Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  She curled up against his chest as he quickly removed his leggings. He pulled a blanket over them and enveloped her in his arms, kissing her over and over until finally he felt a response.

  He kissed her harder then and she whimpered, moving her arms around his neck. The fire in his veins was so hot that he felt a burning sensation.

  He moved his lips to her neck. “Let it happen, Abbie,” he said softly. “It’s all right. There is nothing wrong in loving your own husband. It’s good and right and natural.”

  “Oh, Zeke, I was so proud that it had only been you!” she wept. “I’ve never wanted another man to touch me! I tried to fight them. I could have … stopped them if I had told! But I couldn’t tell that man … where that poor little boy was! You have to believe me! I had … no choice! I would rather die … than to be touched by anyone but you!”

  “Hush, Abbie-girl,” he moaned. “Do you really think you have to explain such a thing to me? It’s over, and by this act it is ended. We will never speak of it again. They never touched you. They never touched your heart or soul. They never touched your desires. Those things belong only to me. I took them years ago and no one else can touch them. They are mine! Lone Eagle’s! You are my woman, and nothing changes that! Nothing!”

  He moved on top of her then, feeling her panic build as he moved between her legs. She cried out when he entered her, her tears flowing harder. He moved gently. “God, I love you, Abbie!” he groaned. “How I love you! For so long I have dreamed of doing this again!”

  Their lips met, and he could taste the salt of her tears. Finally she arched up to him, responding to the only man who could bring such response. Her tears were tears of joy! How she wanted him! How she loved him! It could be right again. It was good and beautiful, just as it had once been. Perhaps they truly could pick up the pieces and find the wonderful, special thing they had once shared.

  He surged inside of her, his life suddenly pouring into her. It was impossible for him to prolong anything. It had been too long since he had been able to experience being one with his woman. He kissed her over and over, whispering words of love, laughing and crying at the same time.

  “I want to do it again,” he told her, feeling like a much younger man. “I must have you again, Abbie, before the children come.” He kissed her more, moving his lips down to her breasts and gently tasting the taut nipples. These belonged to him. Every part of her belonged to him. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all! She was still his Abbie, and mating with her was still the thrill it always was.

  He felt her relaxing more, and when he looked at her face her eyes were closed, her lustrous dark hair spread out on the robes. “Look at me, Abbie,” he told her. She opened her eyes and blushed, feeling on fire then beneath this man of men. He flashed the handsome smile. “Tell me who your man is.”

  “My man is Zeke Monroe,” she replied softly.

  “And when and where did he claim you?”

  She smiled a little, reddening more. “Somewhere in Wyoming—one night when I needed him most. I was only fifteen.” She traced her fingers over his dark skin, following the hard muscle of his arm and moving up to gently touch the thin scar on his cheek. She saw the fire in his dark eyes, and again she was overwhelmed that she had this strange power over a man that others feared greatly—this man who could take on many men at once, this man who could break her in half in one quick snap, this man who feared nothing and no one, except for his fear of losing his woman. “I belong to you, Zeke Monroe. No other man has ever touched me.”

  He ran a big finger over her lips. “And I have wanted no other woman,” he replied. His mouth covered hers again, and soon they were one again, sharing a joy greater than any they had known before.

  Far in the distance seven Monroe children rode along the banks of the Arkansas River in search of a tree.

  “There is one!” Ellen yelled. She pointed to a scraggly pine tree and Wolf’s Blood dismounted. It was not much of a tree, but he suspected it was the best one they would find. He took his hatchet from his mount and bent down to chop at it, shaking his head over his mother’s strange religious customs.

  “Wolf’s Blood, look!” Margaret shouted. He frowned and stood up, looking out in the direction she pointed. Farther down the bank of the river stood a small, trembling wolf cub. The children quieted as the wolf stared at them. “Shoot it, Wolf’s Blood!” Margaret whispered, thinking how dangerous a wolf could be.

  The boy stepped toward the cub. “No. Do not move. I am going to him.”

  “But the mother might be close by! She will attack you!” Margaret argued.

  Wolf’s Blood shook his head, walking slowly closer. “Look at him. He is shaking and thin. He is alone. Perhaps someone has killed the mother.”

  “Wolf’s Blood, stay back!” LeeAnn warned.

  “Be still!” he ordered, putting up his hand. He dropped his hatchet as he walked even closer. “Hello, my friend,” he said gently. “Did Smoke send you to me?” The cub sat perfectly still as the boy came within reaching distance while the rest of the children watched with terrible fear. Margaret pulled her rifle from its casing, ready to shoot the mother if it should come charging at her brother. But there was no sign yet of another wolf.

  Wolf’s Blood crouched down. “Smoke sent you, didn’t he?” he said softly, reaching out to cautiously allow the cub to smell the back of his hand. “Smoke’s spirit has brought you here. Perhaps his spirit lives in you. Is this so? Have you come to replace my loneliness for Smoke?”

  The cub began licking the boy’s hand and Wolf’s Blood grinned more. “We are one in spirit,” he told the animal. Then he bravely reached out and grasped the cub, lifting it up to see that it was a male. Then he held it against his chest, rubbing his cheek against its head and burying his hands in its thick fur. “Thank you, wolf spirit,” he whispered. “This is a great gift you have given me. It brings me new power, new hope. I will take good care of your little son, and he will take good care of me.”

  He turned to the others, tears in his eyes. “You see? Smoke has sent him to me. The cub means no harm. It shall be my pet, a gift from the wolf spirit!”

  He ran back toward them, and Jeremy watched in awe. No. He would never be like this brother of his. Wolf’s Blood was a wild thing, as wild as the wolves he was named after. There was no doubt now that there was only one path the boy would take in life.

  Wolf’s Blood shoved the pup into his parfleche so that only the animal’s front paws and head stuck out. Then he let out a long, Cheyenne war cry, gazing out into the distant gentle hills and thick cottonwoods beyond. From the cottonwoods there came the long, lonesome wail of a wolf, and Margaret felt chills run down her spine. Her brother truly seemed one with the animal. Wolf’s Blood cried out again, and the unknown wolf howled again in reply, while the pup in the boy’s parfleche yipped excitedly. Wolf’s Blood laughed and picked up his hatchet, walking back to the tree.

  “This is a good day!” he told the others. “This is the best day I can remember!” He chopped briskly at the tree until it fell, then tied it to his horse and mounted up.

  “Do you think Father will play his mandolin for us when we get back?” Lillian asked Wolf’s Blood. “It’s been such a long time since he played his music.” She held little Jason close, and the boy’s eyes were beginning to droop sleepily.

  “Sure he will, if we ask,” Wolf’s Blood answered. “Mother likes to hear him play.”

  The seven Monroes rode off toward home, Wolf’s Blood dragging the tree and the pup gazing out from the parfleche, wondering just where its new master was taking him. A half hour later found them near the cabin. It was growing dark and the cabin looked warm and inviting, a lamp lighting the windows, smoke curling out of the chimney of the potbelly stove. Wolf’s Blood turned to Margaret.

  “I think perhaps this time we should knock before we go inside,” he told his sister.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He frowned. “You figure it out,” he told h
er. “Just do like I say.” They headed for the cabin, and Wolf’s Blood’s heart sang with happiness, something he once thought could never be his again. He would take the silly tree to his mother, if that was what it took to make her happy. And he was anxious to show the wolf to his father. Zeke would understand. He would know the pup was a gift from the spirits. His father was half wild, just like Wolf’s Blood. He would know.

  In the distance wolves began howling then, unseen wild things that dwelled in an untamed land.