, he climbed out of the water and let the sun dry his tan skin. He used his fingers to comb out his hair and then pulled on his clothes. He sighed as he headed back to his small cabin to get his furs.

He hated going to town and avoided it whenever possible. His half Blackfoot Indian heritage, coupled with his hatred of modern clothing made him a target for snobby looks and rude comments. Hawke had never met his Blackfoot mother or her family. She had left her tribe to be with his father and then had died of fever shortly after giving birth to Hawke.

Hawke's father, James, had died when Hawke was twelve and Hawke had been living alone in his cabin and looking after himself for the last fourteen years. He strapped his rifle to his back, tied his knives to his legs, grabbed his pile of fox furs and headed back out to saddle Trigger.

***

"Hi there, Hawke. It's been awhile since you've been to town." Ed Hornsby said as Hawke walked into the mercantile. Hawke nodded as he walked up to the counter and laid his furs down.

"I've been busy hunting." Hawke replied simply. He liked Ed Hornsby. Ed was like most of the long time residents of town that knew and welcomed Hawke despite his appearance and heritage. It was the newcomers who looked down their noses at him.

"I can see you've been hunting. Looks like you did pretty well." Ed replied, nodding down at the large stack of fox furs.

"Yes." Hawke replied. Ed shook his head and began counting out the money for Hawke's furs. Hawke had never been one to talk much. He rarely said more than five or six words at a time and he never said anything unless he felt it needed to be said.

"I need some supplies." Hawke said as Ed handed him his money. Hawke gave Ed the list of everything he needed and Ed nodded.

"Alright Hawke, give me an hour or so to get all of this rounded up. You got a wagon?"