Wolf Shadow

by Madeline Baker

  She was still thinking of him when she fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  Winter Rain rose early the following morning. Her first waking thought was of the stranger, which was not surprising, she mused, since she had dreamed of him all night long, horribly immodest dreams that had awakened her, breathless and warm all over, several times in the night. She had dreamed of standing with him in the sheltering folds of a courting blanket, dreamed of his hands touching her face, his body pressed close to hers. Remembering those dreams brought a wave of heat to her face.

  Padding quietly out of the lodge, she made her way down to the river, thinking she would bathe and then fill the waterskin with fresh water.

  She walked upriver to her favorite place, a clear blue pool screened by young cottonwoods and tangled berry bushes.

  She frowned at the sound of splashing, dismayed that someone else had reached the pool before her. A doe flicked its tail and bounded across her path as she drew near the river’s edge.

  Peering through the brush, Winter Rain saw the stranger standing in the waist-deep water. His back was toward her. A broad copper-hued back marred by a thick spider web of faint white scars.

  He rinsed the soap from his body, then turned and started toward the shore. Winter Rain was no stranger to the sight of a man’s bare chest but she found herself staring at him, admiring the width of his shoulders, the finely sculpted muscles in his arms and chest, his hard flat stomach, the way the sunlight glistened on his wet skin.

  She wasn’t aware of making any noise but he paused abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shoreline.

  Winter Rain froze, not wanting to be caught staring, felt his gaze search her out.

  “What do you want?” He put the question to her in flawless Lakota.

  “I did not mean to intrude,” she said, stepping out from behind the brush. “I just came to bathe.”

  He glanced around. “You picked a nice place for it.”

  She nodded, unable to draw her gaze away from such masculine perfection. Her mouth went dry as he took a step forward, apparently unconcerned by his nudity or the thought of her seeing him that way. Water dripped down his chest. He took another step and she realized that, very soon, the water would no longer cover his private parts. She had seen naked men before. There was no shame in it, couples often bathed and swam together. But the thought of seeing this man naked was most unsettling and she quickly turned her back to him.

  His soft chuckle brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. She stood there, her heart pounding as she listened to the soft whisper of cloth being pulled over wet male skin.

  “You can turn around now,” he said, a smile evident in his tone.

  Instead of the white man’s clothing he had worn the day before, he now wore a wolfskin clout and moccasins. He had long muscular legs. A knife was sheathed in a beaded belt at his waist. A small medicine bag dangled from a rawhide thong around his neck.

  “You are Winter Rain?”

  She nodded, suddenly aware that she was far from the village, alone with a stranger. If she called for help, no one would hear her.

  “I am Wolf Shadow,” he said. “Cousin to Kills-Like-a-Hawk.”

  She nodded in acknowledgement, felt her cheeks grow warm once more as his gaze moved over her in a long lingering glance.

  Chance watched the color bloom in Winter Rain’s cheeks. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Bryants’ daughter. Her resemblance to Rosalia Bryant was unmistakable. She had her mother’s olive skin, dark hair, and delicate bone structure, and her father’s deep blue eyes. His gaze moved to her lips—smooth pink lips that she moistened with the tip of her tongue.

  Like a doe poised to take flight, she stood there watching him, her eyes wide and uncertain. Did she feel it, too, the attraction that sizzled between them like summer lightning? What would she do if he closed the distance between them, if he took her in his arms and slanted his mouth over hers, if he tasted her lips to see if they were as soft, as warm, as sweet, as they appeared? Clad in a simple doeskin tunic, her hair falling over her shoulders in twin braids, she looked young and vulnerable. He could see the pulse throbbing rapidly in her throat. One kiss. What could it hurt?

  As though divining his thoughts, she crossed her arms over her breasts and took a step backward.

  With a wry grin, he picked up his rifle and rested the barrel on his shoulder. “Enjoy your bath, chikala.”

  She watched him walk away. Only when he was out of sight did her heart stop its wild pounding and her breathing return to normal.

  When she was certain she was alone, she slipped out of her dress and moccasins and waded out into the water. She unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it. And as she washed her hair, she thought of the way his had looked, long and blue-black in the sunlight. She soaped her arms and thought of his. Were they as strong as they looked? What would it be like to feel his arms around her, to run her hands over his biceps? She washed her breasts and thought of his broad shoulders and chest. She washed her legs and pictured his, long and well muscled. She reached around to wash her back and thought of his. How had he gotten those awful scars? Had someone whipped him? Who would do such a terrible thing? And why?

  With a shake of her head, she stepped out of the water, dried herself off with a piece of soft trade cloth, and slipped her dress on over her head. Sitting on a rock, she pulled on her moccasins. She was spending far too much time thinking about a man she didn’t even know, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  She thought about him while she gathered wood, while she cut out a new pair of moccasins for her mother, while she roasted a slice of buffalo meat for dinner. She wondered who he was and where he came from and why he didn’t live in the village all year. And that night, as she crawled into bed, she wondered if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere.

  Later that night, Chance stood at the river’s edge, his thoughts far away. The full moon overhead was reflected on the face of the slow-moving water, shining silver against midnight blue. A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the trees. A coyote howled in the distance, its lonely lament echoing the pain he carried deep in his soul. A muscle twitched in his back. It had been on a quiet midsummer night like this a little more than nine years ago when outlaws had killed his mother and left him for dead.

  Since then, he had found three of the men, but the fourth man, the leader of the gang, continued to elude him. He had stuck to the trail like a burr to a saddle blanket until three years ago, when his father got sick. Though Chance hated to quit the trail, he’d had no other choice, and he had returned home to care for his old man. Six months later, his father passed away.

  Shortly after that, Chance had been contacted by the bank and learned, for the first time, about the huge mortgage on the ranch. As much as Chance had longed to resume the hunt for the man who had killed his mother, there had been no time. He had gone over his father’s books, paid off the debts he could and managed to come up with enough cash to keep the bank from foreclosing. From time to time, he had been hired to search for men, women, or children who had been captured or lost in Indian territory. Most of the time, he had managed to find those who had been taken captive by the Lakota and the Cheyenne. In most cases, he had been able to buy the captives from the warriors who held them prisoner. Occasionally, he’d had only bad news to give to the parents, or to the husband or wife who was looking for lost loved ones.

  Picking up a stone, he sent it skipping across the water. He would not be able to buy Teressa Elizabeth Bryant’s freedom from Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance. She was not their prisoner or their slave, but their daughter. They would not willingly let her go.

  Feeling suddenly restless, he began walking along the shore. He wondered how much Teressa remembered of her former life. Did she secretly yearn to return to her rightful parents, or had she blocked all memory of Edward and Rosalia and her life with them from her mind? And what would he do if she refused to go back with him?
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  He was pondering several possibilities when he rounded a bend of the river and ran into the object of his musings.

  A wordless cry erupted from her throat as she lashed out at him with her fists.

  “Quit that!” He grabbed her in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides. His breath went out of him in a whoosh of pain as she drove her knee into his groin. Pain exploded through him.

  “Dammit, Teressa,” he said, gasping for air, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She stopped struggling and he let her go, doubling over in an effort to ease the ache in his groin. After a moment, he looked up to find her staring at him, a shocked expression on her face.

  “I am sorry,” she said, her voice shaky. “I thought…” She shrugged. “I did not recognize you. I thought you might be Crow.”

  Chance grunted. “What are you doing out here so late anyway?” He tried breathing through his mouth to ease the pain. That didn’t help either.

  “I could not sleep.” She regarded him through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. ”Who are you?”

  “You know who I am,” he said, lapsing into English.

  “Teressa.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You…” She spoke haltingly, in English, as though trying to recall the words. “You called me Teressa.”

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I am Winter Rain.”

  “You know that’s not true. You’re Teressa Elizabeth Bryant.”

  “No! I am Winter Rain. My mother is Mountain Sage…”

  “Your mother’s name is Rosalia Bryant.”

  “And my father is Eagle Lance. He is a great warrior…”

  “Your father is Edward Bryant,” Chance went on doggedly. “He’s a wealthy man, and he wants you back.”

  “Heyah, heyah, heyah!” she cried. No, no, no!

  Turning her back to him, she put her hands over her ears.

  Chance drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long shuddering sigh. One more breath, and he slowly straightened up. Damn, she’d got him right where it hurt.

  “Teressa?”

  She shook her head. “I will not listen! I will not!”

  He swore under his breath as he realized she was crying and trying not to let him know.

  “Why did you have to come here?” she asked, sniffling.

  He stared at her back. Her shoulders were shaking. “Your parents sent me to find you.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I remembered seeing you when I was here year before last. You look exactly like your mother. Except for your eyes,” he said, recalling Rosalia’s words. “You have your father’s eyes.”

  She started to deny it, then realized he wasn’t talking about Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, but her wasichu parents, Edward and Rosalia. “I do not believe you.”

  “I’m surprised you remember English so well after such a long time.”

  She turned to face him, her eyes widening a little. “I often interpret for the wasichu traders who come here. They cannot cheat my people if they know I understand what they are saying.”

  “And where did you learn to speak English, if not from your wasichu mother and father?”

  She didn’t answer, but he saw the confusion in her eyes. Maybe she really didn’t remember where she had come from or who her real parents were.

  His gaze moved over her face. In the light of the full moon, he could see the tears shining in her eyes. Answering some inner need, he drew her into his arms again, careful to turn his body to the side in case she tried to knee him again.

  She stood rigid in his embrace for several moments and then, with a sob, she leaned into him, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder, her body racked by sobs.

  He held her close, one hand lightly stroking her back while she cried. He had always been a sucker for a woman’s tears. Sympathy for her plight gradually turned to his awareness of her as a woman. Her breasts were soft and warm against his chest, her hair and skin smelled faintly of the yucca soap she had bathed with earlier that day.

  When she looked up at him, he cupped her face in his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She looked lost and forlorn and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and kissed her. Just a taste, he thought, one quick kiss to see if she was as sweet as she looked. One kiss, given to comfort her.

  Bending down, he covered her lips with his.

  She immediately drew back, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

  “I was going to kiss you,” he muttered.

  “Kiss?”

  Of course, he thought, she wouldn’t know what it was. Living with the Lakota, she had probably never been kissed before, would have no frame of reference other than the kisses she had received from her parents when she was a child.

  “Let me show you,” he said, and tilting her head to one side, he covered her lips with his own.

  He drew back when she didn’t do anything, simply stood there, her eyes wide and staring into his own.

  Chance ran a hand through his hair. How the devil did you teach someone to kiss? “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then did as he asked.

  Cupping the back of her head in one hand, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her lightly.

  She didn’t move, just stood there with her eyes closed.

  “It’s better if you kiss me back.”

  “I do not know how.”

  “Press your lips against mine.”

  She was a quick study. When their lips met this time, it was like touching a flame to gunpowder. He felt the explosion down to the soles of his moccasins.

  When he could breathe again, he drew back a little to look into her eyes. She was staring up at him, looking as dazed as he felt.

  Not trusting himself to keep his hands off her, he backed away. He was there to collect a reward, he reminded himself, not to seduce her.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice none too steady. “I’ll walk you back.”

  She didn’t sleep at all that night. She tried to shut out the words of Wolf Shadow, but they were seared into her mind. Could it be true? Could her parents be white? She choked back a sob. No, it couldn’t be true. He was lying.

  “Teressa Elizabeth Bryant.” She whispered the words into the darkness. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something forgotten from her childhood.

  And yet…what if it was true? It would explain why she had no memories of growing up with her Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, why her skin was fair, why her eyes were blue, why she understood the white man’s language. Why had she never wondered about these things before?

  She glanced over at Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, sleeping soundly on the other side of the lodge. They were her parents! No mother could be kinder, sweeter, or love her more. No father could be braver.

  She rolled onto her stomach and forced her troublesome thoughts from her mind. Sleep. She needed to sleep, but the minute she closed her eyes, the face of Wolf Shadow rose in her mind and with it the memory of his arms around her, his touch as he wiped away her tears, the heat of his mouth on hers. Kissing. She liked it very much, she thought. Just thinking of his kiss sent little shivers of excitement coursing through her. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Was it possible that she could still taste him there, or was it just her imagination?

  She smiled into the darkness, wondering if she would see him tomorrow. Wondering if he would kiss her again.

  Chapter Four

  Mountain Sage frowned as she studied her daughter’s face. Winter Rain, who was usually lighthearted and smiling, seemed distracted and subdued.

  “Daughter?” Mountain Sage tapped Winter Rain on the shoulder. “Are you feeling well?”

  Winter Rain looked up, surprised by the question.

  “Is something t
roubling you? Has Strong Elk done something to upset you?”

  “No, nothing.” Winter Rain hesitated a moment. “Do you know the stranger who came to the village yesterday?”

  “Wolf Shadow? Yes. He is cousin to Kills-Like-a-Hawk.” Mountain Sage laid the shirt she had been mending aside. “Did he hurt you in some way?”

  “No. No, nothing like that. But he…”

  “Should I call your father?”

  “No!”

  “My daughter, if you do not tell me what is bothering you, I cannot help.”

  Winter Rain folded her hands in her lap, the doubts that had haunted her the night before running through her mind. Should she confide in her mother? Should she ask the questions that had kept her tossing and turning all through the night?

  “Winter Rain?”

  “Are you my mother? Is Eagle Lance my father? Was I born here?”

  Mountain Sage sat back on her heels. A sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul slowly escaped her lips.

  Seeing the expression on her mother’s face, Winter Rain felt a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach. “It is true then, what he told me? You are not my true mother, are you?”

  “Winter Rain…”

  “How did I get here? Who brought me?”

  “Eagle Lance brought you to me. Our daughter had died only a few moons before he found you. She was our fourth child. The first three had been born dead. After our daughter died, I wanted to die, too. I could not sleep or eat. I was sick,” Mountain Sage tapped her breast over her heart, “in here. Your father…” She paused and looked away. “Eagle Lance was worried about me. He went on a raid with some of the other warriors. They attacked some white men and stole their horses. Eagle Lance brought you home to me.”

  “How old was I?”

  “You were seven summers. The same age as the daughter we had lost.”