Wild Desire

by Cassie Edwards

  He knew that her future was bleak, and that one day she would be stooped and bent, but to him she would never be ugly. He feared that she might never find a man who could look past her frailties. His heart bled to think that she would probably never be given the chance to bear children.

  This frailty of hers was a curse that no one could take away, not even the Navaho singers who were used to cure ailments of many kinds.

  “We were talking of someone that we knew many years ago,” Runner softly explained. He lifted her hair from her shoulders and let it sift through his fingers like soft earth.

  “Who?” Pure Blossom asked anxiously.

  “You do not know him,” Runner said, his mind drifting. He wished that time would go faster, so that it would be evening, and he could once again see the white woman. He hoped that somehow they could get past their differences. Their eyes had spoken as they had gazed at one another. To touch her surely would be heaven.

  “His name?” Pure Blossom persisted, seeing that Runner’s thoughts had drifted elsewhere.

  “Adam,” Runner said, dropping his hand to his side. “He was my friend long ago. I lost touch with him over the years.”

  “And he is here?” Pure Blossom said. She rose anxiously to her feet. “He has come to see you? Where is he? I enjoy visitors.”

  Leonida went to Pure Blossom and placed an arm around her waist. “No, he isn’t here,” she murmured. She looked over at Runner. “Is he coming soon? I can hardly wait to meet him.” She paused and smiled. “And also his sister.”

  “I am sure they will be here one day soon,” Runner said, gazing into the fire. “But first, I must meet with them tonight, by myself. Perhaps it can be arranged that they can come to our village.”

  “No, son,” Sage said in a grumble. “Do not bring trouble to us that easily.”

  Leonida paled. “Trouble?” She placed a hand to her throat. “You truly believe Adam has come to stir up trouble for our people?”

  When neither Sage nor Runner responded, Leonida knew that it was best not to pursue the subject of visitors when it was obvious her husband did not want them. “And Sally?” she could not help but ask. “How is she?”

  “Married a third time,” Runner offered. “The white woman with Adam is the daughter of Sally’s latest husband.”

  “Her stepdaughter,” Leonida said. “Adam’s stepsister?”

  “Yes, that is their relationship,” Runner said. He watched his father saunter from the hogan, obviously tired of hearing any more mention of Adam and his sister, making Runner again feel uneasy about tonight.

  Yet still nothing would dissuade him from going. Someone of the Navaho had to see what could be done to protect their interests. He was trying to convince himself that this was the reason for going, when his every heartbeat told him that it was because of a woman, a very entrancing woman.

  Leonida was watching her son with much interest and how his eyes always lit up when he spoke of Adam’s sister. She could not help but think that something had transpired between her son and this woman photographer. She wondered what.

  And how far had it gone?

  It was obvious that Sage did not share his son’s enthusiasm for the woman or Adam. She expected that there were some interesting times ahead for this family, especially for her son Runner.

  Chapter 6

  Take all that’s mine “beneath the moon,”

  If I with her but half a noon.

  —WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

  Evening had finally arrived. For the most part, Stephanie had been silent while riding on her chestnut stallion on the way to Damon Stout’s ranch. Her thoughts had been on meeting the handsome Navaho brave again. She could hardly wait, yet she feared how he might react when Adam told him the truth about his plans for building a new town within the boundaries of the Navaho reservation.

  If Runner’s reaction was what Stephanie expected, she doubted ever having a chance to get to truly know the man who was called the “White Indian.” And that bothered her. It bothered her so deeply that it caused an ache to circle her heart.

  But no matter how hard she tried to stop thinking about Runner, she found it impossible.

  Adam’s thoughts were also on Runner, but for a much different reason. As he rode his gentle mare through the twilight toward Damon’s ranch, he was worrying about revealing everything to Runner this soon. Perhaps he should wait until friends became friends again, who might then become allies.

  And then again, perhaps Adam held the trump card: Stephanie. She could make it all happen for Adam tonight, and every night after this as far as Runner was concerned. Adam had seen the attraction between them.

  And what if Runner fell in love with Stephanie? Yes, that was the secret to Adam’s success. He had to see to it that it happened.

  Wearing only fringed buckskins, his hair loose and flowing across his shoulders, Runner rode toward Damon’s ranch, his thoughts straying from Adam to Stephanie. He could not allow Adam to stand in the way of his feelings for the white woman. He was determined to see if she was the sort of woman that he could feel free to love. As far as her being a photographer was concerned, he had ways of handling that.

  First, to get the business with Adam behind him. Then he would take time for the woman. Just looking at her made his heart melt.

  Everyone had arrived at Damon’s ranch at almost the same time. Chatting only briefly, they had gone into the dining room for a large Mexican meal of spicy, tongue-tantalizing dishes. Only a few polite words had been exchanged, the atmosphere tight, as though something might explode at any moment.

  Stephanie was glad when they retreated to the parlor to have coffee and sweets in front of the fireplace. Sitting comfortably in a plush overstuffed chair, she sipped on her coffee while Adam and Runner talked of old times, Damon’s concentration centered more on Stephanie than the discussion at hand.

  Stephanie was nervous with Damon’s attention. She inwardly shivered, finding him repulsive. He was a squat, slovenly figure of a man, with short, bandy legs and a bulging potbelly. He was a hard-bitten, trail-driving Texan, tough and defiant with a “don’t crowd me” attitude.

  Beneath an open vest bulged the seams of a dark calico shirt. His legs were encased in leather chaps, greasy and dark from long wear. The butt of a Colt pistol protruded from a holster on his right flank, and a bright red bandanna was knotted at his throat.

  His expression was wooden as his dark eyes examined Stephanie from above a bristling mustache. She was glad that she had her small, pearl-handled derringer holstered at her waist. Her father had warned her that the potential for violence along the railroad was palpable. He had given her the gun for protection whenever she was away from her private railroad car.

  He had teased her, saying that with the derringer slung around her waist, she could protect her charms even though she flaunted them.

  Still uneasy, she turned her eyes away from him. The walls were decorated with exquisite Navaho rugs, buffalo hides, and mounted heads of buffalo. Bright paintings enlivened the Spanish house, its tiled hip roof spreading like an umbrella over a wide porch around the entire house.

  In this room, the puncheon floors were filmy, chairs were thrown around in disarray, and a whiskey barrel complete with spigot and dipper sat in one corner.

  Stephanie turned her gaze back to the large, stone fireplace. A tremendous fire was ablaze, logs five feet long resting across andirons.

  “Stephanie, did you know that Runner and I played Indians and cowboy at Fort Defiance when we were youngsters?” Adam said, finally drawing Stephanie into the conversation.

  Stephanie looked quickly over at him, now aware of another pair of eyes on her, making her pulse race. Runner. He had glanced over at her from time to time, while talking with Adam about their childhood.

  But now he was looking openly at her.

  Beneath Runner’s steady, warm gaze, Stephanie’s knees were suddenly weak and her heart was pounding within her chest. She could feel her f
ace heating with a blush. She smoothed her hands down the front of her riding skirt and then up again, grazing the leather holster at her waist.

  “Sis?” Adam said, leaning to look at Stephanie. “Did you hear me? I was talking about the times when Runner and I played cowboy and Indian. I was always the cowboy, Runner the Indian. Don’t you think it’s somewhat amusing Runner is still playing the role of an Indian?”

  Runner turned a sharp look at Adam. “Playing?” he said. His eyes filled with a sudden fire. “You call my relationship with the Navaho a game?”

  Stephanie scarcely breathed as she looked over at Adam, whose face had grown suddenly ashen.

  She turned toward Runner. She could tell that he was livid with rage. His face had lost all expression and had settled into a cold neutral look. Only his midnight-dark eyes were quick and alive as he awaited Adam’s reply and, most certainly, an apology.

  “Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions over a mere slip of the tongue,” Adam said, nervously fidgeting with his stiff, white shirt collar. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said. Of course, I see how seriously you have taken your life with the Navaho. And . . . I . . . see that as commendable on your part, Runner. Quite commendable.

  “I apologize, Runner,” he added after an awkward pause. He reached a hand over to Runner. “Shake on it?”

  Stephanie inhaled deeply as Runner reached over and clasped Adam’s hand, obviously forgiving Adam this time. She doubted that he would be so quick to accept a handshake from Adam once he knew the full story. She was wondering when Adam was going to get the nerve to tell Runner the truth. After this small confrontation, she doubted it would be tonight.

  She was stunned when Runner then rose quickly to his feet. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted.

  “I must go,” Runner said, giving Adam a nod.

  Because Runner had wanted to get answers out of Adam, and because of his fascination with Stephanie, he had ignored the taunts Adam had been throwing all evening, but it was obvious now that Adam was eluding all talk of the private spur, instead lingering on the subject of their boyhood. Runner would not sit by any longer and be humiliated by first Damon and then Adam. The cost was too high. He would get his answers later about the railroad and the white woman.

  When he turned to Stephanie, his gaze reached out and clung to her for a moment, then he turned on a moccasined heel and walked toward the door.

  Damon and Adam rose quickly from their chairs and followed Runner to the door. Disappointed that the evening had ended so quickly, Stephanie sat numbly in her chair.

  She still felt the warmth of Runner’s gaze, but because of Adam’s bumblings, Runner was leaving too soon. Because of Adam, Stephanie felt that she might never get the chance to get to know Runner better.

  And now that she had spent an evening with him, she knew that she wanted more than a mere acquaintance. She wanted to feel the wonders of his arms around her. She wanted to know the bliss of his kiss.

  Runner gave Adam another handshake at the door, only offering Damon an icy stare. When he departed, he left a strange, quiet void behind him.

  Stephanie rose quickly from her chair. She could not let Runner leave her all that easily. She would follow him. She would stop him before he mounted his horse. She would draw him into conversation with her. Somehow she must, or she would not get a wink of sleep tonight, nor would she be able to go about her business of taking photographs tomorrow without a heavy heart.

  “Damn it,” Adam said, thrusting his hands deeply into his trouser pockets. “As a child, he wasn’t so temperamental. How am I going to be able to talk to him about anything ever again, much less tell him that the private spur is being built solely for me?”

  “I warned you, Adam,” Damon said. “I’ve never been able to communicate with the Navaho. They’re a damn nuisance. I don’t know why you’re wastin’ time on them. Take what you want, and to hell with anything else.”

  Damon watched Stephanie’s approach. His gaze raked over her. He had bedded many women in his lifetime, but none as pretty as her.

  He glanced down at her firearm. Only women with spirit carried derringers. He could envision how feisty she would be in bed. She probably knew all the ways to make a man’s head spin.

  Stephanie brushed past Damon and Adam and rushed outside. A half moon spilled its silver light over the sky as she hurried toward the hitching rail, where she hoped to find Runner before he had the chance to ride away. Runner’s horse was still there, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Stephanie turned and took a slow look around her. “Runner?” she said, her voice echoing back to her in the silence of the night. Her breathing slowed as she peered more intensely through the dark shadows of the night. The only sounds that she heard were the crickets in the grass, the soft neighing of the horses in the corral, and a distant coyote baying at the sliver of the moon in the sky.

  As she became more acquainted with the cloak of night, she could make out several outbuildings on all sides of her, a barn, the ranch hand’s bunkhouse, and a pole corral filled with horses.

  Stephanie’s heart leapt when she saw a movement among the horses. She watched guardedly, then jumped with a start. A man was moving from horse to horse, checking them over.

  She did not think that he was any of Damon’s ranch hands. This man was moving too stealthily and was obviously trying to keep his movements hidden in the darkness.

  Her hand moved instinctively to her derringer. She rested her fingers on the leather holster, feeling safety in the feel of the shape of the firearm against the palm of her hand.

  Her pulse racing, her throat dry, Stephanie began moving slowly toward the corral. Although she knew that it was none of her business who came and went from Damon’s corral, and disliking the rancher so much, she could not help but go see who might be stalking about in the night.

  Her first thought was of Runner. He had not gone directly to his horse when he had left the house. Where else could he be then, except possibly in the corral?

  Stephanie was curious to see why he found such an intent interest in Damon’s horses. If, indeed, it was Runner who was with them.

  When she reached the pole corral, Stephanie crouched low and watched for another movement.

  Beneath the spill of the moonlight, she was suddenly able to make out Runner’s features. His face was revealed to her as he stepped into view for only a moment, and then, just as quickly, was hidden among the horses again.

  Stephanie’s heart pounded with the discovery. “It is Runner,” she whispered to herself. She knew that it was best not to reveal herself to him. Adam had come close to making enemies with him tonight.

  She waited for a while longer. She still caught an occasional glimpse of Runner, then decided it was best to return to the house. Turning, she started to walk away, then her footsteps froze when she heard someone coming up behind her. Eyes wide, her knees feeling weak, she spun around and found herself eye to eye with Runner.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled, his eyes lit with fire.

  Stephanie found herself speechless at first, then listened with surprise as she found herself saying, “What were you finding so interesting in someone else’s corral?”

  Chapter 7

  Her loving yielding form I pressed,

  Sweet maddening kisses stole,

  And soon her swimming eyes confessed

  The wishes of her soul.

  —ROBERT DODSLEY

  Realizing that she had placed Runner in an awkward position, Stephanie instantly regretted having spoken. She was just getting ready to apologize for her rudeness, when he suddenly answered her.

  “I admire all horses,” Runner said, having found a way to answer her without incriminating himself. “Horses are a great love of the Navaho. We admire and own many. Mine are a part of me, my best friends, my companions.”

  “You speak of yourself as though you are, indeed, Navaho, yet by birthright, you are not,” Stephan
ie said, again speaking without first thinking. When she saw his frown, she just as quickly regretted what she had said.

  “In every way I am Navaho,” Runner answered. He tried not to allow her innocent questions to anger him, when what he truly wanted was to take her into his arms. “Since I was six winters of age, I have been raised in the tradition of the Navaho. I am proud to be called Navaho.”

  Stephanie recoiled when she realized the bitterness in his last statement. “I’m sorry for being so thoughtless,” she said, swallowing hard. “Of course I can see how proud you are of your adopted heritage. It’s wonderful to see someone who stands so firmly behind his beliefs.”

  “And your beliefs are?” Runner said, tempted to reach his hands to her hair, to feel its softness. He fought off the temptation, as he still did not know enough about her to allow his heart to rule his actions.

  “My beliefs?” Stephanie said, feeling uneasy. She had seen how quickly Runner had reacted to things Adam had said that had annoyed him, and only moments ago, to what she had so absently said. She had to guard her words much more carefully until there was some trust built between them. Yet, when she looked into his eyes she felt as though she were drowning beneath his dark, penetrating gaze. Her pulse was racing. Her knees felt strangely weak again.

  Certainly, she wanted no hard feelings between them, instead, something wonderful and sweet, where they could share everything, even their deepest hopes and desires. Even her desire to be a successful photographer. She feared that Runner’s desire might be to make sure that this did not happen in Navaho land.

  “Yes, your beliefs,” Runner said, trying not to speak so stiffly. He did not want these moments to be this awkward, yet he wanted answers, the same as she. “You have brought a camera to Arizona. Is it for making yourself a great profit? Or do you do it for enjoyment?”