Wild Whispers

Book 3: Wild Series

by Cassie Edwards

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

"A shining talent!" -- RT Book Reviews New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassie Edwards unfolds a passionate tale of two souls destined to find forbidden love. . . Kaylene Shelton's home had always been wherever her father's carnival pitched its tents across the wild frontier. It was a lonely upbringing save for the companionship of Midnight, the black panther she had raised from a cub. But she always knew in her heart that somewhere, someone was waiting to end her deep, unspoken longing--if she could only find the dark-haired warrior she had seen in her dreams. . . Nothing could stop Chief Fire Thunder from freeing his sister from the carnival owner who had abducted her for his sideshow. But when he laid eyes on the beautiful Kaylene, he felt it only right to steal her back to his people's hideaway. Soon, the fierce warrior knew that he was the one who had been caught--by an irresistible passion. . .

Release date: October 1, 2015

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

1854, Texas

In continuing, brilliant zigzags, lightning raced against the dark, stormy sky. Chief Fire Thunder, of the Coahuila Thunder clan of the Kickapoo, held tight to his reins as his white stallion became uneasy over the ominous play of lightning, and the great claps of thunder that rumbled through the ground beneath his hooves.

Fire Thunder leaned low over his stallion and spoke soothingly to him. As Fire Thunder looked nervously at the herd of longhorn steers, he stroked his steed’s thick neck.

When Fire Thunder saw a familiar glow that appeared on the horn tips of one of the steers at the head of the herd, he stiffened. He had seen it before. He braced himself for the worst, when sparks raced along the horns, danced along the steer’s back, then rolled off its tail into the ground.

Fire Thunder straightened his back and sucked in a wild, nervous breath when, deep in the center of the packed mass of steers, the lightning appeared in many other places. As though it were a living thing, it leapt from steer to steer. It bounced off horn tips and tails in a frightening phosphorescent display. The steers snorted and trumpeted as the air crackled and popped around them.

Black Hair, Fire Thunder’s best nekanaki, friend, sidled his horse closer to his. “They are going to stampede!” he shouted above the howling wind and the rain that suddenly fell from the sky in torrents. “Cry to the heavens, Fire Thunder. Tell Grandfather to stop!”

Fire Thunder looked guardedly around him, at his other warriors who were too close to him for him to perform his magic, his special powers that were known only to him and his friend Black Hair.

“This is not the time or the place for me to do that,” Fire Thunder shouted back at Black Hair. He gave his friend a steady gaze. “You know as well as I that my powers are reserved for times when I am alone. We will battle the elements today with the strength bestowed upon us by Kitzihiat, our Great Spirit!”

No sooner was that said than the leaders of the longhorn herd whirled and balked. Dazzled by the play of lightning, the animals churned in confusion.

Suddenly they turned and reversed their direction.

The wet ground was pounded by more than a hundred hooves as the animals began their crazed flight.

“Stampede!” Fire Thunder shouted, grabbing his lariat from his saddle. His eyes blurred from the rain as he rode in a hard gallop toward an old moss-horned bull that was in the lead.

“Let’s head him off together!” Black Hair said as he rode after the same longhorn. “If we can get him stopped, the rest will follow suit.”

Fire Thunder nodded and looked over his shoulder at the rest of his warriors, who were attempting to head off the bulk of the herd, and, lead them back in the direction of the Rio Grande.

Fire Thunder’s gaze turned back to the old bull. Gaining on him, he whirled his lariat in the air over his head.

Black Hair was riding side by side with the bull. He swung his lariat and cut the air in front of the bull’s nose.

Fire Thunder reined his horse off to the side, his animal skidding to a halt and spewing mud. Fire Thunder watched, smiling, as Black Hair brought his coiled rope down over the old bull’s nose.

The rope landed with a whack. The old bull snorted and turned, his horn tips barely missing Black Hair and his feisty mustang.

Fire Thunder swung his rope in the air in a wide circle, then slung it over the old bull’s head and tightened it.

The longhorn yanked and jerked against both ropes, then snorted and stood quiet.

Breathing hard, Fire Thunder watched his warriors round up the rest of the herd, the storm finally floating on past them overhead.

The herd’s panic evaporated, with only a few continuing in wild plunging lopes.

The warriors cut in front of the longhorns, moved them into a mill, then turned the mill into a controlled drive toward the Rio Grande once again.

“I thought we had lost them,” Black Hair said as he rode beside Fire Thunder toward the river.

“Longhorns are a stubborn lot, that is for sure,” Fire Thunder said, smiling at Black Hair. “But not as stubborn as you or I, my friend.”

Black Hair laughed and nodded.

Fire Thunder yanked his water-soaked, red cotton bandanna from around his brow and used it to wipe the rain from his face. He flung his wet, waist-length, coal-black hair back from his shoulders as he stuck the bandanna into the pocket of his buckskin shirt. His fringed buckskin outfit clung to him like a second skin. The leather chaps he wore, to give good protection against rope burns, were now wet, tight, and abrasive.

“We will cross the border with the steers at the Rio Grande under the cover of darkness, go on until we reach the foot of our mountain, then make camp for the night,” Fire Thunder said. He looked upward. The moon was only a tiny sliver in the sky.

“Yes, that is best,” Black Hair said, nodding. “The steers are tired after their run. They would move too slowly tonight to get them safely up the mountain pass.”

“Even I move too slowly,” Fire Thunder said, chuckling. “But it has been a good day for us, my friend. We have retrieved a good portion of the longhorns stolen from us by the Texans many moons ago when we lived in Texas. Now that we live in Mexico, we have enough land to take back the steers that were stolen from us. And we shall, until the number we steal matches that which was stolen from us.”

Reins slack in his hands, Fire Thunder let his steed pick its own way through the darkness. It was now a night of scudding clouds, which intermittently shrouded the moon, making the dark seem blacker in sudden contrast.

The air was motionless, full of the lowing of the longhorns.

As they rode on in silence, Fire Thunder became lost in thought—about how he came to be here, instead of his home in Wisconsin. He had grown tired of the white people taking land from his people. He had broken away from the other Kickapoo people and had led his own here, where he had found freedom for them in Mexico.

His request to migrate into Mexico had been granted by the Mexican Ministry of War. The permission had been given to Fire Thunder as long as he agreed to help keep marauding Comanche renegades out of Mexico, and also white men who came with their promises that they always broke.

Although the Kickapoo had to subject themselves to the laws of the land of Mexico, it was not demanded of them to change their habits and customs.

The Mexican government allowed the Kickapoo to form a loose confederacy and permitted them to establish a village where they would be free to farm their own land, and raise large herds of livestock. To the Kickapoo, this was a paradise, without the cunning white government always interfering.

Fire Thunder was called “Captain” by the Mexican leaders. He had many privileges not enjoyed by the others. He was recognized as the head of his clan by the Mexican authorities, and received a small salary from the local municipality.

In the white world, Fire Thunder would be called a cattle baron because he owned vast tracts of grazing land.

He was honored and respected by all who knew him, and feared by his enemies.

When the Rio Grande was reached, Fire Thunder’s thoughts came back to the present. He watched carefully and saw that his herd made it safely across the river, near to Eagle Pass. Thus far the Texans hadn’t suspected the Kickapoo of stealing their cattle. The Comanche renegades, who were well known for such thievery, were always blamed.

Once the foot of Fire Thunder’s mountain was reached, the herd was checked over. Fire Thunder’s blood boiled when he saw how the Texans had changed the Kickapoo brand to one of theirs that was similar.

But he placed this aside too until he reached home, and his warriors could renew their own brand on the animals over the Texans’.

The camp was readied for the night. Bathed and wearing dried buckskins, Fire Thunder and Black Hair sat away from the others, before their own campfire. They were stretched out comfortably on blankets that were spread atop chestgrass that was plush as velvet.

They each chewed on a piece of jerky and a mixture of seeds and dried fruit, while a coffeepot spurted a trailing wisp of steam heavenward.

Not far from them, some of the longhorns were grazing on high, thick, dew-wet grass. Here and there one of the animals was dust-scratching, rolling on its back like a cat in a patch of clear ground, sharp polished hooves waving in the air while it twisted.

The cool breeze was full of longhorn talk, a drawn-out tympanic rattling of throaty noises.

“My friend, you are more quiet tonight than usual,” Black Hair said. “Is it the Texans you are thinking about?” He lifted a tin cup to his mouth and slowly sipped his coffee.

“You know that all Texans opposed the presence of we Kickapoo in their country when we lived there,” Fire Thunder said sullenly. “They despised us. Some even called us marauders. They were glad when we moved into Mexican territory.”

“Yes, and the Mexicans want us to stay,” Black Hair said, setting his empty coffee cup aside. “They see us as protectors.”

“I wonder how those who only pass through Texas see us,” Fire Thunder said, casting Black Hair a quick, questioning glance.

“Is there anyone particular in mind when you wonder about such a thing as that?” Black Hair said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “You have not ever mentioned such a worry to me before.”

“I have not had cause to wonder about it before,” Fire Thunder said, raking his long, lean fingers through his thick, black hair.

“Why do you now?” Black Hair said, straightening his back. “Or should I say who . . . brings such a question to your mind?”

“You are astute to all my thoughts, my friend,” Fire Thunder said, reaching a hand over to Black Hair, clasping it on his shoulder. “There is someone lingering in my mind tonight.”

Black Hair saw the sparkle in his friend’s blue eyes, his blue eyes supporting Fire Thunder’s claim to his mixture of French and Indian ancestry. Only a woman could cause such a look; such wonder.

“What woman, my friend?” Black Hair prodded. “Have I looked upon her, myself, with pleasure?”

“You have seen her, yes, and if you did not feel a stirring in your loins as you gazed upon her loveliness, you are not a man of passion,” Fire Thunder said, laughing softly.

“Who, Fire Thunder?” Black Hair said, leaning his face closer. “Who intrigues you so much you torment your best friend with talk of him being passionless?”

“I was only jesting,” Fire Thunder said, patting Black Hair’s shoulder. “About your being passionless, that is. There is a certain woman who fills my thoughts tonight, who makes my heart feel as though it is thumping like Kickapoo warriors are playing a million drums inside my chest.”

“Are you going to keep me guessing all night?” Black Hair said, impatience showing in the clipped tone of his voice.

“You cannot help but recall the long caravan of wagons we saw earlier in the day before we reached the Texan’s ranch from whom we stole the longhorns,” Fire Thunder said, watching the slow knowing appear in his friend’s eyes. “Being a skilled reader, I read ‘THE SHELTON FAMILY CARNIVAL’ on the side of the wagons. In one of those wagons do you not recall seeing this beautiful young woman whose black hair was as sleek as a raven’s, and whose eyes were as green and crisp as a panther’s? She was delicate and pale skinned, almost fragile and doll-like in appearance.”

“Yes, I remember her well,” Black Hair said, nodding.

“She was, ah, muy bonito, very pretty,” Fire Thunder said. “I surmise that she is at least eighteen winters of age. I wonder if she is yet married?”

“You, who avoid speaking of marriage to a woman like it is the plague, speak of it now when you have only seen this woman once?” Black Hair said incredulously.

“I have only avoided women because none have yet stirred my soul with such longings as I . . . feel . . . now for this woman,” Fire Thunder said. He cleared his throat as he gave Black Hair an awkward glance. “This goes no farther, Black Hair. This is something spoken between you and myself only. I am my people’s chief. I do not want to look weak in their eyes because I have been intrigued by a woman.”

“A white woman . . . a stranger . . . a carnival person,” Black Hair did not hesitate to say.

Fire Thunder ignored Black Hair’s thoughts on the subject. And Black Hair knew that this was only a fleeting thing, for Fire Thunder would never see the woman again.

“I do wonder what goes on inside the carnival’s mystery tents,” Fire Thunder blurted out.

“Perhaps you would not want to know,” Black Hair said, then lay down to sleep.

Fire Thunder stayed musing by the fire for a while. Then he spread his blankets out, and snuggled into his bedroll.

But he couldn’t go to sleep. He kept seeing those green eyes and the soft smile of the woman.

Finally he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Yet even then he could not escape the green eyes and smile.

He dreamed of the woman.

She was in his arms.

She was so delicate, so sweet, so loving.

Their lips met in a trembling kiss.

He filled his hands with her breasts, their touch like silk against his palms.

Slowly she lowered her dress past her thighs.

He grew hot all over when she allowed him to touch her between her thighs, where she was wet with need of him.

He caressed her there until she cried out with soft pleasure.

She, in turn, caressed him, until he spilled his juices into the tiny palm of one of her hands.

Then their bodies met.

He plunged himself deep inside her.

They tangled and sank into a chasm of pure rapture....

His heart pounding, his body aching with need, Fire Thunder awakened in a fever. His eyes were wide. His breathing was rapid.

“It was a dream,” he whispered huskily to himself.

Dreams held great significance to the Kickapoo. Fire Thunder’s people believed that the dreamer’s spirit was actually able to leave the body during sleep and observe the happenings of dreams. That was why it was important not to wake people in the midst of dreaming. Proper time must be given for the spirit to return to the sleeper’s body.

Of course, not all dreams were meaningful, but his people paid attention to the messages held in certain dreams.

Fire Thunder knew that this dream tonight had much meaning.

He looked toward the heavens. “Grandfather, I must find a way to make it real! I . . . must . . . find her!”

Kaylene Shelton’s head bobbed as she sat beside her mother and father on the seat of the covered wagon. They had passed through a storm and had gone safely onward. The carnival was headed now across the border, toward San Carlos, Mexico.

“Kaylene, sweetie, why not go to the back of the wagon and stretch out? You will be able to sleep more comfortably,” Kaylene’s mother said, as she placed a soft hand on Kaylene’s arm. “I’m sure Midnight would love to have your company. The storm gave him quite a start, you know.”

Kaylene rubbed the sleep from her eyes and nodded. “Wake me up, Mother, when we reach San Carlos,” she said. “We’ve not performed in Mexico before. I’m anxious to see the town, how large it is, and what the people seem like.”

“Yes, Kaylene, I’ll awaken you,” her mother said. “I, too, am anxious to see how we are received. We could come back more often if the people like us.”

“How could they not like us?” Kaylene’s father boasted. “We are the best carnival performing today in and out of Mexico.” His pitch-black eyes narrowed. His thick mustache twitched nervously. “We’ll show ’em. They’ll not think of us just as ‘carnie’ people. They’ll see us as special.”

“Yes, Father, they’ll see us as special,” Kaylene said, sighing. She had grown tired of worrying long ago about what anyone thought of her.

She, in truth, was tired of the whole thing; performing at each stop, watching people ogle her as though she were, herself, a sideshow.

She wanted a real life, with a real house, with a husband and children.

She wanted roots.

Before she reached the back of the wagon, she could see the glowing, green eyes of her pet panther as it watched her approaching.

“Midnight, did you miss me?” Kaylene asked, reaching out to stroke her panther’s sleek, black fur.

She curled up next to Midnight, welcoming the warmth of his body next to hers. She smiled when Midnight began to purr contentedly as he settled in more comfortably against her.

“Oh, Midnight, I thought sitting outside with Mother and Father would keep me awake.... Would keep me from thinking and dreaming about that handsome Indian I saw today,” Kaylene murmured. She laughed softly as the rough-textured tongue of her pet licked her face, tickling it. “But nothing helps. I can’t get him off my mind.”

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “I must get some sleep,” she whispered. “We have several performances to give tomorrow, Midnight. I must look my best.”

Sighing, again she drifted off to sleep. The Indian was there, his blue eyes touching her as though they were his hands. His smile sent a radiant glow throughout her.

“Who . . . are . . . you?” she whispered in her sleep to the Indian. “Ah, but your eyes! How they sparkle so blue against your dark, coppery skin. Can . . . I . . . touch your skin? Do you want to touch mine?”

In her dream, he was standing before her, so tall and lean, so very handsome. His dark, waist-length hair was blowing gently in the breeze, lifting from his bare, muscular shoulders.

“Yes, I wish to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you,” the Indian said, making Kaylene tremble in response.

“Please do all those things,” she whispered, her head swimming with desire as he grabbed her in his arms and kissed her.

She clung to him.

She reveled in the kiss and the way he held her.

Then Kaylene’s insides melted when the Indian reached inside her blouse and cupped her breasts with his hands, his thumbs tweaking her nipples.

Then he drew his hands away and lifted her and carried her toward a campfire. Kaylene lay her head against his massive bare chest and let the sensual feelings inside her take over.

She had never made love with a man before.

She had never loved a man.

And now she was ready to give herself to an Indian, the one she had seen pass by with several warriors on horseback earlier in the day.

Even then, their eyes had revealed their sudden attraction to each other.

She had not wanted him to pass by. She had wanted to at least know his name.

“What is your name?” she asked in her dream as he lay her on a blanket and removed the rest of her clothes.

As he covered her with his body, she reached a hand to his lips. “Please tell me your name,” she whispered.

His only response was to kiss her.

Then his lips trailed downward, along the vulnerable, sensitive line of her throat, and then to her breasts.

One by one he tasted her nipples with his tongue.

She thrilled with intense, rapturous feelings. But when his lips moved lower and his tongue flicked out and touched that part of her at the juncture of her thighs that was private, she jerked away . . . and awakened.

“It . . . seemed . . . so real,” she whispered, shimmering with ecstasy as she relived the dream in her mind. She placed a finger to her lips. “I can even taste the kiss.”

She ran a hand inside her blouse and touched a breast. She shivered with pleasure as she ran her fingers over its sensitive nipple. “It’s his hands, not mine,” she said, closing her eyes, envisioning him there, loving her.

“Kaylene, darling, did you say something?” her mother shouted back at her.

Her face hot with a blush, and shame of touching herself so intimately, Kaylene jerked her hand from inside her blouse and promptly answered her mother.

“I h-had a d-dream,” she stammered. “That’s all.”

“You’d best get back to sleep,” her mother said. “Tomorrow you can’t perform with dark circles under your eyes.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kaylene said, sighing.

Again she settled in against Midnight. She felt a dejection come over her. So often she felt that her parents thought more of her performances than of her.

She too often felt used, not . . . loved.

Sullenly, she drifted off to sleep, to the rhythm of the wagon wheels, and the night sounds of crickets and frogs croaking in the distance. Not so far away a coyote howled at the moon.

“You have returned to me,” the male voice said, giving Kaylene a start. The dream had returned, as though she had never awakened from it.

She was still nude.

She was still lying within the Indian’s muscled arms.

“Yes, and I would love to stay forever, if you would have me,” she murmured, accepting the bold thrust of his body as he entered her and showed her what, until now, had been a mystery to her.

She smiled in her sleep and trembled sensually.

In the dark, two shadows on horseback moved along a small trail. “White Wolf, I see a light up ahead,” Dawnmarie said, as she squinted in the darkness toward the lamplight flaring from the window of a ranch house. Her gaze shifted. “And I see a barn. Surely the rancher and his wife will allow us to sleep in the barn tonight. Darling, a bed of straw would feel much better than the ground.”

“Then that is what you will have,” White Wolf said, reaching over to gently touch his wife’s ashen face. “Dawnmarie, I fear for you so much. We should not have made this long journey from Wisconsin. It has worn you out.”

“White Wolf, this is something I promised Mother I would do,” Dawnmarie said with a stubborn lift of her chin. “Long ago, I promised her, before she died, that I would find my true people, the Kickapoo. I am a half-breed, bridging two worlds. I must make peace with the Kickapoo side of my heritage before my time comes to enter the afterworld. I must have the permission of the Kickapoo to enter their world. I must prove to my Kickapoo people that, although I had a white father, I am Kickapoo, heart and soul.”

“And I understand and will continue to seek ways to get you to them,” White Wolf said, sighing heavily. “We know they are in Mexico. We draw closer and closer each day. Surely, before long, you will be among your people.”

“Thank you, darling, for being so understanding,” Dawnmarie said, then became quiet as they passed through a wide gate and they rode onward toward the ranch house.

When they arrived, they did not have to knock on the door. The sound of their horses was enough to bring a man and woman to the porch. The man held high a lit lantern, the light spreading out toward Dawnmarie and White Wolf.

“And who are you? What do you want here?” the man asked, his free hand resting on a holstered pistol.

“Only lodging for the night in your barn if you will be so kind,” White Wolf said. He gestured with a hand toward Dawnmarie. “My wife. She needs a good night of rest. At dawn tomorrow we shall be on our way.”

“I don’t deal much with Indians,” the man said, his eyes narrowing at White Wolf. “You ain’t Comanche, are you?”

“No, I am from the Lac du Flambeau clan of Chippewa,” White Wolf said. “My wife is part white and Kickapoo. We are looking for her people. We have been told they are in Mexico. That is where we are headed.”

“Chippewa? Kickapoo, huh?” the man said, kneading his chin. “I ain’t never had no trouble with either tribe.” He nodded toward the barn. “Go ahead. Take the barn for the night. But be on with you tomorrow before I come out to tend to my cows and chickens.”

“We will be gone,” White Wolf said. “Thank you. May the Great Spirit bless you for your kindness to strangers.”

“You don’t have to leave before breakfast, now do you?” the woman blurted out, getting a frown from her husband. “I’ll bring you biscuits and gravy early in the morning. And hot coffee. My conscience wouldn’t rest if I didn’t feed you before you headed out again.”

“Thank you,” Dawnmarie said. “That would be most kind of you. We would be glad to share biscuits and gravy with you in the morning.”

White Wolf and Dawnmarie wheeled their horses around and rode to the barn.

After the horses were turned out to eat in the pasture, and White Wolf had made a bed of straw for his wife, they stretched out together beneath a blanket.

“Violet Eyes, you seem unsettled,” White Wolf said, drawing Dawnmarie closer to him.

“I so miss our children,” she murmured. “Wisconsin is so far away now.”

“Our children are all right,” White Wolf reassured her. “Now go to sleep. You need your rest. I need mine.”

Dawnmarie snuggled closer to her husband, always finding solace in his powerful arms.

Fire Thunder sank his heels into his horse’s flanks and sent it into a lope ahead of the longhorn steers. The trail was rough up the mountainside, especially with a large herd of longhorns, their hooves occasionally slipping and sliding on the rocky path.

Determined to keep his people together at all costs, Fire Thunder had chosen to build his village on land that was many miles into the mountains. It was well hidden from those who might try and intrude on his people’s privacy.

His village was strategically located several miles from the United States border, close enough to San Carlos so that it would not be inconvenient for his clan to go there and sell their wares, and to trade with the Mexican people.

Above him on his right, the rimrock glowed like stirred coals in the early morning sunrise.

Somewhere in the pines that spread out on both sides of him, a meadowlark gave the morning its first song.

A chickenlike bird strutted from a thicket, onto a cropped dome. Another bird fluttered in, and soon there were a dozen.

A pair of cowbirds squeaked like rusty hinges.

Then he rode onto a flat stretch of land carpeted with pungent sagebrush giving off a bittersweet scent.

Fire Thunder edged his horse aside to watch the longhorns pass by, quickly now, the pastureland in view. He then rode on, Black Hair beside him on his mustang.

When they reached a shallow creek, the Kickapoo point men gave little crooning yells, encouraging the steers to cross. Their throaty cries were barely audible over the thudding hooves and the splash of the roiled waters as the longhorns dove into the stream.

The longhorns streamed past in a flurry of bobbing backs and tossing horns. Shades of tan predominated in their hides—ranging from a creamy-yellow to a rich chocolate-brown that was so dark, it looked more black than brown

After the longhorns were on dry land again, and moving peacefully along the trail toward the Kickapoo pastures, Fire Thunder and Black Hair broke away from them and rode into their village.

It was just in time for Fire Thunder to discover that the women and children of his village were ready to leave on their burros, to sell the wild chilepiqiquin, chili peppers, they had harvested.

They had also harvested much wild oregano and pennyroyal, which they preferred to sell from door to door, rather than on the town square, since this method always brought them a better price.

Fire Thunder’s eight-year-old deaf-mute sister, Little Sparrow, was among those who were going to the town of San Carlos.

Fire Thunder dismounted and went to her.

Little Sparrow’s eyes gleamed with love as Fire Thunder reached up and took her from her burro. He hugged her, then placed her on the ground and knelt before her. Gently he framed her copper face between his hands. She could read lips well, and she watched his lips as he spoke to her.

“Is your cousin Good Bear going with you, to keep watch on you?” Fire Thunder asked. His gaze moved over his sister, to see if she wore the proper clothes for the adventure that lay ahead of her.

Like the other women who were going into town, she wore a plain dress with a full skirt that could be drawn up into a kind of pouch to hold the chiles she hoped to sell there. Her hair had been plaited into three braids that were pulled up to t. . .