Call of the White Wolf

by Carol Finch

  “So…that kiss Tara gave you that day at the table was her way of saying she likes you.” Calvin spoke up as he kicked dirt around the post, then stamped it with his boot heel.

  “Exactly,” John replied.

  “But you didn’t kiss her back,” Derek remarked. “Does that mean you don’t like her? How can you not? She’s the nicest, prettiest woman I know.”

  “Of course I like her. She’s also the nicest, prettiest woman I know.”

  “Then how come you don’t haul off and kiss her every once in a while?” Samuel demanded.

  “Yeah, how come?” the other children chorused.

  “I don’t know, maybe I was afraid the lot of you would be protective of her and you wouldn’t approve of my liking her.”

  “Not approve?” Derek hooted. “We were trying to—” He snapped his jaw shut. “We like you, too, John.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He grinned wryly, knowing Derek had caught himself before he exposed the fact that the children had been matchmaking. “But there will be no kissing among us men, you understand. A hug occasionally, a handshake, but I draw the line at that.”

  The children giggled, and John enjoyed a moment’s reprieve from the barrage of awkward and embarrassing questions.

  “So…what do bees have to do with making babies?”

  John winced. Flora—the child with the one-track mind—refused to allow him to get sidetracked. He should’ve known.

  “Learning about birds and bees is just an expression,” John replied, feeling the heat rise to his neck. “It’s a tactful way of mentioning making babies or, er, making love without being blunt about saying it.” He could feel his cheeks grow hotter beneath his tan.

  He noticed work had screeched to a halt. Five upturned faces honed in on him. Ah, jeez, he couldn’t remember a single word of his speech. Frantically, he scrambled to gather his wits.

  “A man and woman who care deeply for each other, who intend to build a life together, communicate their love in a physical way.”

  “Like with kisses?” Maureen asked.

  “Er…yes. Lots of kisses, lots of hugs,” John said, willing his voice not to falter. “A man and woman prove their love by giving themselves to each other, um, physically and emotionally and spiritually.”

  “How does that work?” Calvin asked.

  John felt the crimson blush working its way up to stain his hairline. “You know a man and woman are made differently.”

  Five heads bobbed.

  John struggled to draw breath. Damn, facing down a gang of outlaws was easier than facing five inquisitive gazes. “Men and women are made to fit together as one in order to share their love and create another life that’s an expression of the lifelong bond between them.”

  Derek stared straight at him. “Maybe some folks feel that way, but not my folks. They didn’t want me.”

  Oh damn, thought John. He was facing five children who couldn’t relate to the concept he’d explained because they’d been discarded, rejected and abandoned. “Sometimes things don’t work out the proper way,” he murmured as he set another post in place. “Sometimes people get caught up in the pleasure of loving and ignore the responsibility of a child. They are too selfish to accept the baby they create. In that case, we are better off somewhere else, with someone who truly cares about us.”

  “Like Tara does,” Flora stated.

  “Like Tara,” he confirmed. “She doesn’t care how you came to be, doesn’t care what circumstances made it impossible for you to remain with the parents who created you. She wants you for what you mean to her, because each of you is special to her. Someday you’ll go out into the world and find someone you care deeply about. In turn, you’ll create a child you’ll be prepared to sacrifice for, provide for and commit to building a good life for. You’ll know all those things that make a child happy by remembering how Tara treated and cared for you.”

  “I’m told my parents had no choice in the matter,” Calvin said quietly. “They died.”

  “I expect they’re smiling down on you right now,” John assured him. “I bet they’re awfully glad Tara is here to love you as they wish they could.”

  “I wish you could marry Tara and be our papa,” Flora declared.

  John hunkered down, then drew Flora onto his knee. “I know you do, half-pint. But I left a job undone. I have a duty to fulfill. Nothing would make me happier than staying here with all of you, but I made a solemn promise I must keep. That’s what honor and integrity are all about.”

  Flora flung her arms around his neck and held on tight. “But I love you, Zohn Whoof! I want you to stay here and be my papa!”

  John’s heart twisted in his chest and a lump the size of Arizona Territory clogged his throat. He held little Flora to him and silently wished he could be two places at once. Actually, three would be even better. “I love you, too, squirt. Always will. So will your brothers and sisters.”

  “Will you come back to visit?” Samuel asked, willfully blinking back the tears swimming in his gray eyes.

  “That’s a promise,” John told the children. “You’re my family now.”

  They were, too. That was a fact. He had every intention of swinging by Paradise Valley to see the children…and Tara. He’d come bearing gifts. For certain, he wasn’t doing anything with the stockpile of cash he kept in the bank at Prescott. The salary and rewards he collected from apprehending criminals wasn’t of any use to him while he was on the trail. In fact, he could provide a nest egg for each child when he or she was ready to venture out into the world. That sudden inspiration gave him a feeling of satisfaction, of purpose.

  “Yoo-hoo. Anybody around here want some lunch?”

  John and the children wheeled around to see Tara, smiling brightly, carrying a basket in each hand.

  “Where have you been all morning?’ Maureen asked.

  Tara shrugged lackadaisically. “Doing a little of this and that. I took a bath at one of the springs, then whipped up a hearty meal. Anyone hungry?”

  The children dropped their tools and dashed toward her. Her curious gaze darted over their heads to focus on John. She smiled impishly at him and he grinned stupidly. He wondered if the children realized he’d been thoroughly appeased last night. It was probably written all over his face.

  “John told us about the bees and birds,” Calvin remarked as he dug into one of the reed baskets.

  “Did he?” Tara managed to keep a straight face, but her eyes twinkled with wicked amusement.

  John scowled at her. He never wanted to go through that again.

  “Yeah, we know how it works,” Flora added with all the worldly sophistication of a confident five-year-old. “Do you know?”

  Tara darted John a conspiratorial glance. “I’ve learned a thing or two about it, yes.”

  John’s face again bloomed with color. He lurched around to drop the remaining fence posts in the holes. Tara, as it turned out, had taught him a thing—or three—about the art of passion. For a while there, John wasn’t sure who’d been the student and who’d been the instructor. If this inventive, passionate female learned much more, John wasn’t sure he could survive it. She’d nearly been the death of him a couple of times last night.

  Tara joined them after lunch to erect the fence for the horses. When the task was completed, Derek and Samuel dug postholes for the adjacent corral that would contain the sheep. With synchronized precision the children strung and secured the wire, then turned to John to inquire what they were going to do next.

  “Time to practice survival tactics,” he announced as he gathered up the tools and stacked them by the large mound of stones Tara had used previously to mark off the perimeter of the fence. “You’re going to learn how to disappear into thin air.”

  Maureen frowned, bemused. “You’re going to make us invisible? How do you do that?”

  John winked playfully at her. “Old Apache trick. You rely on cunning and deception, especially when you’re outnumbered. It’s called g
oing to ground.”

  Tara stared in astonishment as John dropped down on all fours in the tall grass. He wiggled one foot and then the other backward. He contorted his upper body into a ball, ducked his head, then wormed beneath the blades of grass so that he was lying in the grass, not on top of it. Likewise, he speared his arms outward and buried them under the thick clumps. Sure enough, he became invisible, especially since he was wearing brown clothing that matched the dirt beneath him.

  The children were properly impressed, as was Tara. If ever trouble rode toward her, while going to and from town, she would know what to do to conceal herself. The same went for the children.

  “Now it’s your turn to try,” John’s disembodied voice announced. “Legs first, then head, shoulders and arms. Do it in slow motion to get the hang of it.”

  The children scattered to find thick grass clumps. John rose to his feet, keeping his back turned while the children made themselves invisible. Then he spun Tara around with him.

  “We’re going to try to find you when you’re hidden,” he called to them. “Most folks have a tendency to take a path through shorter grasses, which is why you bury yourself in the tall stuff. Even if Tara or I walk within inches of you, don’t make a sound. Don’t move, except to retract an arm or leg if we come too close to your hiding place.”

  Tara and John spun around, seeing nothing but pasture grass waving gently in the breeze. It was difficult to find five children sprawled somewhere ahead of them. She and John hiked forward, but the children didn’t make a peep that called attention to their hiding places. When John praised their efforts, five heads and beaming faces appeared above the grass.

  “Excellent job,” he congratulated them. “Now we come to the tricky part. Let’s say, for instance, that someone ventures so close to your hiding place that you’re about to be stepped on or you want to take advantage of the element of surprise. You grab the nearest leg to trip a man up, then go directly for his weapon. He’ll be too busy trying to catch his balance to react to your attack. But this,” he said earnestly, “is a last-resort technique. It’s best simply to let your enemy give up and go away.”

  Tara had to admit that when John instructed the children to hide a second time, she couldn’t react quickly enough to keep her balance when she ventured too close to one of the warriors-in-training. The ground came up at her with alarming speed. Her nose was smashed in the dirt when Calvin jerked her foot out from under her and tossed her off balance.

  She listened intently when John explained how to use the technique to attract wild game by tying a colorful strip of cloth to a nearby bush.

  “Deer and antelope are attracted to the cloth flapping in the breeze,” he told them. “At first the animals are wary, then curiosity gets the better of them. When they approach, the grass conceals your scent. You thrust your dagger upward to drop your game in its tracks without making a sound that might attract trouble.”

  Fascinated, Tara listened to John explain the clever skills of signaling with stones, which he claimed was better than smoke signals when you couldn’t be certain if unwanted intruders were nearby. He showed the children how wind, rain and erosion smoothed off the top of rocks. By turning them upside down, leaving the rough, discolored side showing, he marked a discreet path that an untrained eye might overlook.

  “Now then,” he said, motioning the children toward a grove of cottonwood trees, “hide your eyes and count to one hundred.”

  “I can’t count that far,” Flora grumbled.

  “Let Maureen count with you.”

  “Okay, but I won’t be left out of this new game, will I?” Flora asked.

  “Absolutely not, squirt. You’ll probably be the best player of all because you’re closer to the ground than the others and you can spot the stone signals easily. The others will be depending on you.”

  Tara smiled, impressed that John always seemed to know the right thing to say to make the children bream with pride and delight.

  “Irish and I are going to leave you a trail so you can find us. Now go!”

  The children dashed toward the trees, lickety-split.

  “Don’t be too obvious or turn stones that lie close together,” he instructed Tara. “I’m hoping for a good quarter of an hour of privacy.”

  She elevated a brow. “What are we going to do with our spare time?”

  He grinned rakishly and her heart thudded in response. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on this remarkable man.

  Leaving a trail of overturned stones, John led the way to one of the springs nestled beside a clump of willows. He abruptly swept Tara off her feet and devoured her with a kiss that made her toes curl.

  After more than two weeks of restraint she reveled in her chance to express her affection freely, knowing it was well received. And she was not, she vowed fiercely, going to waste one moment of privacy with John, because she knew how precious their stolen moments were. Every second was a jewel in a golden crown of incomparable memories she’d savor in the lonely weeks and months to come. She loved him, and there was nothing she wanted more than to keep him as her own forever. But she wouldn’t ask him to stay when she knew he had obligations elsewhere. She wouldn’t ask him to take responsibility for her family. She’d ask for nothing more than the chance to live each glorious moment they had together to the fullest.

  And so Tara offered her love in a steaming kiss and arousing caress, treasuring the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. She noticed John was feeling the effects of desire as much as she was, because he thrust his hips hungrily against her, letting her feel the evidence of his passion.

  “Damn, Irish,” he breathed heavily against her ear, “if we get caught crawling all over each other by those overly inquisitive kids, I’ll let you explain this time.”

  She gazed up at him in feigned innocence. “I thought you said the whole purpose of this rock hunt was to grant us privacy.”

  “Well, forget what I said. It was a bad idea. We don’t have time for all the things I want to do to you. Besides, I just gave the children a lecture on being responsible when it comes to making babies. Now I’m turning into a damn hypocrite.”

  Suddenly, he set her away from him and pivoted on his heels. “Go sit down…way over there.” His arm shot out to indicate that he wanted her out of reach. “I plan to ride into town at the end of the week to notify my supervisor that I’m alive and well. By then I should have most of the repairs and improvements made, and I’ll have taught the children enough survival techniques to practice until I return.”

  Tara knew the time had come to relay the information she’d overheard in Rambler Springs. “Raven and the other bandits robbed a ranch near Tucson last week and stole cattle and horses. Two cowboys died in the raid. According to the report in town, the general consensus is that renegade Indians have struck again. But since there was a war party of five, I suspect it’s the same gang you’re tracking.”

  He glanced up sharply and frowned. “Damn Raven. I don’t know what he’s trying to prove by letting those bandidos disguise themselves as Indians. He’s only making things difficult for the Apache, giving the military another excuse to cheat and steal and tighten security at the reservation. Those corrupt soldiers don’t need another excuse, damn it!”

  Tara frowned curiously. “How are the Apache being cheated?”

  He laughed harshly. “First off, agents tamper with the weights used to measure rations of flour, meat and beans so the weight appears to be twice what it actually is. Then they take half the food and sell it to settlers and miners and pocket the profit. Drunken soldiers use the power of their position to forcefully deflower Indian maidens. When a chief dares to complain, no charges are filed, no soldiers face court-martial.”

  Tara clenched her fists, knowing all too well the torment of encountering drunken men intent upon appeasing their lust. In addition, the thought of starving the Indians for financial gain outraged her.

  “Lately, outlaws have taken to invading
the reservation camps, killing unarmed Indians, stealing horse herds and whatever else they can carry off. The soldiers turn a blind eye to the incidents, because they think the fewer Indians left on the reservation, the less guard duty that will be required of them.”

  “Even annihilation is practiced on the reservation,” John added bitterly. “In fact, I suspect some of the soldiers are in cahoots with the outlaws and tell them when and where to murder and raid, in exchange for a cut of the profit.” He sighed heavily. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up wishing I could make more headway with the Bureau of Indian Affairs.”

  John cited example after example of atrocities against the Indians. Tara understood why he felt compelled to use his position as marshal to report these outrageous crimes, understood why he felt so frustrated that he was only one of too few advocates fighting to protect the Indians.

  All the more reason Tara couldn’t selfishly ask John to turn his back on the Apache and remain here in Paradise Valley. She and the children might not have much in the way of material possessions, but they weren’t being preyed upon, cheated or injured by vicious marauders.

  It was sad but true that, no matter how bad you thought you had it, someone else likely had it worse. Plus Tara was feeling more than a little guilty that she owned the deed to this ranch that had once been sacred Apache ground. She profited from the Apache’s misery. The thought tormented her, and she wasn’t sure how to make amends. The odds against the Indians seemed so insurmountable that she wondered how John dealt with his frustration.

  “We found you!” Calvin shouted as he limped through the trees.

  The other children filed along behind him, smiling in triumph.

  “Of course you did,” John said approvingly. “You are scouts of the first order, after all. Well done, troops.” He gestured to the rippling pool. “Help yourself to a drink, then we’ll gather our tools and head back to the cabin. It’s time for your school lessons.”

  Five faces scrunched up with displeasure.