White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  “Not another storm, lassie,” Rook said, planting his hands on his hips, his bushy white brows lowered.

  “Then what—” Suddenly it dawned on her. “Buffalo.” She whipped her head around and stared at the mounting dark clouds. But before she could comment, Wolf returned, a rifle slung over his shoulders.

  “Buffalo headed our way. I want every man to arm himself. Same drill as with the cattle stampede, but do not shoot until I give the command.”

  Birk swaggered forward. “Wait a minute. You tellin’ us we can’t shoot them beasts?”

  Wolf lifted a brow. “That’s what I said. Got a problem with that, Macauley?”

  “Yeah, I do. Heard them hides bring good money, and fresh meat would be welcomed by all. Man has a right to feed his family,” he challenged. Murmurs of agreement broke forth.

  “There must be thousands of them. What’s the harm in shooting a few?” Alberik Svensson asked.

  Jessie and Rook exchanged grimaces. Wolf’s hard gaze seared the crowd. “Start shooting into that herd and you risk scattering them. You willing to risk turning these wagons into firewood, Mr. Svensson?” His voice was low, taut.

  Nineteen-year-old Alberik backed down under the scorn of the older man and received a hard thump on his back from his father. “The boy is young, Wolf; he’ll follow your instructions, won’t you, boy?”

  Alberik nodded sheepishly.

  Wolf turned back to Birk. “You got anything more you want to say, Macauley?”

  Wolf’s scornful question turned Birk’s face red. Jessie bit her lip at Wolf’s disrespectful address. Birk backed off, muttering vile curses beneath his breath when he realized that he’d lost the support of the crowd. Wolf ignored him and continued issuing instructions.

  Minutes later, everyone ran off to carry out Wolf’s orders. The men took up their positions a short distance from the wagons with guns clutched in their hands. Women and children scurried to gather dried chips and start hot-burning fires outside the circle of wagons in the hope that the lead buffalo would steer clear of the fire and smoke.

  “Rook, keep an eye on things here. You know what to do,” Wolf said.

  Rook nodded and took off, his bowed legs moving as fast as his bulk allowed. Jessie ran after Wolf and grabbed his arm. “What about me?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d tend the fires with the rest of the women.”

  “Not on your life,” she said, her heart racing with excitement. “Not when I’m a good shot, better than any man here.” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  Wolf studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Get your rifle and come with me. Better that you’re where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Ignoring his stinging comment, Jessie ran to her wagon. Right now she didn’t care. He could insult her all he wanted, so long as she got a closer look at the herd of buffalo headed their way. Her blood thrummed with excitement as she gathered her rifle and extra ammunition.

  Back on Shilo, she nudged the horse forward. Passing the Nortons’ wagon, she heard Rosalyn yelling and swearing at the two men. She glanced over her shoulder at the strange couple, surprised to see a pouch of double-eagle coins spilled on the ground near the horses. Sammy and Hugh were frantically scooping up the twenty-dollar gold coins.

  Jessie halted Shilo. A look of loathing and disgust crossed her features. They were trying to save themselves. She wheeled Shilo about and rode up to the back of the wagon. “Wolf gave orders to everyone, Rosalyn. We all stand to lose everything if we don’t work together!”

  Startled, Rosalyn whirled around and glared at her. Hugh and Sammy stopped loading their horses to turn guilty eyes to Jessie. They grabbed their guns while Rosalyn adjusted her bonnet. “I’m not losing everything I’ve worked for,” she said with a snarl. “You go save the day!” Her eyes filled with malice. “You and I aren’t through, Jessica Jones. No one makes a fool of me.” She left the wagon and secured a packet in an already bulging saddlebag.

  Jessie narrowed her gaze, wondering what it was about this woman that nagged at her. It was almost as if they’d met before, yet she knew they hadn’t. Throwing the trio a look of loathing, she rode off to join Wolf. Dismissing the troublesome Nortons from her mind, she rode alongside Wolf toward the buffalo. When they were within half a mile, he halted. She nudged Shilo close and whispered, “What do we do now?”

  He glanced down at her and pointed. “We watch and wait. They’re running south. As long as nothing frightens them into changing their course, they should pass right before us.”

  Jessie bit her lip as the dark mass grew. The ground trembled beneath them. Both horses pawed the ground and shook their heads, but neither panicked. Then before she knew it, the great brown beasts were plunging into the river. Out they clambered, resuming their run, lumbering past. Jessie was thankful to see that Wolf was right. They were keeping to their southerly course.

  A tremor of fear ran through her. What if the animals shifted course? Could they outrun them on their horses? And what about the rest of their party at the wagons? She bit her lip. Wolf’s hand closed over hers. She stared at him, finding comfort in his brilliant blue gaze.

  “Relax, Jessie,” he said, raising his voice above the roar. “We’re fine.”

  “There’re so many.” Her eyes widened, and a sense of wonder filled her. The buffalo were massive, with their large heads, humped shoulders and shaggy manes. Their thick, furry hides were tattered with remnants of last winter’s coat, which hung in shreds and flew off into the air. Coughing, she drew her shirt over her mouth to keep from breathing in the hair and dust.

  The animals came within a quarter mile. Snorting nervously, they shifted their brown eyes toward the humans, who sat quietly. Jessie wrinkled her nose at the smell of the wet beasts. Thick, choking gusts of dust rolled toward them in waves that clouded everything.

  “Quite a sight, isn’t it? There’s nothing like seeing a herd of buffalo on the run. They’ll destroy everything in their path.”

  Jessie shuddered, grateful they weren’t in the herd’s path. She leaned close to Wolf. “What do you suppose caused them to stampede?”

  He shrugged and drew her close. His breath tickled her ear as he replied. “Hard to tell. Could have been anything. A storm, fire, snakes, even hunters. Whatever. Once they spook, they’ll run for hours.” He held out his hand. “Give me your reins.”

  Puzzled, she handed them over and was surprised when Wolf swept her off Shilo and positioned her in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She glanced at the buffalo nervously. “What if we have to make a run for it?”

  “Relax. We’re not in any danger. See, they’ve veered slightly to the west.”

  Jessie shielded her eyes from the brightness of the sun. “Shouldn’t we let Rook and the others know?”

  He nuzzled her ear. “Rook knows the drill. Two shots mean to take action. He also knows this can go on for hours. We’ll stay here, just in case the herd splits and changes course.”

  Jessie snuggled against Wolf’s comforting strength, her hands resting on top of his. They sat in silence. Nothing felt more right to her than sitting here with the man she loved. An hour passed, then two, then three—yet there still seemed to be no end in sight. The sun disappeared beyond the horizon. As the fierce ball of fire gave way to the relief of cool twilight, the sandy-bottomed river became a winding stream of shimmering liquid gold, matching the golden-brown hues of the land until the fierce ball of fire gave way to the relief of cool darkness. Still the buffalo came.

  “How much longer?” she whispered, wiping the dust from her tearing eyes. Never had she seen such a large herd of animals.

  Wolf ran his hands through her hair, then pointed. “There’s the end.”

  Sure enough, she made out the thinning of the herd.

  “We can return now.” Wolf tightened his hold around her waist, then turned her around, his gaze on her mouth.

  Jessie ran her fingers over the edges of his vest. “Thank you
for today. It was wonderful. I’ll never forget it.”

  Running a finger down her dusty cheek, he kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re pretty amazing, Jessica. Does nothing scare you?”

  “You do.”

  His fingers slid to the back of her neck. His lips lowered to hers. “That makes two of us, sweet Jess.”

  Eagerly anticipating his kiss, Jessie sighed and closed her eyes, but the kiss never came. Confused, she glanced up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t, Jessica. Lord knows I want to take all that you so innocently offer, but I can’t. I can give you only these few months and no more. That’s not enough. You deserve so much more than what I have to offer. My duty is to my people.”

  Jessie stared at him. “I don’t understand, Wolf. What duty?”

  Wolf closed his eyes, his mouth pinched, nostrils flared. “I don’t know. I sure as hell wish I did. That’s why I can’t take you back with me. I have nothing to offer you. Not even the promise of tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want promises, Wolf. I want you. Whatever your duty is, we can do it together.” She watched him. His eyes grew bleak, and she caught a glimpse of haunting pain. His hands lifted to her face.

  “Jessie—”

  The sound of gunshots startled them. Jessie jumped off the horse and grabbed her rifle from the scabbard hanging from her saddle. Looking for the danger, she saw men on horseback riding after the buffalo. The loud cracks of gunfire split the air. “Wolf, look!”

  He swore. The reason for the running buffalo was now clear. Hunters. The riders had caught up with the tiring beasts at the end of the stampeding herd. Bellows of fear and rage mingled with shouts of triumph filled the night air. Jessie cried out in dismay when several animals fell. For the first time, the thought of hunting made her sick. She looked to Wolf, but he’d turned away. From the tense line of his shoulders, she knew he was upset too.

  Frustrated, she mounted Shilo and followed him back to their group. She had come so close to breaking through the barrier he’d erected between them. Pensively, she studied him. His shield was firmly in place. Somehow, some way, she’d find a way through those barriers. She would convince him that whatever his duty was, she could help.

  After the stampede and the emotional scene with Jessie, Wolf longed to ride away and find some peace and quiet, but after he had refused Birk the use of a horse to go after the buffalo, the man had been trying to cause unrest among the travelers. Wolf feared an outright fight between the men if he left. Dropping his bedroll, he gave each man a hard stare, silently commanding them to ignore Birk Macauley and go about their business. While waiting for tempers to settle, he decided to get one last distasteful chore out of the way. Rook had informed him of the Nortons’ refusal to follow orders. It was something no wagon master could afford to tolerate. The very life of each man, woman and child depended on everyone’s following orders.

  Long, angry strides brought him to where the couple and their driver sat hunched around a fire. He towered over them, fisted hands on hips. “Ignore my orders again and you’ll find yourself out on your own. Survival out here depends on everyone pulling together.” His voice deepened with cold contempt.

  “I suppose that brat squealed,” Rosalyn said with a sneer.

  Wolf was taken aback by the rage in her dark eyes. He vowed to watch her. It was obvious Jessie had made herself another enemy with her whip.

  He held Rosalyn’s gaze until she looked into the fire. “Rook informed me that the three of you refused to follow orders. Do it again and you’re out.” He stalked away, silently cursing. How was it he’d ended up with so many problems in one small wagon train?

  The aroma of coffee drew him to the fire. He poured a cup, suspecting it was going to be a long night. His weary gaze sought Jessie. She and Rook had started the meal preparations. Beside her, Coralie was kneading dough. She’d taken to helping Jessie and Rook whenever Jordan was on guard duty. He allowed himself an amused smile. Now, there was a woman who’d gone through a dramatic change since the first day he’d seen her sitting in the wagon, dressed in her finery.

  Shifting slightly, he leaned against the wagon and watched Rook. His friend was in his element as boss, mentor and father figure as he tested the bread dough, checked the firepits that Elliot had dug, then helped Jessie carry a large kettle of water over to the smoking fires. The foursome worked well together, and it was clear his friend had taken Elliot and his sister under his protective wing along with Jessie.

  Wolf was happy to see his old friend content. After years of grieving and feeling guilty, Rook had found peace and a replacement for the family he’d lost. No one deserved it more, and he was glad now that he’d agreed to the trip. Good had come of it. But with the good had come the unexpected.

  He turned his brooding attention to Jessie. In the pale light of dusk, her hair hung in wet ringlets. It was longer now, though when the strands dried they’d curl and frame her face, lending her a soft, feminine look that trousers and shirts couldn’t hide, especially now that she didn’t have to conceal the fact that she was a woman. Her shirts weren’t so baggy, and she wore her trousers cinched at the waist, revealing her slim figure and slightly flared hips.

  He ran his hands through his own dust-coated hair, eager to go wash and change, yet he didn’t want to leave. He could have stood there forever, watching her, loving the way her face glowed as she talked or used her hands so expressively. The gentle sway of her hips when she moved left him trembling. His gut tightened. What was he going to do about her? What were his own feelings? He felt ill. He tossed the coffee aside, mounted and rode off, giving Lady Sarah her head.

  But thoughts of Jessie stayed with him. Not many women would have sat so quietly, so patiently and fearlessly, while experiencing such an awe-inspiring event as a buffalo stampede. But then Jessie wasn’t most women. What other female would ride into the path of stampeding cattle or come to a man’s aid when he was set upon by a strumpet?

  A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Jessica Jones was a study in contradictions. Bold and brash—full of confidence, ready to protect and defend those around her one moment—then young and naive, lacking self-confidence in her desirability as a woman the next. He never knew what to expect—and that was part of her charm. He loved her whatever her mood.

  He came to a halt when the unwanted truth hit. He loved her. Though he’d tried to shield himself, she’d pierced his armor and stolen his heart; she was a true warrior worthy of his love. Wolf closed his eyes and drew in deep, even breaths to calm the racing of his heart.

  She was right. They were well suited. More than just suited. They fit, like a knife to its sheath. She was his other half, and with her he felt complete. And earlier, while watching the buffalo, she’d understood his reverence toward the animals and shared it. Longing for love and a need to belong skimmed the surface of his heart, refusing to be buried. Yet because of his people, he was destined to walk alone.

  Wolf silently cursed his supposed gift: knowledge. Sure, he had lots of knowledge, had even been sent to a fancy college, but what good was his education? How was he supposed to use it? His grandmother had known, but when he’d asked how and what he’d do for their tribe, she’d only shaken her head, telling him to be patient, that the spirits would reveal the truth when the time came. That had been fifteen years ago.

  He was no closer to the truth now, which left him stewing like a kettle of fish. Until he knew what was expected of him, he had nothing to truly offer Jessie. What if he had to go off for months on end and couldn’t take her with him? His stomach clenched when he remembered returning to Rook’s cabin to find his friend’s family had been murdered. How could he go off and leave Jessie to fend for herself in a place where there were no neighbors, only the occasional trapper or contingent of soldiers?

  His lips compressed grimly. Too many of them were little more than criminals or layabouts. They thought nothing of raping women, Indian or white. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. N
o, he could not promise something he might not be able to finish. Until he knew his future, he was destined to walk his path alone.

  After a late supper, Jessie headed for her wagon, first stopping at the canvas latrine. The landscape had no trees for cover, so Rook and Wolf had fashioned a tent to be placed over a hole in the ground as they traveled over barren prairie. By the time she reached her own wagon, her head ached from built-up tension. She was tired and depressed. The evening had been a disaster.

  Birk had returned from a walk with a flask of whiskey. With each sip he’d grown more vocal, ranting and raving about everything under the moon. While everyone tried to ignore his bad mood, it was nearly impossible to ignore his meanness directed at his family. Even now, she heard him still shouting at Ian to shut up. His yelling only made matters worse, for the baby cried louder.

  Jessie leaned her forehead against the wagon’s canvas side. Why didn’t someone do something? How could everyone just let it go on? Her features tightened. When she reached her wagon, she heard muffled crying. Looking inside, she saw little Alison Macauley. Swearing beneath her breath, she hoisted herself into the wagon. “Alison? Honey, what are you doing in here?” Scooting on her knees down the narrow aisle, she reached out and pulled the trembling child to her.

  Alison threw her thin arms around Jessie’s neck. “I don’t want to go back! Pa’s angry. I want to stay here with you.” The little girl sobbed.

  Jessie patted the four-year-old’s back and tried to soothe her. She wished she could keep Alison for the night, but she knew Birk would never allow it. “Listen, sweetie, your mama must be worried over you. How about if I take you back and tuck you into bed?”

  Alison’s grip tightened, making it hard for Jessie to breathe. “No!”

  Jessie’s heart ached at the stark fear in that one word. She vowed that for this night, she’d find a way to keep Alison from her father’s rage. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll go talk to your mother.”

  Pulling the girl’s arms from around her, she unrolled the blankets and tucked her in, running the backs of her fingers down the child’s windburned cheeks, wiping away the tears. Leaving the wagon, she fastened her whip to her belt and headed for Eirica’s tent. When she arrived, Birk was drinking from a flask held in one hand. In his other beefy hand, he held his screaming two-year-old son.