When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  eyes back to the butte. "I'll go and investigate myself. With my rifle I should be safe enough."

  She frowned when she discovered that the man was no longer in view. But the smoke spiraling upward from the fire was proof enough that he was still there.

  "I will go," Melanie said, hurriedly bridling and saddling her horse. She slipped her rifle into the leather gun boot at the horse's side, then swung herself up into the saddle.

  The wind was becoming cool as the sun dipped low behind the distant hills. Hiking her fringed skirt above her knees, Melanie urged her horse into a gallop. Her hair whipped across her shoulders, then around her face. Her white cotton blouse was not heavy enough to ward off the chill that engulfed her as she reached the dampness of the forest and began climbing the gentle incline that led to the butte. The scent of the fire grew stronger, intermingled with the fragrance of cooking fish.

  "He's sure making himself at home on property that does not belong to him," Melanie muttered to herself. "Who does he think he is? Anyone who knows anything about cattle would know that it makes folks nervous to have a stranger so close. What if he plans to steal a few in the night? Whose would he choose? Ours or the Brennans'?"

  Not wanting to be noticed, Melanie drew her horse to a halt and secured the reins to a tree. Taking her rifle from the gun boot, she made her way stealthily through the forest. Up just ahead, a small campfire cast flickering shadows against the dark trees.

  Her heart pounding, Melanie stopped to take a deep, quivering breath. Then she moved onward. She was now close enough to see the man sitting by the fire, eating. But his back was to her. All that she could see was long golden hair, his fringed buckskin outfit, and moccasins. If not for his golden hair, she would think that he was Indian because of the way he was dressed.

  She had to see more. She had to see his face!

  Just as Melanie started to move behind some flowering bushes to get a look at the stranger's face, he sprang to his feet, as lithe as a panther. His knife was drawn and poised in the air.

  Melanie's breath was stolen away by his quickness and by the threat of his knife. Yet she calmed herself, knowing that she had the true advantage. She was pointing a loaded rifle directly at his chest!

  Then she had another shock. The light of the fire flickered on the man's face, revealing all of his features to Melanie. He looked so much like Josh Brennan he could have been his double! He had the same sky-blue eyes, the same golden hair the color of summer wheat, the sculped jawline and lips.

  The only differences were in the length of the hair and the man's build. The stranger was a tall, lean man like Josh, but his shoulders were much broader and his muscles rippled beneath his skintight buckskin clothes. Melanie was so taken aback by the resemblance, that she was at a loss for words. She stared openly at Shane, and he at her. Neither lowered their weapons.

  "Who are you?" Shane finally asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. Yet though this woman was a threat to him, he could not help but admire her bravery. And her ravishing loveliness. Her hair was the color of the sunset; her eyes were dark brown, wide, and daring. She was slim and exquisite and had perfect, soft features. In many ways she reminded him of Cedar Maid, except that this woman's skin was white.

  "It is I who should be doing the asking," Melanie said, finally overcoming her astonishment at his resemblance to Josh. She looked down at his knife, then back up into his eyes. "You are trespassing. I'm sure you know the dangers. I could shoot you right here on the spot and be within my rights."

  "Why don't you?" Shane dared. "I am an easy target."

  His gaze raked over her again. He was puzzled by her attire. She wore a fringed buckskin skirt and knee-high moccasins. Why did she prefer Indian clothes over those of the white people? Was there some wildness flowing through her veins? Did she prefer the outdoors to the white woman's fancy house? Did that not give him even more reason to admire her? Was she from the house that adjoined his father's? Or was she from his father's house, perhaps married to Shane's brother?

  "I won't have to shoot you because you are

  going to agree to move on, away from my land," Melanie said, swallowing hard when she realized that he was studying her far too closely. It unnerved her.

  "Your land?" Shane said, slowly lowering his knife to his side. "And how is that you lay claim to land that once belonged to only the Indian and wild animals?"

  Melanie shuffled her feet nervously. This man was not only dressed like a savage, he thought like one! Who was he? Where had he come from? What did he want?

  "Are you saying that I have no right to claim this land that my father paid for and nurtured as though it were a child until he died?" Melanie asked, her voice tense. She slowly lowered the rifle to her side.

  Shane's eyes wavered. He still didn't know which house she lived in. What if Shane's father had remarried and a daughter had been born to him? What if this woman was the daughter? What if she was Shane's sister? She had just said that her father was dead. Could that mean that his father was dead?

  The thought caused him a deep inner turmoil, bringing the realization that he did want a chance to see his true father again. The pain he felt now was the pain of loss. He had felt the same long ago when he had lost his mother, and again recently when the old chief died. He knew the feeling well.

  In his mind's eye he could see his father again as he had looked to an adoring little boybig, strong, his eyes filled with love for his son. If his

  father was dead he would never know that love again.

  Even if he were alive, Shane might not find love in his father's eyes.

  Shane was no longer an innocent boy of four. He was a mana man who had been raised by the Chippewa. His feelings about life were Chippewa. Could a father with white skin and the ideals of a white man ever accept the fact that his son thought differently, behaved differently?

  ''Your father is dead?" Shane asked finally.

  Melanie saw sudden alarm in the depths of his magnetic blue eyes and wondered at it. Why would this stranger care about her father? Had he known her father? If so, when? "My father died a short while ago," she murmured. "Why do you ask?"

  "His name," Shane asked, gazing raptly down at her. "What was your father's name?" He could not remember his own last name no matter how hard he tried. But he recalled his father's first name. He had heard his mother address him as Jared too many times ever to forget it!

  Melanie was shaken by the stranger's resemblance to Josh now that a similar cold determination had entered his eyes. How could it be? Melanie had met all of Josh's close relatives and none had resembled him, and none had been this man, for she would never have forgotten him!

  This man. Why, he looked enough like Josh to be . . . his brother!

  Melanie's hands went to her throat and she grew pale. Sudden remembrances of Jared Brennan talking about a son who had been abducted by Indians twenty-five years ago came to her mind. He had been four. Today he would be twenty-nine. This man who was awaiting her reply could be that age.

  Could it possibly be . . . ?

  But why was he so adamant about wanting to know her father's name?

  "My father's name was Duane," Melanie said softly, watching him carefully for his reaction. "Duane Stanton."

  She saw the muscles of his face contort strangely, then go slack, and his chest heave with a deep sigh, relief evident. Knowing her father's name had meant something.

  But what?

  "Your name?" she blurted. "What is your name?"

  A warning shot through Shane. He was not sure if he was ready to disclose his true identity to anyone just yet. Though he now understood just how eager he was to see his father again after all these years of having been denied him, he did not want to rush right into it. He had to ready himself. He had only found out today where his father and brother resided. Only today had he found out that he had another life still awaiting him.

  "My name is not important," Shane said, squatting down on his haunches before
the fire. He picked up his baked fish and bit into it.

  Unable to banish the thought of Jared's long-lost son from her mind, Melanie dared to bend down beside the stranger. She had heard Shane's name

  spoken so often by Jared Brennan, it was as though she had known him all of her life. If she spoke the name out loud to this man, would itcould itmean something to him?

  "Shane?" she said suddenly, her insides tremoring with anticipation as she watched him for his reaction. When his head jerked around and their eyes met and held, he did not have to answer her, for she knew that it was he.

  Chapter Four

  Shane rose slowly to his feet; Melanie followed his lead. Her eyes were still fixed on his; her mind was aswirl with questions but she dared not ask any of them, for even though she was certain this man was Shane Brennan, he had not yet openly admitted it to her.

  Oh, why didn't he say something? His silence was unnerving! She did not know what to do now, or say. He had to say something about her having called him Shane. What could she expect? What if he denied it? What then?

  Full of wonder of this woman who seemed to look right into his heart and discover answers that he had not wanted to share with anyone just yet, Shane looked for only a moment longer at her, then spun around and walked toward his horse. He had to get away, to think! He had to put a distance between himself and this woman who not only knew who he was but also had a way of disturbing him as no other woman had before her. Never had he met any woman who was such a combination of beauty, knowledge, and courage! It would be too easy to love such a woman.

  Shane realized that there were dangers in his feelings, for even though he now knew that this woman was not his sister, she could be married to his brother. And though he need only ask her a few simple questions to get the answers he wanted, he was too torn by other things that moved him to go and commune with the Great Spirit, to ask for strength.

  Stopping suddenly, Shane realized where his thoughts had taken him. He was ready to pray to the Great Spiritbut that could not be! He had been banished from the Chippewa tribe and from their lives; he had vowed to place all Indian thoughts and habits behind him. That meant even the Great Spirit!

  Melanie had almost run after Shane when he had turned away from her, yet something held her back. She had seen how Shane lookedas though he was being torn by feelings. Since he had come this close to returning to his family, she could not let her interference change his mind. Surely he wanted to go to them in his own time, in his own way. Her questions about where he had been and with whom could wait.

  But ask them she would! Something told her

  that he needed a friend and she would be there for him when he realized it, too.

  Melanie's heart skipped a beat when Shane suddenly stopped and made no more effort to leave. Her pulse raced when she saw him double his hands into tight fists at his sides. He was battling so much within himshe could tell! She could not just stand by and ignore it. He needed someone.

  Walking slowly toward him, Melanie's knees were weak with anticipation. "Shane, please don't leave," she murmured. "Tell me all about everything. Where have you been? How have you lived these past twenty-five years?"

  When she reached his side, she moved her hand slowly toward his. When she touched his bronzed skin it was as though a current of warmth moved between them. She had expected him to jump with a start at her touch, but instead he loosened his fist and let her twine her fingers through his. When he turned and looked down at her and their wondering eyes met, she felt her heart melting into his.

  "Come and sit beside the fire," Melanie softly urged, almost hypnotized by his soft stare. "Let's talk. If you want, I will promise not to tell anyone. You will go to your father and disclose to him that you are alive whenever you feel the time is right."

  Saying this, giving him this option, made a sort of desperation rise inside Melanie, for she knew that his father could be taking his last breath of life at any moment. Shane shouldn't wait too long.

  Yet she did not feel free to tell him anything so upsetting. He was obviously already emotionally overwhelmed by everything that had brought him here now.

  But why was he here now? Why hadn't he returned sooner to see his family? Had he only just discovered where they lived?

  Shane still did not speak, but only looked down at her with his magnetic eyes that disturbed her in unfamiliar ways. Again she thought of Josh and how strange it was that Shane could look so much like Josh, the man she despised, yet could affect her so sensually. Was it because there was a challenge in knowing, perhaps in even eventually loving this man who had a wild, savage side to him?

  She had never known such a man before.

  Or was it because she felt so deeply for him, knowing that these past twenty-five years had surely been anything but easy? It was apparent by his attire and behavior that he had lived in the wilderness.

  "How do you know my name?" Shane suddenly blurted. "Why do you care about me now when earlier you were ready to shoot me?"

  A great relief flooded Melanie, almost making her dizzy with happiness, for Shane had finally confessed to being Shane!

  Could it truly be?

  Shane. Shane Brennan! The little boy of four who had disappeared those twenty-five years ago now was face to face with her!

  How wonderful the news would be for Jared Brennan. He was going to have his last wish in

  lifeof seeing his son whom everyone else had sworn was dead.

  "How do I know you?" Melanie said, looking adoringly up at him. "Oh, Shane, your father has kept you alive within not only his heart, but mine also. He has talked so much about you, I feel as though I have known you all my life. Somehow he knew that you would return to him." She grabbed his other hand and squeezed it affectionately. "And you have! He will be so happy, Shane. So happy!"

  "My father," Shane said, absorbing the softness of Melanie's hands within the coarseness of his own, feeling the bond between himself and Melanie strengthening. It surely was destiny that they should meet this way. He could see so much in her eyes. He could hear so much in her voice. "My father is still alive?"

  Melanie's smile faded.

  Should she tell him?

  No!

  She thought it best not to disclose such a sad truth to Shane at the very moment he was finally opening up to her.

  She forced another smile. "Yes, your father is alive," she said, nodding. "Also your brother, Josh."

  Her gaze swept over him, then looked into his eyes again. "You look so much like your twin brother," she marveled. "There are some differences. But not so much in appearances. The difference I see is in your hearts."

  Shane's gaze raked over her, familiarizing him-

  self with her loveliness. Then his eyes locked with hers again, afraid of his feelings. "And what is my brother to you?" he asked, his voice drawn.

  Melanie blinked her eyes nervously, not wanting to disclose to Shane just how much she despised his brother. "Josh and your father are my neighbors," she said quickly. "Our lands adjoin. Do you remember, when you looked down from this butte, all the cattle you saw? Half belong to my family and half belong to yours. The fence you saw divides the two pastures."

  Shane's eyes wavered. When she referred to his father's land as also his, it was not a reality he could yet face. Was it real? Would his family truly want to share with him? Could he be a part of the family again? Did he even want to be?

  Yes, he wanted to see his father and embrace him as sons embrace fathers, but to be a part of a life that he had never known was a disturbing idea to him. For many years he had known only one way of life.

  Melanie saw Shane's uneasiness and hesitation. Afraid that she was not handling this delicate affair right, she turned and looked over her shoulder at the campfire, then back up at Shane. "Let's go and sit by the fire," she said, easing her hands from his. She hugged herself, the damp evening breeze penetrating her thin blouse, chilling her. "We can talk a while and then I must leave. If my brother retur
ns from town and finds me gone he will become alarmed."

  "You live with your brother?" Shane asked, already relieved to have heard her refer to his family, especially his brother, as neighbors, nothing more.

  Melanie's eyes lowered, her father's death not that long ago that mentioning it did not always cause her pain. "Yes, I live with my brother," she murmured. "Ever since my father's death it has been only my brother and myself."

  Shane recognized the pain that speaking of her loss caused her. He could sympathize with that. He was still feeling the pain so recently caused by the old chief's parting. Something urged him to give her a soft comforting. He clasped his fingers gently to her shoulders.

  "Death is but a change for the better. It is time borrowed until loved ones meet again," he said. "Do not be sad. You will be with your father again. And what of your mother?"

  His hands and voice, his nearness, flooded Melanie with a strange sort of sweetness. She slowly lifted her eyes to him, then melted inside when she saw how warmly he was looking down at her.

  "Your mother?" Shane repeated. "You have not spoken of your mother." He moved a hand to her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. "You have not even told me your name."

  Unable to shake this rapture that was spinning around inside her, suddenly afraid of it, Melanie stepped back away from Shane. She flinched when she saw that her action caused a sudden hurt to trouble his handsome face. ''My mother has been dead ever since my birth," she said, her voice quavering. "My name? It's Melanie. Please call me Melanie."

  "Melanie?" Shane said, as though testing its meaning on his lips as he spoke. He smiled down at Melanie and shook his head in approval. "Yes. I like that. Like you, it is a gentle name."

  Shane saw Melanie visibly shiver. He looked at the fire, then back at her. Taking her by the elbow he walked her toward the fire. "It is sad that you, too, have lost a mother," he said gently.

  Renewed pain entered his expression as he recalled that fateful day. Though so many of his childhood memories had been lost to him by the passing of time, the moment of his mother's death and the strange color of the eyes on the man who was responsible for her death, were etched onto Shane's brain like the fossil a leaf onto stone.