When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  But he had to remind himself that he was no longer a part of the Chippewa. He had returned to where he rightfully belonged. He was a white man. He had to live by the white man's rules!

  "It is nothing," Shane said, wheeling his horse around and riding away.

  Melanie watched him for a moment, then rode after him. She was learning not to question his reasons for his sudden, withdrawn behavior. She knew that he was wrestling with the side of himself that was being forced into change. In time, she hoped, he would never again have cause to feel bitter or torn.

  She followed him up the gentle slope of land to the butte, then drew rein beside the river, where he quickly swung himself out of his saddle.

  Dismounting, Melanie went to stand beside Shane at the water's edge. Her eyes followed his gaze. She crept a hand into Shane's, joining him in watching a phantom-voiced loon as it swam gracefully through the water, then dove to a great depth to find food.

  Lifting its heavy body from the water, it flew only a short distance and settled on the grassy embankment. The loon had short legs, located far back on its body, making it clumsy. It waddled awkwardly to a nest of dried grass and weeds and squirmed down onto two, bluish-gray, mottled eggs.

  "Isn't that beautiful?" Melanie whispered, sighing. "If only life could be that simple for us, Shane. The loon truly has no worries in the world except for looking after her eggs."

  Shane placed his hands on Melanie's waist and drew her around to face him. "Melanie, soon that will change for her," he reminded her. "Soon she will be responsible for two offspring. There are

  always predators waiting to steal away those who are most dear to a mother's heart."

  "You are speaking of yourself and what happened to you, aren't you?" Melanie asked softly.

  "Yes, and I am also speaking of Trapper Dan," Shane said solemnly. "He's out there somewhere. Melanie, surely I will get the chance to make him pay for all that he has taken from me. If only I knew where to begin looking!"

  Melanie swallowed hard as she looked up into his troubled eyes. She had forgotten about having seen the trapper in St. Paul. But, even if she had remembered, she had vowed not to tell Shane! It was in Shane's best interest that he never discover that the trapper was anywhere close!

  "Just forget about him, Shane," she said, slipping into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Please forget about him."

  "Never," he said, then lifted her chin with a forefinger and lowered his mouth to her lips. "But if it were ever possible for me to forget, it would be because of you."

  He kissed her with a soft, sweet passion, then walked her back to her horse and helped her into the saddle. She watched as he mounted his own horse, hoping that one day all of his pain would be gone. Should she tell him about Trapper Dan? If he were able to rid himself of the torment of that man, wouldn't that lessen the burden he carried around inside his heart?

  No, Melanie still could not find it within herself to tell him. The dangers were too many.

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  Terrance walked through the hotel lobby, ignoring the stares of the fancily dressed women who brushed past him. Grabbing hold of the bannister, he moved clumsily up the staircase. He squinted and cursed beneath his breath. He had drunk too much alcohol to be able to focus on anything. He watched his feet as he lifted them from step to step, finding even that effort almost too hard to manage.

  But he had to go to Josh. He had to get Josh to listen to reason! Josh had to help rid their lives of Shane. He was letting Shane get off too easy!

  Finally reaching the second floor landing, Terrance stumbled along the corridor that was faintly lit by candles in sconces along the wall. He moved slowly, checking the room numbers on the doors, then smiled when he found the one he was searching for. Without knocking, he began fumbling with the doorknob and finally managed to get the door open. Laughing drunkenly, he fell into the room, then steadied himself and looked Josh square in the eye as Josh lay on the bed stark naked, a beautiful redhead beneath him.

  ''Whoops!" Terrance said, teetering. "Seems I've interrupted something." He bent closer, seeing the woman's eyes growing wide with embarrassment. "Do I know you, ma'am?" he asked, idly scratching his brow. "It don't seem like I've had the pleasure."

  Josh looked good-humoredly up at Terrance. He looked no more sober, himself, with his thick stubble of golden beard and his hair all tangled and twisted. He reeked of alcohol. His eyes were

  bloodshot. "Damn it all to hell, Terrance," he said, drawing away from the woman and pulling a blanket up to hide her nakedness. "You never did learn the art of knocking before entering a room."

  "Well, now, Josh, if that had been my sister in bed with you, I'd have most certainly knocked before interrupting," Terrance said, plopping down on a chair and sprawling his legs out before him. He spied an opened bottle of whiskey on the table next to him, grabbed it, and tipped it to his lips. But then slammed it back down on the table.

  "But that isn't my sister and that's exactly what I've come to talk about. It should be Melanie makin' love with you, Josh. Not a whore from the streets." He waved a hand wildly in the air. "Ain't you got no brains, Josh? What are you doin' here instead of out at the farm tryin' to outsmart Shane? Your Pa called you lazy. Well, I'm beginning to think he was damn right."

  The woman grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head, her face crimson with anger. She hurried into her shoes, then rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  "Well, thanks to you, that's one that won't be back," Josh said, pulling on his breeches. He stood over Terrance, glaring. "And as for outsmartin' my brother, that's exactly what I'm doin' by stayin' away from the farm. He'll soon realize he don't belong. Just give it time, Terrance. Give it time."

  Josh shrugged himself into his shirt and buttoned it, then pulled on his boots. He eyed the deck of cards on the table beside Terrance. "I'm

  ready for a poker game," he said, winking at Terrance. "Think you're sober enough to outsmart me in poker?"

  Terrance laughed as he rose shakily back to his feet. "Josh, I can outsmart you at anything, anytime," he said, grabbing up the deck of cards.

  Josh combed his fingers through his hair, then leaned into Terrance's face. "Show me, you sonofabitch," he said, his eyes filled with sudden rage. He nodded toward the door. "After you, Terrance. I'm sure I'm not the only one who'd like to sit at the same poker table with you this afternoon. You're always smartin' off at the mouth. It'll be a pleasure to see your socks beat off todaypreferably by me."

  Terrance chuckled as he sauntered toward the door. "You never know who you'll run into at the poker table these days," he said, walking on past Josh into the corridor. "Like the other day. I played against this giant of a man with the godawfullest eyes. I ain't never seen the likes of them eyes. I enjoyed gettin' to know him, though. Seems we discovered we had some of the same interests in life."

  "Who are you talkin' about, Terrance?" Josh asked, closing and locking his door.

  "Oh, you wouldn't know him," Terrance said, giving Josh a half glance. "But maybe you should . . . ?"

  Josh forked an eyebrow as he gazed questioningly at Terrance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The moon was partially hidden beneath a haze of clouds as a figure stole stealthily through the night. Only a few longhorns stirred, welcoming the enticing smell of hay placed beneath their noses. Their tails swished contentedly as they began to eat, but one by one the tails slowed and the legs became wobbly. One by one, the longhorns eased to the ground. They plopped over onto their sides, their tongues hanging from the corners of their mouths, their legs stretched out stiffly, and their eyes fixed in a death trance.

  Scooping up the remainder of the hay that was not eaten, the figure turned and moved cautiously away, making sure not to alarm the remaining longhorns.

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  Yawning and stretching, Shane rose from his pallet of furs. Nightmare free, his sl
eep had been pleasant. The smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen urged him into his clothes; he was growing fond of this drink that seemed to be habitual to the white community.

  He looked into a full-length mirror and studied himself. Not only was he successfully conforming to the white man's taste in food and drink, but in clothing too. The coarse denim breeches and the blue-plaid cotton shirt fit him well. Even the expensive leather boots on his feet did not seem all that alien to him any longer.

  But his hair was not yet changed, he thought, combing his fingers through his shoulder-length hair. In time, it must also be cut. But not quite yet. Parting with it would be hard. It had meant so much to him when he lived the life of an Indian.

  Hearing the bawling of cattle outside his window made Shane go and look out at what he could now call mostly his. He weaved and grabbed at the windowsill. It had suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time in his life that he had actually owned anything except for his horse and weapons. He suddenly realized that the world was his!

  His heart throbbed. "It is mine," he whispered, raking his hand over his face as though testing to see if he were actually there, experiencing this, instead of dreaming. "How can it be that suddenly so much belongs to me?"

  Turning slowly back to gaze from the window

  again, he firmed his jaw. "It is mine, and by damn, I am going to make the best of it," he said determinedly. "From now on I will face my new life with vigor instead of restraint!"

  A commotion below drew Shane's gaze to several cowhands running toward the pasture. He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the early morning light, and watched the men stop and assemble around something on the ground. Shane could not tell what was drawing their keen interest. The light was poor this time of day. All that he could see was shadows. But the reaction of the men sent waves of alarm through him.

  Grabbing his gunbelt and fastening it around his waist, the pistols heavy at his hips, he ran from his room and down the stairs. He could hear the shouts of the men as others ran from the bunkhouse to see what had been discovered in the pasture. Shane joined them, his breath raspy from running so hard.

  When he reached the circle of gawking, cursing men, he elbowed his way through them, then stopped. His gut twisted and a bitterness rose up into his throat at the sight of the three dead animals, horseflies buzzing hungrily around them.

  "I ain't never seen anything like it," one cowhand said, scratching his brow idly.

  Shane only barely heard the comments being tossed around on all sides of him. He stared down at the dead animals.

  The sound of an approaching horse drew Shane around. His eyes wavered when he caught sight of Melanie riding toward him, her hair flying in the breeze, a question in her eyes as she looked at the circle of men, then at Shane.

  Shane broke from the men and met her. As she drew rein beside him, Melanie's eyes locked with Shane's. Then she looked past him and saw the longhorn carcasses. Fear grabbed at her heart. If the cattle had been infected with a rare disease, it could run rampant through all of the animals on the adjoining farms. They could be wiped out.

  "What's happened here?" Melanie asked, her voice sharp with worry.

  Shane helped her from the horse and took her elbow as he guided her through the men. "Seems we lost a few head of cattle during the night," he said, his spine stiff. "But damned if I know why they died. There are no visible signs of illness."

  "And they seemed to be all right yesterday," Melanie said, bending to a knee beside one of the longhorns. She had watched her father examine longhorns since she was old enough to be interested in them. She knew most signs of sickness, and close examination showed her nothing even remotely similar to any disease that her father had treated.

  Then she grew cold inside when she opened one longhorn's mouth with her gloved hand. She had found something that her father had shown her only once during their years of owning cattle. A trapper who had happened by and who had been ordered from their property because of his crooked dealings had returned in the middle of the

  night and killed a select few of her father's prized bulls.

  Melanie saw the same evidence of poisoning in this longhorn.

  The tongue, the roof of the mouth, the coating on the teeth all were the same.

  "In a way it's good news, Shane," she said, rising to her feet. She wiped her gloves on her skirt, gazing up at him.

  "What is it?" Shane asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. "What have you seen that no one else has seen? Why did the cattle die?"

  "It isn't a disease," Melanie said, sighing. "That is the good news."

  "Why do you hesitate to tell me?" Shane asked. The men stood around them, also awaiting answers.

  "The bad news is that you have been sabotaged," Melanie said. "Someone poisoned your longhorns, Shane."

  Shane's jaw tightened. He dropped his hands to his sides and doubled them into fists. Turning, he looked toward Melanie's house, then up at the butte that stretched out into the forest. One of his enemies had made his mark.

  But which one?

  He walked away from Melanie, then turned and faced his cowhands. "Take these carcasses away!" he shouted. "Burn them!"

  The cowhands stepped back away from him, their eyes filled with defiance.

  "Those of you who do not wish to do as you are

  told can leave!" Shane said, emotionless, looking them in the eye, challenging them, one by one. "You may as well accept who gives the orders around here now. You know that it isn't Josh."

  When the men did not make an effort to heed Shane's warning, he went to the cowhand closest to him. With a low, throaty growl, he grabbed the cowhand by the throat and lifted him bodily from the ground. "Are you ready to voice your objection?" he asked, leaning into the cowhand's face. Fear distorted the man's features.

  "No, sir . . ." the cowhand managed in a raspy voice, gasping for breath. "I ain't complainin'. Let me go. I'll do what you ask."

  Shane jerked his hand away from the cowhand's throat and went to the next man and repeated the same performance. "Are you working? Or leaving?" he asked, challenging the man with a set stare, his grip firm on the man's neck.

  "Let me go, youyou damn Injun lover," the cowhand managed, his voice a strangled gurgle as Shane's fingers tightened around his throat.

  Shane's anger swelled to almost uncontrollable proportions, enraged by the cowhand's obvious loathing of Indians. When anyone insulted Indians, they were also insulting Shane, for in his mind and heart, they were one in the same.

  Feeling Melanie's eyes on him, Shane refrained from attacking the cowhand. Instead he gave the man a shove, causing him to awkwardly fall to the ground. Placing a foot on the man's abdomen, pinioning him to the ground, he glared down at him. "Get your things and get out of here," he ordered. "Don't let me ever see you near my farm again."

  Wild-eyed, the cowhand waited for Shane to take his foot away, then scrambled to his feet and ran to his horse and left in a frenzied gallop.

  A sob froze in Melanie's throat. She backed away as the men fell in around the carcasses and began dragging them off. After they were gone, she went to Shane and took his hand. "I'm sorry this had to happen to your cattle," she murmured. "Of course, you are wondering who did it."

  "In time, the truth will out," Shane said, watching his cowhands prepare the carcasses for burning.

  "I've come to show you how farm ledgers are kept," Melanie said, knowing that Shane did not want to discuss this morning's tragedy. He surely felt helpless. It was hard enough that everything was new to him, without someone doing something like this to him!

  Anger scorched her insides at the thought that it might have been Terrance! Would he? Or Josh? Was either of them capable of such an act as this? Or, could they be working together? Was their hatred toward Shane this intense?

  "Ledgers?" Shane said, forking an eyebrow.

  Melanie linked an arm through Shane's and began walking with him toward the house. "Entries must be mad
e daily to keep up," she said, curling her nose distastefully when smoke wafted toward her from the burning carcasses. "My father said that I was a most skilled bookkeeper."

  "I know of no ledgers, or where they are kept,"

  Shane said in a grumble. ''I will probably fail at that, also."

  Melanie shot him a quick look. She frowned at him.

  "Don't let doubts plague you," she scolded. "No one could have prevented this. How can you blame yourself?"

  "It is because I am here that they are dead," Shane said, breaking away from her and striding into the house.

  Melanie hurried after him, breathless as she reached him just outside the parlor. She grabbed him by an arm and forced him to stop. "Shane, you mustn't let anything stand in the way of your living here, where you belong," she said softly. "You mustn't let whoever poisoned the cattle see you defeated."

  She tugged at his arm. "Come on, Shane," she urged him, giving him a wistful look through her long, dark lashes. "Let me help you. Please? I can find the ledgers. They are probably in a desk drawer. That's where father always kept his."

  Shane looked down at her, his expression brooding. She gazed up at his bronzed, handsome face, feeling something mystical and magical suddenly weaving itself between them.

  "Shane, what are you thinking?" she asked, a warmth blossoming within her as she saw his mood changing. His jaw was not as tight; his chin not as firm.

  She gasped as his hands reached out to cup the roundness of her bottom through her soft, buck-skin dress, and he drew her into the manly contours of his body. He crushed his mouth down upon her lips, his tongue plunging inside her mouth.

  Her pulse racing, she twined her arms around his neck and was lost in passion. When he began gyrating his body into hers, she raised a leg and wrapped it around him, drawing him closer. She was flooded with a sweet desire that spread within her like a warm summer breeze, touching her all over with a lilting softness.