Wolf Shadow (3 page)

Now, she felt her cheeks warm at the thought of seeing him
again.

Wiping a wisp of hair from her brow, she sat back on her
heels and stretched her arms over her head. It was then that she saw the
stranger ride into camp. He wore black trousers, a dark gray shirt, and a long
black duster that was pushed back behind the gun he wore on his hip.

At first, she thought he was a
wasichu
, and she felt
a quick surge of fear. Dawn Song’s older brother had been killed in battle by
the Long Knives. Almost everyone Winter Rain knew had lost a loved one at the
hands of the
wasichu
. She stood there, her heart beating wildly. Should
she raise an alarm? Was the village in danger of attack? And then she noticed
his long black hair, his dark skin, the way he rode boldly into the camp, as
though assured of a welcome, and she realized that although he was a stranger
to her, he must be one of the People, to have made it this far into the village
unchallenged.

Her gaze moved over him again, more closely this time. He
had broad shoulders, high cheekbones, a nose that was slightly crooked, a
strong jaw, a generous mouth. There were fine lines at his eyes, lines that
were caused by squinting into the sun, she thought, and not from smiling,
though she couldn’t say why she thought that. Perhaps it was his expression,
which seemed closed and bitter. There was an air of danger about him that
wasn’t entirely due to the pistol riding on his hip.

He turned, as though aware of her perusal. Their gazes met
and she saw that his eyes were a cool gray under straight black brows. An odd
flutter erupted in the pit of her stomach when his gaze met hers. Flustered,
she dropped her fleshing tool on the ground and ducked into her mother’s lodge.

* * * * *

Chance stared after the girl. Unless he missed his guess,
she was the Bryant’s long lost daughter. He had seen her a time or two when he
had come to visit his cousin in years past, but he had never paid her any mind.
She had been too young to spark his interest before, but she had done some
growing up since he had last seen her. She had been a girl before, but she was
a young woman now. And quite a looker at that.

He glanced around the village as he rode toward his cousin’s
lodge, nodding to men he recognized. As always, when he returned here, he felt
a sense of coming home and he sat there a moment, watching the activity around
him.

As usual, there were dogs everywhere. Large dogs for
working, small dogs for eating. Most were black or brown, with pointed faces
and sharp ears that resembled those of a coyote. Chance remembered a large dog
his mother had had when he’d been a young boy. She had hooked the dog up to a
travois whenever she went to pick fruit. As she filled bags with berries, or
plums or cherries, she had piled them on the travois.

Giving Smoke a pat on the shoulder, Chance handed the mare’s
reins to Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s nine year-old son, Bear Chaser.

“Take good care of her for me,” he said, ruffling the boy’s
hair.

With a nod, Bear Chaser took the reins. “
Ai, leksi,”
he replied.

“Is your father inside?”

“
Ai
. Go on in,” Bear Chaser said, smiling. “He will
be happy to see you.”

“
Pilamaya.
”

Removing his hat, Chance ran a hand through his hair, then
ducked into his cousin’s lodge. Kills-Like-a-Hawk was the tribal medicine man.
Their mothers had been sisters. Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s mother, Laughing Dove,
lived in the village. Chance was still looking for the last of the four men who
had killed his own mother.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk was sitting cross-legged on a robe,
wrapping layers of rawhide around the handle of a skinning knife, when Chance
entered the lodge.

It was a large tipi, made from seventeen or eighteen buffalo
hides. The beds were folded near the rear. The place of honor was located
opposite the door at the back of the lodge. There were backrests made of willow
poles.
Parfleches
containing food and clothing were stacked out of the
way. A water bag hung from a forked pole near the door. Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s
shield hung from another pole at the rear of the lodge. A small altar was
located behind the fire pit. Buffalo robes, hair side up, covered the floor. As
always, the lodge was clean and neat.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk was almost ten years older than Chance,
and wise beyond his years. He was a tall man, with a strong blade of a nose,
prominent cheekbones, and piercing black eyes. It was said he could foretell
the future, that he could command the wind and harness the whirlwind. There
were times when Chance believed it.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk looked up, a smile of welcome lighting his
face when he saw Chance. His wife, Dancing Crane, covered her mouth with her
hand to hide her surprise. She was a pretty woman, a little on the plump side,
with black eyes and a ready smile.

“
Hau, ciye
, welcome to my lodge.” Kills-Like-a-Hawk
rose lithely to his feet and embraced his cousin. “It has been too long since
we saw you here. Come, sit.”

Dancing Crane gave him a shy smile. “Will you eat?”

Chance nodded. “Sounds good.
Pilamaya
.”

Dancing Crane went outside. Like many of the women, she did
most of her cooking outside during the warm summer months.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk resumed his seat and Chance dropped down
across from him.

“So, my brother,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk said. “Have you come
home to stay?”

Chance shook his head. “No.”

Kills-Like-a-Hawk regarded his cousin through knowing eyes.
“You are still looking for the one who wronged you.”

Chance nodded.

“You will never find the peace you are seeking until you put
your hatred behind you.”

Chance met his cousin’s gaze. “There can be no peace for me
while he lives.”

“He is not here,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk said. “Why have you
come?”

“I’m looking for a woman.”

A slow smile spread over Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s face. “You seek
a wife here, among our people?”

“I told you before, I’m not the marryin’ kind. This woman
was captured by the People when she was a child.”

Comprehension dawned in Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s eyes. “You speak
of Winter Rain.”

“I think so. She’s the right age, and she fits the
description.”

“Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance will not let her go. She is
their daughter now.”

“She has other parents who are anxious to see her. They have
been looking for her for ten years.”

Kills-Like-a-Hawk laid his weapon aside. “She is one of us.
You will not take Winter Rain away from the People unless she is willing to
go.”

Chance nodded. He had known he wouldn’t be able to just ride
in, grab the girl, and make a run for it. Not if he wanted to be welcomed in
the village again. Not if he wanted to keep his cousin’s respect. So. He would
just have to convince the girl to go with him, bribe her somehow if necessary,
maybe promise that he would bring her back here if she didn’t want to stay with
the Bryants. Hell, there was ten thousand dollars at stake, and he needed that
money.

Later that night, lying on his back on a pile of furs,
Chance stared up at the slice of sky visible through the smoke hole of his
lodge. Before leaving town, he had sent word to Dave Dreesen, foreman of the
Double C, that he would be gone for awhile.

He blew out a deep breath. It was good to be among his
mother’s people again. He loved the ranch and what he had accomplished there, but
this was home. His best memories, and his worst, were tied to this place, this
land.

He smiled faintly as the lilting notes of
siyotanka
,
the courting flute, were carried to him on the night wind. Somewhere in the
dark, a warrior sat near the lodge of his beloved, pouring out his heart
through a Lakota courting flute. And somewhere in a dark lodge, a maiden
smiled.

Lakota courtship was, of necessity, carried out within the
confines of the village, though couples often managed to meet “by accident”
when the girl was gathering wood or water. Still, it was not safe for a couple
to venture far from the protection of the tribe, nor did most mothers allow
their daughters to wander away without a chaperone. To that end, when a young
man went courting, he took a big blanket with him. Standing beside the girl of
his choice, he lifted the blanket over their heads, cocooning them in a cloth
world away from prying eyes. If a girl were very popular, there might be as
many as a dozen young men waiting to spend a few minutes alone with her.
He wondered if anyone was courting the Bryants’ daughter. He closed his eyes
and her image came quickly to mind—a body as slender as a willow, brown hair so
dark it was almost black, eyes as blue as a robin’s egg beneath delicately arched
brows, a fine straight nose, lips that were pink and…

A sharp stab of desire twisted through him. Muttering an
oath, he shoved her image aside. Pretty or ugly, it didn’t matter. He had ten
thousand good reasons to get her back home as soon as possible. Her father’s
offer couldn’t have come at a better time.

* * * * *

Winter Rain smiled into the darkness as the notes of Strong
Elk’s flute wafted through the night air. She had met him earlier that evening
in front of her mother’s lodge and they had stood together under a big red
courting blanket. Huddled together, the blanket had given them a measure of
privacy, though Winter Rain was well aware that her mother was nearby.

Now, lying in her bed, she felt a little thrill of
excitement. He had been courting her openly for several months. In time, he
would bring her father many horses. If she fed them, it would mean she agreed
to be his wife. She found it odd that the thought of being courted was more
exciting than the idea of being married to Strong Elk and wondered if all
maidens felt that way. She thought of the stranger she had seen ride into the
village that afternoon. Hi stark image swept all thought of Strong Elk from her
mind. There was something about the stranger, something that called to her. She
had never spoken to him, did not know his name, yet just thinking about him
made her heart beat faster, made her wonder what it would be like to be held in
his arms…

She frowned, confused by her chaotic emotions. She was fond
of Strong Elk. She had imagined herself falling in love with him, but he did
not stir any deep feelings within her.

She rolled over onto her stomach and closed her eyes.
Unbidden, the stranger’s image again sprang to the forefront of her mind. He
was a tall man, perhaps even taller even than her father. And more handsome
than Strong Elk. He moved with a fluid grace that made her think of a mountain
lion hunting its prey. She didn’t remember seeing him before and she wondered
who he was and why he was here. He had gone to visit Kills-Like-a-Hawk. Were
they friends? Relatives, perhaps? How long would he be here? Perhaps Strong Elk
or her father would know who the stranger was and where he came from.

She was still thinking of him when she fell asleep.

Chapter Three

Winter Rain rose early the following morning. Her first
waking thought was of the stranger, which was not surprising, she mused, since
she had dreamed of him all night long, horribly immodest dreams that had
awakened her, breathless and warm all over, several times in the night. She had
dreamed of standing with him in the sheltering folds of a courting blanket,
dreamed of his hands touching her face, his body pressed close to hers.
Remembering those dreams brought a wave of heat to her face.

Padding quietly out of the lodge, she made her way down to
the river, thinking she would bathe and then fill the waterskin with fresh
water.

She walked upriver to her favorite place, a clear blue pool
screened by young cottonwoods and tangled berry bushes.

She frowned at the sound of splashing, dismayed that someone
else had reached the pool before her. A doe flicked its tail and bounded across
her path as she drew near the river’s edge.

Peering through the brush, Winter Rain saw the stranger
standing in the waist-deep water. His back was toward her. A broad copper-hued
back marred by a thick spider web of faint white scars.

He rinsed the soap from his body, then turned and started
toward the shore. Winter Rain was no stranger to the sight of a man’s bare
chest but she found herself staring at him, admiring the width of his
shoulders, the finely sculpted muscles in his arms and chest, his hard flat
stomach, the way the sunlight glistened on his wet skin.

She wasn’t aware of making any noise but he paused abruptly,
his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shoreline.

Winter Rain froze, not wanting to be caught staring, felt
his gaze search her out.

“What do you want?” He put the question to her in flawless
Lakota.

“I did not mean to intrude,” she said, stepping out from
behind the brush. “I just came to bathe.”

He glanced around. “You picked a nice place for it.”

She nodded, unable to draw her gaze away from such masculine
perfection. Her mouth went dry as he took a step forward, apparently
unconcerned by his nudity or the thought of her seeing him that way. Water
dripped down his chest. He took another step and she realized that, very soon,
the water would no longer cover his private parts. She had seen naked men
before. There was no shame in it, couples often bathed and swam together. But
the thought of seeing this man naked was most unsettling and she quickly turned
her back to him.

His soft chuckle brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. She
stood there, her heart pounding as she listened to the soft whisper of cloth
being pulled over wet male skin.

“You can turn around now,” he said, a smile evident in his
tone.

Instead of the white man’s clothing he had worn the day
before, he now wore a wolfskin clout and moccasins. He had long muscular legs.
A knife was sheathed in a beaded belt at his waist. A small medicine bag
dangled from a rawhide thong around his neck.