Reckless Desire (22 page)

Cloud Walker nodded and left the house.

I put my arm around Shadow’s waist as we watched Mary go to her room. “Do you think they’ll wait?”

Shadow grinned wryly. “Do you?”

“No.”

In February Mattie Smythe came to call. She was all aflutter when I opened the door, her face flushed, her eyes fever bright.

“Mattie, what is it?” I cried in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“We’re going to Chicago!” Mattie exclaimed, waving a sheet of paper in my face. “Frank is rich! Oh, my, let me sit down. Here, read this.”

My eyes quickly scanned the letter. Frank was indeed rich. He had made several prudent investments in some railroad stock and some oil stock, and both had paid off far beyond his wildest dreams. He was, in short, close to being a millionaire.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Mattie said. “He’s buying a house for us next to the new one he’s building for himself, and he wants all of us to come and live in Chicago. David is quitting his job at the mercantile so he can go with us. Oh, I just can’t believe it! Oh, I almost forgot,” Mattie said, digging into her skirt pocket. “Here’s a letter for Mary. Well, I’ve got to go now. I’ve got so much to do. Give my love to the family.”

Mary’s letter read much the same as Mattie’s. Frank was rich. He was building a mansion to rival that of the Vanderbilts and the Goulds, and he wanted Mary to share it with him.

Mary fretted over Frank’s letter for days.

“I don’t love Frank,” she confided to me late one wintry evening. “Maybe I never did. I don’t know. I think I just wanted to play house and Frank seemed to fit the role of dutiful husband. Oh,
nahkoa
, I’m so confused. Sometimes I think I should go back to Frank and make the best of it. He is Katherine’s father, after all. But then I remember how he looked at her the day she was born, and how often he’s been unfaithful to me, and I hate him. And then there’s Cloud Walker. I love him,
nahkoa
, and I want to be with him always.”

My heart ached for Mary. We talked far into the night, and in the morning Mary wrote to Frank, congratulating him on his success, but she made no mention of returning to Chicago.

A few days later Shadow brought home a Chicago newspaper. Frank’s name was in the headlines in bold black print. The headline read: FRANK SMYTHE, FORMER RESIDENT OF BEAR VALLEY, FINDS SUCCESS IN CHICAGO.

Below, next to his picture, was a long story on how Frank had moved to Chicago and made his fortune. The article went into detail about the mansion he was building, and how he was bringing his parents to Chicago to share his wealth. There was a brief paragraph stating that his wife, the former Mary Kincaid, had returned to her hometown to care for her aged mother, who was quite ill and in need of constant attention.

“So that’s how he explains Mary’s extended absence,” I exclaimed angrily. “She’s home tending her ailing mother! That cad. Why doesn’t he just tell the truth?”

Shadow laughed, his dark eyes glowing with amusement. “Do not overtax yourself,” he teased. “Anger is not wise in one with ailing health.”

“Oh, shut up!”

When Mary read the article, she just shook her head. “I never knew Frank had so much pride. I guess he just can’t bear for anyone to think his marriage could be in trouble.”

“I can’t imagine anyone believing that a wife would stay away from her husband for so long without at least going back for a visit,” I muttered. “Aged mother, indeed!”

News of Frank’s good fortune spread throughout the valley. There was a going-away party for the Smythes in March, and practically everybody in Bear Valley was invited. Mary refused to attend.

“I don’t want everybody staring at me and wondering why Frank and I have separated,” Mary explained. “And I especially don’t want to listen to Mattie telling me my place is with my husband. Just give them my best and tell them I’ll miss them.”

A few days later a wire arrived at our house, the first we had ever received. It was for Cloud Walker and it carried sad news. His mother was ill, perhaps dying.

Cloud Walker began to pack immediately. His mother was all the family he had left.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mary asked.

“Yes,” Cloud Walker answered hesitantly. “Come with me.”

“To the reservation?”

Cloud Walker nodded. “I would like you to meet my mother. And I would like her to meet you.”

Mary looked at me. “Is it all right?” she asked. “Would you mind watching Katherine while I’m gone?”

“Of course not. Come along, I’ll help you pack.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

They had been traveling most of the day. Mary, mounted on the leopard Appaloosa filly, rode behind Cloud Walker. He was riding a barrel-chested gray gelding he had borrowed from Shadow. The horse was big and raw-boned, and it picked its way through the snowdrifts with ease, leaving a trail that was easy for the filly to follow.

Mary’s thoughts were mixed as they rode along. She was glad for a chance to be alone with Cloud Walker, yet a little afraid of what might happen between them. She was determined to remain physically faithful to Frank, yet she doubted her ability to do so for much longer. The attraction she felt for Cloud Walker grew stronger each day, as did the love she felt for him. He was such a good man, kind and caring, strong and reliable, with a deep sense of pride in who and what he was.

She gazed at his back, ramrod straight, and wondered if she was hoping, deep inside, that he would be able to crumble her resistance once they were alone together. Wasn’t that why she had been so eager to accompany him? In her heart she knew it was, though she was loath to admit it even to herself.

With an effort she turned her thoughts from Cloud Walker and tried to imagine what his mother would be like. He had never mentioned that his mother was still alive, and Mary had assumed he was alone in the world. One thing she was not looking forward to was returning to the reservation. The short time she had spent on reservations as a child had been time enough.

At dusk Cloud Walker drew rein in the shelter of a tall bluff. Dismounting, he lifted Mary to the ground, then unsaddled their horses. Hobbling the mare and the gelding, he turned them loose to find what forage they could.

Mary cast about for something to say, but nothing came to mind. Picking up Cloud Walker’s saddlebags, she began to rummage around inside for the cooking utensils. She was acutely aware of Cloud Walker standing behind her, and of the fact that they were alone out in the middle of the prairie. Quite alone.

Her hands were trembling as she laid a fire, filled the coffee pot with water from her canteen, and began to prepare dinner. Night came quickly, surrounding them in a cozy cocoon of darkness, with only the faint glow of their campfire for light.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Mary said, handing Cloud Walker a plate filled with meat and potatoes.

Cloud Walker nodded. His hand brushed Mary’s as he took the plate she offered him, and the mere touch of her flesh on his caused his heart to pound. How could he be alone with her for three nights? Asking her to accompany him to the reservation had been a mistake, he could see that now. He could not ride with her, talk to her, sleep across the fire from her, and not touch her. He was only a man of flesh and blood, not a man of stone.

They ate in silence, the tension between them almost crackling. Mary kept her eyes on her plate, afraid to look up, afraid that Cloud Walker would see the desire that was surely shining in her eyes. She tried to think about Katherine, tried to remember that she was a married woman, but all she could think about was being out on the prairie alone with Cloud Walker.

When dinner was over, Cloud Walker rose quickly to his feet. “I am going to scout around,” he said gruffly, and taking up his rifle, he left the campfire.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. She hurriedly washed and dried their few dishes, spread their bedrolls on either side of the campfire, then crawled into her blankets and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

But sleep would not come. She tossed and turned for several minutes and then curled into a tight ball, determined to relax. She did not hear Cloud Walker return, but she knew instantly that he was there. From beneath the veil of her lashes she glanced across the campfire, saw him remove his heavy buckskin shirt. His skin was the color of dark bronze in the faint glow of the dying fire, the muscles in his arms clearly outlined as he moved. His long black hair fell over his shoulders.

Mary’s mouth went dry as she watched him stretch. How like a wild Cheyenne warrior he looked in the afterglow of the fire. Never had he looked more handsome, more virile, than he did now with the faint light of the coals dancing over his face and the darkness spread out behind him. A queer, little tingle started in the pit of her stomach as she watched him take a last look around their camp before crawling under his blankets. Her heart was beating so hard she was surprised he could not hear it. When, at last, sleep came, her dreams were filled with images of Cloud Walker holding her, touching her, kissing her…

They rose early after a restless night. Mary prepared a hasty breakfast while Cloud Walker watered the horses at a nearby stream. After breakfast, Mary washed and dried the dishes and secured their bedrolls while Cloud Walker saddled the horses.

Mary felt better when they were on the trail again. The prairie spread before them for seemingly endless miles, a vast white expanse of gently rolling hills and stands of dense timber. Overhead the sky was a clear, bright blue.

In the old days the Indians would have been holed up in the Black Hills, seeking shelter in the steep canyons where the high walls blocked the cold, winter wind. Her mother had told her of the symbols and pictures etched on the walls, drawn by various bands to record their history or point the way to convenient campsites and waterholes. Mary had never seen the Black Hills, which were not hills at all but mountains, but her mother had told her of their beauty, of the elk and deer, bobcats and bears, mountain lions and golden eagles that made their home in the hills and canyons. She had a sudden yearning to see the sacred hills, to stand on ground where Indians had once lived, to see the land where her father had once roamed.

As the hours slipped by, Mary began to feel as if they were the only two people left in all the world. Once she saw a fox trotting across the trackless prairie, but that was the only sign of life she saw all that day.

At dusk Cloud Walker drew rein in a stand of timber and they made camp for the night. Mary was determined that they would not have to endure the awful silence of the night before.

“Tell me about your mother,” she said after dinner. “What is she like?”

“Gentle,” Cloud Walker answered, staring into the flames. “Gentle, but not weak. She raised me after my father died.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He was killed at the Greasy Grass.”

“My father was there, too,” Mary remarked.

Cloud Walker nodded. “I wish I had been old enough to fight. I wish our people had never surrendered.”

Mary smiled sympathetically. “You sound just like Hawk,” Mary mused, “but it doesn’t do any good to dwell on what can’t be. My father taught me that. No one yearns for the old days as much as he does, but he doesn’t waste time looking back. To survive, you have to go forward.”

“It is easier for a woman.”

“I guess so, though I don’t understand why men are all so eager to fight. War only brings death and heartache.”

“So does life on the reservation,” Cloud Walker retorted bitterly. “The Cheyenne are a proud people. Our men are brave and wise. They are not children yet we are treated as though we cannot take care ourselves. The Indian agent tells us what to do and what to wear. They are trying to turn us into white men. They take the children from the reservation and send them away to school. They cut their hair, and punish them if they speak the Cheyenne language. They want our men to be farmers, but we are not farmers. We are hunters. Our old people grow sick and die. Our young men drink too much firewater because it helps them forget they are no longer warriors.”

Cloud Walker stared into the darkness. “Our people get sick, and no one cares. If that Army doctor had had come just a little sooner, Prairie Grass Woman would still be alive, and my child with her. But he would not come, and now they are dead. Now my mother is ill. Perhaps she, too, is dead by now.”

Mary’s heart ached for the sadness in Cloud Walker’s voice, for the naked hurt in his dark eyes. Rising, she walked around the fire and knelt beside him, her arm going around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort and understanding.

Slowly Cloud Walker turned to face her, and for a timeless moment their eyes met and held. And then, ever so slowly, his head moved toward hers.

He’s going to kiss me
, Mary thought, and even as the idea crossed her mind, his lips were touching hers. Heat suffused Mary from head to foot as Cloud Walker’s mouth crushed hers. His arms held her close, so close she could scarcely breathe. His body was trembling with desire, and she had no thought to resist.

She was breathless when he took his lips from her.

“Mary.” His desire for her was there in the throaty whisper of his voice as he murmured her name. She saw the love and the wanting in his eyes, and she swayed toward him. She had said no for too long. Tonight she would follow her heart.

Cloud Walker’s pulse quickened as he realized that she wanted him as he wanted her. For the space of a heartbeat, neither one moved. And then, ever so slowly, Cloud Walker began to unfasten Mary’s shirt. Mary’s throat went dry as he slipped the soft flannel material from her shoulders. She shivered as the cool air touched her skin and Cloud Walker pulled her against him, letting his body heat warm her as he removed the rest of her clothing and then his own. In moments they were lying side by side, their bodies pressed together.

Mary was surprised by the desperate yearning that Cloud Walker’s kisses aroused. Once, she had thought herself frigid because Frank’s caresses had left her cold and unmoved, but now she was on fire. Her eager hands roamed over Cloud Walker’s flesh, wanting to explore every inch, wanting to memorize every plane and hollow. His breath came hard and fast as her hands wandered over his body, and then it was his turn and Mary gasped with delight as his fingers dancing over her breasts and belly and thighs. His lips kissing her face and breasts, his tongue stroked her belly until she cried out with sweet pain, begging him to possess her.