Damn!
More than once, he’d started for the stairs. In spite of his earlier vow to pursue her, some innate sense of honor he hadn’t known he possessed kept him from going to her room.
He bolted upright and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a light tread on the stairs.
“Please.” He whispered the word like a prayer, wondering, as he did so, what he was asking. Let it be her? Don’t let it be her?
She padded toward him, her bare feet peeking out from beneath a long white cotton nightgown. Her hair, thick and rich and looking black in the dim light, trailed down her back and fell over her shoulders. He had an overwhelming need to bury his hands in the wealth of her hair, to bury his face in it, to hold her close and never let her go.
“I did not mean to wake you,” she said, ever so softly.
“You didn’t.”
“I…” She licked her lips, her gaze sliding away from his.
“Did you want something? A drink?”
“I do want something.” She took a deep breath, and said it all in a rush. “I wanted to be with you. Everything here is so strange. The food. The clothes. I miss being with the People. I miss hearing their language. They don’t feel so far away when I’m with you…”
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He lifted the blanket and she slid in beside him. He knew what she was feeling. He had felt it himself.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded, but didn’t meet his gaze.
Embarrassed, he wondered, or afraid he might see his own longing mirrored in her eyes.
The silence between them grew taut. He was aware of her every move, could feel the warmth of her thigh against his own, smell the warm womanly scent of her with every breath he took. Lord, but he wanted her.
He tried to think of something to say, some words of reassurance, but he couldn’t think, not with her sitting so close, couldn’t think of anything but the need burning through him.
“Chance.”
“What is it, honey?”
“Nothing. I…I never said your wasichu name before.”
“I like the way you say it.”
“Will you take me back home?”
“Teressa…”
“Please.”
She was looking at him now, her eyes silently pleading with him. Lord, how could he refuse her when she looked at him like that?
“They’ll just come after you again,” he said. “They know where to look now.”
“We could go live with the Cheyenne until they stop looking.”
“Running away never solved anything,” he said. And drawing her into his arms, he stopped running away from what he wanted and kissed her.
Her lips were warm and sweetly yielding. She moaned softly and then she was sitting sideways on his lap, her arms locked around his neck as she kissed him back, kissed him so there could be no mistaking that she wanted his kisses as badly as he wanted hers.
He slid one hand up the back of her neck into her hair while his other hand moved restlessly over her back. She pressed herself against him, her breasts warm and soft against his bare chest. He was glad he’d decided to sleep in his jeans, though at the moment, they were feeling mighty snug.
They were both breathing hard when the kiss ended. She drew back a little, her hands cupping his cheeks, her gaze moving over his face.
“You do care for me, don’t you?” she asked.
“More than you know.”
“Do you love me?”
“Since the first time I saw you.”
Warmth flooded her being only to be washed away by confusion. “I do not understand. Why have you been so…so…”
“Distant?”
“Yes.”
He took her hands in his and kissed one, and then the other. “It’s a long story.”
“Will you not tell me?”
“It’s an ugly story, Teressa.”
“Is it about the man who whipped you?”
“Yeah.”
“I would like to know.”
He took a deep breath. Only Kills-Like-a-Hawk and a few others knew how his mother had died, and of his long search to avenge her death.
Putting his arm around Teressa’s shoulder, he drew her closer. He stared into the hearth, watching the last embers wink out.
“It happened the summer I was sixteen,” he began. “My mother wanted to visit her cousin, who lived with the Cheyenne. My father was away, so she asked me to go with her. We had made camp for the night when four men rode up.”
Teressa listened with growing horror as he told her what had happened. His words painted an image so sharp, so vivid, she saw it as if it was happening all over again. She saw how valiantly he fought the wasichu as they tied him up, felt his rage and helplessness when they took turns violating his mother.
He went on, relating how he had worked his way free and managed to kill one of the men, how the other three had tied him to a tree, then taken turns whipping him until he was unconscious.
Tears burned her eyes as he told her how his mother had crawled toward him on her hands and knees, concerned for his welfare even though she was slowly bleeding to death.
She wept as she saw him cradling his mother in his arms, shared his grief when he knew she was dead.
His voice turned cold and flat as he told how he had hunted down the remaining three men who had killed his mother, how he had made sure they knew who he was and why he was there. He had killed two of them and now only one remained.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “So very sorry.”
“So were they, when I caught up with them.” He shook his head, as if clearing the memory from his mind. “You’d better go on back to bed.”
“Chance…”
He shook his head. “Maybe when this is over…”
She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to beg him to give up the search for the last man, to go back to the People with her, or let her stay there, on the ranch, with him.
But she said nothing. He had made a warrior’s vow and she knew he would not rest until it had been fulfilled. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek, then slid off his lap and left the room.
Chance listened to her footsteps, each one growing fainter as she climbed the stairs.
Why had he told her? Why had he sent her away? She had left the room and it was as if she had taken his heart and soul with her, leaving behind nothing but an empty husk fueled by an insatiable need for vengeance.
He ran his hands through his hair. He had to find the last man. He had sworn a blood oath to avenge his mother’s death and he would not, could not, rest as long as Jack Finch still lived.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Teressa woke early after a sleepless night. Rising, she dressed quickly and left the house. Standing on the edge of the porch, she watched the activity near the barn as the ranch hands saddled their horses. She saw Cookie hauling water from the well. One of the men was forking hay to the calves in the pen. A dozen chickens scratched in the dirt, digging up worms and grubs for the countless baby chicks that followed them. Several cats prowled near the chickens. A rooster strutted back and forth on the top rail of one of the corrals. A faint breeze stirred the weathervane on top of the barn.
It was going to be another beautiful day, she mused. Or would be, if it wasn’t wash day. She didn’t mind cooking, though she preferred baking. She didn’t mind dusting and waxing the furniture, or shaking out the rugs, or making the beds, or washing and drying the dishes. But she hated doing the laundry. There were wash tubs to fill, clothes to scrub, to rinse, to hang on the line out back. It was a job that took all day and left her back and shoulders aching when it was over. And after wash day, came ironing day, which was almost as bad.
But that was later. For now, she was content to watch the men mount up and ride out. And then she saw Chance leading Smoke out of the barn. He paused to speak to Cookie, then swung effortlessly into the saddle.
Her gaze moved over him
. He looked handsome and rugged in a dark blue shirt, leather vest, Levi’s, chaps, and scuffed boots.
He was settling his hat on his head when he saw her. He said something else to Cookie, then rode toward her.
“Morning, Tessa,” he said. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing today?”
“Riding out to look for strays.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“Do you think your mother would approve?”
“Probably not. But I could ask her.”
“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
The sun had nothing on the smile she flashed him, Chance thought. He had enjoyed having Teressa here more than he would have thought possible. She ran out to meet him each evening, anxious to hear about his day, eager to tell him all about hers. He had been afraid her constant chatter would start to annoy him, but he found himself looking forward to seeing her at the end of a hard day on the range. He was even getting used to having Rosalia around. He had to admit the house had never looked better. The furniture gleamed. The windows sparkled. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust to be found. And he had never eaten better in his life.
It came as somewhat of a shock to realize he was going to miss them, both of them, when they were gone.
Teressa burst through the doorway a few moments later, grinning from ear to ear.
“I can go!” she exclaimed.
Chance grinned back at her. “Come on, let’s find you a horse.”
Gripping her forearm, he swung her up behind him and rode to the barn. Dismounting, he lifted her from the back of his horse and they went inside.
Chance moved down the center aisle, stopping when he came to a stall near the back.
“This here’s Daisy Blue,” he said, patting the neck of a pretty little dun-colored mare. “She’s trail-wise, not easily spooked, and has a nice gait.”
Smiling, Teressa patted the mare’s shoulder, then stepped aside as Chance bridled the mare and led her out of the stall.
Moments later, Daisy Blue was saddled and ready. Chance lifted Teressa onto the horse’s back.
“Comfortable?” he asked, looking up at her.
“I guess so.” The saddle felt odd, hard and cold when compared to sitting on a horse’s bare back.
“I think those stirrups are a little too long,” Chance remarked. He shortened the length a little, then slipped her foot into the stirrup. “Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Let’s go, then.” Turning, he walked out of the barn.
Taking up the reins, Teressa clucked to the horse and followed Chance outside, admiring the easy way he moved as he took up the reins of his own mount and swung into the saddle.
“You should have a hat,” Chance remarked. “Here, wear mine.”
She settled his hat on her head, liking the feel of it, the fact that it was his. “What about you?” she asked.
“I’ll be all right. You ready?”
She nodded eagerly.
“Let’s go.”
It wasn’t long until the ranch house was out of sight and there was nothing to see but rolling grass, scattered stands of pines and cottonwood, and a seemingly endless blue sky.
“Is all this land yours?” Teressa asked.
“Yep.”
She frowned, trying to comprehend the fact that he owned the land. The Lakota did not claim to own the land. The earth was their mother and the People treated her with reverence and respect. Sometimes, when you walked the land, you could feel her heartbeat beneath your feet. Mother Earth provided food and shelter and when life was over, she cradled the dead in her arms.
Chance watched the play of emotions over her face. He knew that owning land was a hard concept for his people to accept. At one time, it had been difficult for him to understand, as well, but no more. Right or wrong, like it or not, it was the white man’s way to claim the land for his own and Chance intended to hang onto this piece of ground, to pass it on to his son, should he ever have one.
As much as he loved living with the Lakota, loved their wandering way of life, he knew it couldn’t last much longer. More and more whites were leaving the east, lured westward by the promise of getting rich quick. Encounters between the Indians and the whites were growing less friendly and more aggressive. White hunters were killing the buffalo. Farmers were plowing the land, cutting the timber for fences, damming the rivers. In retaliation, the Indians were attacking the hunters and the farmers, who went to the Army demanding protection against the Indians.
Chance shook his head. Though he hated to admit it, he knew that, in the long run, the Indians could not win the fight.
Riding on, they passed small bunches of cattle. Chance was pleased to note that most of the cows had calves at their sides.
“You like it here, don’t you?” Teressa asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did you always want to be a cowboy?”
“No, it just sort of got under my skin. It’s a hell of a life. Cows have got to be the dumbest creatures on God’s green earth.”
It was no easy task, being a cowboy. There was range to ride, fence to mend. In the spring, the men spent a good deal of their time pulling cows out of bogs. In the summer, there was always danger of fire. Wintertime was mostly spent on maintenance and repairs and gathering firewood. From time to time, some of the men had to ride out to make sure the cattle weren’t starving or freezing to death. Cattle had a tendency to stand in deep snow and freeze to death rather than try and find food. It was also necessary to chop through the ice so the cattle could drink from the rivers and waterholes. Another winter assignment, one the men vied for, was wolf hunting. When the pickings among their natural prey were slim, wolves often stalked cattle. Moving in packs, they would surround a cow, disable it by severing a hamstring, and then move in for the kill. Some ranches hired men to hunt wolves, offering them a five dollar bounty for each hide, but Chance didn’t like that practice. The Lakota believed that everything living was related. It was one thing to kill an animal because you needed the meat or the hide and another to destroy it for no better reason than it was trying to survive.
Riding the line was another dreary task. Line shacks were located every seven or eight miles around the outer edge of the ranch’s range. In the winter, the men were posted there to keep an eye on the weaker stock and to make sure the herd didn’t drift with the storm and wander off the range.
There was the spring roundup, when the calves were brought in and branded, and another roundup in the fall when the cows that were going to be sent to market were gathered. At this time, any calves that had been born after the spring roundup, or that were missed previously, were branded.
Cowboys were a breed apart, there was no doubt about that. They lived by their own code and, for the most part, were loyal to the brand they rode for. No cowboy worth his salt ever borrowed a horse from another man’s string without first asking permission. You didn’t whip or kick a borrowed horse. You didn’t wave at an oncoming rider, since you never knew if such a move might spook the horse, nor did a man on foot ever grab the bridle of a mounted man’s horse. A man was expected to close a corral or pasture gate behind him, and to remove his spurs when he entered the boss’s house. A man might get by with rustling a few head of cattle, but stealing a horse was a hanging offense.
“Look!”
Roused from his reverie, Chance looked to where Teressa pointed and saw a mother skunk walking along a stream bank, followed by two striped babies.
“Real cute,” he muttered, reining his horse away from the stream. “Come on.”
Giving the smelly little family a wide berth, Chance urged his horse into an easy lope. It was a beautiful day for a ride. The sky was a bright clear blue, the air was warm but not hot.
He let his horse run until it slowed and stopped of its own accord. Dismounting, he watched Teressa pull up beside him. She looked beautiful, with her cheeks flushed pink and her blue eyes sp
arkling like sapphires. His hat had blown off her head and hung by it’s thong down her back.
“That was wonderful!” she exclaimed as he lifted her from the back of her horse.
He let her body slide down the front of his, his hands lingering at her waist longer than was necessary. He knew he should let her go, put some distance between them before it was too late. And then, as she leaned into him, he knew it was already too late.
Muttering an oath, he pulled her closer. “Teressa.”
She looked up at him through smoky blue eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“Tell me to stop.”
Instead, she slipped her arms around his waist. “No,” she murmured, “don’t stop.”
Even as he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his own, he was telling himself all the reasons why it wouldn’t work, but none of them seemed to matter, not now, not when he could feel the soft sweet length of her body pressed intimately against his, not when she was kissing him back, the tip of her tongue exploring his lower lip, not when her hands were slipping under his shirt, sliding over the bare skin of his back.
He groaned low in his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Her nails raked his back, ever so lightly. “You won’t.” She leaned into him, pressing closer. “I’ve waited so long…”
“Tessa…” How many nights had he dreamed of this, ached for this, burned for this moment? Since the first time he had seen there by the river, he had wanted her, needed her with an intensity that was undeniable. He had fought against it, telling himself she was too young, that he had no time for a woman in his life, that he had a blood vow to fulfill, but none of that seemed to matter now, not when Teressa was in his arms, her breasts crushed against his chest, her kisses searing a path to his soul.
He lifted his hat over her head and flung it aside, his fingers delving into the wealth of her hair, loving the way it curled around his fingers. He rained kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. Her lips were sweet, so sweet, filled with secrets he yearned to savor.
Somehow, they were lying on the grass wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies entwined, straining to be closer, though he wasn’t sure that was possible.
Wolf Shadow Page 21
