Call of the White Wolf

by Carol Finch

  “From John, of course,” Maureen said, as if Tara ought to know.

  Ah, the guardian angel of Paradise Valley had struck again, she thought as she untied the twine. It seemed that John was trying to soothe his tormented conscience. Not only had he delivered horses, he’d brought them sacks of grain and, occasionally, bouquets of wildflowers. In addition, wild game, cleaned and dressed for cooking, arrived before mealtimes. The children often returned bearing gifts after their visits with John. And now this package. About the only thing that hadn’t shown up on Tara’s doorstep was John himself—the one thing Tara wanted most. All these gifts were no substitute for the man she needed and loved.

  “Oh my goodness!” Tara gasped in surprise when she spied the dazzling green satin gown, sensible blue calico dress and frothy petticoats.

  The girls oohed and aahed over the fashionable garments. The boys quickly assured Tara that she’d be the prettiest and best-dressed woman at the fandango scheduled for the upcoming weekend in Rambler Springs.

  Tara silently steamed.

  Did that idiotic man think fancy clothes, horses, food and flowers would appease her? How long would he harbor the ridiculous notion that she blamed him for her injuries? Tara’s annoyed thoughts screeched to a halt when she realized John would never forgive himself for what had happened.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered aloud.

  Samuel’s jaw dropped when he noticed her irritated expression. “You don’t like the dresses? You’ve never owned anything so fine in your life!”

  “Of course I like the dresses,” she grumbled. “What’s not to like?”

  “I was thinking the same thing myself,” Maureen commented, smiling.

  “I think Maureen and I should buy a green dress like yours so we can be the Three Muskatators, like the boys with their blue shirts,” Flora said.

  “Musketeers, half-pint,” Calvin corrected.

  Flora shrugged. “I’m going to buy a green dress with the money Zohn Whoof gave me.”

  “What money?” Tara demanded.

  “John gave us some of the reward money he received from rounding up those outlaws who abducted us,” Samuel explained.

  “John said he was going to use the rest of the money to buy food for the Apache at San Carlos. He said it seemed highly fitting, since those sneaky desperadoes dressed up like Indians to raid,” Derek added.

  “John also said he was going to take us to the reservation to meet Gray Eagle someday soon,” Calvin reported enthusiastically. “He got permission from the military commander to take some of the Indian boys with us to hunt so we can get to know each other better.”

  Ah, so John truly had decided to banish the prejudices of the whites and eliminate the bitterness of the Apache one child at a time, had he? She suspected the inspiration came from his attempt to teach these children Apache survival skills, and from his conflicts with his blood brother. It was John’s way of turning something harmful into something righteous.

  She did admire his clever strategy—even if the man was a complete imbecile!

  “John also said we could go to town today, with Maureen and Flora. They’ve been cleaning those houses and the church you didn’t want us to know you were cleaning for extra money,” Calvin said.

  Tara’s eyes widened in surprise as she glanced at Maureen. “How long have you been assuming my job in town?”

  “Since the first week you were recuperating. John said he knew you had a part-time job and you’d be expected. He said Flora and I were more than capable of doing the work, because we do such a fine job of spiffying up our cabin. John has been taking us to town every week.”

  “John said he’s made arrangements for Derek and Calvin and me to earn extra money at the blacksmith shop because we’ve gotten pretty good at working with horses,” Samuel stated proudly.

  John said this and John said that, she fumed. The man was working overtime behind the scenes, assuming responsibility while Tara recovered. Yet he was a coward, unable to face her because…because he cared what she thought of him. Because he was afraid her feelings had changed after he’d unintentionally shot her. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t allow her to forgive him because he couldn’t forgive himself….

  The epiphany caused her to jerk upright and scan the rocky precipices of the canyon, knowing John was out there somewhere. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

  “What’s-a-matter?” Flora questioned. “Are you feeling ill again?”

  Tara forced a smile. “I’m fine.” Or at least she would be shortly.

  “Since you’re going to town with John, I’d appreciate it if you’d put your bedrooms in order before you leave.”

  The children nodded agreeably.

  “Whatcha gonna do while we’re gone?” Flora asked curiously.

  “I’m going to the spring for a relaxing bath,” she said. “Then I’ll take a walk and, hopefully, become accustomed to being up and around again.”

  The children seemed satisfied that Tara wouldn’t be too lonely without them. Discussing what they intended to purchase with the money John had generously provided, they trooped off to tidy up their rooms.

  The moment Tara was alone she set her gifts on the wooden bench. A folded paper tumbled from the sleeve of the green gown. Frowning curiously, she plucked it up. Her eyes popped when she read the note from John. He’d used his connections in law enforcement to investigate Mortimer Lindsey’s death in Texas.

  According to the information John had received from Sheriff Thornton in Palo Pinto County, a young woman from the orphan train had been delivered to Lindsey’s ranch under misleading circumstances. His death had been ruled self-defense, based on the evidence of struggle and the telltale metal cuffs secured to the head and foot rails of his bed. In addition, the gravesite discovered on the ranch aroused suspicion about the nature of Lindsey’s young wife’s death. Therefore, it was determined that the orphan, Meghan Kendric—

  Tara blinked in surprise when she saw her given name in print. She had the unmistakable feeling that John had ferreted out her true identity from one of the younger children—either Flora or Calvin—and then pursued his investigation.

  Anxiously, Tara continued reading.

  As to the other five runaway orphans, no charges had been filed. Meghan Kendric was presumed to have taken the children into her care and disappeared from town. The local citizens who’d taken in the younger children had not registered complaints and the case had been closed.

  Tara sagged in relief. For two years the incident and the possibility of repercussions had hung over her head like a black cloud. She’d been exceptionally cautious, for fear of drawing unwanted attention and curiosity. Discovering that she had nothing to fear from legal authorities took a tremendous load off her mind and filled her with inexpressible joy.

  Tara also realized this note from John was just another of the many deeds he’d performed in his effort to make amends for her ordeal with Raven. He’d made repairs at the ranch, watched over the children, offered them gifts and purchased fine clothes for her. This was John’s way of trying to say he was dreadfully sorry he’d shot her.

  He obviously believed he was responsible for her injury. Furthermore, he presumed that her feelings for him had changed because of the hellish ordeal. But the idiotic man was sorely mistaken on both counts.

  More determined than ever, Tara made a beeline for the Altar of the Gods. She sidestepped up the steep stone slope to the cavern that held the Apache treasure. Huffing and puffing from exertion, she braced herself against the rugged rock wall and scanned the panoramic canyon.

  “John Wolfe, I know you’re out there somewhere, and I want you to know that I think you are a complete idiot!” Her voice echoed around her. She waited a moment, then railed at him at the top of her lungs. “Do you think my feelings for you have changed because of what happened with Raven? I would’ve gladly taken a bullet for you. Don’t you know that?

  “Don’t you know that I love you with all my
heart and soul? Can’t you see that I’ll love you, always, no matter where you are or what you do? I miss you…I need you, John Wolfe, not fine clothes and frilly petticoats. Not even my exoneration and the reinstatement of my good name will do, though I’m exceedingly grateful for your efforts on my behalf. All I want is you. Just you. Don’t you know that you are always welcome here, no matter what? I…love…you…blast it!” she shouted loudly.

  Weary from exertion, Tara carefully sidestepped down the slope and headed to the cabin. There, she thought as she trudged onto the front porch. If hearing his name called in the wind, hearing her shout her love for him—from as near the top of the Altar of the Gods as she could get, without falling off—didn’t convince that blockheaded man that she wanted to see him, needed to hold him, to love him, then she didn’t know what would!

  John rose from a crouch and followed at a distance as Tara returned to the cabin. Her unfaltering affection and her unconditional forgiveness humbled him, astonished him.

  However, he was more than a little put out about that sassy female calling him a complete idiot. Well, maybe he was, but she didn’t have to shout it to high heaven and all over creation, did she?

  When John strolled up to his tethered horse, Pie laid back his ears and stared at him without blinking. “What are you looking at?” John demanded.

  Pie stamped his left front hoof, as if criticizing his master.

  “Well, I had to be sure I hadn’t destroyed her feelings for me, didn’t I?” John said defensively. “I couldn’t just walk up to her right off.”

  Pie blinked, stamped his right front hoof and snorted reproachfully.

  “I can’t do anything about Irish right now, can I? I promised the children I’d take them to town…and stop staring at me like that, you worthless excuse of a horse,” he muttered sourly. “I said I’d find the nerve to face Irish again, and I will…eventually.”

  When John tried to mount up, Pie sidestepped. Honestly, John was beginning to think this stallion had become his conscience.

  Hands on his hips, John glowered at his contrary steed. “You want my promise? Will that satisfy you? Fine, you’ve got it. But you’re going to help me with this. You’ll have to do something you’ve never done before, either, pal, so don’t come whinnying to me when your time comes.”

  Pie stared at him for another silent moment, then flung his broad head sideways, as if giving his royal permission for John to climb aboard.

  “Damn sassy horse, anyway,” John grumbled as he swung into the saddle. “You’ve gotten pushy in your old age, Pie. Real pushy. And don’t think I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of this. You’re going to get soft while you’re lounging around this canyon, munching on grass and socializing with the other horses. Then we’ll race off for San Carlos and you’ll be wheezing like an old nag.”

  When Pie snorted indignantly, John chuckled. “Well, she called me a complete idiot. That’s worse than being referred to as an old nag.”

  After enduring a month of torment, John felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his chest. He was at peace with himself. Tara still loved him—even if he didn’t deserve her. Knowing he was loved and wanted was a soothing balm for his tortured soul. As soon as he returned from town with the children, he’d approach Tara. No more staring longingly at her from a distance, watching her venture unsteadily to and from the cabin.

  Week by week, he’d watched Tara grow stronger. He’d been greatly relieved to note the bullet hadn’t caused serious damage to nerves and tendons. She could use her left arm again. He’d seen her brace herself on her injured arm when she’d climbed the spire to yell at him. John smiled at the image of Tara clinging to the sandstone ledge, calling him home.

  “Zohn Whoof! I wore my yellow dress so you’d see me coming.”

  John glanced up the path to see Flora looking healthy and as colorful as the sun. She sat atop the strawberry-roan horse she’d asked—about a hundred and fifty times—if she could claim as her own. Naturally, he’d given in to her. That just showed what a pushover he was when this little girl batted those enormous brown eyes at him and hugged him every chance she got.

  Aw, hell, the truth was he’d let each kid pick out a mustang. John had worked relentlessly to ensure that each horse was trained to behave itself with a child on its back. He could always gather more mustangs to sell later. Right now, all that concerned him was seeing these kids happy.

  Tara was thoroughly disappointed when John didn’t return to the house with the children. Her family arrived, bubbling with excitement over their latest purchases. Sure enough, Maureen and Flora had bought green dresses to match the one John had given Tara, and they wasted no time modeling the garments. Tara noticed the smiles the girls passed back and forth before glancing at her. She had the feeling there was something going on besides their delight over their new dresses.

  “Where’s John?” Tara questioned as she stared into the gathering darkness, battling her feelings of rejection.

  “He said he had things to do. Don’t know what, though, ’cause he didn’t say exactly,” Samuel murmured. His head was bent over the crisp new bridle and reins he’d purchased, and he was smiling for no reason their conversation could account for.

  Tara glanced around, noting the other children were grinning like baked possums, too. She swore they shared some private amusement she wasn’t privy to. She might’ve interrogated them about their odd behavior if she hadn’t been so heartbroken over John’s absence. She’d so hoped that her entreaty that he return to the cabin would reassure him. What else was a woman supposed to do to let the man she loved know that she was anxiously waiting to welcome him home?

  Perhaps the painful truth was that John had been trying to spare her feelings and he thought that keeping his distance was the best way to let her down gently. Despite everything that had happened, despite his concern, his regret and his obvious affection for the children, maybe he simply didn’t love her—at least not to the same intense degree she loved him. After all, he’d never said the words—not even once.

  Tara’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She tried to tell herself that she’d survive the heartache, that this wasn’t the first time she’d felt unaccepted and rejected. Good heavens, she’d been passed over so many times at the orphanage that she should be used to it by now. Even so, having John slip away from her was akin to watching her dreams sift through her fingers like stardust, and feeling her heart shrivel up inside her chest, one agonizing breath at a time.

  The nicker of a horse caught Tara’s attention. While the children were busy entertaining themselves, she walked onto the front porch, then stopped dead in her tracks. John’s piebald stallion was hitched to the supporting beam of the cabin. There was a wreath of woven vines and wildflowers around Pie’s muscular neck. Tara’s jaw dropped when she remembered the Apache ritual John had described to her two months earlier.

  All those awful feelings of rejection, inadequacy and disappointment flew off in the wind when she understood what the piebald stallion’s arrival implied.

  Her bubbling laughter drifted on the evening breeze as she patted Pie’s neck affectionately and then impulsively hugged the stuffing out of the horse. She untied the reins and walked the stallion to the spring to drink. Pie tossed his head, glanced sideways and then slurped water.

  Smiling wryly, John appeared from the dense underbrush. “Irish, I distinctly remember telling you that an Apache maiden is supposed to leave her suitor’s horse standing for a couple of days. If she leads the horse to water on the first day, it makes her look entirely too desperate, as if she doesn’t stand a chance of acquiring another interested suitor.”

  Tara absorbed the long-awaited sight of him. A deluge of immeasurable pleasure engulfed her. Ah, how she loved this man!

  “Well, the fact is I am quite desperate,” she admitted, unashamed. “For you see, John Wolfe, you’re the one and only man I’ll ever love, body, heart and soul. Smart as you are, I thought you�
��d figured that out by now.”

  All the wondrous feelings John hadn’t allowed himself to fully acknowledge or experience in more years than he could count overwhelmed him when Tara walked, then ran, toward him. He met her halfway across the clearing to sweep her up in his arms. He devoured her with a kiss that testified to all the love and affection billowing inside him.

  “I thought you’d never come home,” she whispered against his lips. “Life without you was unbearably empty. Don’t ever do that to me again, John Wolfe, or I swear I’ll hunt you down and strangle you for leaving me miserable.”

  “Well, complete idiot that I am,” he said, pursing his lips, “I wasn’t sure you still wanted me after what I did to you.”

  “What you did?” Tara shook her head and sighed. “That wasn’t your doing. It was Raven’s, and you’ve defended his actions too often already. Not for one second did I hold you responsible. Not even one, blast it!”

  John cupped her bewitching face in his hands and studied her astutely. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, Irish. I was so damn afraid to look into your eyes and discover that love no longer shone there for me. I couldn’t bear knowing for certain that I had lost it.”

  “You aren’t going to lose me…ever,” she said, absolutely.

  “Good, because I am going to be here with you to help raise the kids, because I love those little rascals, too.”

  “You are?” she chirped, wide-eyed. “You do?”

  He nodded his raven head and smiled again. “I have changed occupations. Jacob Shore put in a good word for me at the Bureau of Indian Affairs. I’ve been hired as a part-time advisor, interpreter and consultant whose duty it is to oversee conditions at the Apache reservation.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Tara said excitedly.

  “Of course, there’ll be times when I have to travel, and I’ll never give up the fight to see that the Apache are treated humanely and fairly. But mostly, I’ll be here with you.”

  Tara flung her arms around his neck, ignoring the twinge of pain in her left arm. “I can’t wait to tell the children. They’ll be delighted.”