Call of the White Wolf Page 18

  John laid his arm over Calvin’s drooping shoulders. “The point is that I didn’t want to do to you what was done to me, Cal. I wasn’t old enough or strong enough to do what was demanded of me. I had to grow up before my time and didn’t have much of a childhood. I don’t want that for you.

  “What Samuel and Derek did today took a good deal of strength. Restraining wild horses isn’t easy work, but what I need you to do tomorrow is every bit as important. We’re going to gentle the horses to ride. Samuel and Derek may be the caballeros who rounded up the mustangs and will train them, but you will be the horse whisperer.”

  “Horse whisperer?” he echoed, perking up immediately.

  John nodded his dark head. “Another old Apache trick that you’ll be exceptionally good at. In fact, I was hoping to go over the procedure after supper. That is, if you want to learn.”

  Calvin hopped off the boulder, squared his thin-bladed shoulders and nodded enthusiastically. “Just show me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  John could barely detect the boy’s limp as they strode, side by side, to the cabin. But then, it was difficult for a kid to limp when he was practically walking on air, John reminded himself wryly.

  “It appears that you worked your magic on Cal,” Tara murmured as John helped her clear the supper table.

  John made it a point not to venture too close while they shared kitchen duty. He didn’t trust himself with Tara any more than he trusted an outlaw to tell the truth. In his experience, twisting a man’s arm a dozen different ways or making him think death was imminent was the only way of getting at the truth. His truth was that he’d learned to function reasonably well if he didn’t venture closer than five feet from Tara.

  That was his limit.

  John had accepted and acknowledged his limitations. In his line of work overconfidence and reckless daring could get him killed real quick.

  “Just what did you say to bolster Cal’s self-esteem?” Tara asked.

  John set the bowls on the new counter he’d installed early that morning in order to give Tara more working space. “I told him that I had special training lined up so he’d be doing his part in gentling the mustangs. This winter, when money is short, you’ll have horses to sell to miners or travelers, and the animals will be well adapted to this rugged terrain and climate.”

  Tara refused to meet his gaze. She busied herself with scraping the dishes. “Thank you, John. We appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

  Damn it, it was hard to behave as if he and Tara were mere acquaintances who shared the same living space. They’d been as close as two people could get, had learned each other’s bodies by touch, by taste…by heart. The emotional indifference he’d perfected the past five years wasn’t worth a whit when he was with Tara. He felt; he cared. If time and distance didn’t alleviate his fierce and constant wanting, didn’t quell this compelling need to share an intimate closeness with one person—namely her—he’d probably go stark raving crazy. He had the un-shakable feeling that loneliness was going to top the list of things he disliked about his solitary life.

  For the umpteenth time, John restrained himself from reaching out to pull Tara into his arms. He couldn’t allow her to hold any hope of anything permanent between them, couldn’t let himself hold one ounce of optimism. Even from here he could hear the incessant cries of the Apache, could feel their misery seeping into his soul. And Raven, damn his hide, kept making matters worse by raiding and plundering and murdering and refusing to heed Gray Eagle’s command to give up the useless fight.

  “Why don’t you go outside and give Calvin another dose of self-confidence?” Tara suggested. “I can finish up in here.”

  Like him, she was careful to maintain distance, John noted. She avoided meeting his gaze directly. John hated this awkward tension between them, but it was the only way to ensure they didn’t touch. He remembered with vivid clarity what happened when they ignored self-restraint. Their explosive need for each other was worse than setting fire to blasting powder.

  John breathed a deep, cleansing breath the moment he strode outside. He needed to clear his head and his senses of Tara. He smiled faintly, recalling the purification ritual the Apache used on occasion. He’d have to revert to the ritual to rid himself of all the feelings and sensations he couldn’t take with him when he left Paradise Valley. He knew a part-time lawman and part-time bounty hunter who carried around emotional baggage had one foot planted in his own grave.

  Resolutely, John focused his thoughts on the mustangs. He located Calvin to give instructions, then rounded up the other children. Since the horses were restrained, it didn’t take much effort for Samuel and Derek to lasso the steeds’ feet and pull the animals to the ground. Even Calvin managed to toss a loop on the dirt for one of the mustangs to step into. Of course, Calvin went flying off the fence where he was perched when the horse battled futilely, then flopped onto its side and snorted in disgust.

  Apparently Calvin hadn’t landed on his pride because he quickly scrambled to his feet and scuttled toward the downed horse to secure his loop. The boy smiled victoriously when he had the mustang’s legs bound tightly with rope.

  “Good work, Cal,” John said approvingly. “You, too, Derek and Samuel. Now we begin the taming sessions.” He gestured for Calvin to retrieve the strips torn from gunnysacks he’d gathered.

  John watched Calvin place his booted foot on the horse’s neck to hold it steady so he could tie the blindfold in place. After each horse was blindfolded with a strip of gunnysack, Calvin squatted down to blow his breath on the animal’s flaring nostrils. He spoke soothingly and calmly, allowing the steed to adjust and accept his scent, to become familiar with the sound of his voice. After several minutes Calvin laid his hand lightly on the horse’s neck, stroking from jaw to muzzle, then back again.

  The other children hung over the fence rails, watching in fascination while Calvin worked with the horses. At first the mustangs objected to Calvin’s touch and flinched at the sound of his voice, but he cooed softly and never lifted his hand while he bent down to breathe on each horse’s face.

  “How come he’s kissing the horses?” Flora questioned—as only Flora could.

  “He isn’t kissing them. He’s whispering to them so they’ll become familiar with his scent, his voice and his touch,” John explained. “Blindfolded and restrained, the horses have nothing else to do but focus on Calvin. Eventually they’ll learn that he means them no harm, that they can trust him to be kind to them.”

  After a few more minutes passed, Calvin settled down beside one of the steeds, his hand draped over its withers. The mustang’s muscular body twitched, its ears pricked up and its nostrils flared. But Calvin continued to lie beside the animal, to stroke it gently. The children watched in amazement as Calvin scooted closer to drape an arm and leg over the downed horse.

  “He’s letting the horse adjust to the idea of having someone on his back,” Samuel declared. “Well, I’ll be da—er—darn. The horse has stopped flinching! They’re cuddled up like two bugs in a rug!”

  John glanced over his shoulder when he heard the front door creak. From the look on Tara’s face, he was sure she was about to have a seizure when she saw Calvin lying in the corral with five wild horses. The boy was sprawled across one of them. Her frantic gaze swung to John, but after a moment she visibly relaxed.

  The faith and trust she placed in him was altogether humbling. He felt a funny little flitter in the vicinity of his heart, and he had to glance away to compose himself. Damn it, the very last thing he needed was to get more sentimental than he already was when it came to this captivating woman and these adorable kids.

  “Wow, Calvin! You’re doing a dandy job,” Tara praised as she approached the corral. “You’ll have those mustangs eating out of your hand in no time at all.”

  Calvin, of course, glowed with pride, but he didn’t allow himself to become distracted from his task. He was, after all, the leading authority on horse whispering.


  “I’m getting hungry again,” Flora declared. “Are there any cookies left?”

  Tara nodded. The waning sunlight glistened in her hair. John resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers through the silky gold strands. Damn, his sap was rising again, and all he was doing was staring at her, wanting her, aching for her like hell blazing.

  “How can you be hungry so soon after supper?” Tara questioned, bewildered. “It hasn’t been an hour since we ate. Come to think of it, you’ve been eating like a horse lately, Flora.”

  “That’s ’cause Zohn Whoof gave me a special herb to chew on.” She fished a leafy stem from her pocket to display to the other children. “Zohn Whoof says it will increase my aphatype so I can get bigger and stronger.”

  Tara gave the little girl an affectionate hug. “I do believe it’s working, because it seems to me that you’ve been gaining weight and it looks exceptionally good on you, Flora.”

  “Yeah,” the other kids chimed in, “you look mighty good.”

  Flora, her dark eyes sparkling, hoisted herself up a little straighter on the fence rail. “Someday I’ll be a horse whisperer, too, just like Calvin.” Her arm shot toward the downed horse. “Can I have that strawberry colored horse for my own? Can I, Zohn Whoof? Please?”

  “Sorry, dumplin’, these horses are being trained to sell. Fast as you’re growing, Irish will need extra money to buy new clothes, come winter.”

  Obviously the anticipation of new clothes was as appealing as having a horse of her very own because Flora nodded agreeably, then skipped off to the cabin in search of cookies.

  “How long does Calvin have to work with the horses?” Samuel questioned. “Can we help him?”

  John nodded. “If you like. Just make sure you follow Calvin’s lead and don’t overwhelm the horses by trying to get acquainted with them too quickly. They’ve been wild their entire lives. Tomorrow morning, we’ll let them stand up. They’ll be easier to manage, and less coordinated after being tied down all night. When we halter-break them, then climb on their backs, it will be more difficult for them to buck and kick.”

  The children scrambled over the fence to practice Calvin’s procedure, leaving John and Tara alone. He shuffled sideways, then propped his elbows on the top rail to watch the children gentling the mustangs.

  “When are you leaving?” Tara questioned without glancing in his direction.

  “Three days. I’ll ride into town to telegraph the office in Prescott. Then I’ll take to the outlaws’ trail again.”

  John would not mention, now or ever, that he knew Raven by name. As far as the officials at headquarters were concerned, John had no connection to any of the gang members. And that’s the way it had to stay if he had any hope of returning Raven to San Carlos. Sneaking Raven onto the reservation and giving him the identity of a deceased tribe member would be mere child’s play compared to tracking him and his ruthless cohorts down.

  In addition to notifying headquarters, John intended to wire for money so he could leave Tara with a small nest egg to see her through the next few months until the horses were trained and ready to sell.

  His attention shifted back to the children, who were crawling slowly and carefully over the downed horses, murmuring softly, imprinting the animals with their scent and touch. Damn, he was going to miss these kids like crazy. And Tara most of all, he mused. They had filled up all the empty places in his heart and soul and drove home the point that there had been something important missing from his life, something he’d ignored for years. But those deeply buried feelings of need, of companionship, of belonging were mushrooming inside him, and he wondered if he could ever stem this tide of feelings again.

  Ironic, John thought. He had remained here to recover from injury, but the gaping wound of caring too much about this unique family might never heal.

  He wasn’t coming—again. Tara hadn’t really expected John to appear in her room at the stroke of midnight. Fool that she was, she kept hoping.

  Three days…The depressing thought made her coil into a tight ball on her bed. But nothing eased the feeling of emptiness and longing that nearly overwhelmed her. Once again Tara reminded herself that she hadn’t asked for more in life than to reunite the children and make a home in Arizona Territory. Now she was selfishly wishing she could keep John forever. She’d known since the day she settled in this canyon that she’d never find her soul mate and that no man would be interested in providing and caring for her ready-made family. Yet here she was, wishing John could be her impossible dream come true.

  “Go to sleep,” she ordered herself.

  A few hours later she finally managed to stop tossing and turning, and dozed off into forbidden dreams.

  She wasn’t coming—again.

  John stared at the loft window, watching moonbeams stream across the grass. Nothing moved, except the sheep the children had staked on ropes so the flock could graze. He breathed in the fresh night air that whispered past him, and told himself to go lie down on his pallet. He needed to rest so he’d be alert when it came time to work with the mustangs. Pacing the loft, hoping to catch sight of Tara—when he knew all the sensible reasons why she shouldn’t come to him—was futile.

  Damn this continuous conflict between his mind and body. If he didn’t focus on his duties of finding Raven, rather than lollygagging around, wishing for things that couldn’t be, he’d be useless to himself and everyone else.

  Scowling, John plunked down on his pallet, squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that even if he couldn’t sleep because of this tormenting need, then he could at the very least let his body—most parts of it, anyway—get some rest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The creak of splintering lumber, a bloodcurdling scream and the wild whinny of a horse brought John straight up on his pallet. Bleary-eyed, he groped for his breeches and boots. Another terrified shriek sent John scrambling down the ladder posthaste. He took off at a dead run, then skidded to a halt when he saw Derek clutching his ribs and huddling beside the broken fence rail. One of the mustangs had been untied and was staggering around the corral.

  “Oh, my God!”

  John glanced back to see Tara, dressed in her clinging nightgown, racing toward Derek. “What are you doing out here at the crack of dawn? Blast it, Derek, are you all right?”

  John bounded over the fence to kneel beside the boy. Derek’s agonized expression testified to his tremendous pain. Tears spilled down his dirty cheeks like muddy rivers as he peered up at John.

  “I’m sorry,” he bleated, lips quivering. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Surprise was not what John was experiencing. Alarm, concern and frustration topped the hierarchy of feelings that bubbled inside him.

  “Can you stand up?” he questioned.

  Derek shook his sandy-blond head. “I d-don’t think sso. My r-ribs are hurting something f-fierce.” He tried to inhale a deep breath, grimaced, then said, “I think I twisted my knee when I bounced off the fence and hit the ground.”

  John could’ve kicked himself all the way to Rambler Springs and back for not cautioning the children to await further instruction before they began the second phase of breaking the horses. Obviously, Derek had intended to have one of the mustangs broken to ride before John roused this morning. Unfortunately, the boy wasn’t aware that the horse needed to become accustomed to a halter and bit before he climbed on board.

  Carefully, John scooped Derek into his arms and pivoted toward the cabin.

  “We’ll put him in my bed,” Tara insisted as she opened the corral gate for John.

  Four sleepy-eyed children waited in the kitchen. Alarm registered on their faces when they saw Derek’s pained expression.

  “Irish, why don’t you go down to the spring and bring us a pail of cool water while I get Derek out of his clothes and check his injuries?” John suggested.

  Nodding mutely, Tara snatched up her breeches and boots, then darted outside to do his bidding.

  Carefully,
John settled Derek on the bed, listening to the boy hiss and grimace in an effort to find a comfortable position.

  There didn’t seem to be one. John knew the feeling all too well.

  He unbuttoned the soiled shirt, noting the scraped and bruised skin on Derek’s left side. If the kid hadn’t broken a couple of ribs, he’d at least have jarred the hell out of himself when he went airborne and crashed to the ground.

  “Ow!” Derek gasped, then squeezed his eyes shut when John eased his arm from the torn shirt. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Sorry, kid, just stay with me for another minute and we’ll get these breeches off so I can check your knee.”

  As gently as possible, John peeled down the tattered breeches to inspect Derek’s knee. Sure enough, he’d made a bad landing. The joint was discolored and swelling rapidly.

  Damn, this was his fault, John berated himself. He should’ve anticipated something like this. Hell, he was surprised Samuel wasn’t in the same shape. These boys were so anxious to prove themselves as men and to impress him and Tara that they acted without thinking first.

  Like Calvin, Derek had obviously wanted to prove himself capable. The only difference was that Derek had gotten two steps ahead of himself while handling the mustang.

  If John had any secret aspirations of being good father material, they were dashed when he stared down at adolescent blue eyes gushing tears of pain and embarrassment.

  “I—I made a m-mess of things with that h-horse,” Derek said brokenly.

  John covered the boy to ensure his modesty. “I’ll take care of the horse.” He gently laid his hand on Derek’s side. The boy inhaled sharply, then groaned in pain. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Badly bruised and strained, yes. The knee is another matter. You’ll need to borrow my crutch for a few days. And don’t even think about climbing on a horse for a couple of weeks, kid.”

  Derek nodded bleakly, deflated by the diagnosis.

  “I’m going to give you some peyote buttons to help you relax. They’ll make you feel a mite peculiar, but they’ll ease the pain. Just don’t try to crawl from bed while you’re sedated,” John cautioned.