Call of the White Wolf

by Carol Finch

  Tara circled the cedar tree to follow him into the cave. “And that’s what you’re teaching the children,” she murmured. “I appreciate that, John, more than you will ever know….John? Where’d you go?”

  He snickered at the alarm that registered in her voice. “Don’t tell me, Irish, let me guess. You’re afraid of the dark.”

  “Of course not.” Her proud, independent streak returned to override the fear he accused her of possessing. “I just can’t see my hand in front of my face, and this is unfamiliar territory,” she explained reasonably.

  He thought she sounded a little too breathless and apprehensive, despite her claims to the contrary. “Take my hand, Irish. I’m right here.”

  He laced his fingers in hers, then decided it was a bad idea. Each time he touched her, forbidden sensations overwhelmed him. Determinedly, he ignored the sensations and inched along the rough stone wall.

  “Shuffle your feet,” he instructed. “The floor slopes downward before we make a sharp turn to the left. Watch out for the overhanging—”

  “Ouch!”

  His warning came too late. Tara smacked her forehead against the jutting stone. She staggered, and John hooked his arm around her waist before she tumbled down onto the sloping floor, knocked senseless. When she latched on to him for support, another round of ungovernable, undeniable sensations pelted him—hard. Damn it, this trek in the darkness only heightened his awareness of her rather than diminished it. He was too sensitive to Tara’s touch, her unique scent. No matter how incidental or seemingly harmless the contact, his body reacted dramatically.

  John sighed in frustration. Entering the cave with Tara was another form of torment. “I’m going to let go of you now.”

  “Must you? I feel a little disoriented,” she said shakily.

  John accepted the bittersweet torment of having Tara cling to him like ivy. Her scent invaded his senses; the feel of her supple curves gliding alongside his body was sweet torture. But to protect her from another nasty bump on the head, he withstood the arousing tingles.

  “Duck your head,” he remembered to say in the nick of time.

  He practically groaned aloud when she tucked her head beneath his chin and stuck to him like mortar.

  “Are we there yet?” she tweeted.

  “Almost.” He cursed the breathless sound of his own voice.

  John made a sharp right turn, then drew her to her knees beside him. He took her hand and moved it over the aging bead-and-leather pouches and metal boxes stashed in a chiseled-out niche in the wall. “If you ever need to borrow from this stash of treasure to survive, you know where to find it. But to appease the gods you must make your own special sacrifice.”

  “I’ve heard eerie stories of curses brought down on those who steal or disturb legendary mines and such,” Tara whispered uneasily. “I used to think I was cursed because I lost my family and ended up at the orphanage, but I suspect the curse of the Apache nation might be even worse.”

  When John laughed softly, the sound echoed through the winding tunnel. “There’s a difference between stealing and borrowing. If I considered you and the children greedy types I wouldn’t have brought you here. All I’m saying is that if you’re ever in need, take some of the treasure, then replace it with a gift of appreciation so the gods will look upon you favorably.” He paused a beat. “I trust you with the knowledge, Irish.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m humbled by your trust in me. It means a great deal to me.”

  The sensations rocked John again. He wondered what had happened to the armor of indifference that he’d worn these past few years. With Tara, and with the children, he’d developed an entirely different perspective of himself. Nothing was the same as it had been, and he was more than a little concerned about how he’d function in the outside world now that he’d regained touch with tender emotion…and begun to crave it.

  “C’mon,” he said, appalled that his voice sounded like a croaking frog. “I don’t want some varmint to rip into the picnic basket we left beside the cedar tree.”

  John placed Tara’s hands on the wall, letting her feel the etched line in stone that led through the twisting cave. Their shuffling footsteps echoed in the darkness as they moved toward the tiny pinpoint of light.

  When they emerged like subterranean creatures, Tara blinked and squinted in the twilight. As a child, she’d spent too many nights in pitch-black alleys, hearing the scurrying of rats and two-legged predators. She remembered the cold fear of being discovered and facing disaster. She hated this weakness that compelled her to cling to John as if he were her lifeline. But old torments died hard, she discovered.

  Once outside in the fresh air, she breathed deeply, then stepped away from John to retrieve the picnic basket. “Ah, turkey and butter sandwiches,” she reported. “A few grapes thrown in for good measure. Maureen was obviously busy in the kitchen this afternoon.”

  John accepted a sandwich, then sank down in the grass. Tara noted he barely grimaced when he put pressure on his mending thigh. Before long he’d be physically capable of resuming his life outside the canyon.

  “I’m not sure how to handle this new problem of matchmaking,” he said thoughtfully, in between bites of their picnic supper.

  Tara understood what he was being kind enough not to blurt out—that there couldn’t be anything permanent between them, and therefore he wasn’t interested in temporary complications, either. Although her feminine pride smarted, she told herself that, since John found her resistible, she should be grateful he wasn’t the kind of man who used a woman to satisfy his physical urges, whether she meant something special to him or not. But blast and be damned, it was frustrating to care so deeply for a man who couldn’t return her affection.

  “I think it’s best that we appear to be good friends,” Tara recommended as she eased down beside him. “Although the children will be disappointed that their match-making scheme failed, and they can’t keep you permanently, they’ll come to understand that friendship and respect for one another are important.”

  “You’re a wise and decent woman, Irish. The children are the focal point of every decision you make. You’ve no idea what a rarity you are in the world. I’ve encountered too many greedy, heartless, selfish outlaws who have no regard for anyone except themselves.”

  Despite her vow to keep her distance, she reached out to touch his hand, then quickly withdrew. “I can’t fathom what your life must be like.”

  “You had a meager taste of it last week,” he muttered. “That’s as close to violence as I hope you ever have to come again. In fact, I want to show you a few maneuvers so you can ward off assaults.”

  “I learned a thing or two in the streets,” she reminded him.

  “Not enough to satisfy me,” he insisted. “Humor me. I want no man taking advantage of you.”

  “Not even you?” she murmured under her breath—or so she thought.

  John jerked up his raven head and stared at her with those intense silver-blue eyes that always played hell with her pulse. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing important.” She smiled brightly. “Grapes?”

  John curled his fingers beneath her chin to turn her face toward his, because she wouldn’t do him the courtesy of looking at him. “I think you’ve gotten a mistaken impression here, Irish.”

  Helplessly, her gaze dropped to his sensuous lips. Damn, she really had developed an obsession about kissing him, she realized. “What mistaken impression is that?” she asked in a wobbly voice.

  “You have somehow convinced yourself that I don’t really want you,” he said gruffly. “Fact is, I’d have to be blind in both eyes not to find you attractive. And even if I were blind I’d still have to battle your alluring scent, which befuddles my brain when I venture too close. Then there’s the endearing fact that your heart is pure gold. I’m wearing myself out trying not to act upon my need for you. I have nothing to offer, damn it. You know that as w
ell as I do. This has nothing to do with convenient accessibility, either,” he added before she could contradict him. “So don’t even think about spouting off that crazed theory of yours again.”

  She peered into those fathomless eyes surrounded by that fan of thick, sooty lashes and heard herself ask, “Then why do you shy away, as if touching me repels you?”

  John barked a laugh, but there was no amusement in the sound. He dropped his hand and shook his head. “I swear you whites have an amazing way of complicating what’s simple. I don’t touch and I don’t take advantage because I have nothing to offer in return. There could be no more than stolen moments out of time.” He looked her squarely in the eye and said, “You’re a very dangerous woman, Irish, because you make me want more than I can have. I’m committed to the life Gray Eagle assigned to me. What I want will always be overshadowed by my vow to do all within my power to ease the Apache’s plight. But no matter how hard I try to call attention to injustice and corruption, I am only one voice falling on deaf ears.”

  He sounded so tormented and frustrated that her heart went out to him. She also understood what he was saying, because for years she’d wanted to save and provide for every lost orphan, not just the five children in her care. She’d learned to be content to do what she could in her corner of the world, and she prayed there were others who’d do their part to shelter and love the lost, lonely and rejected children who wandered the streets.

  John’s adopted father had given him a difficult, unending mission. Every day John was reminded that he came and went freely, while his adopted people were held captive, living under military surveillance on godforsaken reservations.

  At present, he was recovering from the vicious betrayal of his own adopted brother—and likely feeling guilty as hell about the encounter. He knew he had to track down Raven, who was giving the Apache nation a bad name, though white publicity and propaganda had already been doing that for years. Tara could only begin to imagine what frustration and torment hounded John every waking hour of every day of his life.

  She reached out to trace his ruggedly handsome features, compelled to touch and console him. “I understand that you’ve been chosen for a greater calling, but I’m not asking for forever,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes.

  He grabbed her hands in his. “Don’t, Irish. Don’t tempt me. If there’s one person on this planet I don’t want to hurt it’s you. It will be easier if we part as confidants and friends, for I have so few of them in my isolated world. I’d like to know there’s one place on earth I can come, every now and then, where I can be accepted for myself. Here I know I’m not judged by my skills of tracking and handling an assortment of weapons, nor by my hopeless crusade to save a vanquished nation that sees me as the savior I can never be, no matter how hard I try. I need this haven more than you know.”

  It was at that exact moment—while she was staring at him, feeling his torment as if it were her own, hearing the intensity of his voice, discovering his remarkable code of honor—that Tara knew without a doubt she was hopelessly, deeply in love with this man. She also knew that he desired her, even while he felt honor bound to protect her from himself and from any unintentional pain he might cause her. In return, she felt as fiercely protective of him as she did of the children.

  Tara admired his integrity, his abilities. She respected what he believed in, fought for. She was attracted to his dashing good looks, his powerful physique, but something in his heart and soul called out to her as well. She loved him for the kind of man he was, because being with him filled an empty space she hadn’t realized existed until she met and fell in love with him. She wanted to communicate her affection but didn’t know how. All she could do was fling her arms around his neck and hug him for as long as he would allow it, savoring the enticing feel of him.

  “Ah, Irish, you make this so damned hard,” he murmured against her neck as he crushed her to him in a fierce embrace.

  “You aren’t making this easy on me, either, blast you,” she replied as she nuzzled against him, absorbing his scent, drawing from his strength.

  John slid his hand over the curve of her hip, chuckled softly, then shook his head. “And here I thought Paradise Valley was as close to heaven as a man like me could ever get. Turns out this place is pure heaven and hell in one. Irish, if you don’t back off, and be quick about it, I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret later. Then I’ll be suffering every torment of the eternal damned for caving in to temptation.”

  At his request, she retreated, but her arms felt empty without him. She glanced up when she heard a rumble of thunder and saw dark clouds piling up on the western horizon. There was a scent of rain in the night air, a cool wind rushing down from the stone precipices around the canyon.

  John grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. “Better show me where you want the pasture fence before the sky opens. One good thing will come of the rain,” he said as he hustled her alongside him, forcing her to take two steps to his one. “Digging postholes will be easier.”

  Tara gestured toward the towering rock walls that surrounded an area of plush grass. “This spot won’t require much fencing to contain the horses. The small spring trickling from the ledge will provide water. A small sheep pen can be built adjacent to this pasture, too.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Wise choice, Irish. That’s exactly where I’d graze the livestock.”

  Lightning flickered in the gathering night, then thunder crashed overhead. Tara broke into a run, doubting they’d reach the cabin before the storm descended to drench them. She noted there was still a slight hitch in John’s gait as he sprinted beside her, but it barely slowed him down.

  Tara thought they were going to make it to shelter in the nick of time, after all. But when they were fifty yards from the house, raindrops hammered down like drumming fingers. Tara was soaked in the time it took to draw a breath. So was John, she noticed as her gaze drifted over the garments that now clung to his muscular body like a second skin.

  Odd, she mused, how even cold rain couldn’t chill the arousing warmth of hopeless fascination that channeled through her body and her heart. Nothing could prevent her from wanting John Wolfe with every part of her being.

  Well, she amended as she leaped headlong onto the porch, she supposed dying could get it done—but not much else.

  In the upstairs loft, the children were stacked up on the bed in front of the window like a human pyramid—larger bodies on the bottom and smaller ones on top. They had been keeping watch for a good half hour, awaiting Tara and John’s return.

  “Confound it,” Maureen muttered in disappointment. “They aren’t even holding hands.”

  “Maybe they wanted to hold hands but the downpour forced them to make a mad dash home,” Derek said encouragingly. “They could’ve been kissing before the storm hit.”

  “Blast this weather,” Samuel grumbled, then shifted beneath the weight pressing him down. “We’ll have to come up with a better scheme.”

  “I can’t think of nothin’ else that might work,” Flora mumbled as her bony elbow gouged Calvin’s shoulder blades.

  “Hold still, runt,” Derek ordered. “You’re about to squash us and everybody is shifting on top of me. I can barely breathe.”

  “I don’t like storms,” Flora complained. “They make me all jittery.”

  “Me, too,” Maureen muttered quietly. “Don’t either of you go running into Tara’s room tonight, like you usually do when the wind wails,” Samuel cautioned.

  “We don’t,” Flora insisted all too quickly.

  “Yeah, you do,” Derek contradicted. “We heard you scurrying off the last time it stormed, while John was using Tara’s room. But don’t you dare go running scared tonight. We gave the impression that we were tired enough to sleep through a cyclone. Don’t make liars out of us, okay?”

  “Okay,” Flora murmured as she rolled off the pyramid. “So, can I sleep with you, Samuel?”

  When Derek snickered, Samuel
nudged him in the ribs. “You clam up. If the runt is scared, she can sleep with us. And Maureen? If you’re feeling jittery, too, you can tuck in with Calvin.”

  Derek peered curiously at Maureen. “Say, how come you’re thirteen and you’re still scared of storms?”

  She looked the other way. “Just am.”

  “Leave her alone, Derek. She doesn’t badger you because you have a powerful fear of snakes, does she?” Samuel asked.

  While the rain beat down in torrents, the children settled into bed.

  “If anybody has trouble sleeping, just lie there and figure out how we’re going to get John to ask Tara to marry him,” Samuel said quietly. “We’ll compare ideas during morning chores.”

  While the children were formulating and discarding various schemes, Tara was sitting cross-legged on her bed, toweling her hair, listening to the crackle of lightning and claps of thunder.

  John’s words kept tumbling around in her mind, filling her with a sense of relief and satisfaction. Knowing he did care about her and that he was fighting the attraction because he didn’t foresee a long-term future for them warred with her philosophy of taking each day as it came. She had learned to live in the moment, one day at a time.

  Only recently, after settling in the valley, had she held enough hope to look into the future. She’d accepted responsibility for the children and she wanted to provide the security of a home and the close-knit affection of a family. She’d made personal sacrifices more times than she could count. Was it selfish of her to want to explore the intimate bond between a man and a woman? Was it wrong to long for the pleasure she’d experienced that night in John’s arms? Should she tell him that she didn’t expect more than he could give, that she wasn’t asking for promises or commitment?

  Tara rose from her bed to pace restlessly, serenaded by the storm which had passed overhead and then rumbled on off to the east. Lifting the window, she inhaled the purifying scent of rain, felt the damp breeze skim her skin like an invisible caress.