Wolf Shadow Read Online Free Page B

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.