Wolf Runner

by Constance O'Banyon

  As Wolf Runner rode away he could not get the problems of the young woman out of his mind. She said she was going to be all right, but he did not believe it, and he did not think she did either.

  Cheyenne Gatlin was in no way his responsibility. He had offered to help, and she had refused. That settled the matter, as far as he was concerned.

  Romero and Ricardo Mendoza had just finished lifting the last crate in the loft of the blacksmith shop, and the oldest, Romero, who was fifteen, came down the ladder to stand before Cheyenne. “That is the last of it, Señorita Cheyenne. Will you need anything else?”

  She pressed a coin in each of their hands. “There is nothing else. Thank you both for your help.”

  Señor Mendoza had been watching the exchange and looked at each of his sons sternly. “Do we take money from our friends?”

  Both boys looked ashamed and handed Cheyenne back her coins.

  “But Señor Mendoza, I want to pay the boys for their work.”

  “Say nothing more about it.” He turned back to his sons. “Do you not have chores to do for your mother?”

  Both nodded and dashed out of the blacksmith shop.

  “They are good boys,” Señor Mendoza said with pride.

  “Yes, they are,” Cheyenne agreed.

  “Your belongings will be safe in the loft until you have need of them.”

  “I seem to always be thanking you for your many kindnesses.”

  “It is a pleasure to be of help.” His brown eyes took on a serious expression. “But the family wishes to do more.”

  “You have already been a great help to me. I don’t know what I would have done without your family.”

  “We had a meeting last night and we all decided we would like you to come and live with us. The boys have agreed to sleep here in the shop. In fact, they are most eager to do so; I suspect they would enjoy the freedom away from their mother’s watchful eye. You can bunk in with Maria and her sisters. They are eager to have you with them.”

  Cheyenne smiled. “Life can’t be so hard when I have friends like you and your family. I would like to stay the night with you—then I will be leaving for Albuquerque on the morning train.”

  He frowned. “What will you do there?” he asked in concern. “You have no friends in that town, while you have us here in Santa Fe.”

  “There might be an advantage to being unknown,” Cheyenne said, putting on a brave front. “Besides that, Albuquerque is a larger town and perhaps it will be easier to find employment.”

  “What kind of job will you seek,” he asked worriedly.

  “I would prefer to be a housekeeper or a shop clerk, if I can find someone who will employ me.”

  “I see your mind is made up, so go with God, se-ñorita. He will keep you safe.” He looped a rope around his hand and hung it on a hook. “Should you find it does not work out for you in Albuquerque, come home to us.”

  She touched his arm and he clasped her hand. “You will see me again.”

  Wolf Runner reached through the rungs of the boxcar and rubbed his horse’s neck. “He is always nervous and high-strung,” he told the conductor who stood beside him.

  “Most of them are like that before they settle down.” The man reached in and touched the horse’s sleek neck. “This is a fine animal.”

  “A little bit of home,” Wolf Runner said, turning away. “He’s from my father’s breed.” He glanced back at the conductor. The man was tall, with a thin face and long black hair. “You will see that he has food and water. Of course, I will tend to the wolf.”

  The older man laughed at Wolf Runner’s words. “I’ve been working on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad since it first reached Santa Fe. In all that time I have never lost a horse, and I have never fed a wolf.” He looked warily at Satanta. “And I hope to keep my clean record. On both counts.”

  Wolf Runner laughed. “Satanta will not trouble you.”

  “I understand you are only going as far as Albuquerque today.”

  “What time will we arrive?”

  The conductor took out his pocket watch. “I should think we would be there by noon.”

  Wolf Runner found a seat near the window and stared at the people on the platform. They scurried about like mice looking for a hole. Life was much simpler in his village. He could not breathe among so many people. He yearned for the open spaces of his homeland, and blue skies that stretched on forever.

  He only planned to be in Albuquerque for a few days. He would meet with the man who had offered to buy Mesa del Fuego and tell him the ranch was not for sale. Then he would purchase some equipment Cullen had asked for, and then he would be on his way home.

  Home.

  Still gazing out the window, Running Wolf’s eyes suddenly centered on a young woman carrying a valise much too heavy for her—but no one offered to help her with it. Although her bonnet covered most of her face, he knew it was Cheyenne Gatlin.

  His eyes narrowed with skepticism. Was she following him? He became even more suspicious when she took the seat right across the aisle from him.

  The train started forward with a hiss and a jerk and Cheyenne Gatlin raised her head, looking uncertain.

  From the grip she had on the back of the seat in front of her, Wolf Runner assumed she had never before ridden a train. As they pulled away from the platform, she glanced over at him. From the widening of her eyes, she appeared to be surprised—or was that only a trick?

  Perhaps.

  Deciding to ignore her, Wolf Runner leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

  His thoughts were on home when he fell asleep. And he dreamed of running up the Sweet Grass Hill with his wolves trailing behind him. There was a woman with him, and when she lifted her face to him, it was not Blue Dawn, but Cheyenne Gatlin.

  And in his mind, he was home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Much to Cheyenne’s mortification, Wolf Runner had not even acknowledged her, so she could only conclude she had made him angry.

  Well, what do I care?

  She had forgotten he had said he was leaving town today. If she had known he would be taking the train, she would have left town the next morning.

  Despite her determination to ignore him, Cheyenne’s gaze kept going back to him. He remained perfectly still in sleep, his arms crossed over his broad chest. She looked at his hands because Gram had told her she could usually gain insight into a man’s character by the appearance of his hands. Wolf Runner’s fingers were long and well shaped, callused, no doubt by working on his family’s ranch and doing whatever a Blackfoot did in his tribe.

  Cheyenne wondered what his day-to-day life was like living in an Indian village. From his manner of speaking one might think he had been raised to be a gentleman; someone had honed his manners—probably his white mother.

  She noticed his skin was not as dark as the Navaho or Zuni who could be found selling their wares in Santa Fe’s market square.

  But then, neither was hers.

  His face was smooth, so he had no need to shave—that would be from his Blackfoot heritage. His mouth was firm and well shaped, and Cheyenne suddenly blushed as she imagined pressing her lips to his.

  Turning away quickly, she gazed out the window until her heartbeat returned to normal. She had never had such thoughts about a man before. What was the matter with her?

  Gazing at the passing countryside, she saw the brittle grass waving in the breeze. Most of the trees were small and misshaped, almost ghostlike, because of the harsh wind that rushed down the mountains and constantly pelted them. This was the land of her birth, but she felt no kinship with it—the land and its people had never accepted her. The only part that meant anything to her was the small plot where Gram had been buried.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Cheyenne closed her eyes. She was weary because she had hardly closed her eyes all night. Maria had cried and begged her to stay, but she could not put her burdens on the Mendozas. Her mind turned back to Wolf Runner’s han
ds, and she imagined them caressing her skin.

  Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind. Something about him called to her and she did not know what it was, unless it was their shared Indian heritage.

  The train hissed steam and jostled Wolf Runner awoke. He stretched, glancing out the window.

  Apparently they had reached the outskirts of Albuquerque. Glancing over at Cheyenne Gatlin, he saw she was looking out the window and paid him not the slightest heed. He remembered her invading his dream, and he wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

  When the train came to a full stop at the railroad station, Wolf Runner watched Cheyenne struggle once more with her heavy valise, knowing he should help her. He did not offer because he was not inclined to renew their acquaintance.

  Apparently she felt the same because she did not even glance in his direction. He wondered what she might be doing in Albuquerque.

  Perhaps the two of them being on the same train was accidental, after all.

  Cheyenne steered clear of the fancy hotels on the square and found a small hotel around the corner and down the street. It bothered her that it was located next door to a cantina, but she must conserve what money she had left of the $200 Gram had left her. There was no way of knowing how long it would take her to find employment, or even if she would.

  The desk clerk was a Mexican, somewhere in his fifties. He was a balding, coarse-looking man with a long, thin nose and eyes set close together.

  The man looked her over carefully from head to toe and asked in Spanish, “How long will you be staying with us, señora?”

  Cheyenne answered him in Spanish, relieved that the man had mistaken her for a Mexican woman.

  However, when she signed her name in the registration book, he glanced at her signature and his high forehead wrinkled. “You are traveling alone, Señora Gatlin?”

  “Sí, señor,” she replied.

  “I see here,” he said, pointing to the ledger she had just signed, “that your name isn’t Spanish.”

  She looked at him a moment before deciding that a lie would serve her well in this hotel. “No,” she said, ducking her head, fearing he would read the truth in her eyes. She had already learned how vulnerable a woman alone could be. “My husband is a gringo.”

  “He will be joining you?”

  She had already told one lie; why not tell another to prop it up? “Sí.”

  “What is your business in Albuquerque?”

  Cheyenne glared at the inquisitive man. “My business is my own.” She raised her head and met his gaze. “May I have the key please,” she said, extending her hand toward him.

  Hesitating for a moment, he handed her the key.

  “Will you have someone retrieve my valise from the railroad station,” she said, opening her reticule and taking out some coins and handing them to the man.

  “I will have my grandson bring them to your room when he returns,” he assured her, looking her over carefully. “Can I help you in any other way?”

  Cheyenne recognized the gleam in the man’s eyes and glared at him. “I want only to be left alone,” she told him, thinking he was asking too many personal questions.

  As she climbed the rickety stairs Cheyenne could feel the desk clerk’s eyes on her. Her room was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Inserting the key in the lock, she entered cautiously, not knowing what she would find. To her delight and surprise the room was clean and it smelled fresh. There was a colorful quilt on the bed, a stand with a pitcher of water, and a straight-back chair.

  Going to the window, she pulled the cheap lace curtains aside and felt a cool breeze on her face. Cheyenne had no notion what turn her future would take, but at least she was safely away from Mr. Sullivan’s lascivious pursuit. No one, with the exception of the Mendoza family, knew where she was, and none of them would tell anyone, especially not Mr. Sullivan.

  Tomorrow she would start looking for employment. She had no qualifications, but she could clean house as well as anyone, and if they weren’t too particular, she could also cook.

  Removing her bonnet with a sigh, Cheyenne went to the ewer and poured water in a porcelain pan. She glanced in the oval mirror and was shocked to see her face was smudged with soot from the train smoke. For that matter her traveling suit was covered with black specks as well.

  After dusting off her traveling gown and washing her face and hands, she went back to the window. She stood looking down on the street below until daylight gave way to darkness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For three dreary days Cheyenne trudged the streets of Albuquerque, searching for work without success. Her feet hurt and she was bone-weary, but she had to keep trying.

  She hurried across the street, leaving the general store behind, where the woman had told Cheyenne they had no need of help from the likes of her, and the woman went on insulting Cheyenne, until she walked out the door.

  How can people strike out at someone they don’t even know, just because they are different?

  Cheyenne knew she would never treat anyone with such disrespect. Was there no one in this town who would look past who she was and give her a chance?

  On entering her hotel room, she laid her money out on the bed and counted it, then recounted it. She had $123 left, and there would be less than that after she paid for her hotel room.

  Her stomach growled to remind her she had not eaten all day. Maybe she could have a piece of toast and something warm to drink. She could not really afford to spend money, but she must keep up her strength so she could hunt for work.

  Later, she hoped to move to a more respectable rooming house where they offered room and board. She had seen several unsavory-looking characters hanging around out front. And at night when she went to bed, she could hear the raucous noise coming from the cantina next door.

  That afternoon she was back on the streets, looking for employment. After three hours of disappointment, she trudged back toward her hotel, feeling heartsick and lonely. And to make matters worse, it had begun to rain.

  Cheyenne’s head was down so she did not notice the man who stepped in front of her.

  “Miss Gatlin?”

  Seeing it was Wolf Runner, she stepped beneath a tattered awning that did little to protect her from the rain. She’d had a miserable day and talking to him would only make it worse. He was arrogant and when he looked at her it was as if he was criticizing her in some way.

  “I saw you on the train, but I did not know you were going to remain in Albuquerque.”

  “This was my destination,” she said shortly.

  He took her arm and pulled her farther against the building to protect her from the rain. “What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning. “Do you have friends in town?”

  Tilting her head upward, she looked into his eyes. There was no reason she should confide in him, but what did it matter? “I had to leave Santa Fe, to get away from Mr. Sullivan.”

  He lifted his brow, frowning. “Yes. I saw how he was a problem for you. But do you have somewhere to stay? Have you any plans?”

  Cheyenne pushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. “I have been looking for work.”

  She was soaked to the skin and looked so forlorn that it touched a note of pity within Wolf Runner. She seemed so young and so alone. “What will you do?” he asked.

  Cheyenne shook her head, about to tell him it was none of his concern. Then she capitulated because she needed to talk to someone. She would never see Wolf Runner again, so she could tell him her troubles. “The last place I tried”—she nodded down the street toward the general store—“the woman there told me I should try the saloon.”

  He stiffened. “You would not consider that, would you? It is unthinkable.”

  Cheyenne’s chin went up. Talking to Wolf Runner had been a mistake. “How does anyone know what they would do if they were desperate enough?” She stepped away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way back to the hotel.”


  Before she knew what he was doing, Wolf Runner took her arm and was guiding her back across the street toward an elegant eating establishment where delicious smells wafted through the open windows. When she tried to pull away from him, his grip only tightened. “You look like you could use something hot to eat. I know I would be the better for it.”

  Cheyenne jerked her arm away from him. “No thank you.”

  No woman had ever irritated Wolf Runner as much as this one did. Her pride was making her foolish. But she was a woman alone and in trouble, and he could not abandon her. “Miss Gatlin, you would be doing me a favor. I do not like to eat alone.” He would not tell her he had just come from eating in that same restaurant—alone.

  She looked at him with a strange expression, realizing he was the only person who had shown her kindness since she arrived in Albuquerque. It would be rude to refuse his request.

  Anyway, she was so cold her teeth chattered, so she agreed with a nod. “Something hot to drink would be nice, but I’m not hungry,” she said, too proud to accept food from him.

  His strong hand against the small of her back guided her through the crowded dining room and to a round table near the hearth, where a warm fire blazed.

  A waiter approached, and looking surprised, started to say something to Wolf Runner. Fearing the man would mention he had just eaten there, he said quickly, “I am hungry. Bring me a platter of fried chicken, a bowl of stew, and six tamales, with a dish of corn and mashed potatoes as well. I will want corn bread and biscuits. We will both have a mug of hot apple cider.”

  The waiter, who was well trained, said, “Of course, sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  Cheyenne’s eyes widened. “You have a hearty appetite, sir.”

  Wolf Runner’s gaze dropped to her. “I often order more food than I can eat. Maybe you can help me with it.”