Spirit of the Wolf

by Susan Mallery

  When he could no longer avoid the inevitable, he turned his attention on the woman and the boy. They sat together at the big kitchen table. Ruth sat with her back to him. He saw her crisp white blouse tucked into a dark skirt. Her long hair had been pulled back in a thick braid. Something hot coiled in his belly as he recalled what it had felt like to unfasten that braid and run his hands through her silky hair.

  She sat straight and proud—still slender. She hadn’t turned to face him, but he knew she was beautiful. Eyes the color of chocolate. Honey-colored skin. A full mouth so tempting it had taken every bit of willpower not to kiss her the first time he’d seen her.

  Zeke knelt on the chair next to hers, watching intently as she spooned biscuits onto a pan. There was trust in the way the boy leaned close. Trust and an ease he’d never had around Marie.

  This is what he’d wanted, Caleb thought as pain filled his chest. This is what he could never have.

  Suddenly there was anger. Anger that she’d left and anger that she’d dared to return. He didn’t need her pity or her gentle ways. She’d said she didn’t want to live in his world. So what the hell was she doing here now?

  CHAPTER TWO

  ZEKE SHIFTED in his seat, then grinned and jumped to his feet. “Pa!”

  Ruth felt herself stiffen as once again she found it impossible to breathe. Caleb. She started to turn in her chair, then stopped—frozen by fear. What would she see on his face and in his eyes? How could she have simply shown up in his house after all this time?

  “This is Ruth,” Zeke was saying. “She’s a Cheyenne, at least half Cheyenne. I was there today and she’s real nice. She came back with me when I told her that you didn’t make very good biscuits and John—that’s her brother—said she would stay until the new housekeeper arrived.”

  As the boy spoke, she gathered together her shreds of courage. She had survived much in her twenty-eight years of life…surely she could survive seeing Caleb again.

  She rose and turned to face father and son. Even as Zeke continued to chatter, Caleb’s steady gaze settled on her. His gray-blue eyes were still the color of a winter storm. The lines around his mouth had deepened. He was a tall, strong man—honed by the hard land and the difficult task of raising cattle. She saw the changes in him. The wariness in his expression, the ease with which he drew his son to him. She saw the things that were the same. The hint of a dimple, even though he wasn’t smiling and the heat of desire long denied but still alive within him.

  She’d thought he might yell, telling her that she had no right to be here. Not after she’d refused him all those years ago. Instead, he simply spoke her name.

  “Hello, Ruth.”

  “Caleb.”

  Her lips barely formed the words. There were only a few feet between them, yet she felt as if they were on opposite ends of the world. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she found herself wishing he would open his arms to her and draw her close. She needed the comfort that only he could give. Yet he didn’t offer and, of course, she didn’t ask.

  He glanced around the kitchen. “You shouldn’t have to see the ranch house like this. You remember it being nicer.”

  She nodded. “But I know you haven’t had a housekeeper out here in several months.”

  “Sarah left when her sister was widowed. I’ve sent for someone. She should arrive by the end of the week, this one or next.”

  “Zeke told me. I thought I could help out until then.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about Marie.”

  At her words, his expression closed. He rested his hand on his son’s slender shoulder. “Tully’s finishing up with the horses for the day. Aren’t you supposed to help him?”

  Zeke looked as if he were going to protest, but then he nodded and headed for the mud room. “When is dinner going to be ready?” he asked her.

  “Not for another half hour. You have time to complete your chores.”

  He shot his father a grin. “Ruth made cobbler with the last of the dried fruit.”

  “Then bring in some cream when you come back to the house.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The back door slammed as the boy ran toward the barn. Ruth smoothed her hands on her skirt.

  “Caleb, I know this is a surprise for you,” she said quickly, needing to make him understand what had happened. “Zeke came to the village today. He was running away. Something about a new schoolteacher.”

  “He’s not too fond of the idea of learning to read and do his numbers.”

  “So I gathered.” She stared at the center of his broad chest, not able to look him in the eye. “John set him to work scraping a hide, which is a difficult enough task to make anyone want to return home. When Zeke finally admitted school might not be so horrible, he also mentioned that you and he had been without a housekeeper for some time. John suggested I fill in until your new one arrives. He thought it would be a way for me to thank you…for what you did.” She cleared her throat. “Back all those years ago.”

  “What did you think?”

  She didn’t know what to think. Standing here in the Kincaid family kitchen, she felt as if nothing had changed. It was once again nine years ago and her foolish young woman’s heart had fallen in love. She’d allowed herself to dream about what might have been, until she’d remembered her responsibility to her people. Her destiny was to heal those in need. Being a wife and mother was someone else’s destiny.

  “I’m pleased to have the opportunity to repay my debt,” she said formally.

  “Is that what I am? A debt?”

  She forced herself to look into his face. “That’s not what I meant, Caleb.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  At least she had an honest answer for that question. “I don’t know. If you want me to leave, I will. Otherwise, I’ll stay until the new housekeeper arrives.”

  Emotions flashed through his eyes, but she couldn’t read them. Instead of responding, he simply shrugged as if her decision didn’t matter to him one way or the other. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving her standing in a place of both past and present, wondering how she’d ever thought she had forgotten what it was like to love Caleb Kincaid.

  * * *

  “PA, RUTH SAYS she can teach me my letters,” Zeke said as he stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed before continuing the familiar argument. “And if you teach me my numbers, then I don’t need to go to school. Right?”

  Caleb tried to concentrate on his son’s words, when every part of his being was intensely aware of the woman sitting across from him at the freshly scrubbed kitchen table.

  Instead of chili from the bunkhouse, they were dining on stew and fresh biscuits. The sugary smell of the baking cobbler filled the kitchen. The counters were clean, the dishes washed and put away. But even those unusual circumstances weren’t enough to keep him from thinking of Ruth.

  She was so damn beautiful. He found himself wishing she’d grown ugly in their time apart. But he had a bad feeling that all the ugly in the world wouldn’t take away his wanting. She had always been able to ignite the fire within him with just a look or the sway of her hips. Now she had returned, and breathing in her sweet scent made him ache with longing.

  Nearly as powerful as the need was the anger. He resented being reminded of how he’d once cared for her. How he’d been a fool, offering marriage. She refused him and had left the same day. Left him wondering what he’d done wrong.

  “School is important,” Ruth said in her quiet voice. “A measure of a man is more than strength and experience. The measure of a man is taken by what he knows of his people and his world.”

  “I know most everything ’bout the ranch,” Zeke announced before gathering up another spoonful of the stew. “Hank’s teaching me ’bout putting the right bull with the heifers and Tully’s teaching me how to repair tack. We’re working on a saddle right now.”

  “There’s more to the world than the ranch,” sh
e pointed out. “You need to know about other places and times.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s important to use your mind,” Caleb told his son. “When you grow up and inherit the ranch, you’ll probably head East to buy breeding stock. You don’t want those fancy East Coast breeders to think you’re stupid.”

  “They won’t. I’m real smart.”

  Before he could stop himself, Caleb exchanged a look of affection and exasperation with Ruth. She smiled as if to say Zeke was a handful, but worth the effort. The shared moment cut through him like a freshly honed blade, leaving him to bleed to death from the inside. He didn’t want to share anything with Ruth. Not now. Not ever. He should tell her to get the hell out of his house.

  Yet he didn’t speak the words. And when his son finished his supper and carried the plate over to the sink, then announced he had to head out to the barn to help Tully with the saddle, Caleb didn’t stop him. The back door slammed again and he and Ruth were alone.

  Silence stretched between them. He found himself staring at the way the lantern light gleamed on her dark hair. She kept her gaze on her plate, allowing him to study her smooth skin and the fullness of her mouth.

  She looked older than she had the last time she’d been in this house. Mature. “It’s been nine years and you never married.”

  He spoke the words he’d only meant to think. She glanced up. Color stained her honey-colored cheeks.

  “I couldn’t. I’m a healer.”

  “There’s nothing in the history of the Cheyenne that makes marriage forbidden.”

  “I can’t explain it more than saying I believe deep in my soul that my duty is to be a healer. For me that means staying there—I can’t divide my heart by marrying. That’s why I couldn’t marry you.”

  She’d said the same thing when he’d proposed. He hadn’t believed her back then, either. “I thought you were just afraid. Not that I blamed you. After what happened.”

  Something dark and ugly flared in her eyes. She ducked her head. “It wasn’t that.”

  “But you were afraid. If not of me, then of my world.”

  She shrugged. “Your world is not a place I feel comfortable. I prefer living with my people.”

  “You’re only half Cheyenne.”

  She looked at him. “I have embraced their ways and their traditions. In all that matters, I am only Cheyenne. You never saw that because you wanted me to be like you.”

  “No. I simply wanted you.”

  He hated the remembering. He knew exactly how she kissed. So tentative at first, then with a growing passion. He knew the feel of her lips on his, the taste of her, the small sounds she made when passion threatened to overwhelm her.

  She sat across from him—where his wife had sat, and his mother before her. He had imagined Ruth in that chair so many times. Now that she was here, it was too late. He was old enough to know there were no second chances, and dreams about them were only for fools.

  * * *

  RUTH PUT the last of the dishes away in the cupboard. She could hear voices coming from Caleb’s study. The sound of his low voice followed by his son’s laughter. Their obvious love and affection made her feel out of place in the ranch house. She had no place here; Caleb had made it clear he didn’t want her help or her company. So why was she staying? Shouldn’t she simply leave in the morning? The new housekeeper would arrive soon. If Caleb and Zeke had survived this long on their own, what was a few more days?

  She closed the cupboard door, then made her way to the kitchen table. She sat down and wrapped her hands around a mug of fresh coffee. Why was she surprised that Caleb wasn’t happy to see her? Had she secretly expected him to welcome her with open arms?

  She searched her heart looking for truth and found only confusion. Perhaps she had been hoping he would be happy to see her. Now that he wasn’t, she didn’t know what to do. He was a different man than the one she remembered. There was an air of sadness about him. Was that because of the loss of his wife? Marie had only been gone a few months. If theirs had been a love match…

  She sipped her coffee and tried not to think about the fact that Caleb had married and fathered a child within a few months of his proposing to her. At the time she’d wondered if he’d ever cared about her at all, or had simply decided it was time to marry and start a family. Maybe he’d never loved her. She hated thinking that could be true, but she had to consider the proof in front of her. Zeke was a charming child who was impossible to ignore. Maybe—

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  She glanced up and saw Caleb standing in the doorway. “Where’s Zeke?”

  “I put him to bed. He always complains that he’s not tired, but then he’s snoring before I get the door closed.” Pride filled his blue-gray eyes and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “He’s a fine boy,” Ruth told him. “He spoke very highly of you.”

  Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Even when he was running away?”

  “You have to know that was about his unwillingness to go to school.”

  He nodded. “I guess every boy would rather be out riding horses than in a schoolroom learning lessons. I don’t doubt I complained when I had to attend.”

  “And your son is very much like you.”

  “I hope so.”

  His statement surprised her, but before she could question him or figure out what he’d meant, he repeated what he’d said before.

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  She rose and walked toward him. When they were close enough for her to feel the heat of him, she drew in a deep breath.

  “It was a mistake for me to come,” she told him. “I see that now. John’s suggestion that I repay my debt to your family by offering help surprised me so much that I didn’t consider what it might mean. I know you want me to leave, and I will do so in the morning.”

  He gazed down at her. He was strong and powerful. Perhaps she should have been afraid, but she couldn’t be. Not of Caleb. He’d always been so kind to her. Gentle. Understanding. She wondered if time had destroyed that part of him.

  His gaze darkened, and for the first time she saw the wounds within him. Deep, unrelenting pain filled his being and she nearly cried out as she felt its coldness touch the edge of her soul. Mortal wounds, she thought, shivering slightly. What was their cause? The death of his wife?

  “Stay or not,” he said, turning away. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Without thinking, she touched his shoulder to stop him. “How can you say that? You’re obviously uncomfortable having me around.”

  He spun back to face her, breaking the physical contact between them. “Can you blame me? Nine years ago, I asked you to marry me. Not only did you refuse me with a ridiculous story about staying pure for your healing, you left that same day. As if you couldn’t stand the sight of me. In all this time you’ve never once come to the ranch or spoken with me. When I’ve had business with your brother, you’ve always managed to be gone. So what the hell are you doing here now?”

  His raw anger washed over her like lye, burning her, making her wish she’d stayed quiet. Why had she come? Was it about her debt or something else?

  “I can’t answer that.” She forced herself to look into his blazing eyes. “I don’t know why. But now that I’m here—” she paused and drew in a breath “—perhaps I should stay.” She could see that there was healing to be done between them. This might be her only opportunity to right the wrong she’d created by her impulsive behavior when she’d left the last time.

  He shrugged and started walking. She followed him up the stairs, confused by her own indecision and his fury. So many emotions still boiling between them. So many questions.

  They moved down a hallway. There were three open doors, one on the left and two on the right. He entered the former, pushing the door wider. She hesitated until he’d lit a lantern sitting on a small table, then she stepped into the room.

  She’d expected him
to show her to the small guest room she’d occupied during her last stay. She remembered the pretty floral wallpaper and the four-poster bed that had been so cozy. Instead she stepped into a large room filled with expensive carved furniture, including a dressing table with an oval mirror. Dozens of pillows covered the oversize bed. Lace flounces decorated the window coverings. There were bottles of perfumes and other cosmetics, paintings of horses and portraits of people she’d never seen before.

  Ruth could not imagine Caleb living in such feminine splendor, and Caleb didn’t have any sisters. Which meant…

  “This was Marie’s room.” He spoke the words without giving away what he was thinking. “I cleaned out most of her things a few weeks ago and aired everything. It’s the only room ready for company. The guest room hasn’t been touched in a couple of years, and I didn’t think you’d be comfortable in my bed.”

  She knew he meant that she would be in his bed without him. But his words painted a picture of them together, under the blankets. She could almost feel him touching her, kissing her, taking her and making her his own. She should have been frightened or appalled by the thought, yet she was not. If anything, the sudden trembling of her thighs came from anticipation not disgust.

  “Your wife had her own room?”

  He glanced around and nodded. “Marie never adjusted to living in Montana. Having this helped her deal with her change in circumstances. Will you mind sleeping here?”

  Ruth was not afraid of Marie’s ghost. She had always found the spirits of the recently departed to be kindly, lost souls eager to be on their way.

  “The room is very elegant,” she told him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

  He hesitated, but all he said was, “Good night.”

  He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Ruth crossed the floor to press her fingers against the wood. She listened to his footsteps in the hall, then the sound of his own door closing.