Wild Desire (15 page)

“Secrets are ugly,” Runner said, his jaw tightening.

“Sometimes they are necessary,” Pure Blossom said softly. “At least, for a short while.”

“I will think about it,” Runner said, then nodded a farewell to Stephanie and urged his horse off in a soft trot. “Come, little sister. Today I will help you sneak into your hogan without being seen. I am not sure about tomorrow, though.”

Pure Blossom drew up next to Runner. “
Uke-he
, thank you,” she said, her eyes smiling.

Adam and Stephanie stared at one another for a moment, then Adam took her into his arms. “Thank you for not voicing an opinion,” he said, stroking her hair. “I could see it in your eyes that you did not approve of what I'm up to.”

“What
are
you up to, Adam?” Stephanie said, taking a step away from him. “Are you truly in love with Pure Blossom?”

“With all of my heart,” Adam said, then turned to walk away from her, toward his private car.

“But that isn't always enough, is it, Adam?”

Adam turned and gave her a steady stare, then continued on.

“Good Lord,” Stephanie said to herself, growing cold inside, “he's not going to marry her.”

She slowly shook her head. Her brother was playing a dangerous game, but she could only wait and see how he played it out. She silently prayed that somehow he might change his mind and be true to Pure Blossom after all.

Love sometimes conquered all—even greedy, conniving brothers.

Chapter 18

By noon, Stephanie and Runner were together again. She followed his lead, taking advantage of whatever he allowed her to photograph, thankful for at least that. Adam had caused enough problems for Runner and his family; she wanted to continue being the peacemaker. Most certainly she did not want to be labeled the antagonist.

Today she had followed Runner on frightening climbs, zigzagging upward, across saguaro-studded slopes and along barren ridges sparsely dotted with cedar. She had seen tarantulas the size of saucers scuttling slowly across the land. She had been horrified at the sight of rattlesnakes sunning themselves on rocks. She had seen all sorts of colorful lizards.

Riding in a slow lope across sand dotted with various cactus plants, Stephanie edged her horse over closer to Runner's stallion.

“Runner, I've heard of a place called Canyon del Muerto, where there was a Spanish massacre of Navaho people in 1805,” she said. She winced when she saw an angry fire light his eyes.

Yet she proceeded to ask about it. “It is called the Antelope House Ruins, is it not?” she prodded. “I read that a large number of Navaho women and children were killed there. Would you take me to see it?”

“It is a place where if you stand among the ruins, you will still hear the wails of those mothers long ago as they stood watching their children being slain by the Spaniards,” Runner said, giving Stephanie a tight-jawed look. “Canyon del Muerto forks off to the east from Canyon de Chelley. I will not escort you to either place.”

“Canyon de Chelley,” Stephanie said, nodding. “I read many accounts of that, also. I had hoped that you and I could go there. I so badly want to see it.”

“If you went there, you would be tempted too much to photograph it; it is a place of sheer beauty,” Runner said, nudging his horse into a faster pace.

Stephanie did the same and caught up with him. “I hear that it is breathtakingly beautiful,” she said. “I read all about it before coming here. The cliff walls are full of ancient dwelling places, and there are mysterious carvings and wall paintings all over the canyon.”

The more she talked about what she had learned while studying the Arizona Territory, the more intrigued she became over Canyon de Chelley. And she feared that Runner was wise not to escort her there. She would most certainly be tempted to take photographs of it. Those particular photographs would be all that the Santa Fe Railroad would need to lure passengers to travel to a mystical land scarcely seen by tourists.

“This sacred place, which lies at the heart of the Navaho Indian reservation, has more than beauty that touches one's soul,” Runner said, giving Stephanie a pensive look. “To the Navaho it is the rift in the earth where the gods entered our world long ago to teach the Navaho. Sometimes when I go there, I seem to hear their voices echoing off the canyon walls. It is not only the home of the Navaho gods, but of the ancient ones who inhabited this land before us. The Anasazi. They are the ones who left behind the ancient drawings. This is why the place must be treated with reverence.”

“I understand,” Stephanie said sullenly. “I won't ask you again to take me there.” Then her eyes brightened. “Perhaps we can go to a place that is called Spider Rock? I would love to photograph it. I hear that it rises eight hundred feet from a canyon floor. What a sight it must be!”

“That, also, cannot be captured inside the walls of your camera,” Runner said firmly. “Spider Rock is the legendary home of Spider Woman, who, according to myth, taught weaving to the Navaho.”

Feeling unnerved by Runner's formal manner today, Stephanie fell into a stony silence.

Then a glimmer of hope began to shine in her eyes. In a sense, he had played right into her hands today. Earlier, before he had arrived to escort her, she had sent one of the men who worked with the work gang ahead to Gallup with enough money to make arrangements for a one-night stay in one of Gallup's finest hotels. She had hoped that she could somehow lure Runner there with her.

Now she had the perfect plan. He had said no to her so often today he would surely find it hard to keep denying her everything. Hopefully he would feel guilty and agree when she asked him to accompany her to Gallup. Little would he know that she had a room waiting for them, for a wonderful, carefree night away from Adam and Runner's family.

The night would be theirs: alone.

She could already feel the fizz of the champagne as she sipped from a long-stemmed glass. Runner would be in bed beside her on satin sheets, tipping his own glass of bubbly liquid to his perfectly sculpted lips.

“Would you go with me to Gallup?” she said suddenly.

Runner gave her a quizzical stare. “Gallup?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you want to go to Gallup?”

“Our travels today have taken us quite close to the town,” Stephanie said. “Please let's go to the lunchroom on the second floor of the railway station at Gallup. I'm starved. We didn't bring enough food to last us until we return to my car. Please, Runner? We would only be there for a short while. Only long enough to get a bite to eat.”

Although she was not trying to fight Adam's battles for him, Stephanie felt that it wouldn't hurt for Runner to see the sort of establishments Adam would like to build in the town that he was planning. She wanted to show Runner how good and decent it was. She only hoped that his attention wouldn't be drawn to the many saloons in Gallup.

Runner rode awhile in silence as he thought through her suggestion. He had refused Stephanie many opportunities to photograph interesting sites today. How could he continue to say no to her?

But he was ready to take her into Gallup for other reasons as well. That part of him that was white was making him momentarily stray from his Indian ideals and way of life. He had always tended to his business and had left Gallup as quickly as possible, mainly to keep from having confrontations with Damon Stout's ranch hands who seemed to be everywhere at once. He would be glad to have an excuse to take his time, to be able to see more of the town and the ways of the white people. As a child, he had been in restaurants in various cities, but it was hard to recall. He had only been six the last time his mother had taken him to such a fancy establishment.

“If you wish, we shall go there,” Runner finally said. When he looked her way and saw how happy his decision had made her, he was glad that he had decided to do as she asked.

He could not deny the strange excitement that he was feeling himself, and just as quickly felt ashamed. He had devoted most of his childhood and all of his adult life to the ways of the Navaho. He should not hunger to be a part of the white man's world. Yet, as his horse rode closer to Gallup, he could not find the strength within himself to turn back in the direction of his village.

When they finally reached Gallup, long shadows were rippling over the land. Crude buildings littered both sides on the Santa Fe Railroad tracks, which separated the business district from the private homes. But all were weathered and wind-beaten.

As they rode up the main street, where horsemen and horse-drawn buggies roamed in both directions, Stephanie and Runner looked on each side of them.

Everything was dark except for the lantern lights, which flooded the boardwalks along the thoroughfare with their golden glows.

The farther they rode, the brighter the lights became, as well as the noise that wafted from the saloons. Pianos clinked out loud and merry tunes. Boisterous laughter and loud swearing came through the swinging doors. The sound of glass breaking and fights erupting from more than one of the establishments made Stephanie grow increasingly nervous.

She gave Runner a troubled glance. His eyes were filled with an angry fire. His jaw was tight.

“We're almost there,” she offered.

She now realized that she had been wrong to bring Runner to this town. It was a poor example of what she had hoped to show him Adam's town might be. When she had ridden through Gallup on the train that one time, where the tracks connected to the private spur, she had not paid much attention to it, except to look up at the lunchroom and remember Adam having said it was an excellent place to get a fine meal and glass of wine.

She was disappointed when she realized there were no fancy emporiums or restaurants. And there was only one hotel.

Thank God, she thought to herself. The hotel was the most decent-appearing establishment of all. At least she wouldn't have to fight off cockroaches or rats as she sipped her champagne.

Something else soon drew both Stephanie and Runner's attention.

“The Big Tent,” she whispered.

It was a one hundred-by-forty foot canvas structure, with a wooden dance floor inside. The tent glowed from the light of fifty lanterns as well as candles placed in cut-glass holders. It was open round the clock, with full bands playing both night and day. Music blared from the tent even now, as well as laughter and merriment.

Stephanie blushed when she caught sight of some of the bawdy women who were known to frequent the Big Tent. Scantily dressed, and with their faces gaudily painted, they were standing at the door of the tent waving and shouting at Runner as he rode on past.

Finally they arrived at the railroad station. An idle engine was puffing black, sooty smoke from its stack, waiting as passengers loaded into the cars, to be taken to various parts of the country. Stephanie and Runner drew rein on the opposite side of the building, away from the tracks.

As Stephanie slid from her saddle, she looked up at the windows overhead. Soft light flickered from them, inviting and peaceful. She was anxious to get Runner in the lunchroom, hoping that he would forget the ugliness of the town, soon taken by the pleasant hotel accommodations.

Outside, stairs led up to the lunchroom at the back of the building. A strained silence had fallen between Stephanie and Runner as they climbed the steps. When they entered the room, where many candlelit tables were occupied by fancily dressed men and women, all eyes turned to Runner.

Although he was of a white heritage, his skin was bronzed dark from the sun and wind, and his hair was black, sleek and long like the Navaho, held back by a brightly colored bandanna. Today he wore fringed clothes, making him look even more Indian. Prejudice against him being there emanated from the other diners as Stephanie took Runner by the arm and led him to a table.

Runner could feel molten hot eyes on him. He surmised that those people who were staring at him knew by the way he was dressed that he was the “White Indian” everyone had heard rumors about.

Stephanie was only now aware that Runner would not know the proper manners required for dining out. Why hadn't she thought of that earlier? She hurriedly sat down without his assistance so that it would look like she was the one who was uneducated in proper etiquette.

When Runner still stood there, stiff and quiet, she feared that he was going to change his mind and leave. Then he scooted his chair out and sat down, and she heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“I'm sorry if I am the cause for you being uncomfortable,” she said, leaning over the table so that only he could hear her. “If you'd rather leave, I would understand.”

“I have faced worse ridicule,” Runner said, his shoulders proudly squared. As the candle's glow shone in flickering shadows on Stephanie's face, everything and everyone but her was forgotten. She was ever so beautiful.

His uneasiness returned when a waitress stepped up and asked to take their order. He looked around him and noticed that there were several young ladies who served as waitresses. They wore long black dresses, flowing white aprons, and hair bows.

“The menu,” Stephanie whispered over at Runner. “You must choose what you want from the menu.”

She knew that he had gone to school, enabling him to read. Yet as he picked up the menu and his eyes began to scan the entries, she could see that he was confused.

“If you wish, I shall order for both of us,” Stephanie suggested softly.

“I shall order for you and myself,” Runner said, surprising Stephanie.

“That would be fine,” she said. She closed her menu, turned a soft smile up at the waitress and twined her fingers together on her lap, waiting.

“There are varied meals to choose from,” Runner said, trying to recall the taste of those things that were familiar to him long ago. “There is halibut, chicken, roast veal, and spring lamb for seventy-five cents each. This will be served with a vegetable and sweets.”

The waitress began to tap her fingers on the pad on which she was going to write the order. “Sir, please make up your mind,” she said in a whiney voice. “There are others waiting.”

“Two roast veal,” Runner said, closing the menu.

“And two glasses of red wine,” Stephanie quickly interjected.

The waitress nodded and walked away.

Runner's lips parted in a light gasp. “I do not carry money with me,” he whispered across the table to Stephanie. “I have no means to pay for these things.”

“I'll pay for it,” Stephanie whispered back. “Just try and enjoy it.”

“I would much rather eat in the privacy of my hogan,” Runner said. He looked uneasily from table to table, aware that wondering, angry eyes were still locked on him. “To these people I am almost an alien. Do they not know that I feel the same about them?”

“Who cares what they think? Anyhow, we won't be here for long,” Stephanie murmured. She paused and then added, “I guess you are seeing, firsthand, what you have missed by living with Indians. I see that you do not regret your decision at all.”