Page 21 of The Spirit of the Wolf

As the two of them wound their way up the incline, Marietta’s reflections drifted to other concerns, and she found herself wondering about Grey Coyote’s reasoning. Surely their trail didn’t require them to climb up and over this butte, did it? Couldn’t they go around it? Or was there some other reason for their trek?

At last, they reached the top of the little mesa, and as soon as they did so, Marietta was no longer left in doubt as to what was in Grey Coyote’s mind. It wasn’t from necessity that they were here. Indeed not. Grey Coyote had come here by choice.

Standing quite still, he gazed at the sunset laid out before them. As though only now remembering her, he looked behind him, and Grey Coyote motioned, indicating that she should slip down from the pony.

Wasn’t he going to help her down? Disappointment washed over her. It was too bad, for she had begun to think of Grey Coyote as a savage sort of gentleman.

“Sir,” she said, “do you mean to not aid me in getting to the ground?”

Grey Coyote spun back toward her, and she at once wished she had remained silent. It was one circumstance to ride next to the man with scant inches of clothing between them; it was another to bear witness to the wide expanse of the man’s muscular and naked chest. Perhaps she would do well to hand him back his shirt.

She gulped instead.

Frowning up at her, he asked, “Help you to the ground? Do you have an affliction that does not allow you to jump off the pony on your own?”

She bit her lip. “No, I can jump.”

His frown deepened.

“It is only,” she continued, “that in my society, a gentleman helps a lady down from her mount. It is considered good manners.”

Grey Coyote nodded. “And so you think I am ill-mannered?”

“Well…”

“This is not a custom in my country. Here, most women would be offended if I offered help. Here, a woman might wonder why I was assisting her instead of attending to my duty to guard her.”

“Really?”

“Hau, hau, it is so. She might even be angered if I tried to aid her, for in her mind, for me to do this, would be as to say that she was not worthy of defending.”

“Truly?” Marietta gazed off at the panorama of beauty. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Strange?”

“How different are some of our customs.” Bringing her attention back to the matter at hand, she started to vault down from the pony. But she had only begun when he was there in front of her.

He tossed her a lighthearted grin. “Let me help you.”

She laughed.

Looking up at her, he stopped cold, staring at her as though she had sent a poisoned arrow to his heart. His smile faded, and time seemed to have developed a warp, for she could have sworn it stood still.

He recovered swiftly enough, and without further hesitation, his hands came around her waist, and he lifted her easily from the pony. On the descent, she rubbed against him, the action sending a jolt of energy surging through her body.

Briefly, he held her closely, and then with a chuckle and a shake of his head, he said, “I never realized how clever is the white man.”

“Oh?”

“Hau, hau, it is so.”

“And what makes you say this?”

He grinned. “A red man would need a very big reason to hold a woman such. But the white man excuses himself with manners. Hau, hau. I think the white man is very clever, indeed.”

Marietta, too, grinned. “Indeed.” Gazing up at him, she stepped out of his arms.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, held. Then, unexpectedly, he turned away.