Wolf Shadow (25 page)

Chance sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his
chest, as he watched Teressa’s father stride toward him. He grunted softly,
wondering what the hell the man wanted now.

Without waiting for an invitation, Edward Bryant sat down.
“I find I have need of your assistance once again.”

Chance grunted softly, thinking the man had all the nerve in
the world. “Is that right?”

“Yes. I have urgent business to attend to in San Francisco
and I cannot wait for the next stage. Mrs. Bryant does not wish to make the
journey with me. I would like you to chaperone my family until the next stage
arrives.”

“I can’t stay in town and look after your women,” Chance
said. “I’ve got a ranch to run and I’ve been away too long already.”

Bryant reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his wallet.
“How much do you want?”

“I don’t need your money this time.”

Bryant frowned thoughtfully. “Would you consider taking them
to your ranch? I’ll make it worth your while. You can name your own price.”

Chance shook his head, yet even as he declined, he was
imagining Teressa at the ranch and he realized he wanted to show it to her even
though he knew her absence would haunt him long after she was gone.

“I don’t have time to haggle, Mr. McCloud,” Bryant said
imperiously.

“And I don’t want your money,” Chance retorted. He held up a
hand, silencing any further arguments from Bryant. “I’ll take Mrs. Bryant and
Rain…Teressa out to my ranch. They can stay there until the stage arrives.”

Bryant considered the offer for a moment and then nodded.

“I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Tell them to be
ready.”

“Yes, I will. And…thank you.”

Chance nodded, knowing the man’s thanks didn’t come easy.

He watched Bryant walk back to where Teressa and Rosalia
waited, then dropped a dollar on the table and left the restaurant, wondering
what the hell he’d gotten himself into now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Teressa couldn’t stop smiling as she packed her few
belongings, carefully folding her new clothes. Wolf Shadow—she had to remember
to call him Mr. McCloud now—was waiting for them downstairs. She and her mother
were going to stay at his ranch until the next stage arrived.

Mr. McCloud was waiting for them in the lobby. Standing at
the top of the stairs, her gaze swept over him. He wore a dark gray shirt,
black trousers and boots, all of which looked new. A black cowboy hat was
pushed back on his head. A gun butt protruded from the holster strapped to his
right thigh.

Clutching her bag in one hand, she hurried down the stairs,
almost tripping on the hem of her skirt which she had forgotten to lift out of
the way.

He reached out a steadying hand when she reached the bottom
stair. “Careful, now.”

Breathless, she gazed into his eyes, searching for some sign
that he still cared, that she hadn’t imagined the attraction between them.

She murmured, “Thank you, Mr. McCloud,” as her mother joined
them.

“Teressa, you must be more careful,” Rosalia admonished. “Young
ladies do not run down stairs.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Wolf Shadow squeezed her hand. “Are you two ready to go? I’ve
got a buggy out front.”

“Yes, thank you,
Signore
McCloud. Come, Tessa.”

“What about the dresses we were supposed to pick up today?”
Teressa asked as they left the hotel.

“I sent a message to
Signora
Constantine and asked
her to send the dresses to
Signore
McCloud’s ranch when they are ready.”

A horse and buggy was tied up in front of the hotel. Teressa
noticed that Wolf Shadow’s horse was tied to the back of the conveyance. He
stowed their bags under the seat, then handed her and her mother into the
buggy.

He climbed in and released the brake. The seat was not very
wide and when Chance took up the reins, his shoulder brushed against hers. That
slight contact sent a shiver of awareness through Teressa and made her acutely
conscious of his nearness, and of his thigh pressed intimately against her own.
Teressa didn’t miss the look of disapproval on her mother’s face, but she didn’t
care. She was sitting beside Wolf Shadow, her body bumping against his with the
buggy’s every movement. She smiled inwardly, knowing he had lifted her into the
buggy first just so they could sit side by side.

Several people turned to stare as they drove out of town.

“How far is it to your ranch,
Signore
McCloud?”
Rosalia asked.

“About fifteen miles. We should be there before dark.”

With a nod, Rosalia sat back, her hands folded in her lap.

“Are there many people there?” Teressa asked.

Chance shrugged. “Not many. I had a dozen cowhands and a
cook working for me when I left.”

Rosalia leaned forward so she could see his face. “Are there
no women there?”

“Not the last time I looked.”

“But��who looks after your house?”

“I do, when I’m there.”

“You do your own laundry?”

“No. Cookie generally does it.”

“Who is Cookie?” Teressa asked.

“The ranch cook. He cooks for the cowboys, and I usually eat
with them.” Chance looked at Rosalia. “I know you’re used to having people
around to wait on you, but while you’re here, you’ll be on your own most of the
time, and that will most likely include doing some of your own cooking. You can
cook, can’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Rosalia said without much enthusiasm. “Perhaps
we should have stayed at the hotel.”

Chance pulled back on the reins, bringing the horse to a
halt. “I can take you back, if that’s what you want.”

“No, Mama!” Teressa exclaimed. “I want to see Mr. McCloud’s
ranch.”

Rosalia regarded her for a long moment before she nodded. “Very
well, Tessa.”

Chance clucked to the horse and the buggy lurched forward.

It was a long, silent ride. Chance wasn’t given much to
small talk and neither, apparently, were the two women. He was increasingly
aware of Teressa’s thigh pressed against his own. When the carriage hit a rut
in the road, her breast bumped his arm. If he’d been smart, he would have put
the mother in the middle, but no one had ever accused him of being smart. Teressa.
Her scent tickled his nostrils in spite of the dust stirred by the buggy’s
wheels. She was watching him. He could feel her gaze on his face, knew she was
confused and hurt by his cool demeanor. He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was
best for both of them if he backed off now, while he still could, before things
got out of hand.

At noon, he stopped the buggy and helped the women alight. The
cook at the hotel had packed them a lunch. Chance had tossed a blanket under
the seat. Retrieving it, he spread it on a flat stretch of ground. With all the
grace of a queen, Rosalia sat down and spread her skirts around her.

Teressa, less accustomed to high heels and full skirts,
lowered herself awkwardly onto the blanket.

Rosalia lifted the basket’s lid. She handed each of them a
napkin, spread her own over her skirt. Teressa did the same. The cook had
packed enough food for half a dozen people, along with plates, glasses,
flatware, and a bottle of wine. Rosalia dished up fried chicken, potato salad,
sliced roast beef, and corn muffins. Lastly, she withdrew a whole apple pie for
dessert. She filled Chance’s wineglass and, after a moment, poured a small
amount into Teressa’s glass, as well.

Chance sat cross-legged beside Teressa, careful to remember
his Sunday manners.

Teressa bit into a chicken leg. “Oh, this is very good,” she
exclaimed. “What is it?”

“Fried chicken,” Rosalia replied. “You must not eat with
your fingers, Tessa. It is not ladylike.”

A flush climbed up her neck and flooded her cheeks.

“The Lakota don’t have forks, Mrs. Bryant,” Chance said
quietly. “They eat most of their food with their fingers, or a knife.”

“Yes, of course,” Rosalia replied coolly. “But we are not
with the Lakota now. Teressa has much to relearn. Much to remember.”

The rest of the meal passed in almost total silence, broken
only when Rosalia asked if Chance would like more wine. He declined, saying he
had to look after the horse.

Teressa stared after him as he led the horse toward a waterhole.

“Would you like a piece of pie?” Rosalia asked.

Teressa shook her head, her cheeks still burning from being
corrected like a child in front of Chance.

“We would have been more comfortable in the hotel,” Rosalia
mused aloud. “I fear the conditions at Mr. McCloud’s ranch will be primitive.”

Teressa turned and met her mother’s gaze. “Primitive, Mama?
More primitive than living with the Lakota?”

“I did not mean that, Tessa. Only that at the hotel we would
not have had to cook or clean up.”

“I am not afraid of hard work.”

Rosalia blew out a rather unladylike sigh of exasperation.
“Tessa, I know you have lived under difficult conditions in the past. I,
myself, did not come from a wealthy home, but it has been years since I have
had to do menial tasks. It has been many years since I have had to cook or
clean or do my own laundry. I am not sure I remember how, nor do I wish to. At
home, your father and I have servants to do those things.”

The discussion came to an end when Chance said it was time
to go. Teressa felt a tingle of awareness as he lifted her onto the seat. He
assisted her mother, then climbed up beside Teressa. Once again, she was aware
of his nearness, of the solid muscle of his thigh pressed against her own as he
leaned forward and took up the reins.

Teressa found herself thinking about her conversation with
her mother as the wagon lurched forward. Rosalia was used to having servants to
wait on her.

Teressa frowned. After being Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s
slave, she didn’t think she wanted anything to do with servants, even though
the ones at home had been well-treated, with gifts at Christmas and time off on
their birthdays.

She didn’t remember dozing off, but she woke with a start to
find her head pillowed on Chance’s shoulder and Chance looking down at her.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, smiling. “We’re here.”

Teressa blinked up at him, momentarily disoriented. “Here?”

“My ranch.”

“Oh!” Excitement swept the cobwebs from her mind and she sat
up. The first thing she saw was the house. It was large and square and
two-story, with a verandah on the main floor that spanned the width of the
house. Two rockers were situated on one side of the front door. The house was
white but the paint had faded to a dull gray. Several large trees grew on
either side. There was a large red and white barn to the left of the house, as
well as a couple of peeled pole corrals. One held several young calves, the
other held a horse that paced restlessly from one end of the enclosure to the
other. A long low building rose to the right of the main house. Another corral
held a half-dozen horses.

A large gray cat was stretched out on the verandah railing
watching a hen cluck to a handful of yellow chicks. A pair of dogs crawled out
from under the front steps and came forward, tongues lolling and tails wagging.
Low hills rose to the west. She could see cattle grazing in the distance.

Chance climbed down from the buggy and came around to assist
Rosalia to the ground. She settled her hat on her head, then shook the dust
from her skirt while Chance helped Teressa out of the buggy.

“I could have climbed down by myself,” she remarked,
smoothing her skirt.

He smiled down at her. “I know.” But then he would have had
no excuse to put his hands on her, to span her tiny waist, to feel her breasts
brush his chest as he lowered her feet to the ground.

She looked up at him, as if trying to read his mind, only to
have her thoughts interrupted by her mother.

“Mr. McCloud?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bryant?”

“Would it be possible for us to wash up?”

“Of course.” He tossed the reins over the hitch rail in
front of the house. Going around to the rear of the buggy, he lifted their
valises and started up the steps.

“Come along, Tessa,” Rosalia said. “Let us go and see what
we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Teressa tried to take in everything at once as they entered
the house. There was a small entryway; several brass hooks were on the wall to
the left, there was a hat rack in the corner beside the door.

The parlor was large and rectangular. The floor was of
polished wood; a buffalo robe was spread in front of an enormous stone
fireplace. There was a gun rack over the mantle. The furniture was large and
dark and comfortable-looking.

They walked down a narrow hallway to a set of stairs. A peek
in the door on the left showed a kitchen.

She followed her mother and Chance up the stairs. Chance
paused on the landing. “Do you want separate rooms?”

Teressa nodded; Rosalia said no.

“Well,” Chance asked, looking from one woman to the other, “what’s
it to be?”

“I would like my own room, Mama. I have not had a room or a
bed of my own in a very long time.”

Rosalia regarded her daughter for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well.”

Chance opened the door to his left and stepped inside. “Mrs.
Bryant, I trust you’ll be comfortable here,” he said, dropping her valise on
the foot of the bed. “This was my father’s room. Please, make yourself at home.”

“
Grazie, Signore
.”

“Teressa’s room is next door,” Chance said.

He stepped into the hallway, smiled wryly when both women
followed him. Apparently Mrs. Bryant didn’t intend for her daughter to be alone
with him if she had anything to do with it.

Teressa glanced around. This room was smaller than the
previous one. A brass bed with a colorful quilt was located next to a large
window. An oval mirror hung over a chest of drawers that looked as if it had
been well used. There were a couple of rag rugs on the floor; a dream catcher
hung on one wall alongside a feathered Lakota lance. She knew immediately that
this was his room. He confirmed it a moment later when he opened the armoire
and pulled out a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a pair of moccasins.