White Wolf. Lindsay McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ he yelled. “Get down here and help me! I’m stuck!” He breathed hard, listening to his biting words as they echoed harshly through the wash. The woman stood a good quarter mile away from him and he wondered what effect his demand would have on her. If she was real and not an apparition, she would respond. Or would she? Dain wasn’t sure as he stood, legs spread in the clay to balance himself, his hands held stiffly at his sides, muddy fingers curling into fists.

      She was too far away for him to see her expression, but as his echoing voice enfolded her, Dain saw her sway, as if struck physically by him. For no discernible reason, he felt bad in that moment. Hadn’t his voice been like a verbal fist? He tried to shake off his remorse. Too bad if he hurt her. Old Gordon had used his voice like a sledgehammer against him all the time when Dain was in that orphanage, that prison. Still, as he stood there expectedly, he felt sorry. It was the first time he’d realized his voice could hurt another person, for he saw her sway, catch herself and plant her feet apart just a little bit more. He also saw the white wolf leap from his sitting position beside her into a position of preparedness. Even at this distance, Dain could see the wolf’s hackles standing along his spine, raised upward like porcupine quills.

      The sound that came back to him was a low, warning growl from the white wolf. It frightened Dain. His gaze savagely sought out the woman’s serene features. Didn’t she hear him? She must have! So why the hell was she still standing like a statue, staring at him?

      Angry, Dain moved almost drunkenly back to the vehicle. He collapsed, his spine against the cold, hard metal that supported him now that his knees refused to. Gripping the door handle, he breathed raggedly, his gaze never leaving her tall, proud form. Did angels come dressed as Indians?

      He laughed harshly at himself. He was hallucinating! His belief in angels died when he was eight years old and Old Gordon told him Santa Claus didn’t exist. It was then that Dain had stopped believing in angels, God and everything else—except himself. He’d known even as a child that the only thing that would help him survive was a strong, overpowering belief in himself. He learned that if he trusted in himself, he could do anything and win at it. And this powerful belief—instilled in him by Old Gordon’s attempt to destroy his childhood—had made him the billionaire he was today.

      Fat lot of good it did him now, Dain thought, a reckless grin slashing across his mouth. He looked down at his muddy, wet pants, then at his truck half-buried in the wash. Suddenly, laughter tunneled up from deep within his chest. He rarely laughed, and now he wanted to at the ridiculousness of it all. He was stuck! The laughter rolled out, freeing the fear that filled his chest cavity, easing the constricted, suffocating feeling. The unfamiliar sound left his lips and echoed down the wash. Dain himself didn’t believe what he was hearing. He was laughing! Suddenly, he didn’t care any longer. The fury he’d felt a moment ago miraculously disappeared beneath the deep, rolling laughter that spilled out of him like golden sunlight. He hadn’t realized such joy lived within him. He’d never realized it—until now.

      Once his laughter had subsided, a rare, careless smile continued to hover around his mouth. For a second, he felt free—and happy—almost joyous. When had he ever felt those emotions? Had this woman cast a spell on him? Was she magical, as Luanne Yazzie had proclaimed when he’d gone to her to ask about the elusive Tashunka Mani Tu?

      Disgruntled, Dain gathered his waning energy and forced himself away from the vehicle. His knees felt stronger as he sloshed through the thick mud toward the woman. With each step, he felt strangely empowered, like a cold object that has been warmed by the sun.

      Would the wolf charge him? Dain wasn’t at all sure, but something whispered to him that she had full control over that huge, white beast and wouldn’t allow it to attack him. As he drew closer, he could see her face more clearly. The sunlight touched her, making her coppery skin glow with a golden radiance and her expressive brown eyes look almost black. It was her eyes that drew him, mesmerized him. He could swear he saw laughter in them—but he somehow knew she was not laughing at him, but simply relishing some funny cosmic joke known only to herself.

      As he approached more closely, he heard her speak firmly in a language unknown to him. Instantly, the white wolf sat down at her side, thumped his tail in a friendly way and looked up adoringly at her. When she placed her long, thin hand upon the wolf’s head, Dain almost felt as if she were reaching out and touching him! It was a ridiculous thought, but then, maybe this place was magical, as Luanne had warned him. She’d said Rainbow Butte had been a sacred place to the Hopi and Navajo people for thousands of years. Many ceremonies, powerful ceremonies honoring Mother Earth and the Navajo Yei and Hopi Kachinas, had taken place here.

      Dain didn’t believe in magic, but he couldn’t ignore the powerful thrumming now beating through his chest. His racing heart felt light and an unexpected emotion deluged him as he drew within a hundred feet of the woman. That feeling was hope.

      Chapter Three

      She was breathtakingly beautiful, like a wild animal trapped inside a woman’s body. To Dain, she looked more wolf than woman. He couldn’t help but smile as he halted, craned his neck upward and simply absorbed the golden radiance of her features. He saw her full lips curve into a smile of welcome—and he felt an incredible warmth come over him, blanketing his head and shoulders, and falling around him like a thick cloak. A security blanket, Dain decided.

      He placed his hands on his hips and grinned back at her, feeling like a reckless kid of nineteen again. The sunlight emphasized the ebony quality of her braided hair, and now that he was closer, he could see the details of her clothes and jewelry. A leather thong hung from her neck and disappeared inside the thick, fuzzy green sweater she wore beneath her white deerskin jacket. He saw a huge piece of turquoise-and-silver jewelry wrapped around her right wrist.

      Drawn to her hands, which were long and expressive, he vaguely wondered if she was an artist. And then Dain recalled that she was a rug weaver. She was taller than he’d expected; probably around five foot ten or eleven inches. He could tell that despite her ethereal radiance, she was a strong woman who could live in this godforsaken desert and not only survive, but probably thrive.

      “I’m stuck,” he said by way of greeting, gesturing to his vehicle.

      “Yes, you are. In more ways than one, I’d say.”

      Her low, husky voice flowed across him like a lover’s caress. Her eyes sparkled with laughter and even though her mouth never lifted into a smile, Dain felt her smile. But he knew she wasn’t making fun of him. It was a benign, loving thing he felt.

      “I’m looking for a medicine woman. Her name is Tashunka Mani Tu. Are you her?”

      “What do you want with her?”

      Dain saw her expression close up, heard her voice lose some of its embracing warmth. The white wolf pricked up his ears in interest, watching him. “They said she could heal anyone. I need a healing from her.”

      Her lips lifted, the corners curving slightly. “She doesn’t cure anything.”

      His brows fell and he felt sudden anger. “They said she cured cancer.”

      Not wanting to show her fear, she lifted her hand in a graceful gesture and said, “The only person who can cure you is yourself.”

      Erin wrestled within herself. Why did he have to be a white man? Anything but a white man!

      Thunderstruck, Dain swayed, caught himself and glared at her. The momentary lightness he’d felt in her presence was smashed beneath the tunneling, annihilating anger that surged through him now. Her low, vibrating words СКАЧАТЬ