Wolf Runner by Constance O'Banyon

reached for his hat and twisted the brim with his huge hands. “Of course. But don’t take too long; you’re not likely to get a better offer in this town.”
    “I do need to be alone,” Cheyenne said, ducking her head. “Please understand.”
    His eyes darted over her with the coldness of a snake’s. “Come to see me when you’re feeling better.”
    He took her hand and she jerked away, clasping them behind her, and he pretended not to notice.
    “Do you have a key for this door?”
    She wasn’t sure, but she hoped there was one so she could lock him out. “I believe so. Gram probably put it somewhere.”
    “You’ll want to keep your door locked, being a woman alone.”
    He was frightening her now, because he was staring into her eyes in a way that made her cringe. “I have a gun, Mr. Sullivan, and I know how to use it.”
    He clamped his hat on his head and narrowed his gaze. “Come to see me soon.”
    After he had gone, Cheyenne pressed her weight against the door, her whole body shaking.
    The one thing she would never do—no matter how desperate she became—was to move into his hotel. She had to think of some other way to earn a living.
    But how?
    Mr. Sullivan would never leave her alone. She would have to leave Santa Fe. Tomorrow she would talk to Señor Mendoza and he might have some ideas for her.
    Cheyenne had not eaten all day, but she doubted she would be able to keep anything down. Already she could taste bile in the back of her throat.
    Frantically, she scooted a chair across the room and propped it beneath the door handle, hoping it would keep any intruder out, or at least alert her if someone tried to open the door. Cheyenne raced to the kitchen and slid the wooden latch in place, wishing there was one on the front door as well.
    Walking through the empty house, she felt a chill. Climbing onto the middle of Gram’s bed, Cheyenne grasped her grandmother’s pillow and sank her face into it. It smelled so painfully familiar with just the hint of lilacs.
    Shaking uncontrollably, she cried until she was exhausted.
    “Gram, I need you.”
    Her gram could not answer.
    Cheyenne was alone.

Chapter Ten
    Cheyenne glanced out the window, relieved that the rain had finally stopped and a weak sun poked through scattered clouds.
    Grabbing up her still-damp shawl, she left the house and made her way to Señor Mendoza’s blacksmith shop. It was impossible to miss all the mud puddles as she stepped onto the street, her shoes already wet and muddy.
    Why hadn’t she worn her leather boots? She chided herself, wading through a puddle that seeped through her thin-soled shoes.
    When she approached the blacksmith shop she heard the clanging of a hammer striking an anvil and was comforted by the familiar sound. When Señor Mendoza saw her, he wiped sweat from his brow and gave her his full attention.
    “How are you today, pequeña ?” His soft eyes were filled with sympathy.
    Señor Mendoza had called her his “little one” since she was a child, and she was comforted by the familiar endearment. “I’m making out. Thank you for asking.”
    “Margareta said if I saw you today I was to invite you to supper, señorita. You should not be alone at a time like this.”
    She smiled at the man she admired above all others. His dark hair was dusted with gray, and his brown eyes radiated warmth. His arms were muscled from the heavy smithy work he did, but he was a gentle man, who loved his family, and he had always included her in that number.
    “I have so much to do, I haven’t thought about eating,” she admitted. “I need to be moved out of the house as soon as possible. I found out yesterday that Mr. Sullivan holds the mortgage. Do you think you could store a few of Gram’s belongings in your loft until I can decide what to do with them?”
    He stilled. “Of course, but why must you leave?”
    She lowered her head. “It’s Mr. Sullivan. He has always made me uncomfortable, but when he came by the house