Wolf Runner (9 page)

Much to Cheyenne’s mortification, Wolf Runner had not even acknowledged her, so she could only conclude she had made him angry.

Well, what do I care?

She had forgotten he had said he was leaving town today. If she had known he would be taking the train, she would have left town the next morning.

Despite her determination to ignore him, Cheyenne’s gaze kept going back to him. He remained perfectly still in sleep, his arms crossed over his broad chest. She looked at his hands because Gram had told her she could usually gain insight into a man’s character by the appearance of his hands. Wolf Runner’s fingers were long and well shaped, callused, no doubt by working on his family’s ranch and doing whatever a Blackfoot did in his tribe.

Cheyenne wondered what his day-to-day life was like living in an Indian village. From his manner of speaking one might think he had been raised to be a gentleman; someone had honed his manners—probably his white mother.

She noticed his skin was not as dark as the Navaho or Zuni who could be found selling their wares in Santa Fe’s market square.

But then, neither was hers.

His face was smooth, so he had no need to shave—that
would be from his Blackfoot heritage. His mouth was firm and well shaped, and Cheyenne suddenly blushed as she imagined pressing her lips to his.

Turning away quickly, she gazed out the window until her heartbeat returned to normal. She had never had such thoughts about a man before. What was the matter with her?

Gazing at the passing countryside, she saw the brittle grass waving in the breeze. Most of the trees were small and misshaped, almost ghostlike, because of the harsh wind that rushed down the mountains and constantly pelted them. This was the land of her birth, but she felt no kinship with it—the land and its people had never accepted her. The only part that meant anything to her was the small plot where Gram had been buried.

Drawing in a deep breath, Cheyenne closed her eyes. She was weary because she had hardly closed her eyes all night. Maria had cried and begged her to stay, but she could not put her burdens on the Mendozas. Her mind turned back to Wolf Runner’s hands, and she imagined them caressing her skin.

Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind. Something about him called to her and she did not know what it was, unless it was their shared Indian heritage.

The train hissed steam and jostled Wolf Runner awoke. He stretched, glancing out the window.

Apparently they had reached the outskirts of Albuquerque. Glancing over at Cheyenne Gatlin, he saw she was looking out the window and paid him not the slightest heed. He remembered her invading his dream, and he wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

When the train came to a full stop at the railroad station, Wolf Runner watched Cheyenne struggle once more with her heavy valise, knowing he should help her. He did not offer because he was not inclined to renew their acquaintance.

Apparently she felt the same because she did not even glance in his direction. He wondered what she might be doing in Albuquerque.

Perhaps the two of them being on the same train was accidental, after all.

Cheyenne steered clear of the fancy hotels on the square and found a small hotel around the corner and down the street. It bothered her that it was located next door to a cantina, but she must conserve what money she had left of the $200 Gram had left her. There was no way of knowing how long it would take her to find employment, or even if she would.

The desk clerk was a Mexican, somewhere in his fifties. He was a balding, coarse-looking man with a long, thin nose and eyes set close together.

The man looked her over carefully from head to toe and asked in Spanish, “How long will you be staying with us, señora?”

Cheyenne answered him in Spanish, relieved that the man had mistaken her for a Mexican woman.

However, when she signed her name in the registration book, he glanced at her signature and his high forehead wrinkled. “You are traveling alone, Señora Gatlin?”

“
Sí
, señor,” she replied.

“I see here,” he said, pointing to the ledger she had just signed, “that your name isn’t Spanish.”

She looked at him a moment before deciding that a lie would serve her well in this hotel. “No,” she said,
ducking her head, fearing he would read the truth in her eyes. She had already learned how vulnerable a woman alone could be. “My husband is a gringo.”

“He will be joining you?”

She had already told one lie; why not tell another to prop it up?
“Sí.”

“What is your business in Albuquerque?”

Cheyenne glared at the inquisitive man. “My business is my own.” She raised her head and met his gaze. “May I have the key please,” she said, extending her hand toward him.

Hesitating for a moment, he handed her the key.

“Will you have someone retrieve my valise from the railroad station,” she said, opening her reticule and taking out some coins and handing them to the man.

“I will have my grandson bring them to your room when he returns,” he assured her, looking her over carefully. “Can I help you in any other way?”

Cheyenne recognized the gleam in the man’s eyes and glared at him. “I want only to be left alone,” she told him, thinking he was asking too many personal questions.

As she climbed the rickety stairs Cheyenne could feel the desk clerk’s eyes on her. Her room was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Inserting the key in the lock, she entered cautiously, not knowing what she would find. To her delight and surprise the room was clean and it smelled fresh. There was a colorful quilt on the bed, a stand with a pitcher of water, and a straight-back chair.

Going to the window, she pulled the cheap lace curtains aside and felt a cool breeze on her face. Cheyenne had no notion what turn her future would take, but at least she was safely away from Mr. Sullivan’s
lascivious pursuit. No one, with the exception of the Mendoza family, knew where she was, and none of them would tell anyone, especially not Mr. Sullivan.

Tomorrow she would start looking for employment. She had no qualifications, but she could clean house as well as anyone, and if they weren’t too particular, she could also cook.

Removing her bonnet with a sigh, Cheyenne went to the ewer and poured water in a porcelain pan. She glanced in the oval mirror and was shocked to see her face was smudged with soot from the train smoke. For that matter her traveling suit was covered with black specks as well.

After dusting off her traveling gown and washing her face and hands, she went back to the window. She stood looking down on the street below until daylight gave way to darkness.

For three dreary days Cheyenne trudged the streets of Albuquerque, searching for work without success. Her feet hurt and she was bone-weary, but she had to keep trying.

She hurried across the street, leaving the general store behind, where the woman had told Cheyenne they had no need of help from the likes of her, and the woman went on insulting Cheyenne, until she walked out the door.

How can people strike out at someone they don’t even know, just because they are different?

Cheyenne knew she would never treat anyone with such disrespect. Was there no one in this town who would look past who she was and give her a chance?

On entering her hotel room, she laid her money out on the bed and counted it, then recounted it. She had $123 left, and there would be less than that after she paid for her hotel room.

Her stomach growled to remind her she had not eaten all day. Maybe she could have a piece of toast and something warm to drink. She could not really afford to spend money, but she must keep up her strength so she could hunt for work.

Later, she hoped to move to a more respectable rooming house where they offered room and board.
She had seen several unsavory-looking characters hanging around out front. And at night when she went to bed, she could hear the raucous noise coming from the cantina next door.

That afternoon she was back on the streets, looking for employment. After three hours of disappointment, she trudged back toward her hotel, feeling heartsick and lonely. And to make matters worse, it had begun to rain.

Cheyenne’s head was down so she did not notice the man who stepped in front of her.

“Miss Gatlin?”

Seeing it was Wolf Runner, she stepped beneath a tattered awning that did little to protect her from the rain. She’d had a miserable day and talking to him would only make it worse. He was arrogant and when he looked at her it was as if he was criticizing her in some way.

“I saw you on the train, but I did not know you were going to remain in Albuquerque.”

“This was my destination,” she said shortly.

He took her arm and pulled her farther against the building to protect her from the rain. “What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning. “Do you have friends in town?”

Tilting her head upward, she looked into his eyes. There was no reason she should confide in him, but what did it matter? “I had to leave Santa Fe, to get away from Mr. Sullivan.”

He lifted his brow, frowning. “Yes. I saw how he was a problem for you. But do you have somewhere to stay? Have you any plans?”

Cheyenne pushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. “I have been looking for work.”

She was soaked to the skin and looked so forlorn
that it touched a note of pity within Wolf Runner. She seemed so young and so alone. “What will you do?” he asked.

Cheyenne shook her head, about to tell him it was none of his concern. Then she capitulated because she needed to talk to someone. She would never see Wolf Runner again, so she could tell him her troubles. “The last place I tried”—she nodded down the street toward the general store—“the woman there told me I should try the saloon.”

He stiffened. “You would not consider that, would you? It is unthinkable.”

Cheyenne’s chin went up. Talking to Wolf Runner had been a mistake. “How does anyone know what they would do if they were desperate enough?” She stepped away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way back to the hotel.”

Before she knew what he was doing, Wolf Runner took her arm and was guiding her back across the street toward an elegant eating establishment where delicious smells wafted through the open windows. When she tried to pull away from him, his grip only tightened. “You look like you could use something hot to eat. I know I would be the better for it.”

Cheyenne jerked her arm away from him. “No thank you.”

No woman had ever irritated Wolf Runner as much as this one did. Her pride was making her foolish. But she was a woman alone and in trouble, and he could not abandon her. “Miss Gatlin, you would be doing me a favor. I do not like to eat alone.” He would not tell her he had just come from eating in that same restaurant—alone.

She looked at him with a strange expression, realizing he was the only person who had shown her
kindness since she arrived in Albuquerque. It would be rude to refuse his request.

Anyway, she was so cold her teeth chattered, so she agreed with a nod. “Something hot to drink would be nice, but I’m not hungry,” she said, too proud to accept food from him.

His strong hand against the small of her back guided her through the crowded dining room and to a round table near the hearth, where a warm fire blazed.

A waiter approached, and looking surprised, started to say something to Wolf Runner. Fearing the man would mention he had just eaten there, he said quickly, “I am hungry. Bring me a platter of fried chicken, a bowl of stew, and six tamales, with a dish of corn and mashed potatoes as well. I will want corn bread and biscuits. We will both have a mug of hot apple cider.”

The waiter, who was well trained, said, “Of course, sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Cheyenne’s eyes widened. “You have a hearty appetite, sir.”

Wolf Runner’s gaze dropped to her. “I often order more food than I can eat. Maybe you can help me with it.”

She gave her head a quick shake. “I will just take the cider.”

A short time later she had wrapped her hands around a hot cup of cider and took small sips, looking longingly at the platter of fried chicken.

Wolf Runner pushed the platter toward her. “I do not really like fried chicken. I do not know why I ordered it. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. Are you sure you will not reconsider eating?”

“I…no. I won’t,” she answered, hoping he had not
heard her stomach rumbling. Licking her lips, she focused on the butter dripping from the hot corn bread.

“Would you like me to tell you what most Indians do,” Wolf Runner asked, trying to put her at ease, “if a child refuses to eat something his mother serves?”

Cheyenne, no longer able to resist temptation, reached for a chicken leg. “What do they do?”

He smiled inwardly. “The father will place the serving pot in front of the child and force him to eat not only the food he left, but every morsel in the pot, even if it takes hours.”

She licked her fingers after she’d devoured a chicken leg, and reached for another. Pride was one thing, but desperation trampled her pride in the dirt. “Why is that?” Cheyenne found she was not only hungry for food, but also for any knowledge of the Indian customs.

“Because the child needs to learn not to waste food. When they have to eat a lot of something they do not like, they rarely leave food uneaten.”

“Has that ever happened to you?” she asked.

“Only once. I learned my lesson well.”

“Not very well, it seems,” she said, nodding at the mounds of food in front of him that were uneaten.

Wolf Runner merely smiled.

At the moment, Cheyenne did not think she would ever have too much to eat. “Tell me again about your visit with Gram,” she said, taking a sip of cider and setting her mug on the patterned tablecloth. She listened while he explained more about his encounter with her grandmother.

Cheyenne stared at him in stunned silence, then shook her head. “I don’t understand why she would do such a thing. And no matter what Gram said to you—I am not your responsibility.”

“No, you are not. All the same, your troubles seem to have become mine.”

She recognized leashed power behind those dark eyes that gazed into hers. Taking a steadying breath did nothing to quiet her racing heart. “You are mistaken. My troubles are my own. I have given myself two weeks to find employment here,” she said, thinking he deserved an answer since he’d shared his food with her. “If I don’t have work by that time, I have other plans.”

Wolf Runner looked at her inquiringly.

She reached into her pocket and laid coins on the table. “I will be going now.”

Forestalling her, he grabbed her hand and forced her to look into his eyes. His tone sounded patient, but those eyes told a different story. “You do not really have anything else planned, do you? Why not reconsider and allow me to take you to my mother as your grandmother wished?”

She tried to bury her emotions, hoping she could hold back the tears that threatened to choke her. He had a way of stripping away her defenses and seeing past her vulnerability.

People were beginning to stare at them, and Cheyenne lowered her voice. “I’m not going with you to live with your mother,” she said decisively. After a long pause, she raised her head and stared into those dark eyes that seemed to know everything she was thinking. “Besides, it wouldn’t be proper for me to travel with you.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper.”

“I imagine your money will soon be gone; then what will you do?”

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a crumpled
envelope and stared down at it. “I have this letter about my grandfather. I will go to him if I have no other choice.”

Wolf Runner studied her face for a moment. “Who is your grandfather?” he asked abruptly, remembering Ivy Gatlin had said he was from the Cheyenne tribe.

She considered a sharp retort, but he had been kind to her, so she answered him politely. “I don’t really know him. But he is family—my mother’s father.”

“From the Cheyenne tribe.”

“Yes. Perhaps you know him, since you’re an Indian.”

Wolf Runner’s eyes became piercing. “Not all Indians are the same,” he explained, surprised at her naïveté about her mother’s people. “Blackfoot and Cheyenne are different tribes and sometimes bitter enemies, but tell me about him. I may know of him.”

“I…am not quite sure—this letter was written years ago.” Cheyenne gazed down at the crumpled paper, a faint thread of hope lingering in her mind. “The Indian agent who wrote this was a Mr. Dickens. He says in his letter that my grandfather lives on Cheyenne land in Montana.”

Tensing, Wolf Runner stared at her. “His name?”

“I…” She glanced down at the letter. “It says here he is Chief Bold Eagle.”

Wolf Runner’s fists curled. Here across from him sat a blood relative of his enemy, Night Fighter, for Night Fighter was Chief Bold Eagle’s nephew. Surely this woman had been sent to test his fortitude, and he was failing the test. “I know of your grandfather,” he finally said.

Her eyes lit up. “And he is alive?”

“The last time I heard he was. But you must understand he is not a young man.”

“I don’t care!” Cheyenne exclaimed, clutching the letter to her breasts. “He is my mother’s father.”

Wolf Runner’s lip curled with disgust as he thought of her blood ties to a cowardly warrior such as Night Fighter. “How would you like to live in an Indian village?” he asked, waiting for her to object to the notion.

“I don’t know,” Cheyenne remarked in all honesty. She raised her chin, feeling it tremble. “I intend to find my grandfather. You can’t imagine how alone you can feel when you have no family.”

Letting out his breath, Wolf Runner gathered his thoughts. Here across the table from him sat the very person who would become his instrument to bring down his enemy. If he escorted Cheyenne to her grandfather’s village, he would finally be able to face Night Fighter.

“If you are set on going to Montana,” he said carefully, “I will take you. It is not that far from Blackfoot land.”

Cheyenne sat forward excitedly, for she’d had no idea how to find her grandfather on her own. She still did not think it was proper to travel in the company of a man, but since her grandmother had trusted Wolf Runner, she would too.

He had been watching her indecision and then her excitement. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“Thank you. I would appreciate it, and I won’t be any trouble to you.”

“You do understand there will be no comforts on this journey?”

“I am not a creature of comfort. Gram and I lived very simply.”

Shaking his head, Wolf Runner was doubtful, but
it would get him what he wanted in the end—Night Fighter.

“Understand this, where we are going you will ride until you think you are too weary to continue, but you will. At night you will sleep on the ground. Your food will not be what you are accustomed to. You will not complain about how difficult the journey is. If you do, I will leave you behind.”

“I will not complain,” Cheyenne said indignantly.

“It is a long way from here, and winter is likely to overtake us before we arrive. We will go by horseback, and most of the time the roads will be trails, and sometimes, there will not even be a pathway. You will have to ride through thickets with thorns, dangers lurk at each turn.”

“But the train—”

“The train,” he interrupted, “will only take us on the first part of our journey. You will likely curse me before we reach our destination.”

“If you are trying to make me change my mind, it won’t work.”

“Very well. We will be traveling light, so leave everything behind that is not absolutely necessary. A packhorse can only carry so much.”

She thought about how heavy her valise was. “I understand.”

“Where are you staying here in town?”

“At that small hotel near the cantina.”

Wolf Runner looked startled, until he realized she had chosen her hotel to save money. “Do you have a gun to protect yourself?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of her apple cider, which had grown cold. “But I hope I don’t ever have to use it.”

Wondering what he had gotten himself into, Wolf
Runner let out an irritated breath. “I will call for you just before sunrise. Be ready.”

“I will.” She touched his hand and he pulled back. “How much money does it cost for a horse and saddle? I want to pay my own way.”

Wolf Runner wondered why he avoided the touch of her hand, and at the same time, he could not look away from her golden eyes. “We will discuss that later,” he said with a finality that left her nothing else to say on the matter. Standing, he nodded toward the window. “It has stopped raining. You might want to take this opportunity to leave before it starts again.”