Wolf Runner (6 page)

Wolf Runner watched pale blue eyes sweep across his face as if Mrs. Gatlin was searching for something in his expression.

“I know your mother’s been back to Santa Fe several times, but she always left before I could see her. Tell me—is she happy living among the Blackfoot?”

The more Ivy Gatlin talked, the more puzzled Wolf Runner became. “My mother is beloved by our people.”

“But does she ever want to return to her life here at the ranch? Is she forced to remain in the Black-foot village?”

Wolf Runner felt a prickle of anger. “My mother can do what she wants. She is free to live where she wishes, but she will not be parted from my father, and he would not want to live here.”

“Cullen has told me that Marianna is happy. It seems he’s a good friend to both your parents.”

The woman looked ill, her face a pasty color—he did not miss the trembling of her hands. “May I get you something to drink, Mrs. Gatlin, water perhaps?”

“No—I want nothing. And I didn’t come here to waste your time with unnecessary shenanigans, so I’ll get right to the point.” She ran her hand down her gray gown as if she were pressing out a wrinkle. “Are you here to live on the ranch or to sell it?”

He couldn’t imagine why it would matter to her what he decided about the ranch. “I do not intend to live here, but I have not yet decided whether I will sell.”

She nodded. “Good, then you will be retuning to your village.”

“Yes.”

She studied him for a moment. “What they say about you is true—you are well educated. You speak with very little accent. I’m sure the ladies find it charming.”

“Excuse me, madam?”

“Nothing. I was merely making an observation. Some people find me nosy, but I worked with my husband for many years on his newspaper. I can’t break the habit of sticking my nose into anything that might be newsworthy.”

No matter how Ivy Gatlin explained her prodding, Wolf Runner was beginning to lose patience. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Gatlin?”

She took a shuddering breath. “I’m here begging a favor.” She met his gaze. “A big one. I am banking on you helping me because I was a friend of your grandparents.”

“Do you need money?”

“No. It’s nothing like that. Will you help me?”

“First I would have to hear what you are asking of me.”

“I’m in poor health, Wolf Runner.” She leaned back and took a deep breath. “More than that, I’m dying.”

Wolf Runner hardly knew what to say. He did not know her well enough to feel sadness. She was an old woman who had lived her life. If she thought to ask for a favor from him on the thin thread of once knowing his grandparents, she was mistaken. Of course he would hear her out for his mother’s sake.

He waited for her to continue.

“As I mentioned, some years back my husband and I ran the newspaper here in town. I sold it after he died—it just wasn’t fun anymore. Even though my son lived in Santa Fe, I never saw much of him. After his wife died, I agreed to look after their young daughter. She doesn’t remember her mother, like I’m sure your mother doesn’t remember her parents.”

She paused, as if expecting him to make a comment. When he didn’t, she continued: “My son’s wife was from the Cheyenne tribe, you see. My granddaughter was named for her mother’s people.”

This woman had no way of knowing that his bitterest enemy was a Cheyenne. Did she think because he was an Indian and her granddaughter was Indian that they were alike? But his mother had been concerned for this woman, so he would hear her out.

In an attempt to sound interested in what she was telling him, he asked, “Your granddaughter’s name is Cheyenne?”

“That’s right.” Ivy nodded.

Wolf Runner waited while she stopped to catch her breath.

“I never met Cheyenne’s mother, although I saw her from a distance often enough.” Ivy dropped her head. “I’m sorry now I didn’t make the effort to know her.” She met Wolf Runner’s gaze, as if she expected him to comment on her prejudice. When he said nothing, she continued. “Since I am about to face eternity, I regret many things I did or didn’t do. Too late, though—it’s too late for a lot of things I wished I’d done.”

He was still wondering if she was trying to make
the connection between him and her granddaughter because they both had Indian blood.

“If you could just meet Cheyenne,” she continued, “talk to her, you would see that she is a lovely young woman.”

His mouth eased into a grin. “Mrs. Gatlin, are you trying to make a match for me with your granddaughter?”

“No, no.” She shook her head vigorously. “Nothing like that! I want—I beg you to take Cheyenne with you when you leave Santa Fe.”

He could not have been more shocked if she’d just sprouted another head. “You…want me to take her with me?”

She raised her hands in a hopeless gesture. “Cheyenne has not had an easy life—very few people here in town accept her because she is half Indian—like you are. Surely you can understand what that feels like? But then no, you wouldn’t be shunned as Cheyenne is—money being the great equalizer.”

“Have you thought about sending her to her mother’s people?” Wolf Runner suggested.

Ivy looked haggard and very ill. “I once received a letter from an Indian agent in Indian Territory. The letter stated Cheyenne’s grandfather wanted to know how to find her.” She raised a troubled gaze to him. “I never answered. And I didn’t tell my granddaughter about it either. If you were to meet Cheyenne, you would know she does not belong on a reservation.” Ivy reached out her hand beseechingly. “With your mother she would be cared for—I know this in my heart.”

While Wolf Runner’s mother had asked him to find out what was troubling Mrs. Gatlin, surely she
had not intended for him to bring the woman home with him. “What you suggest is impossible. I cannot take you and your granddaughter with me, Mrs. Gatlin. Surely the young woman would not agree to leave her home for a land where she would be a stranger. And surely you are too ill to make such a journey.”

“I won’t be going. And you’re right; Cheyenne would not agree to leave me. But I plead with you to consider what I have said. Don’t say no until you meet her and talk to her.”

Desperation was written on every plane of her face.

“Cheyenne is in danger here. Ask Cullen and he’ll substantiate what I have told you.” She looked at him pleadingly. “When I’m gone, there will be no one to protect her.” Ivy’s tear-bright eyes sought his. “There is this man in town who would dishonor her.” She clasped her hands so tightly her knuckles whitened. “Nigel Sullivan will stop at nothing to get his hands on Cheyenne when I’m gone. I have no one to turn to—no one to protect her but you.”

Wolf Runner shook his head, suspecting the woman was trying to enlist his aid in ridding her granddaughter of an unwelcome suitor. “This seems to be a family matter. I cannot help you in this. But is there something else I can do for you?”

Her lips tightened. “There is nothing else that can help me.”

“Let me see you to your wagon, then,” Wolf Runner said in a way of dismissing her.

She waved him aside and attempted to stand and then fell back against the chair. “I got here on my own,” she said coldly. “I will leave the same way.”

At a loss, Wolf Runner offered her his arm, but Ivy
shook her head. After a moment she was able to stand on her own. “Don’t say no just yet.”

Ivy handed him a crumpled envelope and tottered toward the door. Stopping in the doorway, she glanced back at him. “Think about it. Take my granddaughter to your mother.”

Wolf Runner listened to her hesitating steps, and when he heard the wagon pull away, he opened the envelope.

Two hundred dollars!

He shook his head and went in search of Cullen. He needed answers, and he needed Cullen to return Ivy Gatlin’s money to her.

As it happened, Cullen was at the neighboring ranch, delivering a bull and Wolf Runner didn’t get to talk to him until suppertime.

The two men sat at the table, Cullen drinking coffee, Wolf Runner trying to think how to explain his encounter with Ivy Gatlin. He glanced down at Sa-tanta, who was curled up at his feet. Shoving the envelope of money across the table to Cullen, he watched his friend’s brow crease in puzzlement.

“What is this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“It’s money. But what’s it for?”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Gatlin was here today and left this with me. She wanted me to take her granddaughter with me when I leave, and she gave me this money.”

“Ah. Ivy. It’s a sad story. She is not well and she’s worried about Cheyenne, and with good reason.”

“She seems to think I owed her because she was a friend of my grandparents.”

“She was more than that,” Cullen told him. “When
your grandparents were killed, Ivy took your mother in until your aunt could arrive from somewhere in Europe. I heard she kept your mother for about six months. She once told me she became so attached to your mother that she grieved when your aunt Cora took her away.”

Wolf Runner was quiet for a moment, while he stared at Cullen. “Then I do owe her. My people do not believe a debt should ever go unpaid.”

“Ivy is just not the kind of person who would ask a favor from someone she doesn’t know—unless she was desperate.”

“Tell me about her granddaughter.”

“I don’t actually know Cheyenne Gatlin, although I have often observed her from a distance. She is a stunningly beautiful young woman, and that could be her problem. I’ve seen how some of the men in town disrespect her. But that old woman watches her like a hawk. I’ve heard the unkind gossip about her. Some women say she can have no morals since she’s a half-breed—they walk on the other side of the street when they see her coming and would never allow her to associate with their daughters.” Cullen shoved the money back toward Wolf Runner. “It’s a sad situation. I have often felt pity for the young woman.”

“I have to think what my mother would want me to do, and at this moment I do not know,” Wolf Runner admitted.

Cullen fell quiet as if he was forming his words, and then he asked, “What have you decided to do about the ranch?”

“I have been thinking about that.” Cullen was from Philadelphia and had often talked of returning there, but Wolf Runner doubted he ever would. “It is
a more difficult decision than I expected. Let me ask you this—If I do keep the ranch in the family, will you agree to stay on as foreman?”

Cullen nodded. “I will be glad to stay on if it is your family’s wish.”

Wolf Runner nodded. “I will make my decision soon. There is more to consider than I thought there would be.”

“You are thinking about the older cowhands.”

“Yes. But that is not the entire reason. When my brother and sister are older they may like to come to the ranch.”

“Possibly.”

Wolf Runner became lost in thought. Even when he decided what to do about the ranch, there was still the problem of the young Gatlin woman. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for her, but it appeared he was. He was sympathetic to Ivy Gatlin’s plight, and now that he knew what she had done for his mother, he would not turn his back on her.

He knew in his heart his mother would want him to make certain that the girl was safe before he left Santa Fe. Suddenly, he sat forward, smiling as the solution came to him. “If I don’t sell the ranch, Ivy’s granddaughter could come here. What do you think if I offered to pay her to help Hattie around the house?”

Cullen thought it might solve Wolf Runner’s problem, but not Cheyenne Gatlin’s. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “Hattie can be mighty cantankerous. She might think Miss Gatlin was here to replace her.”

“Hattie’s getting older and could use the extra help,” Wolf Runner said dismissively.

“Maybe.”

“No one on the ranch would be unkind to Miss Gatlin. You could make sure of that, Cullen.”

“Wolf Runner, Cheyenne Gatlin is young. She may not want to be isolated on the ranch.”

“We will not know until I ask her.” Wolf Runner nodded, feeling relieved. “It is a good plan.”

Summer was giving way to autumn and already the trees at the higher elevation were flushed with nature’s brilliant colors of crimson, yellow, and gold.

By now, Wolf Runner had expected to be back home—but something kept him from making the final decision on whether to sell the ranch. He would lean one way, then reconsider and think in the opposite direction.

He knew all the reasons he should let it go; his family was not connected to the place and probably never would be. But his mother had made it his responsibility, and he had to consider what selling it would mean for all the people who rode for the brand.

Leaning against his horse, he gazed at the lazy, fat cattle grazing on the sweet grass while Satanta was off in the bushes somewhere, probably chasing a luckless jackrabbit. At first the cattle had been nervous around Satanta, but they soon settled down when they saw he was not interested in them and now they hardly noticed the wolf.

Cullen had told him they were ready to ship to market, and he was assured that the herd would bring a good price this year. In three weeks they would begin the cattle drive to the railhead in Santa Fe, and from there the cattle would be shipped to Kansas City; then the cycle would begin all over again.

Wolf Runner smiled as a white-faced calf chased a butterfly. How different cattle were from the wild game that the Blackfoot depended on for food—cattle had to be fed and watered, branded, and sometimes helped in the birthing process, while the antelope and the deer roamed free and were there for the taking.

His thoughts turned to Blue Dawn and he felt guilty because she had not entered his mind in weeks. Most probably she was making plans for their joining. His mother had once said Blue Dawn did some of the finest beadwork in the village, so she was probably sewing beads on her wedding dress.

Restlessly, Wolf Runner gazed at the white-hot sky. He had made his decision about Mesa del Fuego—his mother would not be surprised; it was what she had intended all along.

A smile suddenly broke out on his face—he had not seen it at the time, but his mother had brilliantly played him. She had known he would be conflicted about selling the ranch. She probably also knew he could not sell when it came right down to it. Everyone in his village thought it was Wolf Runner’s father who was the mystic, but his mother was wise indeed when it came to knowing her eldest son’s mind.

Casting an uncertain glance at the dark clouds to the east, Wolf Runner hoped the rain would hold off until he reached the house. He mounted and spun his horse around, nudging it into a gallop. Before Wolf Runner descended the hill, Satanta joined him, loping beside his horse. When he reached the barn, the first drops of rain fell.

He could return home and leave Mesa del Fuego in Cullen’s capable hands.

That night as Wolf Runner stood at the window looking out at the rain, Cullen came up behind him.

“We needed the rain to green the grass so we can put a few more pounds on the cattle before we drive them to the railhead.”

“I was just thinking today how strange it is that the white man carefully raises his cattle and then ships them off for others to enjoy the beef. It is very different with the Blackfoot.”

Cullen nodded. “But the buffalo herds have all but disappeared—perhaps it will be the same with the other game. I remember your grandfather, Broken Lance, telling me of a time when the ground trembled hours before the buffalo herds arrived, and they would move across the land from sunup until sundown in an unbroken mass. I can’t even imagine such a sight.”

Turning from the window Wolf Runner met Cul-len’s gaze. “Yes. Sadly that is the way of it.”

Cullen sat in the high-back chair and took a sip of coffee he’d brought in the room with him. “I was told that Ivy Gatlin died yesterday. She was buried today.”

Wolf Runner felt a sudden rush of pain. The old woman had struck at his heart, although he didn’t really know her. Letting out an irritated breath, he said, “This means I will have to approach her granddaughter and invite her to live on the ranch.”

Cullen stilled with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Then you have decided to keep the ranch?”

“I have, if you still agree to remain as foreman.”

Breathing in a relieved breath, Cullen nodded. “I would be glad to.”

Wolf Runner paced to the window and back to the fireplace. “You gave Ivy Gatlin her two hundred dollars before she died?”

“I did, although she was reluctant to take it back. Ivy told me if she died while you were still here, to remind you of your conversation with her.”

“I suppose I should go into town and see the young woman for myself.” Wolf Runner gave him a wry smile. “If I do not, I can imagine the old woman haunting me from her grave.”

Tears mixed with rain as Cheyenne stood over Gram’s grave; the lilac bouquet she had placed there had already begun to wilt.

Although she had known her gram was gravely ill, the end had come so quickly it took her by surprise. One moment Gram had been laughing about some story from her past, and the next moment she just slumped forward, grabbing her chest and sliding out of her chair onto the floor.

Grief lay heavily on Cheyenne’s heart.

How could someone so full of life, so vibrant, just cease to exist?
she wondered in desperation.

For a long time Cheyenne stood there dreading the thought of going back to the empty house. There had been many people who had come to the service, and some had even approached Cheyenne and offered her their sympathy. But at the end of the service, dark clouds boiled in the sky and made the mourners scurry for their wagons.

With no knowledge of how long she had been standing in the rain, Cheyenne pulled her shawl about her. Gram had knitted it for her and given it to her last Christmas.

That had been such a short time ago, really.

The wind stirred the nearby oak tree and scattered the leaves, making a sound almost like her grandmother calling to her.

“Oh, Gram,” she whispered. “How will I get along without you? I wish…you could have stayed with me for a while longer. Forever.”

Cheyenne shook her head, knowing she was being selfish because Gram had been in pain. She had to let her go. But it was so hard.

The rain did not let up as Cheyenne made the long trek home—if anything it was raining harder.

Once inside the house, she hung her wet shawl on a hook and took a towel, drying her damp hair. There was no longer any light in the world—with the dark clouds hanging overhead, the day could have passed for night, and no one would know the difference.

Without lighting a lamp, Cheyenne slowly changed out of her wet clothing. When she returned to the small parlor, she eased down in her grandmother’s rocking chair and watched the rain hit against the window. She picked up the knitting Gram had been working on—it would never be finished now.

Señor Mendoza knocked on the door and handed her a covered dish. “I will not intrude, but my wife wants to make sure you have something warm to eat.”

“Thank you, and tell Señora Mendoza I thank her.”

He tipped his hat, his eyes sad. “Do you want one of the girls to stay with you tonight—Maria would, but she is running a fever.”

“No thank you. I’ll be fine.”

He turned and walked slowly away, soon to be lost in the rain.

Cheyenne’s heart was broken, and she doubted it would ever mend.

“What do I do now, Gram?” she said to the empty room. “What would you have me do?”

She jumped nervously at a heavy rap on the door. Cheyenne knew it was not anyone from the Mendoza family, so she wished whoever it was would just go away. And when she saw who was standing on the stoop, she wished she had not opened the door. Nigel Sullivan had not seen fit to attend Gram’s service and was the last person she wanted to see.

Gripping the door handle tightly, she refused to step aside so he could enter. “I would ask you in, but I’m not very good company today, Mr. Sullivan.”

Removing his hat, he stood dripping on the doorstep, then moved her aside and entered anyway.

“I know about your sorrow,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “What you need is someone to look after you.” He walked over to the small table and lit the oil lamp. “There. Isn’t that better?”

Remembering her manners, Cheyenne forced a smile. “Yes, it is.”

The poor man was soaked to the skin, so she added a log to the fire. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cup of coffee because I didn’t make coffee today…because…because I don’t drink coffee.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Would you like a glass of water?”

He stared at her for so long it made her grip her hands and squirm uncomfortably.

“I didn’t come for food or drink—I came to see how you’re making out.”

“About how you would expect.”

“Why are you alone? Someone should be with you.”

His concern sounded false to her ears. “The Men-dozas were with me at the funeral and offered to stay with me.”

“The blacksmith and his family.”

“Yes. My friends.” She returned to the door, her
hand on the doorknob. “If you’ll forgive me, I don’t feel much like talking.”

“What I have to say will only take a few moments,” Nigel told her. “I want you to know I’m your friend.” He studied her closely. “Did your grandmother tell you I hold the mortgage on this house?”

Gasping, Cheyenne could feel the color drain from her face and her heart plummeted. “I…no. Gram didn’t mention it. I know she had to mortgage the house last year, but she didn’t tell me you held the note.”

“Maybe she didn’t know.” He shrugged. “I allowed you and your grandmother to live here without charge, knowing she was sick and the two of you were having a hard time.” He looked pleased with himself. “It was the least I could do.”

“I don’t know what to say.” And she didn’t. Cheyenne certainly did not want to owe this man for anything. She remembered Gram’s warning and shuddered.

“It’s no big matter. I merely mention it because as a young girl alone, it would not be seemly for you to remain here by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Cheyenne tried to think where she could go. After his revelation that he held the mortgage, she knew she would have to leave this house.

“Do you have friends you can stay with?” Nigel asked, looking at the way her black hair glowed in the lamplight.

Raising her head, she met his gaze, her world was crumbling around her. “The Mendoza family. But I can’t stay with them in their small house. It is hardly big enough for their family.”

“I’m truly worried about you.” Nigel shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels,
warming himself in front of the fireplace. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

“My problems are not yours, Mr. Sullivan. If you will give me a few days I will vacate this house.”

His gaze dropped to the front of her gown and he stared at the way her breasts pressed against the dark material. “I wonder if you have thought about the talk we had some time back? You will be welcome to a room at my hotel—you could pay for the room by working for me and doing little chores around the place.”

Cheyenne shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

His gaze hardened. “Why not? You could be a big help to my wife, Nancy. Wouldn’t that make it all right?”

Cheyenne ducked her head, wishing he would leave. “I can’t think about anything but Gram right now. I don’t mean to be rude, but would you leave?” She opened the door a crack to enforce her wishes.

He approached her and shoved the door shut. “It’s like I said before, you can clean the rooms for spending money. How does that sound to you?”

It sounded like her worst nightmare. “Can I let you know later?” she asked, stalling for time.

He reached for his hat and twisted the brim with his huge hands. “Of course. But don’t take too long; you’re not likely to get a better offer in this town.”

“I do need to be alone,” Cheyenne said, ducking her head. “Please understand.”

His eyes darted over her with the coldness of a snake’s. “Come to see me when you’re feeling better.”

He took her hand and she jerked away, clasping them behind her, and he pretended not to notice.

“Do you have a key for this door?”

She wasn’t sure, but she hoped there was one so she could lock him out. “I believe so. Gram probably put it somewhere.”

“You’ll want to keep your door locked, being a woman alone.”

He was frightening her now, because he was staring into her eyes in a way that made her cringe. “I have a gun, Mr. Sullivan, and I know how to use it.”

He clamped his hat on his head and narrowed his gaze. “Come to see me soon.”

After he had gone, Cheyenne pressed her weight against the door, her whole body shaking.

The one thing she would
never
do—no matter how desperate she became—was to move into his hotel. She had to think of some other way to earn a living.

But how?

Mr. Sullivan would never leave her alone. She would have to leave Santa Fe. Tomorrow she would talk to Señor Mendoza and he might have some ideas for her.

Cheyenne had not eaten all day, but she doubted she would be able to keep anything down. Already she could taste bile in the back of her throat.

Frantically, she scooted a chair across the room and propped it beneath the door handle, hoping it would keep any intruder out, or at least alert her if someone tried to open the door. Cheyenne raced to the kitchen and slid the wooden latch in place, wishing there was one on the front door as well.

Walking through the empty house, she felt a chill. Climbing onto the middle of Gram’s bed, Cheyenne grasped her grandmother’s pillow and sank her face into it. It smelled so painfully familiar with just the hint of lilacs.

Shaking uncontrollably, she cried until she was exhausted.

“Gram, I need you.”

Her gram could not answer.

Cheyenne was alone.