Wolf Runner turned to her. “I have thought almost from the time I met you that you and my mother are similar. I believe you will like each other.”
Cheyenne spread the furs out next to a cliff wall, hoping it would protect them from the wind. “I worry about Grandfather’s older wife.”
“Do not. It is the way it has always been with older women alone.” He finished tying a knot in a rope and looped it about her horse’s hooves. “It may seem cruel to you, but it is necessary for the survival of a tribe.”
Cheyenne curled up on the fur and covered herself with a blanket. The clouds had moved away and the night sky was clear and stars were scattered across a black backdrop like sparkling jewels. The moon seemed so near it gave the illusion you could reach up and pluck it out of the sky. “I still don’t like it.”
Once more her life was spinning out of control. Oh, Gram, she thought achingly, where does the new direction take me?
Will I ever find happiness? she wondered.
Satanta bounded out of the bushes and flopped down beside her. Resting her hand on the wolf’s head, she fell asleep, knowing Wolf Runner was nearby.
But not knowing he watched her as she slept.
For over a week Wolf Runner led them toward the distant mountains. The closer they got to Blackfoot land, the quieter Wolf Runner became. Cheyenne did not feel like talking either. She was an encumbrance to him, and wished there was some way she could apologize for all she had put him through on the journey.
When she looked at him, she was reminded how wonderful his lips had felt against hers and how right it felt to be in his arms. She had never envied anyone in her life, but she had begun to envy the woman who would soon be his wife.
Once they had reached the foothills Cheyenne glanced up the great mountains. “I used to love imagining what it would be like to live in the mountains, so high above everything. These are much higher than the peaks in Santa Fe—do you climb there often?”
Wolf Runner turned to look at her. Cheyenne was exactly the woman for him. He wanted her as his woman so much he considered taking her to the mountains and making her his. Instead, he pointed to a distant peak. “My family has an encampment there, where I often spend summers. It is where my father took my mother after they were joined.”
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Cheyenne looked into his eyes. “Is that where you will be taking your…woman?”
He turned his head. “Blue Dawn does not like the mountains.”
The moon had risen above the pines as they enjoyed the two rabbits Wolf Runner had trapped and Cheyenne had roasted on a spit.
After she had eaten her fill, Cheyenne set aside dried berries and pemmican for breakfast the next morning, then repacked the rest of the supplies.
Cheyenne huddled beneath her blanket. The icy fingers of winter swept down the mountain, and she shivered until Satanta plopped his large body down next to her.
Wolf Runner lay so near she could have reached out and touched him, but she dared not bridge the gap, no matter how much she longed for his touch.
“For the last few evenings I have felt you are wrestling with a problem, Wolf Runner. Would it help you to talk about it?”
He turned his dark gaze on her, not at all surprised she had known he was troubled. “More than any woman I have ever known, you test me, Cheyenne.”
She rose up on her elbow, shocked. “That has never been my intention. In fact, I’ve tried not to be any trouble to you. Once we reach your village, you can turn me over to your mother and never have to think about me again.”
He watched the firelight play across her hair. “Never think of you again?” he said, giving her a searching look. “And how do you suppose we bring that about?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, confused. “I suppose as soon as you take a wife, you will move out of your mother’s tipi and won’t have to see me.”
“Cheyenne, I have not lived with my parents since I was fourteen.”
“Oh. A white boy of fourteen would never move out of his parents’ house.”
He sounded irritated. “I am not white, and my parents do not live in a house.”
“Of course, it was just a figure of speech.”
He sat up. “Cheyenne, I am sensitive to all you have suffered, losing your grandmother and then your grandfather in less than three months, but could you not look to the future with hope in your heart? I want that for you.”
“Wolf Runner, I have always been happy, even as a child. But lately, life has been a bit hard. I will try to put all the sadness behind me. And I’m sure I’ll eventually succeed. I will always miss Gram, but I hardly knew my grandfather before he died.”
“What do you miss most about your gram?” he asked, trying to turn the conversation away from her unhappiness, which was what was really bothering him.
“A hundred little things—the smell of coffee in the morning, even though I don’t like coffee. I miss her wise guidance and her loving nature.” She sat up, tucking the blanket about her. “The one thing I discovered by living with the Cheyenne is that I am more white than I am Indian.”
Wolf Runner lay back on his folded arms. “Yet you have been set upon a different path.”
“And I don’t know where it will take me.” She fixed her gaze on the brightest star in the heavens and stared at it. “How did your mother adjust to the Indian way of life?”
“I never thought about it. She has always seemed Blackfoot to me. You will meet my grandparents, Chief Broken Lance and Tall Woman, who took my mother as their daughter when she was first brought to our village. They gave her a wonderful life, even if it was not the one she was born to live.”
“They must be proud of you.”
“They have a son, named Firethorn, who is my best friend.”
“Your uncle is your best friend?”
“He is my uncle, but he is only two years older than I am.”
“It sounds like you have a perfect family,” Cheyenne observed.
He looked into her eyes, wishing she belonged to him, and said before he could stop himself, “No, not quite perfect.”
Cheyenne squeezed her eyes together tightly. Even the most innocent subjects led them back to their hopeless situation. Turning her back to him without a word, she lay down, feeling Satanta adjust to accommodate her.
What would I do without this loyal wolf to comfort me? she wondered.
Wolf Runner stared at Cheyenne for a long moment. In his heart he had to let her go, and he could do that now, knowing that his mother would take care of her.
The sacrifice he was making in giving her up was almost too great. He saw Cheyenne’s shoulders shake and realized she was silently crying.
Without thought of the consequences, he went to her and gathered her in his arms, kissing her tears away. It was like a dam had broken and his feelings came tumbling out. “Do not cry, for your tears tear at my heart.”
Her arms went around him and she looked up at him. “I can’t help myself.”
Wolf Runner brushed her hair out of her face, his lips hovering above her mouth. “And I cannot help myself.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Wolf Runner kissed her with a passion that took her breath away, his arms tightening fiercely about her. She found herself quivering with a need she couldn’t understand. She could feel the power in him, the need that tore at him, for it tore at her as well.
Pulling back, Wolf Runner studied her for a long moment. He bent his head and his ebony hair slid across his face, and he flipped it back with a trembling hand.
“Cheyenne,” he began, his voice no more than a raspy whisper, “I want you. I look in your eyes for answers and I believe you want me as well.” He raised her hand and placed it on his chest. “Feel how my heart beats for you.”
She needed to clarify something that she had been avoiding, so she asked, “Please tell me the truth—did you only take me to my grandfather so you could kill Night Fighter?”
Wolf Runner
did not speak for a moment. “I did use your journey to get to him,” he answered truthfully, tangling his hand in her hair. He was glad she finally knew the truth. “But somewhere along the way, I began to want you.”
“You mean you wanted my body?”
Her innocent question stopped his hand from sweeping across her breasts. “Yes.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment before his heated gaze settled on hers. “That and other things I cannot have from you,” he admitted as if the words were forced through his lips. The anguish he saw in her eyes was like a knife slammed into his heart.
There was no warmth in her voice when she said, “Take what you will of me. I give it freely.”
Slowly lowering his head, Wolf Runner’s mouth shaped to hers, but her lips did not soften beneath his. She tried not to think of his motive for helping her as a betrayal. But as Wolf Runner’s hands moved beneath her gown, pulling it up and off, and his mouth moved down to her breasts, Cheyenne became incapable of any thought at all. She could only revel in pleasure, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Do you want this?” he breathed against her ear, then pulled back to gaze into her fever-bright eyes. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Her plea was ripped from her throat. “Don’t stop,” she said, moving her head so she could press her lips to his. Some small part of her wanted to shove him away, but that part was quickly overruled as her body yearned for his touch.
Wolf Runner cursed himself for doing this to her, but he would no longer be denied the woman he loved, the one who stirred his blood as no other woman ever had.
He drew back and looked at her, with the campfire glittering across her beautiful body. His hands were gentle as they swept across her breasts, past her small waist, then moved caressingly over her hips, stopping on her flat stomach, and his voice came out raspy as he said, “We were made for each other. If your God had a plan, I believe it was to send me to Santa Fe to find you.”
Cheyenne stared into flaming eyes. Reaching out to touch his dark hair, which had tumbled onto her chest, she closed her eyes, her mind taking her back to reality. “And I believe he sent you to merely use me.”
When she opened her eyes again, he saw the anguish in their depths, and felt as if pieces of himself were being ripped away. “I cannot blame you for feeling that way. In the beginning it was true, but, Cheyenne, it is not true now.”
She cried out as his head bent and his mouth took hers in a mind-stealing kiss. He touched his mouth to her brow, kissed her closed eyes, and rubbed his lips against hers. When his hand moved lower, Cheyenne moaned with pleasure. Yes, they were made for each other—and she would always be his. The other woman did not matter to her at the moment, only his words and his touch mattered.
There was no world outside the wonderful feeling that coursed through her body, awakening needs that would not be denied. Cheyenne did not know why she loved Wolf Runner; she only knew she did, deeply and lastingly.
Suddenly Satanta come running out of the woods, then stood beside them, his wolf eyes seeing into the darkness, his acute hearing catching a sound they had not heard.
Wolf Runner broke off his kiss and frowned, becoming alert. He pulled the blanket over Cheyenne and stood, his gaze sweeping the darkness. In a swift move he piled dirt on the fire, throwing the camp into darkness. “As quietly as possible, get dressed,” he told Cheyenne. “Someone is approaching from the west.”
Cheyenne quickly obeyed, although she heard no sound until the rider emerged from the woods. She felt the tension drain out of Wolf Runner, so he must know and trust the Indian that approached.
“Have no fear, Cheyenne. It is Firethorn.”
Firethorn slid off his horse and grinned at Wolf Runner. “You are growing careless, my friend. You were making so much noise I heard you from deep in the woods.”
“You did not hear anything; you followed the campfire,” Wolf Runner told him.
Firethorn’s gaze moved to Cheyenne. “Who is this woman?”
“Someone who needs looking after. I will tell you about her later. Why are you here?”
“We got word this afternoon that you and this woman had passed onto Blackfoot land. We also got word that five Cheyenne warriors in full war paint were following you. They have been tracking you most of the day, but made camp less than a mile away. If I saw your campfire, so did they.”
Wolf Runner had not known he was being followed, and he should have. His mind had been on Cheyenne, who was now staring at Firethorn with a puzzled expression.
Cheyenne watched the two warriors talk, not understanding their words. Her heart was still thundering inside her, and she could still feel Wolf Runner’s kiss on her lips.
Wolf Runner buckled his knife about his waist. “I need to explain to her what has happened.”
Firethorn studied his friend, his eyes narrowing. “What is this woman to you? I know what was happening between the two of you when I rode into camp. Why would you want to be with her when Blue Dawn waits for you?”
Wolf Runner spun around, facing his friend. “What I do is no concern of yours.”
Firethorn’s eyes narrowed. “What is she to you?”
Wolf Runner was angry. “The woman’s name is Cheyenne. Right now, the most important thing to me is her safety.”
Firethorn nodded. “You are right—it is not my concern, but those Cheyenne warriors who follow you are.” He looked at the woman and saw confusion in her eyes. He traced the lines of her face and noticed she was a half-breed. “Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it.”
“Take Cheyenne to my mother. I will backtrack and find out about those who follow us, although I suspect the leader is Night Fighter.”
“Then I should go with you,” Firethorn said. “Surely the woman will come to no harm if the wolf remains with her. There are too many for you to face alone.”
Wolf Runner hoisted himself onto his horse and said to his friend in Blackfoot, “I go alone.” Glancing at the clouds overhead he frowned. “A storm is coming and she will need you.” He was quiet for a moment as he tried to decide how to answer his friend, who looked puzzled. “Know this, Cheyenne is the woman of my heart. Take care of her for me.”
Firethorn’s eyes widened. “I understand better than you think I do.”
Cheyenne held out her hand to Wolf Runner. “What is happening? Are you leaving me?”
“Firethorn will take you to our village. You will come to no harm there.”
Before Cheyenne could utter a word, Wolf Runner turned his mount and rode away, leaving her with the stranger.
“Do you speak English?” she quickly asked the warrior.
Firethorn shook his head and went about breaking camp.
“Satanta,” she called to the wolf. “Go with Wolf Runner. Go.”
The wolf looked at her for a moment before tearing off in the direction Wolf Runner had ridden.
“What am I to do?” she asked, turning to Firethorn.
Firethorn shrugged his shoulders and motioned for her to saddle her horse, which she did without hesitation.
Something had happened and Cheyenne did not know what it was, and this Blackfoot could not tell her. Wolf Runner was in danger—she felt it in her heart.
Cheyenne lowered her head as her horse trudged through a swirling, blinding snowstorm. Closing her eyes, Cheyenne warmed herself by remembering every word Wolf Runner had spoken to her. She was not sure he loved her as she loved him, but he wanted her, and that was enough for now. He said they had been created for each other, and she believed that.
Bone-weary, Cheyenne wished the warrior would stop so they could rest—he had been pushing them hard through half the night and most of the day—the horses were lathered and tired, but still he pushed them onward.
The sun had dropped behind the pine trees and it would soon be dark.
Why can we not stop to rest? she wondered, thinking she had never been so weary.
Something or someone dangerous had been following them
, of that she was certain.
As the horses struggled up a snow-slick hill, Fire-thorn paused at the top and pointed below, saying something Cheyenne did not understand.
Blinking her eyes against the heavy snow, she could see nothing beyond her horse’s head.
Suddenly Cheyenne could make out the flicker of a campfire, and as they rode farther, she saw many campfires and the outline of many tipis. It was a huge camp. Breathing a sigh of relief, she realized they had finally reached Wolf Runner’s village.
As they started down the hill at a slow pace, the sure-footed horses picking their way across the slick ground, Cheyenne did not know whether to be happy or apprehensive.
When they entered the village, there were few people about. She imagined they had sought the warmth of their lodges to escape the snowstorm. But Wolf Runner was still out there, alone and in danger in the storm.
Firethorn led Cheyenne past many tipis, finally stopping before one. He slid off his horse and motioned for her to follow him inside.
Cheyenne entered after Firethorn and he began talking to a tall Indian who looked very much like Wolf Runner, so she knew she was in the presence of Wolf Runner’s father.
The two men spoke in Blackfoot, and the older man glanced at Cheyenne and nodded. When Firethorn abruptly left, Cheyenne examined the Indian, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He was tall, like Wolf Runner, and handsome of face. His hair was dark with no sign of gray. Even with the robe draped about his shoulders, she could tell he was built like Wolf Runner with broad shoulders and muscled arms.
Wind Warrior studied Cheyenne for a long moment before he spoke to her in Blackfoot.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I do not understand you.”
“I was saying,” he said, switching to English, “that you are welcome in our lodge. We had heard our son was traveling with you. And you are Ivy Gatlin’s granddaughter?”
She was surprised he knew of her and her grandmother. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”
Wolf Runner Page 20