Wild Desire

They rode on until they met the train, then began riding alongside it as it approached the end of the private spur that had been laid thus far.

“There is only one cattle car and there are no cattle, but instead only a few horses,” Runner said, forking an eyebrow. “And there are only two passenger cars.

“I can see enough through the windows to see that there are only two passengers,” Runner said, exchanging quick glances with his father when they both saw two people staring intently at them from one of the passenger cars. “Have we been wrong to think that the trains on these tracks will bring scores of white people to our land?”

“Do you think they would spend so many white man’s dollars to lay such tracks for only two people?” Sage scoffed. “Son, they are only the beginning of our people’s total ruin and unhappiness. There will be others. Many, many others will follow.”

“I am sure you are right,” Runner said, tightening his hold on the reins and holding his knees tightly to the sides of his steed when the train shrieked again.

Runner and Sage rode away from the train, stopping a few feet from the end of the line. Ignoring the glares from the work gang, they sat quietly and sternly, waiting to see more clearly these two invaders of their land.

Adam leaned closer to the window of the train. “Come and see, Stephanie,” he said, motioning to her with a hand. “Our welcoming party has arrived.”

“Welcoming party? I didn’t know we were going to be met by anyone,” Stephanie said, scampering to her feet. She lifted the hem of her skirt and scooted onto the seat opposite Adam. “Why, it’s Indians, Adam. Two Indians. Are they Navaho?”

Adam’s past was coming back to him in flashes. “Yes, they are Navaho,” he said, his heart beating anxiously. “And by God, Stephanie, one of them is Sage. You know, the chief that I’ve so often talked about.”

“Truly?” Stephanie said, her eyes widening. “Which one? The older one, no doubt.”

“Yes, the older one,” Adam said, grabbing for the seat back when the train came to a sudden, rumbling halt. “The one who has his hair clubbed and wrapped with strands of white wool.”

“And the younger Indian?” Stephanie said, her gaze taking in the handsome man, realizing that he was not altogether Navaho. It was only in his attire, and how he wore his hair, that she saw him as Navaho. His clothes were colorful. He was dressed in a shirt of handwoven, woolen cloth with a vee-neck, and dyed buckskin trousers that had silver buttons down the sides and tied with woven garters. The bandanna knotted about his head was of red crimson silk, holding back his long, flowing black hair. Otherwise, she saw his white skin, burned dark by the desert sun and wind, not by heritage.

“Good Lord, Stephanie,” Adam said, staring even more intensely at Runner. “You wanted to know about the White Indian? I believe you’re looking at him.”

“Runner?” Stephanie gasped, still staring at him. His features were sculpted. His eyes flashed with dark intensity. “Is that truly Runn

er?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Adam said, rising from his seat.

Stephanie turned quickly to Adam, who was already at the door. “Where are you going?” she blurted.

Adam ignored Stephanie. He stepped out into the heat of the day and ran to the cattle car. He slammed open the door and placed a plank from the car to the ground, leading his horse down it.

Stephanie bunched the hem of her skirt into her hands and ran after Adam. “Wait for me,” she shouted. “Adam, I want to go with you.”

Adam still ignored her. He was too anxious to resume ties with his old friend, and not only for friendship’s sake, but hoping to find an ally in this friend who was, by birth, white. He mounted his brown mare bareback and rode hard toward the two waiting Navaho.

As hell-bent on meeting the Navaho as Adam, Stephanie also bridled her horse in the cattle car, then led the chestnut stallion out and mounted him bareback. Gripping the reins with sure hands, she rode after Adam.

When she finally reached her stepbrother, he had already drawn up beside Runner.

Runner raised an eyebrow as Adam sidled his horse closer to his stallion, seeing something familiar about the man, but could not place him. His gaze shifted when Stephanie came and drew rein beside the white man.

Memories rushed over him of white women of his past: his true mother and her friends. He had been young when he had been living among the white community, but he could recall seeing such lovely women as this, with their ivory skin, supple and slender figures, glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes, and full, ripe mouths.

Even this far from the woman he could smell a sweet perfume wafting toward him, reminding him of the perfumes his mother had worn.

But even though he could recall those women long ago, and seeing Leonida every day now, and thinking them all so beautiful, this woman was even more than his wildest dreams could conjure up. She was more lovely than any that he had ever seen before.

She had an entrancingly curved mouth. Her eyes were as smoky gray as the spring sage on the mountain slopes. Her feathery dark lashes flared widely so that they cast shadows on the pale skin beneath, and her hair was a magnificent torch of copper.

She was a picture of feminine daintiness, the snug fit of the bodice of her traveling suit emphasizing a tiny waist and high bosom.

The more he looked at her, the more she caused him to realize that he had been without someone to share his nights with him for far too long. Her mere presence was setting little fires throughout his body. And he could not allow such feelings.

In a sense, this woman was an enemy, an enemy of the Navaho.