Wolf Runner (14 page)

Crawling out of the lean-to, Cheyenne was greeted by a cloudless sky. Sometime during the night the storm had blown itself out, and she felt warmth creep into her body as a chinook wind moved across the land.

Smelling the delicious aroma of meat cooking, she was delighted to see Wolf Runner was roasting a fine fat rabbit.

Wolf Runner did not look up as he said, “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

Cheyenne glanced at the sky and smiled, now knowing him well enough to recognize he was teasing her with his own dry humor. “It is barely past dawn.”

“While I see to the animals, you must eat, then get ready to leave,” he told her, his gaze shifting to her hair. Some of the long curls had escaped the braids and tumbled down her back—he was fascinated by the way the wind played in the dark strands.

Cheyenne dropped down on a log, enjoying the warmth of the campfire. A short time later she nibbled on a chunk of meat, savoring each bite.

“I wonder where we are now,” she said, licking her fingers.

Wolf Runner turned to look at her, his eyes flaming as his gaze settled on her mouth. “If this weather holds, you will see your grandfather within the week.”

Cheyenne dropped her gaze, feeling a stab of pain through her heart. She fought valiantly to hold on to her composure, but was not sure she succeeded. She had only a few days to spend with Wolf Runner before he rode out of her life forever.

Cheyenne was reluctant to leave this place. The closer she got to her grandfather, the sooner she would be parted from Wolf Runner and living with people she didn’t know, who might not even welcome her. Her gaze feasted on Wolf Runner as he dismantled the lean-to.

She reached for another piece of meat, knowing very well why she lingered over her meal—she did not want Wolf Runner to leave her. Wherever he went, she wanted to go with him, even if she was merely a shadow in his life—even if he took no notice of her as a woman.

Feeling as if her heart would break, she took the last bite of meat and wiped her hands so she could fold the robes. Wolf Runner had not, by word or deed, suggested he cared anything for her—in fact, he had told her he was not attracted to her. Life had hard lessons to learn, but to be parted from Wolf Runner would be one of the hardest she had to endure.

With her arms loaded with blankets and robes, she watched Wolf Runner come striding toward her. Taking the blankets from her, his hand brushed hers and his green-flecked gaze settled on her, making Cheyenne quickly recoil, resisting the impulse to curl her fingers around his. She was afraid she would betray her feelings for him.

Cheyenne stepped back a pace, watching him roll the blankets into tight strips and secure them to the packhorse. Once the tarp was in place she saddled her horse.

Gathering the reins, she hoisted herself onto the saddle. Weary of heart and mind, she waited for Wolf Runner to douse the campfire with water. Sighing, Cheyenne decided she must cherish whatever time they had left—it was all she would ever have of him.

The days passed in quick succession, and the clear weather held, but the winds were biting and frigid. Cheyenne’s fingers were stiff with cold and she could not even feel her feet.

In the last day the scenery had changed from open grassland prairie to forests of spruce, cedar, and fir trees that vied for pieces of the sky.

Wolf Runner was unusually quiet. He had hardly spoken two words to her since they had started out that morning. Satanta, however, had become her constant companion. Wherever she went, the wolf was beside her, and even now he loped along beside her horse.

She had lost count of the calendar days and could not decide if it was late autumn or if autumn had already passed into winter. In this part of the country it was difficult to tell one season from another. Wolf Runner had told her that sometimes in August it would snow in this land.

It was nearing sundown and the temperature had dropped as Cheyenne huddled beneath a warm blanket.

Wolf Runner halted his horse and Cheyenne did the same.

He rode back to her and handed her the reins of the packhorse. “Remain here while I scout ahead to find a place to shelter for the night. It will snow before morning and the weather will turn colder.”

He did not give her the chance to reply before he
spun his horse and rode to the north. She thought how Wolf Runner had changed from the man she had first known; or perhaps she had changed her perception of him by knowing him better. He held his head at a proud tilt, his back straight, and his dark hair free of restraints flowing down his back.

Cheyenne’s heart caught in her throat. Her spirit called to his, but his did not answer.

Glancing up at the clear blue sky, Cheyenne wondered how Wolf Runner always knew when the weather was going to turn. Perhaps his training as a Black-foot warrior made his senses more attuned to the weather.

Cheyenne dismounted, then allowed the horses to go on a nearby quest for the wheat grass that still remained in the shadows of the trees. Before she took a drink from her canteen she poured some on a stone, where it pooled so Satanta could take a drink. The wolf gazed up at her expectantly and she laid her hand gently on his noble head.

“When the time comes for you and your master to leave me, I’ll miss you.”

Satanta flopped on the ground, closing his eyes. She knew, however, that the wolf was alert to everything around them because his ears were perked up, as if he was listening to sounds she could not hear with her human ears.

Bracing her back against the trunk of a spruce tree, Cheyenne closed her eyes for a moment. With the wind playing nature’s song through the lacy branches of the trees, she thought she could stay in this place forever.

A moment, or an hour later, she could not be sure, she heard a rider approaching. Becoming tense at
first, she relaxed when Satanta merely rose to his feet and yawned. It had to be Wolf Runner returning.

“I have found an abandoned cabin not too far ahead,” he said, capturing the reins of the pack animal and leading him forward. “We will wait out the storm there.”

After a brisk ride over a hill and across a small valley, Cheyenne saw the abandoned cabin and was heartened. To sleep beneath a roof would be sheer pleasure after being exposed to the brutal elements for so long.

She dismounted and started to step over a broken bottle when she felt Wolf Runner’s hand at her waist, guiding her safely over the sharp glass shards. When she turned her head to look at Wolf Runner, his hand dropped and he turned away.

Stepping over the threshold, Cheyenne found the cabin only had one room, but it was dry and out of the wind. She turned to smile at Wolf Runner. “It’s wonderful.” Her eyes brightened and she stepped closer to the fire and held her hands out to warm them. “You already lit a fire.”

Wolf Runner thought how little it took to make Cheyenne smile. “Remain inside. I will unload the packhorse,” he said, turning to leave.

She held her hands closer to the flames, rubbing them together to restore the circulation. Glancing at the corners of the cabin, she saw spiderwebs. The floor was dirt, but the structure seemed sound, although there were cracks between some of the logs.

“I can make this livable,” she said, smiling to herself. Finding a broom with a broken handle and with very few straws left, she swept the cobwebs out of the corners. Finding a broken lady’s hand mirror, she
wondered at the woman who had brought this treasure to this place and then left it after the glass was broken.

She dropped it and swept the scattered debris out the door and stood back to admire her own handiwork.

She wondered about the people who had built the structure; were they happy? Had they been forced to leave, or had they left of their own accord? There was no window, and when they closed the door, it would be dark inside if not for the fire.

Wolf Runner brought in their supplies and placed them out of the way in a corner and propped his rifle against the log wall. “Whoever built this place had a good hand. There are cracks in the walls, but the roof seems secure.”

“That was just what I was thinking. We could pretend we built this house,” she said, smiling. “I am mistress of this domain and you are the master.”

He smiled down at her. “What would your orders to the master be, madam?” he asked, joining in her levity.

She playfully pushed him toward the door. “I would say, ‘Husband, go fetch me some meat! I’m hungry.’”

They both froze and she realized what she had said. Ducking her head to hide her face, Cheyenne wished she could call the words back.

Wolf Runner nodded toward the rifle. “I leave that for you. If anyone comes, use it.”

Cheyenne nodded mutely as he left, shoving the door closed behind him. She heard him speak to Sa-tanta, and knew the wolf would remain on guard until he returned.

Burying her face in her hands, she felt totally humiliated.
How could she have said such a thing to him? No wonder he had left so abruptly. Unwelcome sobs clogged her throat. She wished in that moment that Wolf Runner really were her husband.

But that would never be.

“‘Busy hands are happy hands,’” she muttered to herself. “At least that is what Gram always said.” She untied the pack of supplies and spread the tarp on the dirt floor and then placed the fur robe over that. Next she went outside to see if there was water for the horses.

After finding a well at the back of the house, she managed to send the rusted bucket down on a frayed rope. There was not much water, but she tasted it before watering the horses, and it seemed fresh.

After giving Satanta a drink, she gazed across the valley, suspecting some other woman had once stood as she was now, waiting for her man to return. Was there a great love between them? Probably, otherwise why would a woman follow a man to this harsh country?

Satanta trailed along beside her as she gathered wood. When she went inside the wolf followed, flopping down by the fireplace. She had become so accustomed to Satanta being at her side, how would she bear it when Wolf Runner took the wolf away with him?

Cheyenne thought she had never tasted anything as delicious as the haunch of elk that had been roasted on the hot stones Wolf Runner had placed in the fireplace. They had not spoken as they ate and Cheyenne imagined he must be displeased with her.

Wolf Runner’s mind was in turmoil. The fireplace lit up the small cabin with a soft glow. He watched Cheyenne repack their supplies and felt a now-familiar ache in his heart.

While he had been stalking the elk he had thought what it would be like if he lived in that cabin with Cheyenne as his wife, to be bringing meat home for her to cook. But it would not be her hands that prepared his meals—it would be Blue Dawn’s.

After he had skinned and sliced the meat, he had washed in a nearby creek. He ached for Cheyenne in a way he had never ached for any woman. When the time came, how would he be able to leave her? He had grown accustomed to her riding quietly beside him.

Raising his head to the sky, he gathered his thoughts. What had his father said to him before he left home? It was something like a decision he must make would seem like the right one, but it would be wrong. He could not remember the exact words and still wondered what they meant.

What if he was supposed to bring Cheyenne home with him? Yet his father’s warning could have been about something else altogether—like not selling the ranch.

Now as he sat by the fire bracing his elbow against his knee, he watched fascinated as Cheyenne let down her hair. The beautiful mass fell about her shoulders like a silken waterfall.

Watching her work at a tangled knot at the back of her hair, Wolf Runner was frozen in place.

“I’ll never get this tangle out,” she said, fighting against a snarl at the back of her head.

She stopped when she felt a hand close around hers, and she twisted around to look up at Wolf Runner
with a puzzled expression when he took the brush out of her hand.

“It will be much easier for me to get the tangle out, since you cannot reach it.”

Cheyenne turned back to the fire, closing her eyes as he gently touched her hair, sending shivers through her body. His hand slid down her hair and then the brush followed.

She swallowed once, then twice, as his hand paused at the nape of her neck.

“Your hair is beautiful,” he whispered. “I have never seen it down before.”

She would have thanked him for the compliment but she could not find her voice.

His hand swept her hair forward and he ran the brush in that direction. At last the tangles were unsnarled and he handed her back the brush, moving as far away from her as the small space allowed. He settled along the wall, his arms folded over his chest.

“Thank you,” Cheyenne said breathlessly.

She put her brush in her leather bag and turned to Wolf Runner. “I have been thinking.”

He smiled. “Have you?”

She watched the way the firelight reflected off his face, and there was something in those green-flecked eyes she could not discern. “Yes…I…there is no way I can thank you for your kindness to me. You were under no obligation to help me, but you did. And I can never forget you saved my life.”

“You do not need to thank me. Your grandfather’s village is not far from my home.”

Cheyenne shook her head. “You can make little of what you did, but I know better. If you had gone directly to your village, you would probably have been home by now.”

He did not look at her, fearing she would see the guilt in his eyes. In the beginning he had not agreed to take her for any noble reason. “It is of no matter,” Wolf Runner said dismissively.

“Please let me say what I have on my mind. I have learned so much from just watching you. You have given me something I never had before.”

Wolf Runner’s eyes half hooded lazily and his voice was deep as he asked, “What is that?”

“Pride in my Cheyenne blood.” She could see his eyes glitter in the firelight, and she thought he might be displeased by what she said, but she was not finished. “You taught me to embrace who I am and not be ashamed, as I was in Santa Fe, where people turned away from me because I was different.”