Native Wolf by Glynnis Campbell Page B

all these years.
    She was right to wonder. It was a mystery, and Chase didn’t much like mysteries. Word had been sent from Samuel Parker to Nome Cult the day that his grandmother died. But what about before? Why had his Uncle Hintsuli known nothing about her captivity at the Parker Ranch? Why had the family believed for so many years that she was dead?
    It was too late for those questions, he supposed. It had all happened long ago. Even Claire couldn’t really be blamed. She’d been a young child when her father enslaved his grandmother. She may have never even heard of the march. It wasn’t the sort of story a father would tell to his little girl, especially when he was the villain of the story.
    Chase only hoped he could keep a better rein on his temper today than Claire had had on the horse last night.
    The truth was the troublesome little lady had put Chase in real danger now, letting the horse go free. No longer able to rely on outrunning their pursuers, Chase had to try to outsmart them. The sooner they lit out, the better.
    He called out softly. “Woman.”
    She slept.
    “Miss Parker."
    Still she slept.
    He rose on his haunches. “Claire.”
    She stirred, then yawned, then stretched. He caught a glimpse of one long, lovely leg before she tucked it quickly back under her skirts.
    “Time to go,” he grunted, tying his shirt sleeves around his waist.
    She sat up with a sleepy frown. “Go where? Where are you taking me?”
    He didn’t know how to answer her, so he didn’t bother. He just waved her forward. “Come on.”
    She crossed her arms. “Why?”
    He scowled. She’d certainly woken up in a mulish mood. And now that she knew who he was, she didn’t seem quite so afraid of him. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “Because I said so.”
    She thrust out her stubborn chin. “And what if I won’t come, grandson of Yoema?”
    He growled. Now she was baiting him. And she was being ridiculous. The woman was half his size, and she was cornered in the cave. She must know he wouldn’t hesitate to toss her over his shoulder again.
    He hopped up to his feet and took two steps forward.
    Her eyes widened, and her arms fell out of their fold. “All right, I’ll come.” She snatched up her precious water-warped book, shot to her feet, and almost bumped her head on the roof of the cave. “But I want you to know I’m not coming willingly.”
    He arched a brow at her. That much was obvious. “We have far to go. I can carry you, or you can—”
    “I’ll walk on my own, thank you,” she primly announced, tucking the book into her camisole and picking her way toward him.
    He extended his hand, which she ignored. But he wasn’t about to lose his valuable hostage in a landslide, so he insisted on taking hold of her elbow as they descended.
    Once they reached the bottom, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hastily along the pass. There was no time to waste. Samuel Parker’s posse had probably picked up their scent by now.
    Claire refused to be intimidated. This Two-Son might be as big and surly as a grizzly, bristling and growling and snapping at her, but he didn’t frighten her anymore. Yoema had spoken often to Claire about her vision, the one in which the lost twins returned to Paradise, healing the past and making the circle whole again. And if Yoema believed that was a good thing, it must be so.
    Still, as he began hauling her at breakneck speed past stands of toyon and redbud, through nettles, star thistle, and what she was sure was poison oak, her mood soured. She wondered if Yoema had misinterpreted her vision and the heroic role of the Two-Sons in it.
    For one thing, Yoema's grandson didn’t seem very gallant. He was nothing like the heroes in her books. Those heroes didn’t have smoldering black gazes. They didn’t travel in stony silence. They didn’t wrap their hands possessively around the heroines’ arms. And they wouldn’t dream of venturing out of doors without a proper