Spirit of the Wolf

by Susan Mallery

  The woman looked at Ruth anxiously, as if expecting criticism.

  “I’m sure I would have done the same,” Ruth said calmly, knowing there was no reason to discuss what should have been done until she had seen the baby.

  “My Ronald spoke to your brother when he was in town this morning,” Mary told her. “We’re saving to buy some horses and Ronald says your brother is the best judge of horseflesh in the county. When Ronald mentioned that our little one was running a fever, John—Mr. Whitefeather—mentioned you were staying at the Kincaid ranch. It was so close. That’s why I came to get you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  More tears filled Mary’s eyes. Ruth put a reassuring hand on her arm. “I understand, and I’m happy to help.”

  “I don’t know if we can pay you. At least not right now. Maybe when some of the crops come in. Would that be all right?”

  The shame and worry in Mary’s voice cut through to Ruth’s heart. “Please don’t worry about payment. I’ll do what I can to save your daughter regardless of your circumstances.”

  Mary nodded gratefully, then concentrated on the rutted road.

  The journey to the Johnson ranch took nearly two hours. It was early afternoon by the time they arrived. The house was small, but well built. Only two or three rooms from the looks of it. Four children spilled out the front door, the youngest barely able to walk on his own. A thin teenage girl followed them. Despite the cool, damp earth and the slight chill in the air, all the children were barefoot.

  “How is she?” Mary called to the teenager.

  “About the same.”

  Mary murmured something that sounded like a prayer before setting the brake on the wagon. After securing the horse to a post, she hurried toward the house. She scooped up the two youngest as she walked, smiled at the rest and bent to kiss the teenager’s cheek. “You’re a blessing to me, Alice.”

  The teenager blushed slightly. She was dark haired, while the rest of the children were fair, and looked nothing like Mary or her children. Plus Mary wasn’t old enough to be mother to Alice. A child of Ronald’s from a previous marriage? Ruth wondered as she stepped into the tiny house. Or perhaps an orphan Mary and her husband had taken in.

  The kitchen was small but clean. Open shelves held bits of crockery, while a pot simmered on the stove. There were books on the scrubbed table, the pages tattered, but still readable.

  “In here,” Mary said, holding open a narrow door.

  A bed took up most of the floor in the small room. A crib had been wedged between the bed and the wall and a child’s labored breathing could be heard.

  Ruth shrugged out of her cloak. As she bent over the child, she could feel the waves of heat radiating out from her too warm skin. “I’ll need two bowls of cool water and a bottle,” she said as she touched the soft skin of the baby girl. Small eyes opened to reveal dark pupils.

  She unwrapped the cloths from around the child, then looked in her mouth and her ears. There wasn’t a rash, but the fever was high—too high. Ruth deliberately pressed a fingernail into the bottom of the baby’s foot. To her relief, the child murmured in protest and pulled her chubby leg toward her chest. At least the little girl wasn’t too far gone.

  “What’s her name?” she asked when Mary returned with the requested supplies.

  “Lily, after Ronald’s mother.”

  “A pretty name for a pretty girl,” Ruth said with a slight smile.

  She reached in her bag for several herbs and poured them into one of the bowls. The children crowded around the door until Alice led them away. Mary might be too thin, but her children weren’t starving, which meant she gave them the best of what she had. The patched clothes were clean, the house tidy. Ruth wished she’d thought to bring food along with medicine. Mary and Ronald were obviously doing their best for their children. They simply needed a helping hand.

  When the herbal mixture was ready, she carefully poured it into a bottle. She picked up Lily and handed the baby to her mother.

  “Feed her this. She doesn’t have to drink all of it. I’ll be giving it to her throughout the day. But get her to take as much as you can.”

  Mary’s eyes widened, but she did as Ruth requested. While the baby fussed and drank a little, then fussed more, Ruth prepared the medicines she would use to draw out the fever.

  Over the next few hours, the two women worked together. Ruth and Mary took turns bathing the baby with tepid water. Ruth rubbed a special paste over her back and arms, then laid damp cloths over the medicine. Little Lily didn’t cry, although she made tiny, sad noises and occasionally had trouble breathing.

  Time passed slowly, but Ruth didn’t mind. She understood about healing. She put treated wood into the small fireplace and filled the room with a scented smoke that eased Lily’s restlessness.

  “Do you mind if I pray?” Mary asked late that afternoon.

  Ruth looked up from her task of running a cooling rag along Lily’s legs. “I think we should pray together,” she said quietly, then joined Mary at the foot of the bed where they knelt.

  Ronald appeared as the sun set. He was a slight man, nearly as thin as his wife and pale with worry. Ruth urged him to help Alice with the children, then told Mary it was all right to leave the sick room long enough to eat with her family. Ruth sat alone in the small bedroom, her hand on Lily’s bare back, her body beginning to tire. She kept all her attention on the small life. She had prayed with Mary and now she began her own words of request to the great spirits. That this life would be allowed to continue. Not for Lily’s sake, but for the family’s. Death was always harder on those left behind.

  Sometime later, the baby’s skin temperature seemed to rise. Ruth remained calm, even as she knew the tiny body couldn’t hold on much longer. Then a sharp cry pierced the night. Lily opened her eyes and screamed out her displeasure as she suddenly began to sweat.

  Mary rushed into the room. Ruth rose and smiled. “The fever’s broken.”

  Mary wrapped her daughter in a length of cloth and held her close. The rest of the family spilled into the room. Ronald reached her first and gravely shook her hand.

  “I’m beholden to you,” he said.

  “I’m happy I could help.” She touched the baby’s forehead. Already her skin had cooled to nearly normal. “She’ll be hungry. Don’t give her too much over the next two days. And keep feeding her the herb broth. I’ll fix up another batch for you. In three or four days, she’ll be just like she was before. Babies always recover so quickly.”

  Or they don’t recover at all, she thought, but didn’t speak the words. The Jeffersons were happy with their blessing and she was content as well.

  Alice took her into the kitchen and offered her a bowl of thin soup. When she’d eaten, Ruth prepared a sleeping potion for Mary, then told Ronald he was to let his wife rest through the night. She had just begun to wonder how she was supposed to make her way back to the Kincaid ranch when there was the sound of a wagon outside.

  She had no way of knowing who had arrived this late in the evening, but that didn’t stop her foolish heart from beating faster. Gladness lightened her step as she hurried toward the kitchen. As she flung open the door, she saw Caleb stepping down from a large wagon. He held a lantern in his hand, and another sat on the seat.

  Their gazes locked in the still night air. In a flash, she remembered what it had been like to be in his arms and it took all her strength to keep from running into them now. She wanted to touch him and be held close. She wanted him to kiss her fiercely and tell her that he’d missed her. Instead he gave her a slow smile that made her stomach clench and her toes curl.

  “I was worried about you,” he said simply.

  “I left a note.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for taking the time to do that.”

  Ronald stepped out of the house and walked toward Caleb. “I’m sorry you had to make the trip out here. I would have brought Miss Ruth home.”

  Several thoughts filled Ruth’s head. First that
Ronald assumed the ranch was her home. It wasn’t, of course. She belonged with the Cheyenne. Yet she knew she wasn’t ready to return to her people. She also realized that Ronald had been calling her “Miss Ruth” ever since he’d arrived at the house. In fact both he and his wife, along with their children, had been respectful and grateful for her assistance. No one had said anything about her being half Indian.

  The two men shook hands. “I knew she’d be safe with you,” Caleb told the much smaller man. “But I thought I’d save you the trip.” He glanced back at her. “How’s the baby?”

  “Doing well. The fever broke. I think she’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” He walked toward the rear of the wagon. “Ronald, would you help me unload these?”

  It was only then that Ruth noticed the supplies loaded into the back of the wagon. There were barrels of flour and sugar, sides of beef, great hams and bags of dried fruit.

  Ronald hesitated as Caleb rolled a barrel of flour toward himself. He drew back his shoulders and stood a little taller. It might be dark out, but Ruth could easily imagine his expression of pride.

  “We don’t need your charity,” he said simply.

  Caleb put his hands on his hips. “It’s not charity. It’s the way things are. The first four or five years of starting a ranch are hell. Half the settlers don’t make it through the first winter. My own parents nearly starved to death three or four times. If the Cheyenne hadn’t brought them fresh game, they would have.”

  He hoisted the barrel onto his shoulder and started for the rear of the house. “This is the way we do things out here, Ronald. I’m only sorry that I’ve been so busy. I should have been by sooner.”

  “But we can’t accept this.”

  “You can and you will. But don’t think you get it for free. In a year or two, when you’re settled and comfortable, then you have the responsibility of looking around the community and finding out who’s in need. Then you do the same for them. This is Whitehorn. We take care of our own.”

  Ronald glanced at the house. Ruth could practically feel the struggle taking place inside him. She wasn’t sure what finally won him over, Caleb’s words or the hunger in his children’s eyes. Either way, he nodded and grabbed a large ham, then showed Caleb into the house.

  Less than an hour later, Ruth and Caleb were on their way back to the Kincaid ranch. She pulled the extra blanket he’d brought with him around her shoulders and allowed her weariness to flow out of her.

  “Cold?” Caleb asked as he urged the horse forward.

  “Not really. Just tired. It was a long day.”

  A bright moon illuminated the rutted track and the horses easily picked their way.

  “Thank you for helping them,” he said.

  “You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I do.” She paused for a moment. “No one in the ranching community has come to me for help since I’ve been at your ranch. At first I thought it was because they didn’t know I was here. Then I thought maybe it was because they didn’t want my help.”

  He turned his head and glanced at her. “Did you ever consider that it’s only been about a week? Maybe no one’s been sick. Why do you have to assume that your being half Cheyenne makes people not trust you?”

  “Because some don’t. I know you think I’ve made a fuss about things that don’t matter, but you haven’t been around when people have stared and ignored me, or been rude.”

  There were also those men in town who had tried to rape her, but she wasn’t going to talk about that. Not tonight.

  “You can’t know what it’s like not to fit in either place,” she continued. “I’ve worked hard to make my peace with the Cheyenne. That’s where I belong now.”

  “Seems to me Mary and Ronald would disagree.”

  “They’re the exception.”

  “I disagree.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of any kind. He was simply saying that she shouldn’t shut herself away from the white world. She knew that and yet a part of her wanted to believe he was speaking about something more. Something special. She wanted to think that he’d been caught up in the past as much as she had, and that he liked her now as much as he had then…perhaps more.

  “Thank you for bringing food to them,” she said, knowing she was a coward for changing the subject.

  “I meant to do it before. Ronald Jefferson has a lot of heart and is willing to work hard, but he didn’t have much before he started his ranch, and he has even less now. Every penny is turned back into the ranch. From what I can tell, the children don’t go hungry, but the same couldn’t be said for him and Mary.”

  “I agree. And you knew just what to say to convince him to accept your gift.”

  “I was telling the truth. In a few years, he’ll be a wealthy rancher. Then it will be his turn to help out his neighbors.”

  Caleb was describing a close-knit community. Was it one she could be a part of? Did she want to be? Were the two of them being given a second chance?

  Hope and fear battled in her stomach, making her press her hands to her midsection.

  “Is Zeke alone in the house?” she asked, in an effort to distract herself.

  “No. When I read your note, I sent him to spend the night in the bunkhouse. The men will spoil him. I told Hank I didn’t want them teaching him how to play poker, but it’s just a matter of time until he learns.”

  “Maybe they could play a card game that involves counting,” she said. “At least then he would be learning something.”

  Caleb flashed her a grin. “Ever practical, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, then relaxed against the seat. They settled into a companionable silence. There were occasional night sounds around them. Eventually the terrain became familiar and she knew they were back on Kincaid land.

  How would her life have been different if she’d accepted Caleb’s proposal? Would she, as she’d feared, have lost her healing gift? Or would she now be a wife and a mother, going out to help others whenever she was needed? She tried to imagine what her children would have looked like. Her own mother had been fair, with light eyes. She looked more like her father. Yet what about their children? She imagined a boy not too different from Zeke, and maybe a little girl with dark curls. Then she remembered the men who had attacked her and realized that instead of happily married, she could easily be dead—killed by strangers who didn’t like half-breed Indian women.

  When they arrived at the house, Ruth was no closer to an answer about the past, or her future. Had she, as her brother had claimed, acted out of fear instead of respect for her gift? And if it had been fear, what would happen if she allowed herself to let it go? Would she want another chance with Caleb? Would he be interested in her?

  The barn door opened, and a yawning Tully appeared. “I’ll t-take care of the horses, b-boss,” he said sleepily.

  “Thanks.”

  Caleb stepped down, then came around the wagon to help her to her feet. His hands were strong and sure on her waist. She found herself leaning into him when she should have been steady.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, even though she wasn’t.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as he led her into the house. “Do you want me to fix you something?”

  That made her laugh. “You know how to cook?”

  “No, but the soup you left is still warm.”

  They walked into the kitchen. Ruth breathed in the scent of her cooking and the polish she’d used on the furniture the previous day. Although she’d only been at the ranch a week, it had already become a welcoming place. Did she want it for her home?

  Caleb touched her arm. “Ruth, what are you thinking? You have the strangest expression.”

  What was she supposed to say? That she was re-thinking her past? That maybe he and John had been right and nine years ago she’d acted out of fear?

  She remembered how all those years ago, he’d been so gentle with her. He’d kissed her, but had never tried to dishonor her. She�
��d felt so safe in his arms. Safe, but very alive. Their last kiss had made her feel a passion she’d never experienced before.

  He startled her by swearing loudly. “Stop it,” he insisted. “I know you don’t mean it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Your eyes. They’re saying things.”

  “What things?”

  He shrugged. “Things a woman says when she—” He broke off.

  Then she knew. Her eyes were speaking the truth of her woman’s heart. She took a step toward him and placed her hand on his arm. “Are they saying that I’m remembering what it was like to kiss you and that I want to do it again?”

  “Yes.” The word came out on a growl.

  “Perhaps you should listen.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  RUTH HELD HER BREATH. Was Caleb going to turn from her, as he had before? Fear threatened, but she pushed it away. She had a feeling that fear had ruled her for too long. This time she was going to make the decision that was right because it was what she wanted, and not because she was afraid.

  But instead of rejecting her, Caleb swept her up in his arms. Even as his arms came around her, his mouth dropped to hers. They were kissing wildly, passionately. This was no tentative brush of lips—instead they plundered each other, tasting, circling, nibbling, wanting. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he started to carry her up the stairs of the ranch house. They moved into darkness and still she clung to him because he was all that she’d ever needed.

  His footsteps on the wooden floor sounded nearly as loud as the thundering of her heart. He didn’t even break the kiss as he carried her through a door into his bedroom. They clung together until he set her on her feet.

  He left her alone long enough to light a single lantern, then he returned to stand in front of her.

  “I want you,” he breathed, cupping her face in his hands. “I want you.”

  Kisses rained on her face, soft, tender touches that made her shiver and long for even more intimacy.

  “Ruth,” he breathed. “Tell me you want to make love with me as well.”