When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  Shane smiled at Melanie, his eyes gleaming. He understood her motive. She wanted to rescue him from having to be under Josh's thumb at such a vulnerable time. She had to know that he had never worn anything but buckskins and would know nothing about choosing white man's attire. She knew that Josh could use that opportunity to humiliate him.

  "That would be just fine," Shane said gratefully.

  "Then we shall go this afternoon," Melanie said, squaring her shoulders proudly. "Right after lunch." She leaned down and gave Jared a soft kiss on the cheek, then rushed across the room. "We can go in my buggy, Shane. Be ready right after lunch."

  Shane nodded and watched her until she left the room, then looked down at his father, who was panting for breath. He slipped his father's hand

  beneath the blankets and drew the blankets up to his chin. "Father, should I leave today, to go into town with Melanie?" he asked. His eyes troubled, he peered down at his father's face. In the last few moments Jared had grown ashen in color. "Will you be all right?"

  "I sleep most afternoons away," Jared said weakly. "Just be here tonight. I'd like to go asleep knowing that you are here at my bedside."

  "I will be here,' Shane said, his eyes misting with tears.

  Jared nodded toward the table again. "In my wallet," he said hoarsely. "Get the money. Go and have a hell of a time in St. Paul." He closed his eyes wearily. "It's sweet of Melanie to take the time with you. She's a saint. A saint."

  Shane watched his father fall into a deep, quick sleep. He watched his shallow breathing for a while, then rose to his full height. He eyed the drawer, then Josh.

  "Take the money," Josh said dryly. "If you don't, father will have a conniption when he wakes up. When he sees you again, you'd best have on new clothes. I think he'd like to see you that way, instead of in buckskin."

  Taking a wide step, Shane stepped up to the table. He slowly opened the drawer and lifted his father's wallet into his hands. When he opened the wallet, his eyes widened and his pulse raced. He was looking down at many bills that showed hundreds on them. His father was a rich man and he was not ashamed to show it.

  "Take several," Josh said, going to Shane's side.

  "It takes a lot of money to dress the part of a rich man." He cleared his throat nervously. "But, Shane, don't get any ideas that everything is going to be this easy for you. Take my word for it, things aren't going to be."

  Suddenly, Josh leaned closer to Shane and whispered harshly, "Damn it, Shane, I'm not going to allow it! You just can't waltz in here after all these years as though you belong and take charge. I won't allow it!"

  Shane turned and gave Josh a cold, icy stare. Josh's insides turned inside out when he saw the utter contempt in his brother's eyes. He felt as though his brother were nothing but savage at that moment. Was it safe to live under the same roof as Shane? Had he killed many men? Had he taken any scalps? Would it be easy to kill a brother who had shown nothing but contempt for him?

  Josh feared that a sleepless night lay ahead of him.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun stood high overhead as the morning evaporated. The streets of St. Paul were deep gulleys of dried dirt, heavily traveled by horse and buggy and men on horseback. False-fronted buildings of planked lumber lined the streets, saloons and bawdy houses the most prominent. There had been a rumor that the railroad would come through, but the main mode of travel was still the steamboat. Sixty-two steamboats could make more than a thousand landings in a year's time, bringing new settlers, mail, and supplies on the Mississippi River.

  In her pale green, tailored walking suit that was smartly cut, accentuating the soft curves of her breasts and the narrowness of her waist, and with

  her straw bonnet and its matching green velveteen bow tied beneath her delicate chin, Melanie walked alongside Shane on the wood-planked sidewalk in St. Paul, proud of his transformation. He had been fitted for several fashionable suits. Many would take several days to be ready for him, but they had managed to find a few that were ready to wear, and the one he wore now fit him to perfection.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie looked at Shane admiringly. His black cutaway coat emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. His shirt was dazzling white against his tanned face, an abundance of ruffles spilling over his embroidered waistcoat. His fawn-colored trousers fit him like a glove and were worn down on his boots, even touching the sidewalk in the back, with a strap under the foot.

  But one thing was amiss. He had refused to buy a hat or have his hair cut. His golden hair was drawn back from his brow and hung long, just past his shoulders.

  ''Shane, you look quite handsome," Melanie said, shifting her velveteen purse from one hand to the other. "I hope you feel comfortable in your new clothes. Do you?"

  Running a finger around the collar of his shirt, stretching it away from his neck, Shane gave Melanie an awkward smile. "I know I have much to get used to now that I no longer live with the Indians," he said, his voice drawn. "Wearing these damnable tight clothes may be the worst of the lot,

  Melanie. Nothing feels better than buckskin against the flesh. Nothing."

  Melanie elbowed her way through a crowd of men standing in front of a saloon, relieved when Shane slipped an arm around her waist and helped her along, away from their leering, drunken stares. "Thank you," she murmured. "I have found that shopping in St. Paul can sometimes be quite challenging. If a riverboat has just arrived with an onslaught of new settlers to the community, one never knows what to expect of the men who seek out the saloons even before a decent meal. My father never allowed me to come to town alone. But since his death, I do pretty much as I please."

  "Perhaps that isn't wise," Shane said. "You can't trust everyone the way you did me, Melanie. When your brother warned you against being reckless, perhaps you should have listened."

  He looked over his shoulder at the saloon they had just passed. He had heard the clink of coins and the shuffling of cards. It was arousing a hunger in him that had begun the day he had learned the game of poker from a trapper. Though he had never played poker anywhere but in the Indian village, he could not help but wonder how far his skills would take him in a white man's establishment. He would give it a try the first chance he got.

  Melanie looked up at Shane, aghast. "How can you defend anything Terrance says or does?" she gasped. "Shane, he has been anything but polite to you."

  "I'm not defending him," Shane said, his eyes

  locking with hers. "It's you I'm concerned over. Though I admire your adventurous nature, I would hate to see you let it get out of hand. Melanie, this world we live in isn't all that safe or nice."

  Melanie sighed. Her shoulders drooped as she looked away from Shane. "Yes, I know," she murmured. "But it is a world I have learned to live in and have done quite well for myself, thank you."

  Shane's attention was drawn to a huge, impressive house across the street, on the corner of Minnesota and Bench streets, where the American flag fluttered on a pole in front.

  Melanie sensed his silence and followed his gaze. "That's St. Paul's Central House," she said. "That's where the Minnesota territorial legislature meets to discuss the tax laws, the territory's school system, and the plans for a capitol building that should be completed in a couple of years."

  "Capitol building?" Shane said, forking an eyebrow.

  "St. Paul is the capital of the Minnesota Territory," Melanie said. "One day soon, Minnesota will become a state. I am so glad to be a part of this thriving community. When I was small, before there was ever a trace of a city here, I had doubted there ever would be. Everything seemed so untamable."

  She looked up at Shane and said softly, "Your future was changed because of everything being so wild. But I doubt if there are any men left in the territory who would do anything as horrible as those white men did who massacred the ship's passengers that day."

  "Twenty-five years have passed, but I cannot believe the man with the peculiar eyes has given up his evil ways," Shane said.
"I have dreamed of the day that I will avenge my mother's death and I plan to look into those strange-colored eyes again soon. It has been said by many Chippewa that he has been seen. I will search for him soon. He is the same as dead."

  A shudder coursed through Melanie. She stopped and grabbed Shane's hands, stopping him. "Shane, I understand how you feel," she said. "But I'm sorry I brought up the past today. I've had such fun shopping with you. Let's not spoil it by talking about that terrible man." She looked down at a cigar that was barely visible in his waistcoat pocket. Her eyes twinkled. "Let's talk about that cigar you bought when I wasn't looking. My word, Shane, don't tell me you're going to smoke that thing."

  A slow smile lifted Shane's lips. He glanced down at the cigar, then at Melanie. "I smoke a fine cigar every chance I get," he said, chuckling. "I've managed to get cigars on occasion when trappers or traders came to the village." His eyes took on a haunted look as he again glanced at the cigar. "The old chief even learned to like cigars. If he wasn't smoking his pipe, he was smoking a cigar. That old man liked nothing better than his smoke, cards and whiskey."

  Melanie's eyes widened. "What?" she said incredulously. "An Indian chief who liked not only

  cigars and whiskey, but also cards? What sort?" In her mind's eye she was recalling the deck of cards that she had found close to Shane's belongings that morning when she had returned for him. In the moments of passion that followed she had forgotten to ask him about them.

  "Poker," Shane said, shrugging casually. "What other sort of cards are there?"

  Melanie was at a loss of words for a moment, then she laughed. "My Lord," she said, swinging back around to Shane's side, to walk alongside him again. "I guess I have much to learn about your friends, the Indians, don't I?"

  "If you want to learn, I will be more than pleased to teach you," Shane said, his chin held proudly high. "Just as I accept your teachings about things that I have not had a chance to learn through my years of living away from the white man."

  Melanie spied a millinery shop just ahead. Her one weakness was hats. She could hardly ever pass a window display of hats without going inside the shop to buy one. She looked anxiously up at Shane, then back at the shop. "Shane, I know how eager you must be to get back to your father," she said. "But I would like to make one last stop before returning home." She pleaded up at him with her seductive brown eyes. "Would you mind?"

  "Father says he sleeps the afternoon away," Shane said, smiling down at her. "He doesn't expect me at his bedside until later this evening.

  You take all the time you need. Where do you want to go?"

  Melanie looked sheepishly at him. "Shane," she murmured. "It's a place that usually makes a man quite uncomfortable. It's a place where women go to choose a new hat. Do you think you would mind waiting outside for me while I go inside and choose one for myself? It wouldn't take long."

  "Take your time," Shane said, stepping back from the crowd. He stood in the shadows of a saloon, and the sound of shuffling cards causing his heart to race. "I'll wait here for you." He cleared his throat nervously as he took a look over his shoulder at the men coming and going from the saloon. Then he smiled down at her. "You go and pick out a pretty hat. I'll be just fine."

  Melanie looked from side to side, at the crowded walkway and street, knowing this would be the first time Shane would be alone in this environment. She blinked her eyes nervously as she looked up at him. "Are you sure?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm. "Really? Are you sure?"

  Shane smiled reassuringly down at her. "Melanie, you forget that I'm a grown man," he chuckled. "I don't think someone is going to come along and abduct me, now do you?"

  Melanie laughed awkwardly. She leaned up and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I won't be long," she said. "The shop is just a few doors down."

  His heart hammering against his chest, Shane

  watched Melanie walk briskly away, then reached his hand inside his pocket to jingle the coins that he had left after his buying spree. Taking three wide steps, he went inside the saloon. He stood just inside the swinging doors, looking the place over slowly and calculatingly. It was smoke-filled. A bar, with many men standing against it, reached along one whole side wall; a picture of a sprawling naked lady hung above shelves lined with an assortment of alcoholic beverages. There were several tables in the room, around which more men sat, drinking and playing poker.

  Shane ambled farther into the room and found a vacant chair at one of the tables. Without waiting to be invited, he sat down. Taking several coins from his pocket he placed them on the table before him. The man dealing the cards gave Shane a sidewise glance.

  "You want to be a part of this game?" the man asked. A cigar hung limply from the corner of his mouth.

  Shane felt all eyes turn his way. He tensed up, wondering if they realized that he was fresh out of the wilderness, more Indian at heart than white. But nobody seemed the wiser. With his new attire, he was even dressed better than most of the men at the table, who wore mainly faded shirts and coarse denim breeches. Some needed shaves. Most reeked of alcohol.

  "Deal me in," Shane said, nodding. He slipped his cigar from his pocket and bit off the tip and spat it over his shoulder.

  Placing the cigar between his teeth he leaned

  into a match that was offered by the man who sat next to him. "Thanks," he said. He took several long drags until smoke spiraled from the end of the cigar.

  "Whiskey?" the man on the other side of Shane asked, scooting a glass and whiskey bottle in front of him.

  "Don't mind if I do," Shane said, pouring himself a glass. In his heart he was remembering with fondness those many times of sharing a smoke, whiskey and cards with the old chief. In his heart, the old chief was there, looking over his shoulder, sharing his enjoyment.

  Tipping the glass to his lips and taking a quick drink of the whiskey, Shane looked across the table at the man who was shuffling the cards. He was not as friendly as the others at the table. He was puffing on a cigar and his dark eyes were squinted beneath the brim of a sweat-stained hat. His face was stubbly with whiskersexcept for a scar that slashed through the whiskers on his left cheek. Even from this distance Shane could smell the man. He probably hadn't had a bath in weeks.

  "This time it'll be five card stud," the man said in a slow drawl, still staring at Shane. "Jacks or better to open. Place your coins on the table. An ante of one dollar."

  Shane scooted his coins out in the middle of the table along with the rest. He began picking his cards up slowly as they were dealt to him until he was holding five in his hand. He studied the cards. He hadn't drawn openers.

  "Check," he said, placing his cards on the table, face down.

  "Check," the man next to him said, slapping his cards on the table also.

  No one had drawn openers. They threw their cards in a pile in the middle of the table. The man with the scar shuffled the cards again while everyone placed more coins on the pile. Again the cards were dealt. Shane took his up from the table, one at a time. When all of his cards were in his hands, his pulse began to race. He was drawing into a straight flush! If he could only be dealt an eight of clubs!

  "What's your bet?" the dealer asked, glaring at Shane after the bet had gone around the table to him.

  "I'll call you," Shane said, smiling smugly at the dealer.

  "How many cards?" the dealer asked, chewing on his cigar.

  Shane placed his cards face down in front of him on the table after throwing in his one discard. "One card," he said, taking his cigar from his mouth and flicking ashes on the floor beside him.

  The dealer slid the one card over to Shane. Shane tried to act nonchalant when he picked the card up and saw that it was just as good as the eight of clubs he had been hoping for. He had been dealt a three of clubs. He was still holding a straight flush.

  "I'll raise you two dollars," Shane said, scooting more money out into the center of the table with the rest.

  "Okay, I'll call you," the deal
er said, everyone else having already dropped out. The focus was on Shane and the man with the scar.

  Shane placed the cards down on the table face up. He heard the man with the scar groan, then smack down his cards angrily.

  "Deal 'em," the man with the scar said, shoving the cards to the man sitting next to him. "I'll show this stranger with the fancy duds and long hair that he's going to be lucky only once today."

  Shane's eyes gleamed as he dragged in his winnings. "We'll just see about that," he drawled confidently.

  Chapter Ten

  Proud of her purchase, the hat box in which it lay swinging at her side, Melanie strutted from the millinery shop. Eager to show Shane her new hat, she pushed her way along the crowded sidewalkthen panic rose inside her when she didn't see Shane standing where she had left him, where he had promised to stay.

  Afraid for Shane, Melanie began to push and shove desperately at the people crowding around her. Her eyes were moving wildly from place to place and store to store, for any signs of Shane.

  What was she to do? He wasn't used to the city, nor to the brusqueness of some of its people. Where could he have gone? Why had he?

  Recalling his love of cigars and his mention of pipes, Melanie rushed into a shop that specialized

  in tobacco products. Her heart faltered in its beat when she didn't find him there.

  She rushed back outside, looking wildly up and down the street. She began walking toward the spot where she had last seen him. ''Where could you be, Shane?" she whispered, her heart thumping.

  Her words faded from her lips as she looked up at the sign hanging over the door of the saloon. She recalled how he had talked of enjoying poker. "Lord, he wouldn't . . ." she whispered, paling. "He'll be eaten alive by the sorts of men that frequent those places!"