Call Of The White Wolf. Carol Finch
before the children served up supper.
Feeling amazingly relaxed and refreshed, Tara returned from a leisurely bath at one of the secluded springs on the west end of the canyon. The trickling waterfall that cascaded over a stairway of rocks was like her private corner of heaven. That, coupled with an hour’s nap, made her feel like a new woman.
As John had suggested, she’d gone searching for herself, never realizing she was lost because she’d never devoted any time whatsoever to herself. She still might’ve been sprawled in the shallow stone pool if a tarantula in search of a drink hadn’t crawled over her arm.
Tara pulled up short when she spied the boys gathered around a small campfire in front of the cabin. Ah yes, she’d almost forgotten that White Wolf’s warriors-in-training were in charge of supper. From the tantalizing aromas drifting toward her, this meal was going to be worth the wait. Her stomach growled in eager anticipation.
“Feeling better?” Samuel asked when he noticed her. She smiled and nodded.”
“Good. After your hyena seizure we were worried about you.”
“Yes, well, John said something that struck me funny,” she hedged. “I wouldn’t actually call that a seizure.”
“Sure you’re okay?” Derek questioned, studying her astutely.
“Peachy perfect,” she enthused. “Where are the girls?”
“Cooking the vegetables we gathered in the wilds,” Calvin replied. “This is gonna be a humdinger meal.”
“No doubt.” Tara noticed the sense of confidence and accomplishment the boys exuded after their afternoon with John. His attempt to teach self-reliance was obviously a smashing success. Even young Calvin, who was usually self-conscious about his limp, was practically strutting around the campfire like one of the roosters. Of course, she didn’t think Samuel and Derek needed more spring in their cocky strides. The boys—young men; how could she keep forgetting?—had been exhibiting all the signs of rebellious adolescence for the past six months.
Samuel squinted skyward. “According to the location of the sun, it must be about five o’clock,” he announced with all the authority of an expert astronomer. “Supper should be ready in an hour.”
“It’s more like five-thirty, I’d say,” Derek argued.
“As if you’d know, squirt,” Samuel said, then snorted.
Suddenly, a scuffle erupted, though Tara couldn’t say exactly how it happened or why. One minute the boys were chitchatting, and then wham! Fists were flying. One fist caught Derek in the nose. He yelped in pain and outrage, then launched himself forward to tackle Samuel so he could pop him in the eye.
“Stop it!” Tara shouted.
They didn’t cease and desist, but rolled in the grass, growling and snarling like panthers in the heat of battle. One clenched fist flew, then another. Muttered curses erupted.
“That’s enough!” The booming male voice came from the front porch.
Tara lurched around to see John propped on his improvised crutch, glaring pitchforks at the boys. His raven hair was standing on end.
The scuffle ended immediately. Samuel and Derek bounded up like jackrabbits to wipe their bloody wounds.
“Get cleaned up on the double,” John ordered brusquely. “Calvin can tend the cooking while you’re gone.”
There was no back talk, Tara noticed, just perfectly executed about-faces and forward marches to the water barrel that sat beside the barn.
“I just don’t understand those two these days,” Tara said with a baffled shake of her head.
“Don’t you?” John asked as she stepped up beside him on the porch.
“No, I don’t. We can be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly a battle breaks out over little or nothing.”
“Intelligent woman that you are, Irish, I’d think you’d be able to figure those two boys out.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, I can’t. I suppose you have the answer, O great and wonderful Apache wizard.”
“They’re smitten, infatuated,” he told her.
“Smitten?” she repeated stupidly.
“With you. It’s all part of male posturing and masculine rivalry that causes them to try to impress you and gain your notice and attention.”
Tara stared at John as if he were speaking a foreign language she couldn’t translate. He chuckled at her bewildered expression.
“The Apaches are wise enough to establish rituals, rules and regulations to follow during this difficult phase of adolescence. The whites, of course, just leave it all to hapless chance. You don’t see a respectable warrior walking around with a bloody lip or black eye. Energy and fighting is saved for battling enemies. If a warrior is interested in an Indian maiden, he simply appears beside her wickiup in the dark of night and stakes his horse by the door. If the girl favors the warrior’s attention she leads his prize horse to water. Of course, a maiden wouldn’t think to tend the horse the first day. That’d make her seem a mite too anxious or desperate. But then, leaving the animal standing for four days is regarded as playing extremely hard to get, and a warrior might wish to rethink the prospect of courtship.”
“And what if the young maiden isn’t interested in courtship?” Tara asked, a smile twitching her lips.
“If not, the poor horse stands there, neglected, for four days, at which time the jilted suitor knows his affections aren’t returned and he’d best hobble his prize horse on somebody else’s doorstep. If you see another horse tied in front of your sweetheart’s wickiup, then you wait your turn. Simple as that.”
Tara’s amused laughter danced on the evening breeze.
“Uh-oh, you aren’t gonna have another one of those hyena seizures, are you?” Calvin questioned worriedly.
Samuel and Derek, their recent battle forgotten, came running to check on Tara. Flora and Maureen appeared at the front door.
“I’m fine,” Tara hastily assured the children. Her gaze shifted to John, who was doing his best to conceal his grin. “I simply find John amusing. No harm in that, is there?”
“No, but if it turns out you’re not so fine, I’ll give you herbs to cure you,” Flora announced. “Zohn Whoof taught us how to gather all we need to make good medicine bundles that can cure whatever bothers anybody.”
“How is dinner coming along?” John asked the girls, without taking his eyes off Tara.
“Thirty minutes,” Maureen predicted. “C’mon, Flora, we don’t want our part of the meal to burn on the stove.”
When the children resumed their tasks, Tara forced herself to glance away from John. Staring too long into those silvery pools surrounded by long thick lashes gave her strange, tingling sensations. If she wasn’t careful she might get lost in those hypnotic eyes. They were entirely too magnetic, too entrancing, too overpowering.
“So…what do you suggest I do to alleviate this situation that has developed with Samuel and Derek?” Tara asked.
“Pretend to show interest elsewhere,” he replied.
His husky voice drew her gaze. Mistake. Big mistake. He was watching her in that unique, soul-searching way that sent all sorts of warm ripples undulating through her body. Mercy, she was exceptionally aware of John Wolfe. Tara wondered if the Apache had a medicinal herb to cure infatuation. If so, she needed it—desperately.
“You could use me,” he murmured. “After all, I owe you a favor.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tara tweeted, then was startled by the strangled sound of her voice.
“Why