Greatest Change

Chapter Seven

From all the thoughts in her mind, she felt herself gently collide with someone and when she looked up to beg pardon. Of course Chayton was standing there with a smirk on his face. She never realized how tall he was until now, her hands still near his warm and bare chest. How did he do it? How did the rest of the men do it? It was pouring rain earlier and frigid and yet they didn't bother to cover their perfectly formed chests with any kind of covering. Although Clara would never complain about it, especially in front of Chayton. Their men were much more fit than the daily, average man in the city. City folk were hardly as muscular or fit as the men that stood around her. Why did Chayton have to be so handsome? Just seeing him made her stomach do flips and her eyes be glued to him.

"You do realize I called your name twice before you collided with me," he asked, a hint of laughter in his tone.

She moved a strand of hair from her face, "Yes well, I had a lot on my mind and I guess I didn't hear it. Besides I didn't know if you would be up this early."

"Well the same for you. Did you not sleep well?" He asked, and had great concern on his face. He knew how difficult it might have been to sleep, especially after she killed a man in a brutal manner. However she seemed to have shaken that off rather easily and he was not going to mention it. Chayton would avoid any awkward or personal questions despite his burning curiosity. She needed to trust him first before he could be asking things like that; he learned that from the other day when she lashed out at him.

"No. I slept wonderful, thank you," she smiled brightly before falling to his side, knowing they had to start with her lessons today, "so should I grab any weapons before we go?"

"We can do that when we return," he nodded, walking slowly at her own pace, heading out towards the exit of their tipi community towards where the row of horses were. Clara seemed a little confused because their job was to go out and do reconnaissance with their surrounding area. Chayton seemed to have other plans.

She finally got the courage to ask, "Where are we going?"

He took his time, leading her over to his horse. Pinto, or at least that is what Clara thought the name of it was. She never knew much about horses but Brad did. Brad had a lot of horses growing up so he seemed to know a lot about them. Clara gently placed her hand on the mane of the horse, seeing Chayton tighten the leather saddle under its stomach. The leather saddle certainly was not Sioux. She didn't even know if they used leather like that. Touching it curiously, Chayton seemed to notice and waited for her to ask. She did not, but they made eye contact and that was enough to make him talk. She was a little surprised he knew what she would ask. Perhaps it was an Indian thing.

"A friend gave it to me," he said, keeping his beautiful brown eyes on her as his hands managed to work with the saddle.

"Was this friend American?"

"You mean white? Yes, he was," he explained and Clara could see there was something in his eyes that made him weary about telling her. She was not going to ask about it, not wanting to pressure him into talking. He already had so much responsibility over her and trying to teach her their ways; bothering him and asking so many questions would probably make him go crazy. "And I have a gift for you, but it's a little far," he explained, placing his foot in the stirrup before extending his hand to her. Wait. Did he expect her to ride with him?

"Won't your father be mad?" she asked in a hushed voice, looking around before taking his hand. Immediately he pulled her up, the saddle comfortably big enough for the two of them, but she was way too close to him for her liking. She would admit she loved the feeling of his bare back to keep herself warm, but she still barely knew this man. Yes, she would trust him with her life but things were still awkward for them and she knew he understood that. She was thankful, however. Chayton was in no way comparable to the slick folk back in Boston who would whistle and flirt with her constantly when neither Booker or Brad were around.