by Ciana Stone
The wolf growled menacingly as Chance advanced on her with eyes blazing. “I don’t think so. Your business here is finished. Now get out!”
Iris looked up at Chance for a moment then at the wolf who had silently inched closer. The fur on his back was bristled and his ears were flat against his skull. After a moment she stood and looked at Wyatt who was holding his head in his hands and breathing hard. “Darling, give me a call when you finish with Miss Porter. You know where to find me.”
Chance glared at her as she gathered up her purse and keys and carefully walked to the door. The wolf watched her leave as Chance ran to kneel down in front of Wyatt. “Wyatt? Wyatt, listen to me. You can push him back. Please, you have to. I love you, Wyatt. I need you here with me. Please, don’t let his rage overpower you. Think about how much we’ve gone through to get here—all the years we wasted. Don’t let him rob us of any more time. I love you, Wyatt. Please, do it for me.”
For several moments emotions played on his face—rage and bitterness battling with tenderness and love. Abruptly he howled, jumped up and pushed her back. She bounded to her feet as he picked up the chair he had been sitting in and hurled it. It flew across the room and crashed into the wall.
The wolf bounded up and howled as she grabbed Wyatt’s arm and he whirled, slinging her around. She screamed as she was tossed to the floor. “Wyatt! You have to try harder!”
In the middle of picking up a table he stopped and looked down at her. He dropped the table and pounced like an animal. Chance grunted as he landed on her, pinning her to the floor. The wolf snarled and moved closer.
“Wa’ya, no!” She panted to breathe under Wyatt’s weight as she looked at the wolf. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt me.” She tried to speak as calmly as she could. “Wyatt, please try to hear me. You can push him back. You’re stronger than he is. Don’t let him out.”
He bared his teeth in more of a snarl than a smile and she reached to take his face in her hands. But he grabbed them and slammed them down on the floor. Chance was afraid that Wyatt was losing the fight and that made her fear for her own safety. She didn’t think she could fight the Warrior.
In desperation she did the only thing she could think of. She surrendered. “I won’t fight you, Wyatt. I can’t. You’re all that matters to me—all that I love.”
His expression changed slightly and gave her hope. She continued to speak softly to him, expressing her love. Little by little his face lost its hardness.
“Chance,” he rasped.
“Wyatt.” She pulled him down on her and wrapped her arms around him.
He gathered her in his arms and held on to her tightly. The wolf moved to lie beside them. For a long time there was only the sound of their hearts beating in time with one another and the soft breath of the wolf. Wyatt pushed back to look at her and she smiled and touched his face. “It’s over. You won.”
“The battle maybe,” he replied. “But I’m afraid we still have to face the war.”
* * * * *
Iris’ fury was in full bloom by the time she reached the hotel. Slamming the door hard enough to jar the walls, she threw her purse across the room then flung herself down on the bed with a scream of rage. “Chance Davenport!” She spat the name like trying to get rid of a bad taste in her mouth. “The princess herself—fucking snobby, high-brow bitch!”
She grabbed a pillow, shoved it under her head and stared at the ceiling through narrowed eyes. She had been caught off guard by Chance’s appearance at Wyatt’s. When Larry Horton had contacted her on his client’s behalf, he had said that his client’s name was Porter, a producer for CNN who wished to remain anonymous in the Cherokee’s legal action. Iris had not let on to Larry that she knew who the client was. Just as she had not let on that she knew Chance was posing as Daven Porter.
Iris wondered now if she should have told Greg the truth. She had informed him that her client, Porter, was siding with the Indians and for him to be extremely careful if he was approached by her. Iris had anticipated Chance attempting to get information on the Holling family and knew there was no better fish to fry than Greg. With his reputation for being a playboy of sorts and unable to resist chasing skirts, he made an ideal target. She had also anticipated the approach Chance would use, pretending to be sympathetic with the rich white citizens and in favor of stopping the casino project.
Now she considered that possibly she should rethink her plans. She could have to consider whether Greg really needed to know the truth or whether it would hamper her plans. A smile crossed her face for a moment. She thought about it carefully and made up her mind. She would leave things as they were for the time being.
Once that was no longer on her mind she turned her attention to the encounter at Wyatt’s. Chance was not exactly what she had expected. Tonight was the first time they had ever met face-to-face. She had never thought that Chance would have so much fire. She had always imagined her as a pasty-faced, little hothouse plant who was weak and spoiled and cared more for shopping sprees and teas at the club than being involved in a situation like what was happening here.
But Chance didn’t appear to be anything like that. Not only did she seem strong and confident, she was rich and beautiful. All of the things Iris had wished to be all her life. All the hate she felt for Chance had manifested in a red flood of malice the moment she saw her and now it continued to boil and bubble.
“And just how involved is she with Wyatt?” Iris asked herself aloud.
The information she had on Chance indicated that she had not had any contact with Wyatt in three years. And according to her sources their last meeting ended on less than friendly terms. So why were they together now?
“Shit!” She jolted upright. “The white woman with the wolves! It was her, it had to be. She had a wolf with her tonight. That’s who Wyatt was talking about when he said he wasn’t alone. But why was she with a wolf? It doesn’t make sense. She’s just a rich, spoiled city girl.”
Iris got up to retrieve her mother’s diary then sat down again, holding it against her chest. For a long time she didn’t move. Then a smile began to slowly form on her face. She just might be able to use this surprise development to her advantage. Laying the diary on the bed, she got her purse from the floor and took out her cell phone. After three rings a man answered. “Holling residence. How may I help you?”
“Greg Holling, please.”
“I am very sorry but Mr. Holling is not here at present. May I take a message?”
“No, thank you, but perhaps you can tell me when you expect him.”
“I’m not certain. He is with his father and they did not indicate what time they would return. May I say who called?”
“No, I’ll catch up with him later,” she said and ended the call. “Damn! Just like a man. Never there when you need them!”
She started to put the phone down then changed her mind. Dialing another number, she waited for an answer, running her hand over the diary.
“Yes?” a male voice came over the line.
“Are you watching the skies?” she whispered in a voice low enough to be a growl. “The storm’s coming—it’s coming for you. Prepare for the end.”
“Who is this?” the man demanded in an anxious tone.
“The architect of your destruction,” she whispered and hung up. Tossing the phone aside she threw herself back on the bed and laughed wildly. If anyone had walked by her door they would have thought she sounded quite insane.
* * * * *
Wyatt followed Chance in his father’s truck. She had been tight-jawed and fist clenched when she got in her jeep to head for his father’s house. The wolf had gone with her and rode with his head hung out of the window.
He didn’t understand what had happened with Iris Waters. He would be the first to admit that she was an extremely attractive woman. But he was not sexually attracted to her. Her sexuality was too visible and blatant for his taste. And yet part of him had responded to her against his will.
But was it really me? he asked himself. Could it be that the other inside him was who had responded and Wyatt was just swept along? He had no time to ponder the question further because Chance was stopping beside his father’s house.
She got out and held the seat back so the wolf could get out. Kneeling down she spoke softly to it. The wolf licked her face then ran for the forest. She watched it then rose and walked around to the back of the house. Wyatt caught up with her as she was opening the door. John looked up from where he was sitting at the table, watching television on the small black-and-white set on the counter. One look at Chance’s face and he stood. “What’s wrong?”
Chance looked at him for a moment then turned away. “You’ll have to ask Wyatt that.”
John watched her walk down the hall to the bathroom then looked at Wyatt. “Son?”
Wyatt sat down at the table and put his elbows down, propping his forehead in his hands for a second or two. “I wish I knew myself,” he said softly. “All I can tell you is that this-this thing inside me tried to take over again.”
John sat down hard with a fearful look in his eyes. “And?”
“And luckily Chance got there in time to stop it.”
John sighed and stared at Wyatt who was staring back miserably. Chance walked back in the room and sat down at the table. John watched her for a moment as she stared down at her hands in her lap. “Is there something else?”
She looked up at him then turned to Wyatt. Wyatt looked down at the table. “Iris was there, Dad. She…well, she sort of came on to me.”
Chance snorted and jumped up to rush out the back door. John’s eyes flew open wide in surprise. He opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it and shook his head.
“What?” Wyatt asked, turning his eyes from the door.
“Wyatt, I’ve tried real hard not to interfere in your life but I can’t hold my tongue this time. I don’t know what happened with you and Miss Waters and to tell you the truth I probably don’t want to. But I do know that you can’t afford to screw things up with Chance, because sure as sunrise that’s what she is—your best and maybe only chance. Take some advice just this once from your old man. Real love’s as hard to find as rain in the desert. When you find it you better hang on to it with your life. Don’t blow this, Wyatt. For all our sakes, but for your own most of all. Now go out there and talk to her.”
Wyatt nodded and stood up. “Thanks, Dad. I think maybe I should take her on home. We have some things to work out. Sorry about dinner.”
John waved his hand. “Forget it. You go on now.”
Wyatt walked outside. He didn’t see Chance. He looked in the Jeep but it was empty so he returned to the backyard, walking toward the shelter of trees that bordered the grass. Then he saw her. Standing just inside the cover of the trees with Tsali.
“I understand,” Chance said. “But he’s not a child anymore, Tsali, and sooner or later he has to be told the truth.”
“That is true. In the beginning the family could not bring themselves to tell him. There was fear as to what it would do to him. Later, it was just easier to try and forget it. And John was afraid of what would happen if Wyatt found out.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been much worse than what’s happened already, could it?” Chance exclaimed then closed her eyes and sighed. “Besides,” she opened her eyes, “the first step to solving any problem is recognizing that there is one.”
“And do you? Do you recognize it?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve seen it up close and personal.”
Tsali took her hand in his. “I am glad you have realized your destiny, my child. It is a hard task you face but you must do whatever it takes to guide him to the light of truth.”
Chance squeezed his hand. “I’ll try, Tsali. I promise you I’ll do everything I can. I do love him—more than anything.”
“That I know as well. But now you must go. He is waiting.”
Chance turned and saw Wyatt watching them. She released Tsali’s hand and walked to him.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She nodded without reply and walked to the Jeep, getting in the passenger seat. Wyatt got in behind the wheel and started the engine. In silence they started the trip home.
* * * * *
Winston Holling and his son, Greg, walked into Sheriff Tom Smith’s office unannounced. “I want to know why that murderous bastard isn’t behind bars!” Winston demanded.
Tom looked up at him with annoyance. “I don’t believe I’m obligated to report the progress of any of this office’s investigations to you, Mr. Holling. But I am glad you and your son are here. It saves me the effort of having him brought in.”
“For what?” Winston barked.
“Questioning,” Tom said and gestured to the two straight-backed wooden chairs across the room. “In the murder of Jimmy Martin. You see, there seems to be some discrepancies between your son’s statement as to his whereabouts during the time of the murder and that of eyewitnesses to the event. I have statements from twenty people who all swear it was Greg who pulled the trigger on the gun that killed Jimmy Martin.”
Winston’s face was suffused bright red. He glared malevolently at Tom then puffed up his chest. “This is an outrage! Not only are you allowing a psychotic killer like Wyatt Wolfe to run around loose but you have the audacity to suggest that my son is a liar! I should have you brought up on charges yourself.”
Tom didn’t let Winston’s tirade rattle him. “I don’t think you’d get far with that, sir. And that’s beside the point anyway. As I said, I have statements from—”
“Yes, I know! Twenty people—or should I say, twenty Indians. Let me refresh your memory a bit. Your deputies took statements from more than thirty people who have sworn that my son was at home during that time. We were having a party. Now, considering the fact that these people are members of the highest standing in our community, just who are you going to believe? A bunch of drunk Indians or upstanding prominent—”
“Mr. Holling, I really don’t have the time or inclination to listen to this. Now, would you like to proceed or would you prefer to have your attorney present?”
Winston blew out his breath in exasperation and pulled a cellular phone from his jacket. Unfolding it he dialed. “Ronald? Winston here. My son and I are in Sheriff Smith’s office and I think you’d better get over here. He has some ludicrous notion that Greg is involved in that Indian’s death… Yes, of course. Goodbye.”
He folded the phone and replaced it in his pocket. “My attorney will be here within the hour.”
Tom nodded and stood up. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go round up a stenographer.”
He walked out and Winston turned to Greg, holding out the phone. “You call your boys and tell them to find Wyatt Wolfe. I want him found and I want it done now!”
Greg took the phone. “What do you want done with him.”
Winston smiled coldly. “I don’t give a fat shit—no, I think I want to see him behind bars. Tell them they can rough him up but I want him dumped alive in front of the jail by dawn.”
Greg smiled and started to dial. “Let’s just hope Ronald gets his ass over here fast. I don’t want to miss all the fun.”
* * * * *
Chance took a seat on the couch. “Wyatt, there’s something else we have to talk about. Something that might be very difficult for you.”
Looking up at him, she didn’t say any more. He felt a stab of anxiety run through him at her words. “What?”
“It’s about what happens to you.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “The other one inside you. I know who it is.”
Wyatt felt like his heart had stopped. For one moment the entire universe came to a grinding halt. “You know?” he finally caught his breath enough to ask.
“Yes, and it’s time you knew.”
“I don’t want to hear this, do I?”
“No, probably not. It’s probably going to hurt—a lot. B
ut it may be the only thing that will let you fight the other and win.”
Wyatt stared at her for a moment then nodded. “So tell me.”
She moved closer to him, holding his hands tightly. “Do you remember your childhood here?”
“Sure, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Just bear with me, okay? Exactly how far back do you remember—to when you were eight, six, five years old?”
Wyatt frowned. He could remember being in the third grade. At eight years old he was the tallest boy in his class. Everyone used to pick on him and call him names like beanpole because he was so tall and skinny. “Of course,” he answered as soon as the memory came to him. “I remember being eight and being too tall and too skinny. I can remember being six and riding the bus for the first time and…”
His voice failed and he looked at her with dread. “And then nothing. I can’t remember anything past that.” Letting go of her hands, he stood up and paced back and forth in front of the couch. “Chance, I can’t remember! I can’t even remember starting school. Just riding the bus and it being spring.” She nodded and held out her hand to him. “Why can’t I remember?” He ignored her hand.
“Please.” She reached for him. “Sit down.”
He did as she asked and looked at her expectantly. “Wyatt, do you remember telling me you couldn’t understand why your parents named you Une’ga-dihi?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…” she hesitated and took a deep breath. “They didn’t. That was a name you took for yourself right after your mother was killed. Your birth name was Wyatt Iskagua Wolfe.”
“Clear Sky?” he asked in disbelief. “You’re crazy. My name has always been—”
“No,” she interrupted gently. “It wasn’t, Wyatt. Une’ga-dihi was not your name. It was your brother’s.”
Wyatt’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “My-my brother? Have you lost your mind? I don’t have a brother!”
“Not anymore. But you did, once. His name was Walker and he was your twin.”
