White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  Left with no choice other than that of making a scene, Jessie fetched Shilo and followed Wolf. Watching his hair stream behind him, she bit her lip. What was he up to now? His motives for taking her hunting were questionable, but the thought of having fresh, hot meat with supper overcame her feeling of unease.

  Wolf led them in a wide circle, staying downwind of the prey. When he stopped and dismounted, she followed suit.

  “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot to keep from spooking them,” he whispered.

  Jessie nodded. Hunting the larger animals out in the open prairie wasn’t easy, which was her main reason for sticking to the smaller game. On horseback, the small game were easier to scare out of hiding, shoot and retrieve. She snapped out of her musings when Wolf removed his shirt and vest, leaving her with an up-close view of his broad, muscular chest. “What are you doing?” She gasped.

  Wolf glanced down at her, then put his hands on his hips, drawing her attention downward to his lean, hard belly and the soft mat of golden hair that shot past the small round indentation several inches above the waistband, then disappeared beneath the material of his hip-hugging breeches.

  Jessie missed the knowing grin spreading across his face. “The white of my shirt stands out. Now I blend in with my surroundings.” He looked down at his buckskin breeches and moccasins. “My people usually hunt in far less. Just a breechclout in the summertime,” he said, running his thumbs along the inside of his waistband as if it constricted him. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Feel free to do the same, but hurry,” he ordered.

  Jessie closed her open jaw. “I, uh, my clothes are dark. They’ll do just fine.” She wore a dark pair of woolen trousers and a loose-fitting brown shirt.

  Wolf shrugged, then crouched low to stalk the herd. “Stay low and close to me.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he turned, presenting her with a view of his back. Taking several deep, restoring breaths, Jessie clutched her scattergun to her chest and followed. She imitated his low crouch and stayed close. Jessie quickly discovered the perils of being close to White Wolf. With her following downwind of him, his scent washed over her, tempting her to get closer than she should. And if she’d thought his bare back was any less appealing than his hair-covered chest, she was mistaken. Her gaze locked on to the rippling motion of his muscles dancing a slow waltz from one side to the other.

  She forced her gaze downward, away from the naked, rock-hard flesh, then moaned softly, mentally cursing the man for wearing soft, supple leather that molded itself to his firm backside like a second skin. Then she recalled what he’d said about wearing only a breechclout. Visions of him wearing a narrow piece of hide held to his waist by a leather thong danced before her. Thanks to that night at the pool, she had no trouble envisioning those smooth buttocks barely concealed by a flap of animal skin. Just what she needed, she thought, another wildly sinful vision to haunt her dreams.

  Her heart knocked against her ribs, her blood warmed and she had to fight an overwhelming need to reach out and touch him. She tried to think of something else, tried to fight her attraction to this man, but it did no good. White Wolf possessed some secret, vital power that drew her to him. When Wolf stopped suddenly, she crashed into him and would have fallen had he not reached back to catch her around the shoulders. Heat from his fingers burned through cloth and into skin, traveling upward to flood her face with color.

  “Careful, Jessie; watch where you’re going. No daydreaming allowed,” he admonished, a twinkle in his sky-blue eyes.

  Flushing hotly, she shoved away from him, wishing he’d let her bounce off him to land in the grass. Now she had to rid herself of the feel of him. Luckily he started forward, giving her time to regain her composure and concentrate on her role. They were only nineteen days out of Westport. She didn’t dare chance his discovering her deception. Wolf stopped again. This time she came to a halt well behind him. Still crouched, he went down on his stomach, letting the tall green grass shield him from the antelope. He motioned to her to do the same. As soon as she joined him, Wolf crawled forward. Jessie held her breath and followed.

  Peering over the top of the grass, she saw that the antelope were within firing range. She propped her shotgun in front of her and made a face, wishing defiance hadn’t made her grab the wrong rifle. There was no way she was going to be able to make a kill with her scattergun. Not wanting to ruin their chances of fresh meat for supper, she decided to fire her gun after Wolf did so the hunt wouldn’t be jeopardized.

  Wolf propped his elbows on the wet ground, held his rifle up and took aim at the unsuspecting animals. Then, surprising her, he took her scattergun away and gave her his rifle. “This here’s a Sharps rifle, good for killing larger game, especially buffalo. Try it; see how it feels. Your shotgun is better suited for small game,” he whispered.

  Jessie groaned. She knew that; she’d left hers behind purposely to discourage Wolf from making a habit of taking her hunting.

  Taking his rifle, she sighed in appreciation of the sleekness of the wood. She held her breath to still the tremors that raced through her. It was up to her to make the kill. She lifted the rifle, sighted a large antelope and prepared to fire, but Wolf stopped her, his hands closing over her arms.

  “Here, push your elbows in, like this,” he instructed, his breath tickling her ear. Wolf encircled her body with his, his chest half resting on her back, his arms pressed against hers as his hands positioned hers. Jessie closed her eyes and tried to steady her erratic breathing, but the musky pine and sunshine scent of Wolf sent her senses spiraling. Wolf’s face nearly rested against hers. If she turned her head even a fraction, she’d find her lips close to his.

  “Don’t move. As soon as I let go, fire at the one nearest us.”

  Closing her eyes, she sighed with relief when Wolf moved away. Her ear still felt the heat of his lips as his every breath warned her. Biting her lower lip, she sighted the animal once again. The large beast lifted its head, sniffing the air.

  “If you miss, the herd will scatter and be gone in seconds,” Wolf warned, his breath fanning her outer ear.

  Jessie ignored the coldness of the air washing over her back where just moments ago there’d been warmth. Her hands trembled, but pride came to her aid. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was hunting. Fine. She’d show him. Taking her time, she focused all her energy on the movements of the herd as they grazed. Slowly and deliberately, she sighted another larger antelope a bit farther away, then squeezed the trigger. When the shot rang out, the herd scattered, bounding out of range within seconds, leaving one lying still on the ground.

  Each family dug into their stores to fix a special dish to contribute to the impromptu potluck. Over a meal of spit-roasted meat, hot corn bread and apple pie made from dried fruit, the bickering and fighting of the last few days gave way to laughter, stories and high spirits. Standing in the shadows, Wolf stewed. While he was glad his idea for a feast had brought back the air of camaraderie needed to get these people through the difficult journey, his own mood worsened as he observed the cheery sight. When Lars pulled out his fiddle and the Jones family dug out their mouth organs, he turned to leave.

  A soft woof drew his attention downward. Wahoska eyed him, then looked to the half-empty plate in Wolf’s hands. Wolf glared at his uneaten meal. Even his appetite had fled. Setting the plate down for the wolf with a snort of disgust, he strode away, leaving the bright fires and merry music behind as he headed back toward the cattle.

  Walking across the dark prairie, he went over in his mind the disastrous afternoon. His plan to tease and torment Jessie had backfired on him but good. Touching her today had been a mistake. A big one. When he’d covered her body with his, her sweet scent had sent desire racing through him.

  Just one touch had been enough to stoke his burning embers, but when her hair—those baby-soft curls—caressed his cheeks, he’d nearly taken her fully into his arms to kiss and lov
e. He groaned just recalling the irresistible urge he’d had to run his tongue around the pink swirls of her ear when he’d leaned down to whisper to her. And watching her swallow nervously at his closeness had struck a vibrant chord in him. It’d taken all his will to resist touching his tongue to the pulsing hollow of her throat. That she was just as affected had made it worse.

  Picking up a large rock, he tossed it as far from him as he could. If only he could rid himself of his growing attraction to Jessie Jones as easily. “Why her?” he asked the star-studded heavens above. “It’s not as though she’s baby-doll beautiful like her sister-in-law, and she certainly isn’t well rounded like Lolita.” But he didn’t want someone like Lolita. He wanted a woman who wasn’t afraid to take him on; he wanted neither a woman obsessed with her looks nor one who flaunted herself. He wanted someone who greeted each day with a zeal for living—he wanted Jessie. He wanted to wake up and see those eyes first thing each morning—those innocent-looking green eyes that were the mirror to her soul.

  They twinkled with humor, flashed with devilment, grew wide with innocent wonder and—his favorite emotion—they sparked like green fire when she was angry. Like his black stallion, Jessie Jones had spirit, and her streak of fierce independence rivaled that of his wolf. Like the animals who walked the Maka, she had a core of wildness. Unafraid of hard work or the challenges that came with taming a new land, she belonged; she was of the earth. Wolf stopped and stared toward the western sky with mounting frustration. He had no room in his life for a woman, not even one who was a good shot! He’d been left speechless when she’d handed him back his rifle and stalked out to claim her kill.

  Once again, he recalled the conversation he’d had with Striking Thunder the morning after Jessie had come at him with fists raised in righteous anger. Had he met his match in a woman? He shook his head. No! He refused to even consider it. He wouldn’t lose his heart to any woman, but especially not to an emigrant traveling to a new territory with her family—a family important enough for her to lie in order to go with them.

  He steadfastly ignored the differences between Jessie and Martha, seeing only that both women had put their families above all else—which was exactly what he had to do: put his family, his people, before his own personal wishes. Pushing all thought of the two women from his mind, Wolf strode over to the feed wagon and found his bedroll. Laying it out, he lay down on top of the blankets, fighting images of a woman with ebony curls and green eyes.

  In the dark predawn hours, Wolf awoke to the distant roll of thunder announcing the arrival of yet another storm. Instantly alert, he tossed his bedroll into the feed wagon and mounted his horse. He woke those not already on guard duty, ordering them to saddle up. Riding out toward the cattle, he cast worried glances up into the black clouds. Nearing the herd, he saw the animals on their feet, milling about restlessly. In a low, soothing voice, he positioned everyone around the cattle and then prayed like hell they didn’t stampede. The difficult crossing of the Big Blue combined with the storms of the last few days had left the cattle edgy.

  The thunder grew closer, louder. His fear of an impending stampede grew. The Jones brothers continued to play soothing tunes on their mouth organs while others sang soft ballads, but it wasn’t calming the cattle. They bawled anxiously. Thirty minutes later, the first flash of lightning zigzagged across the dark sky, followed by a crash of thunder. His gut tightened and his worst fears were realized when the herd spooked and surged into the blackness of the night—toward the corralled wagons less than a mile away.

  Disturbed from her restless sleep, Jessie sat up and glanced around in confusion. Cocking her head to the side, she listened, hearing the distant rumble of thunder. Frowning, she lay back down. It was the arrival of the storm that had startled her awake. But then she felt the trembling of the earth beneath her and realized that the roar that filled the air wasn’t caused by thunder. Swallowing her fear, she grabbed her rifle and a Colt Manhattan cap and ball five-shooter that belonged to Jordan and bolted out of the wagon.

  Jessie fired the Colt into the air, signaling danger. Men poured out of their tents and ran toward her. She turned to Rook. “Stampede! If the cattle are headed this way, we’ve got to change their direction. Have the men shoot into the air to frighten them away.” While Rook shouted orders, Jessie jumped onto Shilo’s bare back and rode away from the corralled wagons, praying the cattle weren’t headed for them.

  Her hopes sank when the thundering hooves grew louder. She peered into the darkness, but the shadows of the storm clouds overhead obscured the gray light of the approaching dawn. A bolt of lightning raced across the sky, giving Jessie her first glimpse of the dark, roiling mass bearing down on her. Her heart hammered with fear. She slowed Shilo and lifted the rifle.

  Pointing it skyward, she pulled the trigger, signaling Rook that the cattle were headed right for them. Behind her, the sound of shots filled the air and mingled with the roar of thunder and hooves. It did nothing to slow the herd. Tossing the rifle down, she wrapped the horse’s mane around her left hand and urged Shilo forward.

  With her right hand she aimed the pistol at the ground in front of the approaching animals. She fired, but the lead steer refused to budge from its course. Pulling her hand up slightly, she took aim again and fired. She breathed a sigh of regret and relief when the animal went down, taking several of the frightened beasts with it as they faltered and fell.

  The herd still surged forward, bellowing in fright, but the confused cattle veered slightly to one side as several more fell. That slight slowing was all she needed. She rode toward the herd, coming up alongside the stampeding mass. She fired the remaining bullets into the air to keep them from resuming their course. Forcing several steer farther to the right, she singled one out for a new lead. To her relief, the surging mass followed him.

  Even though the herd had turned, she continued to yell and scream, making as much noise as she could to keep the animals running away from her and the vulnerable wagons. She chanced a look over her shoulder and gave a cry of relief when she spotted two riders gaining on her. Her brothers and the rest of the hands had finally caught up with the herd. Only when she was sure someone was coming to take her place did she veer to the left, turning Shilo back toward the wagons to let the others take over and finish forcing the cattle into running a wide circle that would eventually be tightened until the animals ran themselves out.

  Suddenly the sky lit up as a bolt of lightning streaked out of the clouds and plunged to the earth. The air sizzled and the ground shook. Shilo reared in fright. Jessie tightened her hold, but the mare’s back was too wet and slick for her to get a firm hold. She screamed as she felt herself falling.

  Wolf rode hell-bent-for-leather. The emigrants were in danger. He had to turn the herd. When he heard shots coming from up ahead, he breathed a sigh of relief. Rook had alerted the emigrants to the imminent danger. Gaining on the lead steer, he spotted a shadowy figure riding in from the left, firing into the frightened cattle.

  He watched several animals go down, which caused a few cattle in the lead to veer slightly. It was all he needed. Raising his hand, he fired into the air, shouted and forced the herd to continue to the right. The herd continued to form a wide circle as flashes of lightning lit up the sky. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the other hands were spaced out behind him, forcing the beasts to the right with their whips and gunshots. It was then that he noticed one rider gaining on him, yelling and pointing to the rider who was still fighting to keep the lead steer going to the right.

  Wolf couldn’t hear James, but it was obvious he was upset. He glanced at the rider in front of him. He didn’t know who it was or how he’d gotten ahead of him, but given the rider’s size, he’d bet it was Shorty. But then a flash of light from above revealed a slim figure on a black horse. His pulse pounded in his ears. There were only two black horses in this group: his and Jessie’s.

  In that brief, heart-stopping moment, he realized she’d saved the corral
led wagons from destruction, and it was Jessie who even now continued to put her life in danger by riding dangerously close to the herd to keep them on the new course. Digging his heels into his mount, he leaned over and urged the horse faster. Closing the distance, he was determined to get her the hell out of there. He was right behind her when she glanced over her shoulder and pulled away, leaving the job to him. Wolf felt a small measure of relief.

  But his relief was short-lived when another flash of lightning crashed to the earth. The ground shook. In horror, Wolf watched Jessie’s horse rear. Terror, stark and vivid, stabbed him. Cursing beneath his breath, he urged his horse faster, leaning to the side of his Indian-trained mount, fighting his own grip on the slippery animal’s back. Just as she lost her grip and slid off her horse’s back, his hand shot out and plucked her out of midair as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Regaining his seat, Wolf rode away from the madness with Jessie half sitting, half lying across his thighs. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, and his blood boiled with anger with the realization of how close she’d come to losing her life.

  Jessie struggled against him. “Shilo! Go back.”

  Furious, Wolf glanced down at her, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He came to a grinding halt and glared down at her. “Forget the damn horse!” he shouted. “You nearly got yourself killed, you fool!”

  Jessie pushed against him and slid to the ground, landing on her backside in the mud. Wolf jumped down and stood above her, making no move to help her to her feet. The rain fell steadily, soaking them to the skin. In silence he watched her jump to her feet and wipe her hands down her pants.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing out there?” he shouted above the noise of the storm overhead.

  Jessie tilted her chin at him. “Don’t shout at me, Wolf. I did what had to be done, same as anybody—” The crash of thunder overhead drowned her out.