When Passion Calls

bloodshot. "Damn it all to hell, Terrance," he said, drawing away from the woman and pulling a blanket up to hide her nakedness. "You never did learn the art of knocking before entering a room."

"Well, now, Josh, if that had been my sister in bed with you, I'd have most certainly knocked before interrupting," Terrance said, plopping down on a chair and sprawling his legs out before him. He spied an opened bottle of whiskey on the table next to him, grabbed it, and tipped it to his lips. But then slammed it back down on the table.

"But that isn't my sister and that's exactly what I've come to talk about. It should be Melanie makin' love with you, Josh. Not a whore from the streets." He waved a hand wildly in the air. "Ain't you got no brains, Josh? What are you doin' here instead of out at the farm tryin' to outsmart Shane? Your Pa called you lazy. Well, I'm beginning to think he was damn right."

The woman grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head, her face crimson with anger. She hurried into her shoes, then rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Well, thanks to you, that's one that won't be back," Josh said, pulling on his breeches. He stood over Terrance, glaring. "And as for outsmartin' my brother, that's exactly what I'm doin' by stayin' away from the farm. He'll soon realize he don't belong. Just give it time, Terrance. Give it time."

Josh shrugged himself into his shirt and buttoned it, then pulled on his boots. He eyed the deck of cards on the table beside Terrance. "I'm

ready for a poker game," he said, winking at Terrance. "Think you're sober enough to outsmart me in poker?"

Terrance laughed as he rose shakily back to his feet. "Josh, I can outsmart you at anything, anytime," he said, grabbing up the deck of cards.

Josh combed his fingers through his hair, then leaned into Terrance's face. "Show me, you sonofabitch," he said, his eyes filled with sudden rage. He nodded toward the door. "After you, Terrance. I'm sure I'm not the only one who'd like to sit at the same poker table with you this afternoon. You're always smartin' off at the mouth. It'll be a pleasure to see your socks beat off todaypreferably by me."

Terrance chuckled as he sauntered toward the door. "You never know who you'll run into at the poker table these days," he said, walking on past Josh into the corridor. "Like the other day. I played against this giant of a man with the godawfullest eyes. I ain't never seen the likes of them eyes. I enjoyed gettin' to know him, though. Seems we discovered we had some of the same interests in life."

"Who are you talkin' about, Terrance?" Josh asked, closing and locking his door.

"Oh, you wouldn't know him," Terrance said, giving Josh a half glance. "But maybe you should . . . ?"

Josh forked an eyebrow as he gazed questioningly at Terrance.

Chapter Eighteen

The moon was partially hidden beneath a haze of clouds as a figure stole stealthily through the night. Only a few longhorns stirred, welcoming the enticing smell of hay placed beneath their noses. Their tails swished contentedly as they began to eat, but one by one the tails slowed and the legs became wobbly. One by one, the longhorns eased to the ground. They plopped over onto their sides, their tongues hanging from the corners of their mouths, their legs stretched out stiffly, and their eyes fixed in a death trance.

Scooping up the remainder of the hay that was not eaten, the figure turned and moved cautiously away, making sure not to alarm the remaining longhorns.

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Yawning and stretching, Shane rose from his pallet of furs. Nightmare free, his sl

eep had been pleasant. The smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen urged him into his clothes; he was growing fond of this drink that seemed to be habitual to the white community.

He looked into a full-length mirror and studied himself. Not only was he successfully conforming to the white man's taste in food and drink, but in clothing too. The coarse denim breeches and the blue-plaid cotton shirt fit him well. Even the expensive leather boots on his feet did not seem all that alien to him any longer.

But his hair was not yet changed, he thought, combing his fingers through his shoulder-length hair. In time, it must also be cut. But not quite yet. Parting with it would be hard. It had meant so much to him when he lived the life of an Indian.

Hearing the bawling of cattle outside his window made Shane go and look out at what he could now call mostly his. He weaved and grabbed at the windowsill. It had suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time in his life that he had actually owned anything except for his horse and weapons. He suddenly realized that the world was his!

His heart throbbed. "It is mine," he whispered, raking his hand over his face as though testing to see if he were actually there, experiencing this, instead of dreaming. "How can it be that suddenly so much belongs to me?"

Turning slowly back to gaze from the window

again, he firmed his jaw. "It is mine, and by damn, I am going to make the best of it," he said determinedly. "From now on I will face my new life with vigor instead of restraint!"

A commotion below drew Shane's gaze to several cowhands running toward the pasture. He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the early morning light, and watched the men stop and assemble around something on the ground. Shane could not tell what was drawing their keen interest. The light was poor this time of day. All that he could see was shadows. But the reaction of the men sent waves of alarm through him.

Grabbing his gunbelt and fastening it around his waist, the pistols heavy at his hips, he ran from his room and down the stairs. He could hear the shouts of the men as others ran from the bunkhouse to see what had been discovered in the pasture. Shane joined them, his breath raspy from running so hard.

When he reached the circle of gawking, cursing men, he elbowed his way through them, then stopped. His gut twisted and a bitterness rose up into his throat at the sight of the three dead animals, horseflies buzzing hungrily around them.

"I ain't never seen anything like it," one cowhand said, scratching his brow idly.

Shane only barely heard the comments being tossed around on all sides of him. He stared down at the dead animals.