Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  “What happens when Rankin comes after you? And he will.”

  “I’ll be waiting for him.”

  He saw in her the determination of the outlaw, Kid Calhoun, for revenge. He had to finish his business here and get her out of the valley.

  Jake grabbed her hand and dragged Anabeth after him. “Let’s go find that gold.”

  15

  Go away from me! I do not want you.

  Stalking Deer’s words rang in Wolf’s ears. He was furious at the fact she had sent him away. But it wasn’t only anger he felt. The sting of rejection had taken him by surprise. Not since he was a very young boy had he allowed himself to care what another human being thought of him. He had learned his lessons well as a son of many fathers. Or so he thought. He had not realized he could still be hurt.

  When Stalking Deer had seemed unconscious of what Wolf wanted from her, it had been easy to convince himself that once she knew how he felt, she would change her mind and come to him willingly. It had been a shock to discover that she desired another. It had been an even bigger shock to realize on the journey home that when he tried to picture Stalking Deer beneath him, another woman took her place. A woman with golden eyes and tawny hair.

  What he had felt when he saw Stalking Deer with the white man was not the result of jealousy so much as it was wounded pride. She had chosen another man over him. On the other hand, he realized that if another man had touched Little One, he would have killed him. Wolf did not know when his desire for Stalking Deer had died. He only knew that what he felt for her now was not the same as what he had felt before he met Little One.

  The closer he got to home, the more eagerly he looked forward to the sight of his captive. He remembered Little One as she had been in the moonlight when he had caressed her body with sage. He remembered her sleeping on a bed of animal skins in his wickiup, where he had left her the next morning. He could not understand why he found her so attractive. But he was aware that he was not nearly so anxious to force an unwilling Stalking Deer to come away with him now that he held the golden-eyed white woman captive.

  Her brother wanted her back.

  Wolf’s lips curved in a feral smile. The white man had Stalking Deer. It was only fair that Wolf should keep the woman he had taken in exchange.

  It was nearly dark by the time he reached the village. Wolf tried to imagine what Little One would be doing when he saw her again. He pictured her sitting at the fire before his wickiup preparing his supper. Thus, when he arrived at his lodge to find there was no fire, nor any sign of his captive at all, the anger Wolf had thought under control, erupted again.

  He strode through the village, nodding to those who greeted him from their fires, but refusing to stop. He did not ask if any knew where his captive could be found because he did not want them to know he was seeking her out. It would have told them more than he wanted them to know about his interest in her.

  When he had been through the entire village without finding any trace of her, he sought out his mother’s wickiup. He pushed aside the hide covering and without even stopping to greet her asked, “Where is she?”

  “Welcome, my son. Who is it you seek?”

  “You know who I mean. The white woman. Where is she?”

  The old woman cackled. “You are eager for your woman, eh?”

  Wolf scowled. “If you know where she is, tell me.”

  Night Crawling pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Maybe she sought out the blanket of another.”

  Wolf’s eyes narrowed to slits. His mouth flattened. He knew she was taunting him, but he felt a tightness in his gut. “She does not like the Apache. She would not do such a thing.”

  The old woman cackled again. “Perhaps she does not like The People. But she has a softness in her heart for a small Apache boy.”

  Wolf frowned. “White Eagle?”

  “No. He will have nothing to do with her. It is He Makes Trouble she has taken under her wing.”

  Wolf left his mother’s lodging and headed for the small wickiup where He Makes Trouble spent his nights. It was isolated on the edge of the camp. A fire burned in front of the tiny brush lodging and the woman he sought was seated there cross-legged, stirring a pot of stew.

  “What are you doing here?” Wolf demanded. “You should be at my wickiup waiting to serve me.”

  The smile that had started to appear on Claire’s face froze half-formed. “I’m cooking supper for a small boy who would otherwise go hungry,” she retorted.

  “Where is He Makes Trouble?”

  “He went to fetch some water for me,” Claire said. “Did you find Anabeth?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire’s hand stopped in the act of stirring. “Was she with anyone?”

  “Your brother.”

  Claire’s head snapped up. She looked into Wolf’s eyes. “Did you—? Is he—?”

  “Your brother is with Stalking Deer. She chose to stay with him rather than to come with me.” He paused and said, “So I will keep you—as my woman.”

  “What?” Claire dropped the spoon and stared at him. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “You can’t mean that!”

  “I do not say what I do not mean!” Wolf retorted.

  “You can’t—”

  At that moment He Makes Trouble returned with a basket of water and set it down beside Claire.

  “We will speak more of this later,” Claire said.

  “There is nothing more to say.”

  “Hello, Wolf.” The six-year-old seemed to sense the tension between the two adults and sought a way to diffuse it. “Little One has cooked some food. Will you share a meal with us?”

  Wolf saw the longing in the boy’s eyes, the wary way he held himself to absorb the refusal of his offer that he was certain would follow.

  But Wolf had walked too many miles in this boy’s moccasins. “I will be pleased to join you at your campfire.”

  The boy’s smile was jubilant. That alone would have been reward enough for Wolf. But the warm look of approval the white woman gave him caused a flush of pleasure to crawl up his throat and singe his cheeks. He tried to pretend that he was doing nothing special, but Little One’s surreptitious looks, her pleased smile, made it clear she knew otherwise.

  He Makes Trouble served Wolf the best parts of the stew, and split the rest with Claire. Wolf was pleasantly surprised at how good the food was.

  “What have you put in here to make it taste so good?” he asked.

  Claire muttered something he didn’t hear.

  “What did you say?”

  “Sage.” She glanced up with eyes that were luminous with the memory of what had happened between them.

  Wolf’s pulse leaped.

  Before he could pursue the matter He Makes Trouble said, “I am teaching Little One how to speak with Apache words.” The child beamed on his adult pupil and said, “Show Wolf what you have learned.”

  Claire dutifully recited the Apache words for all the items around the campfire as He Makes Trouble pointed them out. She mispronounced the word for “fire” so badly that both Wolf and He Makes Trouble laughed at her.

  Claire smiled when she looked into the happy face of the tiny Indian boy. What a difference from the rebellious look he had borne when Wolf had called him to task for chasing the skunk through camp.

  When the laughter died, Wolf grasped Claire’s wrist and drew her to her feet. “It is time for us to go now.”

  “We can’t leave He Makes Trouble here alone,” Claire protested.

  “It is where he sleeps.”

  “But he’s too little to be here all by himself.”

  “I am not afraid,” He Makes Trouble said, puffing out his tiny chest.

  Claire realized she had touched the boy’s pride. “I am sure you do not mind staying here,” she said. “But what if Wolf invited you to his wickiup. Would you come?”

  Claire glanced sharply at Wolf, daring him to rescind the invitation, then met the hopeful
glance of the child.

  The Apache boy obviously knew who had the final authority over such a suggestion. His eyes left Claire and sought out Wolf.

  Wolf found himself in a quandary. He felt no responsibility for He Makes Trouble other than as a member of the tribe. If the boy asked him for food, he provided it. If the boy caused trouble—which was often—he chastised him for it. Wolf sympathized with He Makes Trouble’s plight, for it had been his own. But he had never gone so far as to invite the six-year-old to share his lodging.

  The white woman had. Wolf waited for her to plead with him to take the boy. She said nothing, merely looked at him with her wide, golden eyes. It was enough. Her eyes spoke words that needed no voice.

  “He Makes Trouble,” Wolf said at last. “I ask you to come to my wickiup.”

  The boy grinned. “I accept your invitation.”

  Claire laid her hand on Wolf’s forearm, then leaned over to whisper in his ear, “That was a wonderful thing to do.” She let go of him before he was ready to be parted from her, and bustled around banking the fire and putting things away to help get He Makes Trouble ready to go with them.

  As they were leaving, she reached out to the child and Wolf was astonished to see the Indian boy slip his small hand into hers. Usually He Makes Trouble had nothing to do with anyone. Wolf was surprised at the boy’s willingness to accept the closeness offered by the white woman. It dawned on him that the reason he had never seen the boy with another was because no one else had ever made the effort.

  Wolf couldn’t help frowning as he thought of the noise and inconvenience of having a small boy in his wickiup. What would the wagging tongues of the village have to say when they discovered what he had done?

  Do you care what they say?

  Wolf realized the white woman’s approval meant more to him than the rest of the village combined. Which made him uneasy. He must make it plain to her that she could not be inviting every stray she found to join them in their wickiup. It was already plenty crowded with the three of them.

  The child was so excited it took him a long time to settle down. Finally, Claire lay down beside He Makes Trouble and put an arm around the boy to hold him still.

  Wolf stared, unaware of the envy in his eyes. He wanted to be that boy. He wanted this woman to take him in her arms. To keep her from seeing his need he said, “I will go for a walk until the boy sleeps. Then I will return.”

  He saw the flash of fear in her eyes, quickly hidden. He made a sound of disgust that caused her to flinch. A moment later he was gone.

  Claire refused to contemplate what would happen when Wolf returned to the wickiup. Instead she held the Apache boy in her arms and thought of her son. She hoped Jeff’s Indian mother had found a way to ease the fears he must have felt when he was stolen from her three years ago.

  She had tried again while Wolf was away from the village to reach Jeff, to speak with him. Her son had ignored the English words she spoke to him and taunted her in Apache. When she had tried to touch him, he had pulled a knife and threatened her away.

  The Apache boy in her arms grunted and Claire realized she was holding him too tight. But he didn’t try to free himself, and in fact snuggled closer. Claire couldn’t help but see the irony in the situation. She was mothering an Apache boy while her own son refused to acknowledge her.

  When He Makes Trouble had been asleep for a while and Wolf still hadn’t returned, Claire separated herself carefully from the child and left the wickiup for a walk in the night air. She almost tripped over Wolf as she stepped outside. He was sitting there in the dark.

  She hesitated, then sat down beside him and asked, “Why didn’t you come inside?”

  “It was too noisy in there,” he said disgustedly.

  “He Makes Trouble never breathed a word once you asked him to be quiet.”

  “That won’t last. Before long he’ll be chattering like a jay.”

  “Good,” Claire said. “Children should always be talking, asking questions, learning.”

  “An Apache child learns early to be quiet. To watch and to listen.”

  Claire grimaced. “I suppose that’s a good lesson to know when there’s danger around.”

  “There is always danger for an Apache these days,” Wolf said.

  “I never see him laughing and playing with the other children.”

  “I have told you the reason for that.”

  “Isn’t there any way to change the situation?”

  Wolf rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If some family adopted him. Then perhaps—”

  “Why don’t you?” she interrupted.

  Wolf was annoyed at Little One’s habit of speaking her mind whenever she felt like it. No Apache woman would dare to interrupt. And what she had suggested—it was ridiculous.

  “Why would I want to adopt He Makes Trouble?” His lips turned up wryly. “Believe me, he has earned his name.”

  “You should do it because he has your eyes. Because he is a part of you. Because it would be a good thing to do,” Claire said in a rush.

  Wolf’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “And because you miss your own son, and want another child to care for?”

  “No one can replace Jeffrey! I only thought—”

  “No,” Wolf said flatly. “I do not want a child to sleep between us.”

  “He wouldn’t be between us,” Claire argued.

  Wolf met her eyes and waited for them to drop under his regard. She continued staring defiantly at him. He saw a way he could have what he wanted—at a small price. “I will take you at your word, Little One. The child may stay, but when we sleep, you will be by my side. The boy will sleep alone.”

  Claire had resigned herself to endure whatever was necessary during her captivity in the Indian village because she had hopes of someday reaching Jeff. She had let herself believe that she would not be forced into intimacy with Wolf. She realized now how naive she had been.

  But if he was going to have her anyway, wouldn’t it be better if some good came of it? At least this way, if she was ever able to escape this place, the Apache boy would still have a home. “All right,” Claire said at last. “I agree to your terms.”

  “Go inside now,” Wolf said. “I will join you in a little while.”

  Claire didn’t hesitate, didn’t argue, simply rose and shoved aside the hide opening and entered the wickiup. She arranged her grass bed on the opposite side of the spacious dwelling from the sleeping boy. She had no clothes to change into, so she lay down in the buckskins she had been wearing since the night Wolf had given them to her at the stream.

  Claire heard the soft footfalls that signaled Wolf’s return to the wickiup. She held her breath, lying perfectly still in the darkness. Unerringly, he walked toward her, stopping near her head. He sat down on the ground beside her and slipped off his knee-high moccasins.

  He reached out in the dark and laid a hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle. “Are you asleep, Little One?”

  “No.”

  His callused fingertips slipped between the thongs that tied at the shoulder. “Your skin is very soft,” he said.

  Wolf’s hand slid up her shoulder to her throat, where her pulse throbbed. He felt her whole body quiver beneath his touch. He lay down next to her and pulled her back against him. But she remained stiff in his arms.

  “There is no need to be afraid, Little One.”

  “I … this is the first time I’ve lain with another man besides my husband. I … it’s too soon,” she blurted.

  Wolf remained silent for almost a minute. At last he said, “I am in no hurry, Little One. I can wait until you desire me as I desire you.”

  Claire half-laughed, half-sobbed. “You’ll have a long wait!”

  Wolf traced his hand down her throat and felt her shiver. He smiled with satisfaction in the darkness. “I do not think so.”

  Claire felt the color creeping up her neck. She was humiliated by her body’s reaction to the Apache’s touch. He was the ene
my. She had to remember that so she would be able to leave here when the time came. She couldn’t let herself admire him … or care for him … or desire him.

  The thought that she could even consider coupling with him should have horrified her. It did not. In fact, she had stiffened in his arms because her body had been all too receptive to his touch. Claire felt confused by the feelings she was experiencing for a man she knew to be a savage.

  She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth and tried very hard to hate him.

  It was a long time before Wolf felt the woman in his arms relax. At last he heard the slow, steady breathing that told him she was asleep. He pulled her into the curve of his body and stared into the darkness.

  He heard rustling on the other side of the wickiup. “He Makes Trouble?”

  “I woke up and did not know where I was,” the little boy said in a frightened voice.

  “You are in my wickiup. You are safe here,” Wolf said.

  “Where is Little One?”

  “She is here with me.”

  “Oh.”

  Wolf knew what the boy wanted, and that the child would not ask for it. He felt a strange tightness in his chest. He opened his mouth to invite He Makes Trouble to join them, then snapped it shut again. It was better not to raise the boy’s hopes that his situation was changed merely because he had been invited to spend one night in Wolf’s wickiup.

  Among the Apache a bastard was not mistreated. But because he was different, he lived his life separate from the rest of the tribe. Wolf understood exactly what that involved. It was hard enough to survive the nomadic life of an Apache. A bastard had the additional burden of making it on his own. Wolf could not change He Makes Trouble’s fate. It was far better if the boy accepted the truth about who he was and learned to live with it.

  “Good night, boy,” he said.

  “Good night, Wolf.”

  Wolf closed his eyes and waited until he heard the boy settle before he succumbed to sleep.

  In the morning, Wolf tried to turn over but couldn’t because there was something in the way. Something warm. Something with arms and legs.