Kid Calhoun (29 page)

“I am not afraid,” He Makes Trouble said, puffing out his tiny chest.

Claire realized she had touched the boy’s pride. “I am sure you do not mind staying here,” she said. “But what if Wolf invited you to his wickiup. Would you come?”

Claire glanced sharply at Wolf, daring him to rescind the invitation, then met the hopeful glance of the child.

The Apache boy obviously knew who had the final authority over such a suggestion. His eyes left Claire and sought out Wolf.

Wolf found himself in a quandary. He felt no responsibility for He Makes Trouble other than as a member of the tribe. If the boy asked him for food, he provided it. If the boy caused trouble—which was often—he chastised him for it. Wolf sympathized with He Makes Trouble’s plight, for it had been his own. But he had never gone so far as to invite the six-year-old to share his lodging.

The white woman had. Wolf waited for her to plead with him to take the boy. She said nothing, merely looked at him with her wide, golden eyes. It was enough. Her eyes spoke words that needed no voice.

“He Makes Trouble,” Wolf said at last. “I ask you to come to my wickiup.”

The boy grinned. “I accept your invitation.”

Claire laid her hand on Wolf’s forearm, then leaned over to whisper in his ear, “That was a wonderful thing to do.” She let go of him before he was ready to be parted from her, and bustled around banking the fire and putting things away to help get He Makes Trouble ready to go with them.

As they were leaving, she reached out to the child and Wolf was astonished to see the Indian boy slip his small hand into hers. Usually He Makes Trouble had nothing to do with anyone. Wolf was surprised at the boy’s willingness to accept the closeness offered by the white woman. It dawned on him that the reason he had never seen the boy with another was because no one else had ever made the effort.

Wolf couldn’t help frowning as he thought of the noise and inconvenience of having a small boy in his wickiup. What would the wagging tongues of the village have to say when they discovered what he had done?

Do you care what they say?

Wolf realized the white woman’s approval meant more to him than the rest of the village combined.
Which made him uneasy. He must make it plain to her that she could not be inviting every stray she found to join them in their wickiup. It was already plenty crowded with the three of them.

The child was so excited it took him a long time to settle down. Finally, Claire lay down beside He Makes Trouble and put an arm around the boy to hold him still.

Wolf stared, unaware of the envy in his eyes. He wanted to be that boy. He wanted this woman to take him in her arms. To keep her from seeing his need he said, “I will go for a walk until the boy sleeps. Then I will return.”

He saw the flash of fear in her eyes, quickly hidden. He made a sound of disgust that caused her to flinch. A moment later he was gone.

Claire refused to contemplate what would happen when Wolf returned to the wickiup. Instead she held the Apache boy in her arms and thought of her son. She hoped Jeff’s Indian mother had found a way to ease the fears he must have felt when he was stolen from her three years ago.

She had tried again while Wolf was away from the village to reach Jeff, to speak with him. Her son had ignored the English words she spoke to him and taunted her in Apache. When she had tried to touch him, he had pulled a knife and threatened her away.

The Apache boy in her arms grunted and Claire realized she was holding him too tight. But he didn’t try to free himself, and in fact snuggled closer. Claire couldn’t help but see the irony in the situation. She was mothering an Apache boy while her own son refused to acknowledge her.

When He Makes Trouble had been asleep for a while and Wolf still hadn’t returned, Claire separated herself carefully from the child and left the wickiup for a walk in the night air. She almost tripped over
Wolf as she stepped outside. He was sitting there in the dark.

She hesitated, then sat down beside him and asked, “Why didn’t you come inside?”

“It was too noisy in there,” he said disgustedly.

“He Makes Trouble never breathed a word once you asked him to be quiet.”

“That won’t last. Before long he’ll be chattering like a jay.”

“Good,” Claire said. “Children should always be talking, asking questions, learning.”

“An Apache child learns early to be quiet. To watch and to listen.”

Claire grimaced. “I suppose that’s a good lesson to know when there’s danger around.”

“There is always danger for an Apache these days,” Wolf said.

“I never see him laughing and playing with the other children.”

“I have told you the reason for that.”

“Isn’t there any way to change the situation?”

Wolf rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If some family adopted him. Then perhaps—”

“Why don’t you?” she interrupted.

Wolf was annoyed at Little One’s habit of speaking her mind whenever she felt like it. No Apache woman would dare to interrupt. And what she had suggested—it was ridiculous.

“Why would I want to adopt He Makes Trouble?” His lips turned up wryly. “Believe me, he has earned his name.”

“You should do it because he has your eyes. Because he is a part of you. Because it would be a good thing to do,” Claire said in a rush.

Wolf’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “And because you miss your own son, and want another child to care for?”

“No one can replace Jeffrey! I only thought—”

“No,” Wolf said flatly. “I do not want a child to sleep between us.”

“He wouldn’t be between us,” Claire argued.

Wolf met her eyes and waited for them to drop under his regard. She continued staring defiantly at him. He saw a way he could have what he wanted—at a small price. “I will take you at your word, Little One. The child may stay, but when we sleep, you will be by my side. The boy will sleep alone.”

Claire had resigned herself to endure whatever was necessary during her captivity in the Indian village because she had hopes of someday reaching Jeff. She had let herself believe that she would not be forced into intimacy with Wolf. She realized now how naive she had been.

But if he was going to have her anyway, wouldn’t it be better if some good came of it? At least this way, if she was ever able to escape this place, the Apache boy would still have a home. “All right,” Claire said at last. “I agree to your terms.”

“Go inside now,” Wolf said. “I will join you in a little while.”

Claire didn’t hesitate, didn’t argue, simply rose and shoved aside the hide opening and entered the wickiup. She arranged her grass bed on the opposite side of the spacious dwelling from the sleeping boy. She had no clothes to change into, so she lay down in the buckskins she had been wearing since the night Wolf had given them to her at the stream.

Claire heard the soft footfalls that signaled Wolf’s return to the wickiup. She held her breath, lying perfectly still in the darkness. Unerringly, he walked toward her, stopping near her head. He sat down on the ground beside her and slipped off his knee-high moccasins.

He reached out in the dark and laid a hand on her
shoulder. His touch was gentle. “Are you asleep, Little One?”

“No.”

His callused fingertips slipped between the thongs that tied at the shoulder. “Your skin is very soft,” he said.

Wolf’s hand slid up her shoulder to her throat, where her pulse throbbed. He felt her whole body quiver beneath his touch. He lay down next to her and pulled her back against him. But she remained stiff in his arms.

“There is no need to be afraid, Little One.”

“I … this is the first time I’ve lain with another man besides my husband. I … it’s too soon,” she blurted.

Wolf remained silent for almost a minute. At last he said, “I am in no hurry, Little One. I can wait until you desire me as I desire you.”

Claire half-laughed, half-sobbed. “You’ll have a long wait!”

Wolf traced his hand down her throat and felt her shiver. He smiled with satisfaction in the darkness. “I do not think so.”

Claire felt the color creeping up her neck. She was humiliated by her body’s reaction to the Apache’s touch. He was the enemy. She had to remember that so she would be able to leave here when the time came. She couldn’t let herself admire him … or care for him … or desire him.

The thought that she could even consider coupling with him should have horrified her. It did not. In fact, she had stiffened in his arms because her body had been all too receptive to his touch. Claire felt confused by the feelings she was experiencing for a man she knew to be a savage.

She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth and tried very hard to hate him.

It was a long time before Wolf felt the woman in his arms relax. At last he heard the slow, steady breathing that told him she was asleep. He pulled her into the curve of his body and stared into the darkness.

He heard rustling on the other side of the wickiup. “He Makes Trouble?”

“I woke up and did not know where I was,” the little boy said in a frightened voice.

“You are in my wickiup. You are safe here,” Wolf said.

“Where is Little One?”

“She is here with me.”

“Oh.”

Wolf knew what the boy wanted, and that the child would not ask for it. He felt a strange tightness in his chest. He opened his mouth to invite He Makes Trouble to join them, then snapped it shut again. It was better not to raise the boy’s hopes that his situation was changed merely because he had been invited to spend one night in Wolf’s wickiup.

Among the Apache a bastard was not mistreated. But because he was different, he lived his life separate from the rest of the tribe. Wolf understood exactly what that involved. It was hard enough to survive the nomadic life of an Apache. A bastard had the additional burden of making it on his own. Wolf could not change He Makes Trouble’s fate. It was far better if the boy accepted the truth about who he was and learned to live with it.

“Good night, boy,” he said.

“Good night, Wolf.”

Wolf closed his eyes and waited until he heard the boy settle before he succumbed to sleep.

In the morning, Wolf tried to turn over but couldn’t because there was something in the way. Something warm. Something with arms and legs.

“He Makes Trouble!”

The child sat bolt upright. His smile was sheepish as he disentangled himself from Wolf.

Wolf scowled ferociously, but He Makes Trouble seemed unconcerned. A cuff was little enough payment for a night spent unafraid. Only Wolf did not hit him, and the scowl soon disappeared to be replaced by a different look entirely as Wolf watched the woman in his arms stretch and waken. He Makes Trouble took advantage of Wolf’s distraction to escape outside.

Claire was still half asleep, but she was aware of a hard male body fitted against her as she stretched. A male hand caressed the length of her from shoulder to hip, then slid down to cover her womb and pull her back into the niche created by his hips. She could feel his arousal, and a corresponding heat deep in her belly where his hand lay against her.

“Sam?”

Wolf froze.

“Sam?”

Claire reached back to lay a hand on Sam’s thigh. Only instead of long johns, the skin she touched was bare. Her eyes flickered open. It took a moment to orient herself.

She was not in her bed at Window Rock; she lay upon a grass pallet on the ground. It was not coffee, but the smoke of a campfire she smelled. And it was not Sam who lay beside her. Sam was dead.

Claire groaned, a ragged sound of despair.

The Apache brave pulled her more tightly against him. “I am Wolf. I am Apache. You are my woman,” he whispered in her ear. “What came before must be forgotten.”

“I can’t forget!” Claire cried.

“You must.”

“I had a husband.
I have a son
. And nothing you say can change that!”

Claire struggled to be free of Wolf’s hold, but he easily turned her under him. He caught both of her hands in one of his. The sheer weight of him was enough to keep her captive beneath him.

“Be still,” he said.

Claire was fighting the frustration of the situation as much as she was the man who had created it. She bucked under him and had the awful—arousing—experience of feeling his hardness pressed against her softness.

The husky sound she made in her throat caused Wolf’s body to tense. His voice was harsh as he said, “Your husband is dead. Your son has a new family. Nothing you say or do can change that.”

Claire swallowed hard. She felt the tears welling in her eyes and closed them. One slid out and rolled down the side of her face. Suddenly her hands were released and she felt herself pulled into Wolf’s embrace. She resisted only briefly before she succumbed to the solace to be found in his arms.

Wolf didn’t know what to make of the feelings roiling through him. He knew he was responsible for Little One’s distress in part. But even returning her to the place from which he had taken her would not bring back her husband. Or her son. He had never held a crying woman. He wanted to take the pain away so that she would smile again.

His lips barely touched her brow, a gesture of comfort. His hands smoothed the tawny hair away from her face, and he brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. He murmured words in Apache, words he would not have imagined himself saying to any woman. Words of comfort. Words that told of his need to keep her safe. To protect her from harm. To take all the hurt away.

At last her tears stopped. She hiccuped, and the sound surprised a smile from him.

Claire sat up and eased herself from Wolf’s arms. She wiped at her eyes and dabbed at her nose with her sleeve. “I don’t know what came over me. I—”

A ruckus outside had Wolf on his feet and running before Claire could finish her sentence. She jumped up and followed him outside. It quickly became clear that He Makes Trouble had been hard at work earning his name. He was surrounded by at least four older boys who were taunting him with their bows and arrows.

“What is happening here?” Wolf demanded.

The four boys turned wide eyes toward the Apache brave. Clearly they hadn’t expected any interference on He Makes Trouble’s behalf.