When Passion Calls

"Deal 'em," the man with the scar said, shoving the cards to the man sitting next to him. "I'll show this stranger with the fancy duds and long hair that he's going to be lucky only once today."

Shane's eyes gleamed as he dragged in his winnings. "We'll just see about that," he drawled confidently.

Chapter Ten

Proud of her purchase, the hat box in which it lay swinging at her side, Melanie strutted from the millinery shop. Eager to show Shane her new hat, she pushed her way along the crowded sidewalkthen panic rose inside her when she didn't see Shane standing where she had left him, where he had promised to stay.

Afraid for Shane, Melanie began to push and shove desperately at the people crowding around her. Her eyes were moving wildly from place to place and store to store, for any signs of Shane.

What was she to do? He wasn't used to the city, nor to the brusqueness of some of its people. Where could he have gone? Why had he?

Recalling his love of cigars and his mention of pipes, Melanie rushed into a shop that specialized

in tobacco products. Her heart faltered in its beat when she didn't find him there.

She rushed back outside, looking wildly up and down the street. She began walking toward the spot where she had last seen him. ''Where could you be, Shane?" she whispered, her heart thumping.

Her words faded from her lips as she looked up at the sign hanging over the door of the saloon. She recalled how he had talked of enjoying poker. "Lord, he wouldn't . . ." she whispered, paling. "He'll be eaten alive by the sorts of men that frequent those places!"

She had never been in a saloon before. Her knees weak, Melanie pushed the swinging door open and peered inside. Smoke was as thick as a low hanging fog, impeding her complete view of who was inside. But she did not need to see. Shane's voice was loud and clear from somewhere close by, followed by the most definite sound of the shuffling of cards.

"Oh, no," Melanie said, groaning.

Inching her way inside and ignoring the appraising looks of the men at the bar and at the tables she was passing, Melanie kept her eye out for Shane. When she saw him, she stopped cold in her tracks, for it was obvious that the man sitting opposite Shane was angry at him for some reason. She inhaled a shaky breath when, just then, all hell seemed to break loose. She stood her ground, afraid to speak or even move.

"You sonofabitch!" the man with the scar said, leaning over the table as he threw his cards down

and slipped a hand beneath the table. "You're nothin' but a goddamn cheater. Fancy man, I ain't liked your looks since you sat down here. Somethin' ain't right about you. You dress fancy but I'd say you're part Injun. I've been around enough to know how they hold theirselves. Now I ain't ever liked Injuns or even white men who smell like 'em. Real easy like, hand over all the money you've won from me, or I'll shoot your balls off. My pistol is aimed directly at 'em."

"Scarface, I've been insulted before and I'm used to it, but I don't think I can tolerate any insults from the likes of you," Shane said, his voice harsh. Quick as a panther, he raised a foot and kicked the man's gun away, then with deliberation and accuracy gave the man a swift kick by planting the heel of his boot into his groin.

The man scooted his chair back, yelping with pain, then grabbed his pistol and limped from the saloon.

Melanie watched all of this with dismay, then smiled awkwardly at Shane as he rose from his chair, turned, and saw her standing there. He grabbed his winnings from the table and walked confidently to her.

"I hope I didn't delay you any," he said, stuffing money in his pockets and puffing on his cigar.

Melanie scampered alongside him as they left the saloon. "Shane, you could have been killed," she fussed. "I've never seen anyone as angry as that man." She looked incredulously up at him. "Shane, he had a gun on you. If you hadn't been fast enough, I know he would have shot you.''

"But I was, and he didn't," Shane said, slipping an arm around Melanie's trim waist. His eyes were twinkling. "Damn, Melanie, did you see my winnings? It's more than I ever thought possible. Always before, when I won, it was usually only against one trapper or trader, or the old chief. I've never played with a large group of men before."

An icy coldness suddenly gripped Melanie's insides. She didn't like Shane's reaction to his victory at the poker table today. Was he going to be more like his brother after all? Would Shane grow to love to gamble as much as Josh? She could smell whiskey on his breath! Would he grow to love to drink as much as his brother? Would becoming a part of the white man's world change him that much?

They reached the horse and buggy. Silent, Melanie nodded a thank-you to Shane as he helped her onto the seat, then climbed aboard himself. Disillusioned about this man she had sworn to protect and guide, she snapped the reins and rode from the city. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. She knew why. Since they had met, she had never been this quiet. He had to wonder why.

Yet he did not ask.

Shane saw a troubled expression on her face and in her eyes. Did it stem from his having not stayed where she could find him after she left her millinery shop? Or did it stem from his having played poker in the saloon?

He could not take this silent treatment much longer. When the city was far behind them and

they were traveling down an isolated road shaded on both sides by stately elms, he grabbed the reins from Melanie's hands and stopped the horses.

Melanie looked at him, stunned. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice shallow.

"I will drive the rest of the way," Shane said. "Move over."

Seeing that he meant business, Melanie said nothing. Her eyes wavered when Shane snapped the reins and left the road, moving instead through the forest. Melanie clung to the seat as the buggy weaved around trees, beneath low-hanging branches, and finally came to a halt beside the Rum River, not all that far from the Brennan and Stanton farms.