Wolf Shadow (4 page)

“You are Winter Rain?”

She nodded, suddenly aware that she was far from the
village, alone with a stranger. If she called for help, no one would hear her.

“I am Wolf Shadow,” he said. “Cousin to Kills-Like-a-Hawk.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, felt her cheeks grow warm
once more as his gaze moved over her in a long lingering glance.

Chance watched the color bloom in Winter Rain’s cheeks.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Bryants’ daughter. Her
resemblance to Rosalia Bryant was unmistakable. She had her mother’s olive
skin, dark hair, and delicate bone structure, and her father’s deep blue eyes.
His gaze moved to her lips—smooth pink lips that she moistened with the tip of
her tongue.

Like a doe poised to take flight, she stood there watching
him, her eyes wide and uncertain. Did she feel it, too, the attraction that
sizzled between them like summer lightning? What would she do if he closed the
distance between them, if he took her in his arms and slanted his mouth over
hers, if he tasted her lips to see if they were as soft, as warm, as sweet, as
they appeared? Clad in a simple doeskin tunic, her hair falling over her
shoulders in twin braids, she looked young and vulnerable. He could see the
pulse throbbing rapidly in her throat. One kiss. What could it hurt?

As though divining his thoughts, she crossed her arms over
her breasts and took a step backward.

With a wry grin, he picked up his rifle and rested the
barrel on his shoulder. “Enjoy your bath,
chikala
.”

She watched him walk away. Only when he was out of sight did
her heart stop its wild pounding and her breathing return to normal.

When she was certain she was alone, she slipped out of her
dress and moccasins and waded out into the water. She unbraided her hair and
combed her fingers through it. And as she washed her hair, she thought of the
way his had looked, long and blue-black in the sunlight. She soaped her arms
and thought of his. Were they as strong as they looked? What would it be like
to feel his arms around her, to run her hands over his biceps? She washed her
breasts and thought of his broad shoulders and chest. She washed her legs and
pictured his, long and well muscled. She reached around to wash her back and
thought of his. How had he gotten those awful scars? Had someone whipped him? Who
would do such a terrible thing? And why?

With a shake of her head, she stepped out of the water,
dried herself off with a piece of soft trade cloth, and slipped her dress on
over her head. Sitting on a rock, she pulled on her moccasins. She was spending
far too much time thinking about a man she didn’t even know, yet she couldn’t
seem to stop herself.

She thought about him while she gathered wood, while she cut
out a new pair of moccasins for her mother, while she roasted a slice of
buffalo meat for dinner. She wondered who he was and where he came from and why
he didn’t live in the village all year. And that night, as she crawled into
bed, she wondered if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere.

Later that night, Chance stood at the river’s edge, his
thoughts far away. The full moon overhead was reflected on the face of the
slow-moving water, shining silver against midnight blue. A faint breeze stirred
the leaves of the trees. A coyote howled in the distance, its lonely lament
echoing the pain he carried deep in his soul. A muscle twitched in his back. It
had been on a quiet midsummer night like this a little more than nine years ago
when outlaws had killed his mother and left him for dead.

Since then, he had found three of the men, but the fourth
man, the leader of the gang, continued to elude him. He had stuck to the trail
like a burr to a saddle blanket until three years ago, when his father got
sick. Though Chance hated to quit the trail, he’d had no other choice, and he
had returned home to care for his old man. Six months later, his father passed
away.

Shortly after that, Chance had been contacted by the bank
and learned, for the first time, about the huge mortgage on the ranch. As much
as Chance had longed to resume the hunt for the man who had killed his mother,
there had been no time. He had gone over his father’s books, paid off the debts
he could and managed to come up with enough cash to keep the bank from
foreclosing. From time to time, he had been hired to search for men, women, or
children who had been captured or lost in Indian territory. Most of the time,
he had managed to find those who had been taken captive by the Lakota and the
Cheyenne. In most cases, he had been able to buy the captives from the warriors
who held them prisoner. Occasionally, he’d had only bad news to give to the
parents, or to the husband or wife who was looking for lost loved ones.

Picking up a stone, he sent it skipping across the water. He
would not be able to buy Teressa Elizabeth Bryant’s freedom from Mountain Sage
and Eagle Lance. She was not their prisoner or their slave, but their daughter.
They would not willingly let her go.

Feeling suddenly restless, he began walking along the shore.
He wondered how much Teressa remembered of her former life. Did she secretly
yearn to return to her rightful parents, or had she blocked all memory of
Edward and Rosalia and her life with them from her mind? And what would he do
if she refused to go back with him?

He was pondering several possibilities when he rounded a
bend of the river and ran into the object of his musings.

A wordless cry erupted from her throat as she lashed out at
him with her fists.

“Quit that!” He grabbed her in a bear hug, pinning her arms
to her sides. His breath went out of him in a whoosh of pain as she drove her
knee into his groin. Pain exploded through him.

“Dammit, Teressa,” he said, gasping for air, “I’m not going
to hurt you.”

She stopped struggling and he let her go, doubling over in an
effort to ease the ache in his groin. After a moment, he looked up to find her
staring at him, a shocked expression on her face.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice shaky. “I thought…” She
shrugged. “I did not recognize you. I thought you might be Crow.”

Chance grunted. “What are you doing out here so late
anyway?” He tried breathing through his mouth to ease the pain. That didn’t
help either.

“I could not sleep.” She regarded him through narrowed,
thoughtful eyes. ”Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” he said, lapsing into English.

“Teressa.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You…”
She spoke haltingly, in English, as though trying to recall the words. “You
called me Teressa.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I am Winter Rain.”

“You know that’s not true. You’re Teressa Elizabeth Bryant.”

“No! I am Winter Rain. My mother is Mountain Sage…”

“Your mother’s name is Rosalia Bryant.”

“And my father is Eagle Lance. He is a great warrior…”

“Your father is Edward Bryant,” Chance went on doggedly.
“He’s a wealthy man, and he wants you back.”

“
Heyah
,
heyah
,
heyah
!” she cried. No,
no, no!

Turning her back to him, she put her hands over her ears.

Chance drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long
shuddering sigh. One more breath, and he slowly straightened up. Damn, she’d
got him right where it hurt.

“Teressa?”

She shook her head. “I will not listen! I will not!”

He swore under his breath as he realized she was crying and
trying not to let him know.

“Why did you have to come here?” she asked, sniffling.

He stared at her back. Her shoulders were shaking. “Your
parents sent me to find you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I remembered seeing you when I was here year before last.
You look exactly like your mother. Except for your eyes,” he said, recalling
Rosalia’s words. “You have your father’s eyes.”

She started to deny it, then realized he wasn’t talking
about Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, but her
wasichu
parents, Edward and
Rosalia. “I do not believe you.”

“I’m surprised you remember English so well after such a
long time.”

She turned to face him, her eyes widening a little. “I often
interpret for the
wasichu
traders who come here. They cannot cheat my
people if they know I understand what they are saying.”

“And where did you learn to speak English, if not from your
wasichu
mother and father?”

She didn’t answer, but he saw the confusion in her eyes.
Maybe she really didn’t remember where she had come from or who her real
parents were.

His gaze moved over her face. In the light of the full moon,
he could see the tears shining in her eyes. Answering some inner need, he drew
her into his arms again, careful to turn his body to the side in case she tried
to knee him again.

She stood rigid in his embrace for several moments and then,
with a sob, she leaned into him, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder,
her body racked by sobs.

He held her close, one hand lightly stroking her back while
she cried. He had always been a sucker for a woman’s tears. Sympathy for her
plight gradually turned to his awareness of her as a woman. Her breasts were
soft and warm against his chest, her hair and skin smelled faintly of the yucca
soap she had bathed with earlier that day.

When she looked up at him, he cupped her face in his hands
and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She looked lost and
forlorn and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Unable to help
himself, he lowered his head and kissed her. Just a taste, he thought, one
quick kiss to see if she was as sweet as she looked. One kiss, given to comfort
her.

Bending down, he covered her lips with his.

She immediately drew back, her eyes wide. “What are you
doing?”

“I was going to kiss you,” he muttered.

“Kiss?”

Of course, he thought, she wouldn’t know what it was. Living
with the Lakota, she had probably never been kissed before, would have no frame
of reference other than the kisses she had received from her parents when she
was a child.

“Let me show you,” he said, and tilting her head to one
side, he covered her lips with his own.

He drew back when she didn’t do anything, simply stood
there, her eyes wide and staring into his own.

Chance ran a hand through his hair. How the devil did you
teach someone to kiss? “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then did as he
asked.

Cupping the back of her head in one hand, he slanted his
mouth over hers and kissed her lightly.

She didn’t move, just stood there with her eyes closed.

“It’s better if you kiss me back.”

“I do not know how.”

“Press your lips against mine.”

She was a quick study. When their lips met this time, it was
like touching a flame to gunpowder. He felt the explosion down to the soles of
his moccasins.

When he could breathe again, he drew back a little to look
into her eyes. She was staring up at him, looking as dazed as he felt.

Not trusting himself to keep his hands off her, he backed
away. He was there to collect a reward, he reminded himself, not to seduce her.

“Come on,” he said, his voice none too steady. “I’ll walk you
back.”

She didn’t sleep at all that night. She tried to shut out
the words of Wolf Shadow, but they were seared into her mind. Could it be true?
Could her parents be white? She choked back a sob. No, it couldn’t be true. He
was lying.

“Teressa Elizabeth Bryant.” She whispered the words into the
darkness. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something forgotten from her
childhood.

And yet…what if it
was
true? It would explain why she
had no memories of growing up with her Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, why her
skin was fair, why her eyes were blue, why she understood the white man’s
language. Why had she never wondered about these things before?

She glanced over at Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance, sleeping
soundly on the other side of the lodge. They were her parents! No mother could
be kinder, sweeter, or love her more. No father could be braver.

She rolled onto her stomach and forced her troublesome
thoughts from her mind. Sleep. She needed to sleep, but the minute she closed
her eyes, the face of Wolf Shadow rose in her mind and with it the memory of
his arms around her, his touch as he wiped away her tears, the heat of his
mouth on hers. Kissing. She liked it very much, she thought. Just thinking of
his kiss sent little shivers of excitement coursing through her. She ran the
tip of her tongue over her lips. Was it possible that she could still taste him
there, or was it just her imagination?

She smiled into the darkness, wondering if she would see him
tomorrow. Wondering if he would kiss her again.

Chapter Four

Mountain Sage frowned as she studied her daughter’s face. Winter
Rain, who was usually lighthearted and smiling, seemed distracted and subdued.

“Daughter?” Mountain Sage tapped Winter Rain on the
shoulder. “Are you feeling well?”

Winter Rain looked up, surprised by the question.

“Is something troubling you? Has Strong Elk done something
to upset you?”

“No, nothing.” Winter Rain hesitated a moment. “Do you know
the stranger who came to the village yesterday?”

“Wolf Shadow? Yes. He is cousin to Kills-Like-a-Hawk.”
Mountain Sage laid the shirt she had been mending aside. “Did he hurt you in
some way?”

“No. No, nothing like that. But he…”

“Should I call your father?”

“No!”

“My daughter, if you do not tell me what is bothering you, I
cannot help.”

Winter Rain folded her hands in her lap, the doubts that had
haunted her the night before running through her mind. Should she confide in
her mother? Should she ask the questions that had kept her tossing and turning
all through the night?