Wolf Runner (10 page)

He was so tall she had to look up to see his eyes. He did not look at her the way Mr. Sullivan and other men did—he looked at her with irritation. She preferred to be an annoyance rather than the object of a man’s lust.

“Thank you.”

Wolf Runner nodded curtly to her, and watched as she moved out the door. She walked with an easy grace, her shoulders straight, her chin tilted upward. There was pride in the young woman, but he feared pride would not sustain her. Life had not been kind to her, and he was sure it was about to get a lot more unkind.

Cheyenne thought she would have difficulty falling asleep, but the moment her head hit the pillow she knew nothing else. She slept the first dreamless sleep she had had since her gram’s death.

Always having been an early riser, she awoke well before daylight and gathered what she thought she would need for the journey. Wolf Runner had told her to travel light, so she would accommodate him. Her comb and brush she tucked into the corner pocket of her valise. She gently wrapped her father’s picture and placed it in the bag.

Digging in her valise, she removed her black leather dress shoes and placed them on the floor. She was wearing her boots that laced up her ankle—they would serve her well where she was going.

Achingly she touched the white lace her gram had sewn onto her green gown. Shaking her head regretfully, she put it with the other gowns she was leaving behind, hoping the maid would get some use out of them. Next she unpacked her extra stays and petticoats. She would make do with the ones she was wearing.

Cheyenne picked up the gun that had been Gram’s, holding it gingerly by the ivory handle. It was loaded, but it had probably been years since anyone had fired it, and would probably blow up in her face if
she pulled the trigger. Tucking it back inside her valise, she shook her head. She had just enough time to write a letter to Maria, telling her all that had happened. The Mendoza family would be upset to learn she was setting off for the unknown, but she wrote about her grandfather, hoping they would understand her need to be with family. She thought it wise not to mention Wolf Runner. She promised to write them when she reached her destination.

Cheyenne quickly braided her hair and wrapped it about the back of her head, as she usually did.

She kept her sewing kit and a few other treasured mementos that would mean nothing to anyone but her. Lastly, she packed the shawl Gram had knitted her and placed it lovingly into the valise.

Recounting her money, Cheyenne kept out enough for postage for Maria’s letter.

How much does a good horse cost?
she wondered. She would also need a saddle and tack.
Can I buy them with the money I have left?
She wasn’t sure.

Then there would be food and supplies for the journey. She certainly did not want Wolf Runner to buy what she needed, although he said they would settle up later.

Gram had taken care of their expenses, and Cheyenne was beginning to understand just how little she knew of finances. Gram had raised her for a life of privilege, while she was headed for a life of great want.

With a resigned sigh, she lifted her valise, which was now considerably lighter. Stopping by the front desk, she paid her bill and gave the clerk Maria’s letter and the money for postage.

Stepping outside, into the clear light of dawn, Cheyenne questioned her sanity for attempting such a journey.

I must be out of my mind to start on such an excursion with a man I hardly know.

Still, what else could she do?

Like Gram always said, “Let Providence take care of today, and let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.”

Wolf Runner watched Cheyenne come down the steps in front of her hotel, feeling a slight pull at his heart because she looked so forlorn. Who wouldn’t feel pity for a young woman who faced such an uncertain future? The life she had led with her white grandmother had not prepared her for what awaited her among the Cheyenne in Montana.

When she paused on the bottom step, he drew in his breath as the sun shimmered across her face, and he could not help but think how delicate she appeared.

When their gazes met, he could tell that she did not entirely trust him. In fact, he could feel the chill of her gaze all the way to his bones. If she only knew how safe she would be with him. He was not attracted to her—she was too much like a white woman to interest him. She was much too opinionated—always saying the first thing that came to her mind. She was going to give him trouble, he knew it.

Yet he had never seen a woman with such a steadfast fortitude, other than his mother. If he had been a betting man, he would wager Ivy Gatlin had had iron in her backbone, and had passed it on to her granddaughter. He would just see if Cheyenne Gatlin’s fortitude lasted throughout the rigorous journey ahead of them. The first part would not be difficult—but the true test would come when they left all comforts behind and traveled through the mountainous wilderness.

As Cheyenne approached, he noticed her valise was lighter. He recalled when she boarded the train she had had trouble lifting it. He was satisfied she would do as she was told.

“Let us go. The train is due any moment.”

In no time they were seated on the train with her valise between them. Wolf Runner watched her as she glanced out the window.

“I can guess what you are thinking.”

“I imagine not,” she said, turning to him.

“You are thinking you are leaving everything behind that is dear and familiar to you.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I had somewhat the same feelings when I left home to go to school in Washington. I wanted the days to pass quickly so I could return home. I still have those feelings whenever I am away.”

She turned back to the window and said so quietly he could hardly catch her words, “But you had a home and a family to return to. I will not be coming back.”

Through the day, the train chugged up steep hills and passed wide mesas. Cheyenne watched the countryside roll by, feeling numb inside as the familiar scenery changed to flat bushes and hilly land.

When night descended, Cheyenne closed her eyes and slept, gripping her shawl tightly, not knowing Wolf Runner watched her in the dimly lit car.

He wondered what she looked like with her hair loose. She always wore it braided and twisted around the back of her head primly. Her long lashes lay like shadows against her cheeks. Her features caught and held his attention—she was perfect in every way, her nose just the right size, her lips full and beautifully shaped. He had seen many pretty women in his life, but none with Cheyenne’s haunting beauty.

He shook his head and turned away from her. He was promised to Blue Dawn, and he should not be thinking of another woman in such a way—especially not this woman, who carried the blood of his enemy in her veins.

Three days later found them in Silverland, Colorado, and the mountain air had a bite to it.

Wolf Runner had left Cheyenne in the lobby of a hotel while he went to the blacksmith shop to buy a packhorse, and Cheyenne a horse and saddle. Then he went into the general store and purchased the supplies they would need.

Cheyenne watched out the front window of the hotel as the town of Silverland came to life. The day was overcast and it looked like it might rain. She hoped not.

Glancing down at her heavy muslin traveling gown, she wondered if it was appropriate for a journey where she would be spending hours in the saddle. It must do—she had nothing else to wear.

The lobby clock chimed the eleventh hour and still Wolf Runner had not returned for her. For just a moment she panicked. What if he abandoned her—what would she do? Placing her hand on the window-pane, Cheyenne glanced nervously down the dusty road. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Wolf Runner leading a packhorse loaded with supplies, and two other horses.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a large dog lumbering along beside him. She had known his horse traveled in the stock car, but he did not tell her anything about a dog.

Breathing deeply, she stepped out of the hotel and waited for him on the steps. Her heart was beating
wildly—it was one thing to be with Wolf Runner on a train where there were people about, and quite another to be alone with him on the trail.

As he approached, Cheyenne noticed he was appraising her, no doubt speculating how serviceable her wearing apparel was for a trek in the wilderness. Then he stared straight into her eyes, and she dropped her gaze against his intense gaze, so dark and seeking.

They had been together for three days, and in that time he had said very little to her, but his eyes said much—she just did not know how to interpret his moods.

Cheyenne told herself she could still back out and return to New Mexico.

She shook herself mentally; no she could not. She would only go forward, so she walked down the steps toward Wolf Runner.

“I insist on paying for my horse and my share of the supplies,” Cheyenne said as she came down the wooden steps, eyeing the dog that had come to heel at Wolf Runner’s feet.

Wolf Runner cast her a quelling glance. “We will speak of that later. Let us hope you know how to ride a horse,” he stated calmly.

Cheyenne’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Of course I can ride. Every woman in New Mexico Territory knows how to ride a horse.”

Taking her valise and securing it to the packhorse, he nodded at the pinto. “That will be your mount,” he prompted, swinging onto his own mount, which he rode without a saddle. “I hope you can handle him.”

“Just because I wasn’t born in an Indian village, doesn’t mean I can’t handle a spirited horse.”

“We shall see about that.”

Though angered by his tone, Cheyenne chose not to reply. That was when she noticed Wolf Runner’s attention was centered on her traveling gown, and she could tell he thought she was improperly dressed for the journey.

Cheyenne touched a pleat on her traveling gown. “I have no proper riding habit.” Why hadn’t he gotten her a sidesaddle?

“Where we are going no one has even heard of a ‘proper’ riding habit,” he said. “Mount up.”

Cheyenne had the feeling he was testing her in some way, and she did not intend to rise to the bait.

“Will your dog follow us?” she asked, kneeling beside the animal and rubbing the stiff hair on its back.

“Don’t touch him!” Wolf Runner warned. “Move back slowly.”

But it was too late—Cheyenne had already laid her face against Satanta’s head. Wolf Runner tensed. Satanta had never taken well to strangers.

Wolf Runner dismounted and moved closer to Satanta, placing a hand on the wolf’s head.

“Stand back, Miss Gatlin. Slowly. Satanta is not a dog, he is a wolf.”

Cheyenne knew Wolf Runner expected her to pull away in fright, but she merely glanced into the animal’s eyes and rubbed his ear. In truth Cheyenne felt sudden fear riveting through her body, but she refused to let him see how afraid she was, even when the bitter bile of panic rose in her throat.

A wolf!

She was touching a wolf.

She attempted to make her voice sound normal, but she did not quite succeed. “I have never been this near a real wolf before,” she said, hoping Wolf Runner had not seen her hands shaking. “He seems as gentle as a dog.”

“Miss Gatlin, Satanta is a wild animal, and if he took it in his head not to like you, he could tear your head off.”

She stood, hoping her legs would not collapse beneath her. “But he didn’t attack me.”

Giving the animal’s head a final pat, she moved
slowly away from him, while instinct urged her to run.

Wolf Runner was still shaken by what could have happened to Cheyenne if Satanta had objected to her touching him. “Miss Gatlin, in the future you should not go bounding headlong into danger without thinking.”

Cheyenne’s sorely tried patience finally crumbled. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she gave him a glacier look, saying, “Well, who would expect someone to bring a wild wolf into a town where there are people about? It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

He was startled by her outburst. Wolf Runner was not accustomed to being questioned or chastised. All he could do was frown at Cheyenne as she crammed her boot into the stirrup and mounted her horse, showing a fair amount of petticoat.

When she was settled comfortably in the saddle, she said airily, “I am ready to leave when you are.”

His dark gaze pierced hers. “One of the first things I want you to do when we stop today is get out of those petticoats. You cannot ride well with so much heavy clothing.”

“No. I certainly will not. And you should not be discussing a woman’s undergarments.”

His dark eyes smoldered as he mounted his horse, and she sensed danger. She wanted to say more, but the determined expression on his face sealed her lips. She reminded herself she wanted to cause him as little trouble as possible. So far that was not working out so well.

“Did you hear me, Miss Gatlin?”

Cheyenne gritted her teeth. If removing her petticoats would satisfy him, what choice had she? “I heard.”

“Well?”

She bit back the words she wanted to say and murmured, “I’ll do it.”

As they rode out of town, the few people who were up and about seemed to take no notice of them or the giant silver-white wolf running beside Wolf Runner’s horse.

“You do know where we are going?” Cheyenne asked because she could not resist provoking him after the petticoat incident.

He gave her a disgruntled nod. “Did you think I would just start in a direction and hope to end up where I wanted to be?”

Her courage left her. “No…I—”

“Miss Gatlin,” he interrupted. “Where we are going is as familiar to me as Santa Fe is to you.”

She bit her lip to keep from delivering the hot retort that came to mind. Wolf Runner perplexed her. Sometimes he seemed to make an effort to be kind to her, and other times he treated her as if he didn’t like her at all.

As they left the town behind Wolf Runner ignored Cheyenne and she lapsed into silence.

It was going to be a long journey.

They had been traveling through a deep mesa with terra-cotta-colored bluffs rising on both sides. Half turning in her saddle, Cheyenne watched a thin serpentine curl of smoke evaporate among the low clouds that hovered across the valley. Although it seemed they were traveling in an isolated and inhospitable countryside, she supposed there was a ranch nearby, maybe more than one.

Wolf Runner kept a close eye on the darkening clouds overhead. So far the rain had held off, but he
knew it was but a matter of time before they had a downpour. A good soaking would be Miss Gatlin’s first discomfort—there would be other challenges before too many days had passed. Her grandmother had raised her to be a lady. He would soon know if she had the courage and stamina of an Indian, or if she would fall apart at the first hardship.

They had been riding quietly until late morning, when Wolf Runner finally called a halt to rest the horses. He uncapped his canteen and handed it to Cheyenne, while Satanta streaked off into the bushes.

Out of the corner of his eye Wolf Runner saw Cheyenne grimace as she dismounted. “Are you doing all right?” he inquired, watching her closely, waiting for her to complain.

Cheyenne would never admit to him that she was weary, or that she ached in the places where her body came in contact with the stiff saddle. “I’m fine.” Taking a deep drink, she handed the canteen back to him and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “How long will it take to reach my grandfather?”

He took a drink and then gazed into the distance. “I cannot be certain, since I do not know exactly where he is located. What I do know is we will be going through rough country. And we must be alert to danger at all times.”

Cheyenne gathered her horse’s reins and almost groaned in pain when she settled back into the saddle. “What do you mean by rough and dangerous country?” she asked.

“Outlaws, renegade Indians who have broken away from the reservation, among other dangers.”

“Do you mean to frighten me?” She raised her
chin and gave him a haughty glance. “If you are, it’s not working.”

“Miss Gatlin, you had better be afraid—it could save your life. The country we will be traveling in is harsh and unsettled. Just make certain you do everything I tell you. Stay close to me and do not take it into your head to wander off on your own.”

“There will be times when I need privacy.”

“I understand that,” he bit out, watching her chin go a bit higher.

Wolf Runner suddenly chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “Then again, you might just frighten anyone we meet up with, if you glare at them the way you are glaring at me.”

His humor surprised her. She was not accustomed to banter between a man and woman and hardly knew how to react to his lighter mood. Her confusion must have shown on her face because his laughter deepened.

“I need privacy now,” she told him with a scowl.

Wolf Runner halted his horse. “This would be a good time for you to remove your petticoats.”

Sliding off her horse, she wordlessly stalked off behind a clump of cedar bushes and unhooked, un-snapped, and stepped out of her petticoats and stays, letting the offending garments lay where they landed.

When she returned, Wolf Runner looked at her in satisfaction. Then he noticed the soft outline of her body as her gown fell in soft pleats across rounded hips. His body tightened unexpectedly and he looked away from her.

“Mount up. We do not have all day.”

Cheyenne ground her teeth. His light mood had left him. He was as sour as before.

The rain held off until it was almost sundown, and then it came down in torrents. Lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground and echoing off canyon walls.

“We will camp here,” Wolf Runner said, swinging off his horse. “I will hobble the horses,” he yelled to be heard above the rain. “It would help if you unloaded the packhorse. We will need the blankets and the pouch of dried food. Be sure you cover the rest with the tarp.”

Cheyenne quickly complied. With rain peppering against her face and dripping off her chin, she untied the ropes and stacked the supplies against the canyon wall. Removing what they needed, she covered the rest with a heavy tarpaulin, weighing it down with stones.

After Wolf Runner secured the horses Cheyenne watched him cut branches from nearby pine trees. In no time at all, he had fashioned a lean-to with branches and canvas. Pushing a damp strand of hair out of her face, she gratefully crawled beneath the shelter. She was cold, hungry, and miserable, but she would rather have her tongue cut out than admit it.

When Wolf Runner joined her moments later, she could see him clearly in the flickering lightning. She gripped her hands, fearful of being so close to him. In horror, she realized he had stripped off all his clothing except for a breechcloth. Never having seen a man so scantily clad, she turned her back and closed her eyes tightly.

Is he like all the others? Have I been a fool to trust him?

Unaware of her feelings, Wolf Runner brushed Cheyenne’s shoulder as he reached up to cover an opening where water was dripping through. “I had hoped the rain would hold off until we were in the
high country where there will be more trees to shelter us.”

“What you are wearing is not proper,” she said, stiffening.

“Miss Gatlin, this is what a Blackfoot warrior wears. And while we are on the subject, you need to get out of your wet clothing, or else you will catch a chill.” He picked up one of the blankets and thrust it at her. “I have no intentions of nursing a sick woman.”

She thrust the blanket back at him. “I certainly will not remove my clothing. As it is, you already have me down to the bare necessities.” She shook her head. “I won’t do it,” she exclaimed unabashed, clutching her hands into fists. “How can you ask such a thing of me?”

“Shall I do it then?”

Cheyenne shrank away from him. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Miss Gatlin, let me put your mind at ease—you are not at all the kind of woman who draws my attention. And I would never take an unwilling woman. Does that answer all your fears?”

The only part she heard was that he was not attracted to her, and for some reason that brought a dull ache to her heart. “Turn your head,” she said ungraciously.

Hearing his soft laughter when she tried to struggle out of her wet clothing while trying to hold the blanket up so he could not see her. It was frustrating. When she finally managed to drape herself in the blanket, she asked, “Shouldn’t the wolf be in out of the weather?”

Wolf Runner listened for a moment as the rain peppered against the tarpaulin. “Like any of his kind, Satanta does not like to be confined.”

Settling back as some of the chill left her body, Cheyenne asked, “His name—is it from the Black-foot language?”

He took her wet garment and hung it from one of the rough branches he had used to build the lean-to. “Satanta is actually Kiowa meaning ‘white bear.’” He smiled. “When he was born he was a fluff of white. My mother gave Satanta his name.”

“But she is white—does she speak Kiowa?”

Wolf Runner was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. “I do not think of my mother as white, and neither does she. But to answer you, she is intelligent and learns languages quickly—she speaks several dialects.”

“Your father must be an exceptional man if she gave up such a successful ranch to be with him.”

“He is more than you can imagine,” Wolf Runner said as he reached up to close another opening where rain had begun to pour in. “You must be hungry. Choose from any of the dried meat in the leather satchel.”

She nodded and opened the bag, taking out two strips of dried meat, and handing one to him.

“Although I’m half Cheyenne, I am not proud of it. I have accepted it because I have no choice. Gram was a fine lady, having grown up on a plantation in North Carolina. She raised me in her traditions. That’s why I don’t know how to be an Indian.”

“I have noticed that. You come from a line of Cheyenne chiefs, from a proud race and you should be proud of that.”

She took a bite of the meat and chewed for a moment. “I don’t know what waits for me at the end of this journey. The one thing I’m sure of is that life as I know it is over.”

He was mystified by her acceptance of what life had handed her. So far she had not complained about anything other than removing her undergarments. “There is truth in that,” he told her, watching her nod.

They both lapsed into silence.

At last she spoke, “I want to be of help to you, but I don’t know how unless you show me what to do. Tomorrow you could start teaching me to tend the animals,” she suggested. “I know I’m capable of that.”

He considered her offer for a moment, then said, “I will tend the animals.”

It was dim inside the lean-to and she could not see him, but she could certainly feel his presence. “Then tell me what else I can do.”