Wolf Shadow
Authors: Madeline Baker
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romance, #Historical, #Romantic Erotica
| Wolf Shadow | |
| Madeline Baker | |
| Ellora's Cave (2008) | |
| Rating: | ★★★☆☆ |
| Tags: | Literature & Fiction, Erotica, Romance, Historical, Romantic Erotica |
Blush: This is a suggestive romance (love scenes are not graphic). Kidnapped by Indians ten years ago at the age of seven, Teressa Bryant has no memory of her parents or her life in San Francisco. Known as Winter Rain by the Lakota, she is on the verge of marrying a Lakota warrior when a handsome stranger rides into the village.Half-breed Chance McCloud, known as Wolf Shadow among the Lakota, has been hired by Teressa’s parents to rescue their daughter from the Indians. The attraction between Chance and Teressa can’t be denied and soon he’s torn between his need for the reward offered by Teressa’s parents, and his need for Teressa.
Baker's thirty-seventh book will delight her legions of readers. After the stage she is riding in with her wealthy parents is attacked by Lakota warriors, seven-year-old Teressa Bryant is adopted by a Lakota couple and becomes Winter Rain, eventually forgetting her white family. Ten years later, Chance McCloud, the son of a white rancher and a Lakota mother, is desperately in need of money to keep his late father's ranch from foreclosure, so he accepts the Bryants' generous pay to recover their daughter. Chance, also known as Wolf Shadow, has always refused to fall in love because of his need to avenge his mother's murder, but when he meets Winter Rain, he remembers his mother's wishes for him to be happy. The two brave a torturous trail to be together, surviving capture by the Crow after a deadly attack, imprisonment, and Teressa's return to San Francisco society. Baker's depiction of Native Americans is respectful, and her Old West setting rings true.
Diana Tixier Herald
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
"Baker is justly renowned for her portrayals of American Indians."
--
Publishers Weekly
(
Publisher's Weekly
)
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
Wolf Shadow
ISBN 9781419919312
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Wolf Shadow Copyright © 2003, 2008 Madeline Baker.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication MM 2008
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are
registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue,
Akron, OH 44310-3502.
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is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Wolf Shadow
Madeline Baker
Dear Reader:
I hope you enjoy reading the story of Wolf Shadow and
Teressa as much as I enjoyed writing it. I always fall in love with my hero,
and I hope you did, too.
I can’t believe this is my thirty-seventh book. I remember
when I was writing stories and hiding them under the bed! For those of you who
have dreams of being published, hang on to that dream and make it come true.
I want to thank all of you for your letters and support. I
love it when I get a letter from someone who tells me they hated reading until
they picked up one of my books. I’ve always loved to read and it makes me feel
good to know that one of my books helped someone else discover the joy of
reading.
God bless you. God bless America.
Madeline
http://www.madelinebaker.net
Prologue
The Indians came boiling out of the timbered hills like
angry ants whose nest had been disturbed. Teressa Bryant stared at them out of
the window of the stagecoach, her eyes wide with delight. Mama had said they
might see Indians on their way to San Francisco, but Teressa hadn’t expected
anything like this.
As the Indians drew closer, she saw that they wore pretty
feathers in their long black hair. There were streaks of paint smeared on their
faces and chests. Some of the Indians carried bows and had quivers filled with
arrows slung over their shoulders, some carried long lances with feathers tied
to the shaft. A few of them waved rifles in the air. She noticed that the
Indians painted their horses, too. One had a red handprint painted on its rump,
another had white circles painted around its eyes, still another had zigzaggy
lines painted on its legs.
She felt a shiver of unease as some of the Indians drew
alongside the coach. She could see their faces now, hear their cries, and they
didn’t sound friendly.
As more Indians surrounded the coach, Teressa turned to look
at her mama for reassurance, but Mama looked as scared as Teressa felt.
“
Venuto qui, bambina
,” Mama said, and Teressa scooted
into her mother’s lap.
Papa patted Teressa on her arm. “Don’t worry, Teressa
mia
,”
he said in his big booming voice. “Everything will be all right.”
She nodded, her heart pounding with fear.
Mama pressed Teressa’s head against her shoulder. She could
hear Mama praying, asking the blessed Virgin to protect them, could hear the sound
of arrows whizzing around the coach like angry hornets.
Teressa heard the driver shout at the horses, heard the
crack of his whip. The coach picked up speed and for a moment, she thought they
might get away. And then, to her horror, the coach began to tilt to one side.
With a shriek of fear, Teressa threw her arms around her
mother’s neck. The coach balanced precariously on two wheels for what seemed
like a very long time before it slowly toppled over on its side.
Teressa cried out as she was thrown off the seat, along with
Mama and Papa. Stars exploded in front of her eyes as her head hit the side of
the coach. She heard Mama groan softly, heard Papa swear as they tumbled inside
the coach, arms and legs flailing. Hearing Papa swear scared her almost more
than anything else because her Papa never said those words in front of Mama.
The coach skidded to a stop in a choking cloud of dust.
Outside, the Indians were shouting to each other.
Moments later, the door, which was now where the roof should
have been, was wrenched open and an Indian peered down at them.
“Teressa,” Papa said, “get behind me.”
Teressa stared at the gun in her father’s hand, covered her
ears with her hands when he fired at the Indian and missed.
With a low cry, the Indian shot two arrows at Papa. One
arrow pierced his right shoulder, the other his left thigh. With a cry of pain,
her father fell backward.
Teressa stared in open-mouthed horror at the arrows
quivering in her father’s flesh.
Mama screamed Papa’s name as she pulled him into her lap and
cradled him in her arms.
Teressa stared up at the Indian, her eyes filling with
tears. “I hate you!” she shrieked. “You killed my Papa!”
The Indian looked at her through narrowed eyes, then dropped
lightly inside the coach.
Teressa tried to duck out of his way, but he grabbed hold of
her with one big hand and pushed her up through the doorway and into the arms
of another Indian. She saw three other Indians cutting the horses free of the
broken traces and leading them away. The driver lay face down a few yards away.
She wondered if he was dead.
“
No! No! La non mia ragazza piccola! Non prendere la mia
ragazza piccola! Teressa!”
Teressa heard Mama screaming her name as the Indian lifted
her onto the back of his horse and vaulted up behind her, one arm settling
around her waist.
“Mama! Mama!”
Teressa scratched the Indian’s arm, trying to get free, and
when that didn’t work, she bit him as hard as she could, but he only laughed
and urged his horse into a trot.
“Mama.”
Sobbing and hiccoughing, she stared over the Indian’s
shoulder, crying for Mama and Papa, but the Indian ignored her and kept riding.
With tears rolling down her cheeks, Teressa stared at the
coach, watching it get smaller and smaller until it was out of sight.
Chapter One
Sitting back in his chair, his face impassive, Chance
McCloud regarded the cards in his hand. A full house, aces over jacks. He laid
his cards face down on the table and tossed five dollars into the pot.
He glanced around the room while he was waiting for the
other players to decide whether to stay or fold. The Red Dog Saloon was large
and square and pretty much like every other saloon he had ever seen, from the
picture of the voluptuous nude hanging behind the bar to the sawdust on the
floor and the heavy layer of blue-gray smoke that hung in the air. A wizened
old man wearing a black derby hat sat at the piano in the corner, plinking out
an off-key tune on the yellowed keys.
Returning his attention to the game at hand, Chance glanced
at the men sharing the table with him. Joe Remington sat to his left. Remington
published the local newspaper. He was a tall man with thinning gray hair and a
thick gray moustache. Pete Wright was one of the local ranchers and a long-time
resident of Buffalo Springs. He sat at Chance’s right, his stubby fingers
drumming on the tabletop. He was an average-looking man in his early twenties,
unremarkable except for a shock of white hair. Vince Salazar, the town
blacksmith, sat across from Chance, his slouch hat pushed back on his head, his
shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing arms as thick as tree trunks.
Remington regarded Chance through narrowed brown eyes,
nodded to himself, and tossed five dollars into the pot.
“Did ya’ll see that new rig over to the mortuary?” Wright
remarked. He tossed his cards face down into the center of the table. “I hear
tell it cost old man Jensen near eight hundred dollars over in Dodge City.”
“Right fancy for our town, I’d say,” Salazar replied. “I’m
out.” He tossed his cards onto the table.
“Bought himself a new team to pull it,” Wright added.
Remington grunted softly. “Business must be good. When I’m
dead and gone, I don’t imagine I’ll be caring one way or another what they use
to carry me away. All right, McCloud, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Chance turned his cards over, one at a time.
Remington muttered an oath as he tossed his own hand onto
the table—a pair of kings, a pair of nines, and the fourth ace.
Chance raked in the pot, then sat back while a new hand was
dealt. Lady Luck had smiled on him. He figured he was ahead by about three
hundred dollars. Another hand or two, and he’d go check on his horse and call
it quits for the night.
He was picking up his cards when he felt a shiver down his
spine. Someone was watching him. He pushed his chair back from the table and dropped
his right hand onto his thigh, close to the butt of his Colt, and casually
glanced around the room.