Trying to keep a tight rein on her temper, Cheyenne took a deep breath. “You don’t know me well enough to make any kind of assumption. Your husband is the one who should not be allowed to be around decent young women. He has but one thing on his mind—the ruination of any woman who falls into his hands. You can tell him that for me.”
The woman looked doubtful for a moment and then she shook her head, cramming her money back into her reticule. She had met Nigel’s women before and they all claimed to be innocent, but they had all taken her money. “If you think my husband will give you more than I offered, in that you are mistaken. I control the money, not him.”
Angry and hurt to the heart, Cheyenne felt her lips quiver. “I would not touch your money. I’ll be leaving soon, and you and your husband will never see me again.”
The woman’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “When? And where will you go?”
“When I leave and where I go is no concern of yours. I’m going to ask you this one last time to get out!”
Sweeping to the door, the short woman’s head came only to the tip of Cheyenne’s nose. “I don’t have to take such talk from a dirty half-breed. If you aren’t gone by the end of the week, I’ll have the sheriff throw you out.”
“I will be gone, but not because of your threats.”
“I don’t care what the reason is. Leave Santa Fe or you will regret it, my girl.”
Feeling tears gathering behind her eyes, Cheyenne was determined this woman would not see her cry. She gave Nancy Sullivan a wide berth so she could move out of the house.
She flinched when Mrs. Sullivan slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. For a long moment Cheyenne stood in shocked silence and could no longer stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks. Whatever she decided to do about her future, she must do it quickly.
Listening to the mantel clock ticking away the seconds of her life, Cheyenne knew what she must do, but she was afraid to take that first step into an unknown future.
A storm struck at midnight with lightning and thunder shattering her sleep. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding with fear. She heard a banging and thought someone was trying to break in before she realized the noise was a broken shutter slamming against the house. Grabbing her shawl, she rushed outside and fumbled with the shutter until she finally latched it.
Cheyenne was drenched by the time she got back inside, and when she changed into a dry nightgown, she was still shivering. It was doubtful she would be able to sleep for the rest of the night. And she heard every sound—the creaking of the house, and the occasional barking of a dog.
Her eyes grew heavy, but she could not sleep for thinking of what Mrs. Sullivan had said to her, and for fear Mr. Sullivan would break down the door to get to her.
Her loaded gun lay at her side, so she could reach it if she needed to.
Chapter Eleven
When morning came, Cheyenne rose, feeling exhausted. She laid a fire in the fireplace and tried not to think of Mrs. Sullivan and her harsh accusations. But she could not get the woman’s cruel words out of her head.
Thinking back to her meetings with Mr. Sullivan, Cheyenne wondered if she had ever done or said anything to encourage him.
No.
She had not.
In fact she had always attempted to discourage that loathsome man who apparently preyed on women who had no protection.
At the moment she did not know whom she despised the most, him or his sharp-tongued wife.
But she did know she was in trouble.
There was no doubt in her mind that Mrs. Sullivan would make good her threat and have the sheriff order her out of the house if she did not vacate as soon as possible.
The timbers in the old house creaked and groaned as Cheyenne spent the rest of the day packing. By the time she crawled into bed, she was too weary and heartsick to even remove her clothing. She finally dozed off listening to the familiar sounds of the house settling around her. This would be her last night to spend in the only home she had ever known.
Sliding out of bed the next morning, she had to make sure everything was in order so Señor Mendoza would not have to wait when he arrived with the wagon. She was facing a hard situation, but there was no time to waste feeling sorry for herself.
It was late afternoon before she hammered the nails in the last crate. Standing back, she surveyed the remnants of Gram’s life. How sad that everything Cheyenne was going to keep fit into four small crates. She grabbed up her bonnet and was on her way out the front door when she stopped dead still, watching Mr. Sullivan come up the walk.
It was too late to retreat into the house, so she stood her ground. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sullivan,” she said, closing the door firmly behind her, knowing she would not allow him inside the house. “If you are here to make sure I’m leaving, I can assure you I’ll be out before the day is over.”
“There was no need for you to rush,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I just spoke with Mendoza and he told me he would be moving your belongings out today. I have to say I didn’t like the man’s attitude.”
He was standing much too close to suit Cheyenne, so she stepped around him and moved toward the gate. “Señor Mendoza is a very dear friend and he feels protective of me.”
Nigel’s light-colored brows met across his nose in a frown. “Just how close a friend is he?”
Whirling on him with overwhelming disdain, Cheyenne said angrily, “How dare you ask me such a question! Señor Mendoza is like a father to me. He is nothing like you.”
“You have the wrong idea about me, Cheyenne,” he protested.
“I don’t think so,” she snapped, “and don’t call me by my given name, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Don’t be so unfriendly. I only want to help you.”
Taking Cheyenne’s arm, he led her back toward the house, but she pulled away from him with a glare.
“Now, now, don’t take offense. There are things I need to talk to you about.”
She jerked her arm free of his grasp and said in desperation, “There is nothing left to say between us.”
“There you are wrong.” Nigel Sullivan loomed over her. “Do you think I don’t know that my wife paid you a visit yesterday? I know what she said to you. Do not imagine I would ever let Nancy dictate to me.”
“She’s your wife.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “That don’t mean nothing to you and me. Don’t worry, I took care of her this morning, and she won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“Get. Away. From. Me,” Cheyenne said between clenched teeth, enunciating each word carefully.
“You won’t want me to go when you hear that I’ve decided you can unpack those crates and remain in this house. How would you like that? I’ll even sign over the deed to you if it will make you feel better.” His voice took on a silken quality, and he touched her cheek. “I will be real good to you, Cheyenne.” His voice became lower. “I’ll see that you want for nothing.”
Mr. and Mrs. Glass, the owners of Glass General Mercantile, were passing by and both paused to gawk at them. Mrs. Glass’s mouth curved into a disapproving line. Her voice carried to Cheyenne. “I told you that half-breed was no good and you can see for yourself I was right,” she told her husband.
Shame washed down Cheyenne’s face and she stepped around Mr. Sullivan—she could only imagine what the Glasses thought was going on between her and this man.
“We can’t talk here,” Nigel said, grasping her hand and leading her toward the house. Opening the door, he pulled her resisting body inside and slammed the door shut before Cheyenne could protest.
She turned on him, her hands fisting at her side. “You have no right to be here,” she said, breaking away from his grasp. “And you have no right to treat me with such disrespect.”
“I respect you. If you’ll just give me half a chance, I’ll show you how much.”
Terrified of being alone with him, she tried another tactic. “You should leave now. Señor Mendoza will be here a
t any moment with his three sons.”
Wolf Runner dismounted in front of the small adobe house. He had seen the man and woman in the yard as he approached, and he had watched them enter the house, drawing the obvious conclusion.
He had come by to talk to Cheyenne Gatlin so he could make provision for her future. Guilt had been his motivation today, but he could have saved himself the trouble. It seemed she already had a man to take care of her. He had just gripped the reins, with the intention of remounting his horse, when he heard scuffling sounds coming from inside the house and then a woman screamed.
Nigel grabbed Cheyenne and pulled her into his arms. When she cried out and tried to turn her head, he held her so tightly the buttons on his coat bit into her skin. She pushed against him when he tried to nuzzle her neck.
“I have waited a long time for this moment. I want you and I’ll have you, you can make sure of that.”
“Please, no, Mr. Sullivan,” Cheyenne pleaded, sounding helpless when she wanted to sound decisive. “Leave me alone! I can’t abide to have you near me.”
The more she struggled, the tighter he held her, and he was much stronger. When he backed her into a corner and pressed his body against hers, she screamed, even though she knew no one would hear her, or even care if they did.
“Fight me—bite and scratch me—it will make your surrender all the sweeter.”
“You are an animal!” Cheyenne cried, trying to wedge her arm between their bodies. “I despise you!”
Sullivan groped for her breasts and she bit his hand so hard he cried out in pain. “You little bitch,” he said, slapping her so hard her head hit the wall and she crumpled to her knees.
Neither of them had heard Wolf Runner enter until he spoke from the open doorway. “I believe the lady told you to leave her alone,” he said in a dangerously calm voice.
Nigel’s head whipped around and he stared at the stranger. “Get out. This is none of your business.”
Cheyenne’s eyes widened. She didn’t know why the owner of Mesa del Fuego was there, but she reached out to him. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please help me.”
“Who do you think you are?” Nigel demanded as he turned to face the stranger. “You’re on private property and I could have you arrested.”
Wolf Runner saw the young woman reach out her hand to him with terror in her eyes. “And you are pressing your attentions on a lady who doesn’t want them. I could have you arrested. Or…I could take care of you myself.”
“She isn’t a lady—she’s an Indian.” Nigel looked Wolf Runner over carefully. “But then so are you, aren’t you?”
Wolf Runner ignored the man’s comment. “Miss, do you want me to make him leave?”
“Yes, please.”
Wolf Runner towered threateningly over the man. Nigel felt the first inkling of fear when he looked into dark, menacing eyes—for a moment he thought he saw his own death reflected in their depths.
“The lady wants you to go. So go.”
Sullivan inched around Wolf Runner and made his way to the door. “This isn’t over,” he said to Cheyenne. “I’ll be back.”
She cringed as he left and slammed the door. Trembling, she gazed up at her rescuer, wondering why he was there. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, standing, and bracing herself against the wall for a moment. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along when you did.”
“Am I right in assuming you are Ivy Gatlin’s granddaughter?”
She nodded slowly as grief etched her face. “Gram is…dead.”
“I know. I spoke to her a few weeks ago. We have to talk.”
Chapter Twelve
Still shaking from her encounter with Mr. Sullivan, and more than a little confused because the owner of Mesa del Fuego had come to her rescue, Cheyenne asked the first question that popped into her head, “You spoke to Gram?”
“Briefly.”
It was now clear to Cheyenne where Señor Men-doza had taken Gram that day she wanted his wagon. “What did she want with you?”
Wolf Runner stared into the face of the young woman who was causing him no end of trouble. Her Indian heritage was apparent in her high cheekbones and her darker skin. Her amber eyes were remarkable. Having only seen her from a distance, he had not known she was so beautiful, although Cullen had said she was. Ivy Gatlin had been right; her unprotected granddaughter would become a target for every unsavory man who crossed her path.
“I have seen you before,” she said. “The day you came into town. But I don’t know your name.”
As if coming out of a daze, he said, “To the Black-foot people I am known as Wolf Runner.”
Cheyenne saw green flecks in his otherwise brown eyes, and knew either his mother or father was white. “You are Blackfoot and a half-breed as I am.”
He turned to observe the crates stacked near the door. “I never consider that I am a half-breed until I walk in the white world. Never think that my heart is not fully Blackfoot.”
“I am half white and half Cheyenne—nothing I do and no amount of wishing can change that. The day I was born marked who I am and how people react to me. You saw how Mr. Sullivan treated me.”
“Your grandmother said you had never met your own people, the Cheyenne.”
Tears glittered on long, silky lashes, and she wiped them away on the tips of her fingers. “What did Gram say about me?”
“Did Mrs. Gatlin not tell you she came to see me at the ranch?”
Cheyenne’s brow furrowed. “No. Why did she go to see you?”
“She told me about your circumstances and that there was a man who was pursuing you.”
Shame washed over Cheyenne. “Tell me she didn’t do that.”
“She was worried about you, and from what I saw here today she had good reason.”
His voice was deep, his words cultured, and he spoke with only a slight accent. His face was as beautiful as any of the statues she had seen in one of Gram’s books on ancient Greece. Making a hopeless gesture, she shook her head. “I’m sorry Gram dragged you into this.” She stared at him for a moment before breaking off eye contact. “I wish she hadn’t.”
Wolf Runner did not know how much to tell her since Ivy Gatlin had not mentioned her visit to his ranch. “Your grandmother knew my mother in the past so she came to me and asked if I could help you.”
How like Gram to worry about her when she had been so sick. Cheyenne was still reeling with grief and she could hardly follow Wolf Runner’s reasoning. “As you can see, I am packed to move out of this house since it belongs to Mr. Sullivan.”
“Do you have plans?”
“No.” She avoided his eyes. “Not yet.”
“Then I can help. How would you like to move to Mesa del Fuego?”
Gasping, Cheyenne stepped away from him, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you! I just had a similar offer, and I turned it down.”
Anger flashed in his all-seeing eyes.
“Miss Gatlin, do not mistake my intentions with those of the man who just left here. I have no interest in you whatsoever, other than to help you for your grandmother’s sake.”
Confused and embarrassed by her outburst, Cheyenne realized she had mistaken his intentions. “Thank you for helping me today. But as you see, I have much to do.”
“Where will you go?” he pressed.
She regarded him silently for a moment before she shook her head. Her gaze reflected caution, for she did not fully trust any man after today. “You need not be concerned.”
“Mrs. Gatlin asked me to take you to my village and place you under the care of my mother.” He turned away from her and gazed out the window. “That, or living in safety on Mesa del Fuego is all I can offer you.”
Her mouth flew open in shock. Hurt pride and shame battled inside Cheyenne. “I’m not going with you to your Indian village or your ranch. I can take care of myself,” she said in anger.
Wolf Runner stared down at her, wanting to walk away. She
was ungrateful and obstinate, two traits he did not admire in women. “You were not doing very well at it a moment ago.”
When he saw hurt pour into her eyes, he was sorry for his sharp words. She had just lost her grandmother and been accosted by a man—she did not need his criticism. For reasons he did not care to examine, he felt the need to offer this young woman words of comfort. “In times of great grief,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “it may seem that hope has deserted you, but with the passing of time, grief lessens.”
Cheyenne stood frozen in place for a long moment. Then she broke eye contact with him and turned away. “Good day.” She walked to the door and held it open. “Thank you for your concern.”
Wolf Runner was reluctant to leave. If it were not for her dark skin and the slant of her beautiful eyes, she would pass for a white woman and would not be as vulnerable as she was now. Her honey-colored eyes seemed to pull him into their depths, but he resisted.
“If you are certain—I will not make the offer again.” He expected to be relieved because she was releasing him from the obligation Ivy Gatlin had placed on his shoulders, but he still hesitated.
“Thank you again,” Cheyenne said stiffly, opening the door wider and looking at him pointedly.
Wolf Runner had good instincts, and at the moment he knew that this woman who stood so bravely before him was terrified. He could do nothing for her if she would not accept his help.
“I will leave you, if that is your wish.” He paused at the door. “I will be departing Santa Fe tomorrow. Should you need anything at all, I will instruct Cullen Worthington to help you. Do not hesitate to go to him; he is trustworthy and honorable.”
Cheyenne’s hand trembled as her grasp on the doorknob tightened. “I will not need anything,” she said proudly.
Wolf Runner nodded. “Then good day to you, Miss Gatlin. And accept my sympathy on your grandmother’s passing.”
Watching him leave and smoothly mount his horse, Cheyenne wished she could call him back. But what would she say to him? She had been humiliated that her grandmother had involved him in her troubles. She would always be grateful he had arrived in time to make Mr. Sullivan leave, but she didn’t know him, and wasn’t going to trust a stranger.
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