“Sleep,” Wolf Runner whispered, his hand touching her arm so gently it felt like a caress.
Chapter Twenty-two
Heat seared through Wolf Runner’s body as he held Cheyenne close. He wanted her to belong to him, not just her body, but also her mind and her soul. She was asleep and would never know that he bent his head, his lips touching her forehead and lingering there for a long time. He was filled with the essence of her, and he ached, knowing he had to give her up.
The year he had spent in Washington, there had been many women to share his bed. He knew they sought him out because he was different. And it had not gone against him that his aunt and uncle were close friends with presidents and other high-ranking politicians. Those women were nameless and faceless, and had meant little to him at the time, and even less now. They had thought they were using him, but in truth he had used them, and they never guessed his disdain for them.
But this half-white woman was innocent and had not yet discovered the allures a woman can have over a man. She was young and helpless and she tugged at his heart.
He could not have her.
Had he not promised Blue Dawn he would be faithful to her alone? How could he have been so blind as to pledge himself to her when he knew he had no love for her? How could he have known that he would meet a golden-eyed woman who would tie him in knots?
Wolf Runner thought of the years he would spend with Blue Dawn—they would pass slowly because she was the wrong woman for him. He knew if he asked his father what he should do, his father would say as he always had, “honor first.” Wolf Runner had bound himself to Blue Dawn and would take her as his wife, although he had nothing of himself to give her. He did not desire her; he never had.
He remembered Blue Dawn’s tears as he prepared to leave for Santa Fe. His promise to her had been made in haste to dry her tears—but it was a promise nonetheless.
He swept his lips across Cheyenne’s cheek, wishing he dared touch his mouth to hers. These stolen moments belonged to him. She must never know when he left her he would be dead inside.
Cheyenne sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer to him. Turning her toward him, he held her head against his chest, running his hand up and down her back, familiarizing himself with the feel of her.
He wanted more—he wanted the taste of her on his lips, he wanted to know all of her body. He wanted to know what she thought and what she felt.
Suddenly he felt something furry come between the two of them and Satanta reared his head.
Wolf Runner was grateful his wolf was reminding him that he must not go so far with Cheyenne that he could not pull back.
Untangling himself from Cheyenne, he gently laid her down and quietly left the lean-to, standing in the storm that raged about him, cooling his passion.
Blue Dawn would be cheated, for he would come to her with only half a heart. As Wolf Runner stood in the wind and sleet, he contemplated what Blue Dawn would feel if he told her he could not take her for his woman because he wanted Cheyenne. Blue Dawn was kind and gentle and had always looked up to him. He could not humiliate her by choosing Cheyenne for his woman.
His thoughts were in a jumble. What he wanted did not matter. It could be worse if Cheyenne returned his love. Then he would have to weigh her unhappiness against his honor.
Honor must always win.
He did not know if Cheyenne cared for him, but she trusted him. It would destroy her faith in him if she ever learned he had used her to get to her cousin, Night Fighter.
Cold and shivering, Wolf Runner glanced down at Satanta, who was watching him closely with those all-knowing eyes.
“You love her too.”
A blast of icy wind hit as he turned away and trudged to where the horses were sheltered. Laying his hand on his horse’s neck, he tried to clear his mind of tortured thoughts.
He was Blackfoot, a man of nature with ancient blood of warriors in his veins. He could sense the storm would soon play out. Tomorrow they would be able to continue their journey.
As Wolf Runner stood there in the cold, with a stiff wind tearing at his hair, hopelessness coiled inside him. It would have been better for him if he had never known Cheyenne.
And maybe better for her as well.
But, no—if he had never known her he would never have known love, the word he could not give her the meaning of in Blackfoot. A lump formed in his throat and he tried not to think about the moment when he would ride away and leave Cheyenne with strangers.
Until that day he must hide his feelings and not show how he felt about her by either word or deed.
That would be difficult since he wanted so badly to snatch her in his arms and hold her to his body. He wanted to capture her sweetness and take it with him whenever he left her, so he could remember her in the long years ahead.
He would still want her when he was a man so advanced in age that the passions of youth had passed away.
He could tell her his meaning of love in the Black-foot language meant “torment,” for he felt it in every fiber of his being.
Wolf Runner stiffened his resolve to get to the Cheyenne village as soon as possible. Every passing moment he spent with Cheyenne would be a temptation.
One he did not know if he was strong enough to resist.
Wolf Runner raised his head to the sky and cried out, “Why!”
Satanta stood beside Wolf Runner, raising his head and howling as if he knew what his master was suffering.
Perhaps he did.
Chapter Twenty-three
Crawling out of the lean-to, Cheyenne was greeted by a cloudless sky. Sometime during the night the storm had blown itself out, and she felt warmth creep into her body as a chinook wind moved across the land.
Smelling the delicious aroma of meat cooking, she was delighted to see Wolf Runner was roasting a fine fat rabbit.
Wolf Runner did not look up as he said, “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
Cheyenne glanced at the sky and smiled, now knowing him well enough to recognize he was teasing her with his own dry humor. “It is barely past dawn.”
“While I see to the animals, you must eat, then get ready to leave,” he told her, his gaze shifting to her hair. Some of the long curls had escaped the braids and tumbled down her back—he was fascinated by the way the wind played in the dark strands.
Cheyenne dropped down on a log, enjoying the warmth of the campfire. A short time later she nibbled on a chunk of meat, savoring each bite.
“I wonder where we are now,” she said, licking her fingers.
Wolf Runner turned to look at her, his eyes flaming as his gaze settled on her mouth. “If this weather holds, you will see your grandfather within the week.”
Cheyenne dropped her gaze, feeling a stab of pain through her heart. She fought valiantly to hold on to her composure, but was not sure she succeeded. She had only a few days to spend with Wolf Runner before he rode out of her life forever.
Cheyenne was reluctant to leave this place. The closer she got to her grandfather, the sooner she would be parted from Wolf Runner and living with people she didn’t know, who might not even welcome her. Her gaze feasted on Wolf Runner as he dismantled the lean-to.
She reached for another piece of meat, knowing very well why she lingered over her meal—she did not want Wolf Runner to leave her. Wherever he went, she wanted to go with him, even if she was merely a shadow in his life—even if he took no notice of her as a woman.
Feeling as if her heart would break, she took the last bite of meat and wiped her hands so she could fold the robes. Wolf Runner had not, by word or deed, suggested he cared anything for her—in fact, he had told her he was not attracted to her. Life had hard lessons to learn, but to be parted from Wolf Runner would be one of the hardest she had to endure.
With her arms loaded with blankets and robes, she watched Wolf Runner come striding toward her. Taking the blankets from her, his hand brushed hers and his green-flecked gaze settled on her, making C
heyenne quickly recoil, resisting the impulse to curl her fingers around his. She was afraid she would betray her feelings for him.
Cheyenne stepped back a pace, watching him roll the blankets into tight strips and secure them to the packhorse. Once the tarp was in place she saddled her horse.
Gathering the reins, she hoisted herself onto the saddle. Weary of heart and mind, she waited for Wolf Runner to douse the campfire with water. Sighing, Cheyenne decided she must cherish whatever time they had left—it was all she would ever have of him.
The days passed in quick succession, and the clear weather held, but the winds were biting and frigid. Cheyenne’s fingers were stiff with cold and she could not even feel her feet.
In the last day the scenery had changed from open grassland prairie to forests of spruce, cedar, and fir trees that vied for pieces of the sky.
Wolf Runner was unusually quiet. He had hardly spoken two words to her since they had started out that morning. Satanta, however, had become her constant companion. Wherever she went, the wolf was beside her, and even now he loped along beside her horse.
She had lost count of the calendar days and could not decide if it was late autumn or if autumn had already passed into winter. In this part of the country it was difficult to tell one season from another. Wolf Runner had told her that sometimes in August it would snow in this land.
It was nearing sundown and the temperature had dropped as Cheyenne huddled beneath a warm blanket.
Wolf Runner halted his horse and Cheyenne did the same.
He rode back to her and handed her the reins of the packhorse. “Remain here while I scout ahead to find a place to shelter for the night. It will snow before morning and the weather will turn colder.”
He did not give her the chance to reply before he spun his horse and rode to the north. She thought how Wolf Runner had changed from the man she had first known; or perhaps she had changed her perception of him by knowing him better. He held his head at a proud tilt, his back straight, and his dark hair free of restraints flowing down his back.
Cheyenne’s heart caught in her throat. Her spirit called to his, but his did not answer.
Glancing up at the clear blue sky, Cheyenne wondered how Wolf Runner always knew when the weather was going to turn. Perhaps his training as a Black-foot warrior made his senses more attuned to the weather.
Cheyenne dismounted, then allowed the horses to go on a nearby quest for the wheat grass that still remained in the shadows of the trees. Before she took a drink from her canteen she poured some on a stone, where it pooled so Satanta could take a drink. The wolf gazed up at her expectantly and she laid her hand gently on his noble head.
“When the time comes for you and your master to leave me, I’ll miss you.”
Satanta flopped on the ground, closing his eyes. She knew, however, that the wolf was alert to everything around them because his ears were perked up, as if he was listening to sounds she could not hear with her human ears.
Bracing her back against the trunk of a spruce tree, Cheyenne closed her eyes for a moment. With the wind playing nature’s song through the lacy branches of the trees, she thought she could stay in this place forever.
A moment, or an hour later, she could not be sure, she heard a rider approaching. Becoming tense at first, she relaxed when Satanta merely rose to his feet and yawned. It had to be Wolf Runner returning.
“I have found an abandoned cabin not too far ahead,” he said, capturing the reins of the pack animal and leading him forward. “We will wait out the storm there.”
After a brisk ride over a hill and across a small valley, Cheyenne saw the abandoned cabin and was heartened. To sleep beneath a roof would be sheer pleasure after being exposed to the brutal elements for so long.
She dismounted and started to step over a broken bottle when she felt Wolf Runner’s hand at her waist, guiding her safely over the sharp glass shards. When she turned her head to look at Wolf Runner, his hand dropped and he turned away.
Stepping over the threshold, Cheyenne found the cabin only had one room, but it was dry and out of the wind. She turned to smile at Wolf Runner. “It’s wonderful.” Her eyes brightened and she stepped closer to the fire and held her hands out to warm them. “You already lit a fire.”
Wolf Runner thought how little it took to make Cheyenne smile. “Remain inside. I will unload the packhorse,” he said, turning to leave.
She held her hands closer to the flames, rubbing them together to restore the circulation. Glancing at the corners of the cabin, she saw spiderwebs. The floor was dirt, but the structure seemed sound, although there were cracks between some of the logs.
“I can make this livable,” she said, smiling to herself. Finding a broom with a broken handle and with very few straws left, she swept the cobwebs out of the corners. Finding a broken lady’s hand mirror, she wondered at the woman who had brought this treasure to this place and then left it after the glass was broken.
She dropped it and swept the scattered debris out the door and stood back to admire her own handiwork.
She wondered about the people who had built the structure; were they happy? Had they been forced to leave, or had they left of their own accord? There was no window, and when they closed the door, it would be dark inside if not for the fire.
Wolf Runner brought in their supplies and placed them out of the way in a corner and propped his rifle against the log wall. “Whoever built this place had a good hand. There are cracks in the walls, but the roof seems secure.”
“That was just what I was thinking. We could pretend we built this house,” she said, smiling. “I am mistress of this domain and you are the master.”
He smiled down at her. “What would your orders to the master be, madam?” he asked, joining in her levity.
She playfully pushed him toward the door. “I would say, ‘Husband, go fetch me some meat! I’m hungry.’”
They both froze and she realized what she had said. Ducking her head to hide her face, Cheyenne wished she could call the words back.
Wolf Runner nodded toward the rifle. “I leave that for you. If anyone comes, use it.”
Cheyenne nodded mutely as he left, shoving the door closed behind him. She heard him speak to Sa-tanta, and knew the wolf would remain on guard until he returned.
Burying her face in her hands, she felt totally humiliated. How could she have said such a thing to him? No wonder he had left so abruptly. Unwelcome sobs clogged her throat. She wished in that moment that Wolf Runner really were her husband.
But that would never be.
“‘Busy hands are happy hands,’” she muttered to herself. “At least that is what Gram always said.” She untied the pack of supplies and spread the tarp on the dirt floor and then placed the fur robe over that. Next she went outside to see if there was water for the horses.
After finding a well at the back of the house, she managed to send the rusted bucket down on a frayed rope. There was not much water, but she tasted it before watering the horses, and it seemed fresh.
After giving Satanta a drink, she gazed across the valley, suspecting some other woman had once stood as she was now, waiting for her man to return. Was there a great love between them? Probably, otherwise why would a woman follow a man to this harsh country?
Satanta trailed along beside her as she gathered wood. When she went inside the wolf followed, flopping down by the fireplace. She had become so accustomed to Satanta being at her side, how would she bear it when Wolf Runner took the wolf away with him?
Cheyenne thought she had never tasted anything as delicious as the haunch of elk that had been roasted on the hot stones Wolf Runner had placed in the fireplace. They had not spoken as they ate and Cheyenne imagined he must be displeased with her.
Wolf Runner’s mind was in turmoil. The fireplace lit up the small cabin with a soft glow. He watched Cheyenne repack their supplies and felt a now-familiar ache in his heart.
While he had been stalking the elk he had th
ought what it would be like if he lived in that cabin with Cheyenne as his wife, to be bringing meat home for her to cook. But it would not be her hands that prepared his meals—it would be Blue Dawn’s.
After he had skinned and sliced the meat, he had washed in a nearby creek. He ached for Cheyenne in a way he had never ached for any woman. When the time came, how would he be able to leave her? He had grown accustomed to her riding quietly beside him.
Raising his head to the sky, he gathered his thoughts. What had his father said to him before he left home? It was something like a decision he must make would seem like the right one, but it would be wrong. He could not remember the exact words and still wondered what they meant.
What if he was supposed to bring Cheyenne home with him? Yet his father’s warning could have been about something else altogether—like not selling the ranch.
Now as he sat by the fire bracing his elbow against his knee, he watched fascinated as Cheyenne let down her hair. The beautiful mass fell about her shoulders like a silken waterfall.
Watching her work at a tangled knot at the back of her hair, Wolf Runner was frozen in place.
“I’ll never get this tangle out,” she said, fighting against a snarl at the back of her head.
She stopped when she felt a hand close around hers, and she twisted around to look up at Wolf Runner with a puzzled expression when he took the brush out of her hand.
“It will be much easier for me to get the tangle out, since you cannot reach it.”
Cheyenne turned back to the fire, closing her eyes as he gently touched her hair, sending shivers through her body. His hand slid down her hair and then the brush followed.
She swallowed once, then twice, as his hand paused at the nape of her neck.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he whispered. “I have never seen it down before.”
She would have thanked him for the compliment but she could not find her voice.
His hand swept her hair forward and he ran the brush in that direction. At last the tangles were unsnarled and he handed her back the brush, moving as far away from her as the small space allowed. He settled along the wall, his arms folded over his chest.
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