Spirit of the Wolf

by Loree Lough

  Enough precious time had been wasted. Chance saw no point in sitting there jabbering when he could be on his way back to her. “Are they treating you well? Do you have everything you need?”

  “Look in on your aunt now and then. That’s all I need.”

  Chance nodded. That would be easy enough to promise. “She’ll be taken care of,” he said. “You have my word on it.”

  Josh went back to staring at the floor. “It’s more than I deserve. Thank you, W.C.”

  “No thanks necessary.” Not knowing what else to say, Chance banged on the big metal door.

  “Will you be back?”

  Chance shook his head. “Soon as I see to Aunt Polly, I’ll be headin’ east.”

  “For good?”

  Nodding, he said, “For good.”

  Josh sighed, and as the guards stood him on his feet, the chains around his ankles clattered quietly. He looked deep into Chance’s eyes and extended his right hand.

  Chance squeezed it between his own.

  “I hope life is good to you, son; nobody deserves it more.”

  He pictured Bess, the twins, Micah, Foggy Bottom.

  “Pray for me, Josh.”

  His uncle’s brow furrowed. “Pray for you?”

  Life could be good…if Bess had waited for him. “Pray it isn’t too late for me.”

  ***

  It seemed to Chance he’d spent the better part of the past ten years in a saddle. When you climb down out of this one, he told himself, you’re not gonna set a horse again for a long, long time.

  Soon after hearing that the charges against him were officially dropped, Chance booked passage for his aunt Polly. Joe’s new bride had insisted that he take the money she’d put up as bounty. With five hundred dollars, he could buy a little spread and take

  care of her, just as he’d promised his uncle. Wouldn’t be easy, starting from scratch, especially if Bess hadn’t waited for him. But he liked Freeland and its people, and with time and prayer, he supposed he could learn to live with the fact that she’d moved on without him.

  He wanted to get to Freeland as fast as Mamie’s hooves could carry him, but it seemed nature had other ideas: a dust storm in New Mexico, a flood in Oklahoma, lightning and torrential downpours in Arkansas. Mamie threw a shoe in Tennessee, and it had taken two days to trudge to the nearest town and find a blacksmith to replace it. In Kentucky, the horse had stepped into a mole hole, and nearly came up lame. “Why don’t you just sell her?” a local vet had asked as Chance waited impatiently for her strained muscle to heal. Already, the hours had become days, increasing his yearning to see Bess. “‘Cause she saved my hide more’n once,” had been his terse answer, “and deserves the same from me.”

  It was good-going through West Virginia and Virginia, and the extra month on the trail had given him more than enough time to figure out what he’d say when first he saw his sweet Bess again. When he rode into Freeland and spotted her going into the bank, Chance’s heart pounded like a smithy’s hammer as he tethered Mamie to the nearest hitching post. “Now, you behave yourself, girl,” he said, patting the horse’s rump, “and I promise to buy you a feedbag of oats when I’m through here….”

  Won’t Bess be surprised, he thought, when she finishes her business and sees me standin’ here! The minutes seemed like hours as he waited. Twice, he checked his pa’s watch, wondering as he studied the so-familiar face what in tarnation could be taking her so long in there. And then, at last, her sure-footed boot steps clicked across the marble bank floor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Abbott,” he heard her say. “You have a nice day now.”

  As the friendly banker walked her to the door and offered similar good wishes, Chance wondered what to do when at last she stepped into the sunshine. Should he yell “Surprise!”? No, he didn’t want to startle her. Remove his hat? No, he wanted both hands free to gather her to him.

  And then, there she was, smack-dab in front of him.

  First sight of her, after all this time apart, set his pulse to pumping and his hands to trembling, and all the things he’d rehearsed over the many miles between Texas and Maryland were forgotten, blotted out by relief and joy…and love.

  She’d been in her usual hurry to get from one place to the next, but when she saw him, Bess stopped walking so suddenly that her skirts swirled around her ankles. She looked up at him, dark eyes wide with questions. And anger?

  “Chance,” she whispered, “you…you came back.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d say she seemed disappointed by the fact! He forced the ugly thought from his head, put both hands on her shoulders. “‘Course I came back.” It was all he could do to keep from grinding his lips against hers, right there in the bank doorway, in broad daylight. But the heated glare emanating from her dark eyes stopped him. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “You said you’d try….”

  What’s it matter what I said? he wondered. It’s what I’m about to say…and what I hope you’ll answer…that matters now.

  He decided to ignore her fury. She had a right to be angry, after so long without him. Chance moved to pull her into a hug…

  …but the bundle in her arms prevented it.

  Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

  He was about to suggest she put the confounded thing down, give him a proper welcome home, when it moved, emitted a small whimper.

  A…a baby?

  The blood froze in his veins.

  Recalling that Bess told him she’d assisted Doc in delivering infants, how she’d brought a few children into the world without his guidance, how she so often volunteered to care for a friend’s child, Chance’s fear evaporated. His eyes bored into hers. “Who’s young’un?”

  In place of an answer, Bess pulled back the blanket that hid the baby’s face. “Oh, Chance,” she sighed, “isn’t she just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

  If he counted them all up, he guessed he’d seen hundreds of calves and foals. He knew how to birth ‘em, knew what to feed ‘em if the mamas wouldn’t…or couldn’t. But this was the closest he’d ever gotten to a human infant in all his days.

  Tiny and pink, with fingers so small they reminded him of catfish whiskers, the baby seemed more fragile than an autumn leaf, more delicate than a the ice that skims a wintry pond. For an instant, an exhilarating possibility crossed his mind: Dare he hope this was his child?

  Then logic reared its ugly head, forcing him to consider the alternative. The baby looked brand new. He did some quick arithmetic, and the sum of his mental ciphering added up to heartbreak. Baby that young couldn’t be his.

  He slapped a hand to the back of his neck and shook his head. What a fool he’d been, thinking she’d wait more than a year for him.“Boy or girl?” he asked, mostly to get his mind off the awful facts.

  “Girl, and I’ve named her—“

  He didn’t want to hear what she’d named some other man’s baby. “She’s a beauty,” Chance interrupted, “just like her mama.”

  “Chance,” she began, a hand on his forearm, “how long have you been back?”

  He pretended to have an itch that needed scratching, so he could free himself of her grasp. “Just rode into town.” He forced himself to look away from the baby, into Bess’s face. Motherhood, Chance decided, agreed with her. She was even lovelier than he remembered. Something about her had changed, for she glowed with serenity, seemed to be at peace with her new life.

  “I wish you’d written….”

  It wasn’t an accusation. He could tell by the sweet light emanating from her eyes. So why did he feel he was being held accountable for some wrongdoing?

  If only he could have stayed in touch with her, instead of working toward his goal of clearing his name so he could come home and pick up where they’d left off. He’d told her to go on without him. But the notion that she had? And that she’d given herself to another man?

  Chance took a clumsy step backward. “I, uh, I have a few things….
I, ah, promised her I’d…ah, before I head out.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “Head out? But Chance, you just got here. Pa and the twins would love to see you, welcome you back.”

  Pa and the twins? he ranted inwardly. What about you, Bess. Why haven’t you welcomed me home?

  Exactly how did he expect her to accomplish that, when she had a baby and a husband who no doubt waited for her at Foggy Bottom. Did the man share her room overlooking the corral? Or had he built her a house of her own? Does she look at him the way she used to look at me?

  “Everyone will be thrilled to see you, Chance. As luck would have it, I’ve been cooking your favorite stew all day. Why don’t you follow us back to Foggy Bottom and—“

  The picture of her moving about the house, cooking his stew for another man proved too much to bear. He held a hand up to silence her. “Can’t talk now, Bess,” he said around the lump in his throat. He glanced at Mamie, pawing the dirt. “My, um…. I should get her some…. She needs me to….”

  Trembling from Stetson to boots, he half-ran toward his horse, hoisted himself into the saddle, and thundered away without another word.

  ***

  Bess drove the team hard, crying all the way home, as if she thought with every jostle and jolt of the wagon she might shake the painful ideas from her heart, dislodge the agonizing images from her mind. She’d hadn’t expected to see Chance again, and her joy at the sight of him had been all-encompassing. But he’d put a quick end to that! He’d made it clear there was someone else, someone he’d made promises to, someone he needed to take care of.

  “What’s wrong, Bessie-girl?” Matt asked when she parked the wagon near the front gate.

  “Nothing,” she spat, scooping the baby into her arms. “Put the groceries away for me, will you?”

  Standing with arms crossed over his chest, he blocked her path. “I’ll take care of that soon as you tell me what’s ailin’ you, big sister. You’ve got the horses lathered up like they’ve run a race, and both you and Li’l Bit there,” he added, nodding toward the baby, “look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Shoulders slouching, she handed the baby to her brother as his twin joined them. “What’s goin’ on?” Mark wanted to know.

  “Tell us, Bess, or we’ll send you to bed without any supper.”

  It was a threat she’d used on them dozens of times, unsuccessfully for the most part, but it inspired a sad little smile. “Chance’s back,” she said, slumping onto the bottom porch step, “and he brought a woman with him.”

  “A woman!” Mark demanded, fists clenched at his sides. “He has a woman, and he’s got responsibilities to her, right here at Foggy Bottom!”

  “Somebody needs to teach that polecat a thing or two about doin’ the right thing.” Matt shifted the squirming baby from one arm to the other.

  “If we leave right now, we can probably catch him.” Mark pounded a fist into an open palm. “Beat some sense into him.”

  Matt made a move to hand Bess the baby, but she grasped his sleeve instead. “Please, boys,” she said, taking Mark’s hand in her own, “haven’t I been humiliated enough? Some folks in this town have labeled me a harlot, a brazen hussy for having had a child out of wedlock, when all I did was take an orphaned baby into our home when her mama died. And because I swore on her mama’s deathbed that I’d take her secret to my grave, this sweet, innocent child,” she continued, nodding toward her daughter, “has been branded, too.” She shook her head vehemently. “If he doesn’t want us, then we don’t want him, either.”

  “But, Bess…if you tell him the truth…!” Matt insisted, jabbing a finger into the air. “I know he’d love Li’l Bit every bit as much as if she were his own.”

  The clock in the front hall gonged three times. Bess stood, took the baby from Matt’s arms. “Do you love me, Matt? Mark?”

  The twins exchanged a worried glance. “‘Course we do,” Matt said. “And that’s exactly why we’re gonna find Chance and tell him—”

  “If you love me, you’ll leave well enough alone. Now, please, unload the wagon, will you?” She took the baby from her brother’s arms. “I’m going to put her down for a nap while I get supper on the table.”

  “Way you look,” Mark muttered, “you oughta take a nap, yourself.”

  She sent them a sad, weary smile and kissed each of their cheeks, then trudged inside and slowly climbed the stairs.

  At the sound of her closing bedroom door, Mark elbowed Matt. “Betcha I can tell him before you do.”

  “You’re on!”

  ***

  He’d been in the Freeland saloon all afternoon. Between swallows of whiskey, Chance wondered if Bess had made it back to Foggy Bottom safely.

  ‘Course she did, he told himself. She knew that road like the back of her hand. Besides, it was barely more’n an hour’s ride from here to the farm….

  Drumming his fingertips on the counter, he signaled the barkeep. “Just leave the bottle this time,” Chance said, slapping a silver dollar on the counter, “it’ll save us both a heap of time.”

  “Didn’t your mama teach you that you can’t drown your sorrows in whiskey?”

  “Maybe I can’t drown ‘em,” Chance snarled, grabbing it, “but I can numb ‘em…if I’m lucky.”

  The man leaned on the bar. “Woman trouble?”

  “You could say that….” He carried the bottle to a table near the door, used the toe of his boot to pull out a chair. “…but it’d be better all ‘round if you didn’t say it.”

  The bartender held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just tryin’ to do the Christian thing,” he told another customer.

  “The Lord helps them what helps themselves,” the drunken patron slurred. “Leave ‘im with his booze an’ the she-devil that drove him to it.”

  He should tell them that Bess was anything but. He downed another gulp of the alcohol, hoping it would deaden his ears to their ridiculous banter, deaden his heart to the news of Bess and her child.

  He’d just tossed back his another jigger of whiskey when the twins barged into the saloon. “Chance Walker,” one said, “we have business to discuss with you.”

  “Well, would you look at what the wind blew in.”

  The Beckley boys stood beside his table, arms crossed over their chests, feet spread wide on the dusty floor.

  “You’ve grown a lot in a year,” Chance said, smiling. “Why, when I left here, you were barely bigger’n—“

  Mark spoke first. “Big enough to hurt you, if we have to.”

  Chance chuckled and poured himself another jigger of whiskey. “Now, now, boys. Why would you want to try an’ do a fool thing like that?”

  “‘Cause you hurt Bess, that’s why,” Matt said. “And we’re here to tell you, you’ve hurt her for the last time.”

  “I’ve hurt her?” Chance slammed a fist onto the table. “Don’t make me laugh.” He waved a hand in their direction, as if shooing away an annoying mosquito. “Now, git. Let me drown my sorrows in peace.”

  Matt leaned into Chance’s face. “You think you’ve got sorrows? Let me tell you something about sorrows!” In a whipstitch, he grabbed Chance’s shirt collar and brought him to his feet.

  The men at the bar were on their feet, too, circling to watch the brewing fight. “My money’s on the twins,” said one.

  “How much?” asked another.

  “A dollar!”

  And the barkeep shoved Chance’s silver dollar forward. “Double or nothin’!”

  “Put your money away, men,” Chance growled. “I never fought a boy in my life, and I don’t aim to start now.”

  “We ain’t boys!” Matt insisted, tightening his hold on Chance’s arm. “We’re fifteen! What’s the matter, you still yeller?”

  Mark leaned in close, lips curled back in disgust and fury. “Yeah, are you still a coward?”

  Still a coward? Still yeller? “Look,” Chance began, “I don’t know what you’re all riled up about, but—“


  “Don’t know what….” Matt slapped the hat from Chance’s head. “I’ll tell you what! You left Bess alone, to deal with those hens in town callin’ her a—“

  “Matthew!”

  Everyone turned toward the saloon’s swinging doors, where Bess stood, babe in arms.

  “I thought I told you two to mind your own business!” she huffed. “You promised me you’d stay out of this.”

  Chance looked from the twins to Bess and back again. The baby began to fuss, and Chance shook his head. He hadn’t had time to drink enough whiskey to make him this confused, and yet….

  Bess gently propped the child against her shoulder and patted its back. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, turning her wrath on Chance. “I thought your woman needed you?”

  “My woman?”

  And then it all began to make sense…the boys’ rage, the agony in Bess’s wide eyes as he left her in town earlier, her accusation just now that he’d ridden off to see to another woman’s needs. What would she say if he told her that Mamie was that woman?

  Chance felt like a fool for having thought, even for a moment, that Bess hadn’t waited for him. He should have known that a woman like her could never give her body to a man without first giving him her heart. Relief coursed through him. “You’re the only woman in my life, Bess Beckley, and if you weren’t so all-fired mule-headed, you’d know it.”

  “B-but…earlier, in town…you said—“

  “I said my horse needed tending. Period.” He held out his arms. “Now, will you bring that young’un over here and introduce her to me, proper?”

  He wasn’t the only one who knew the meaning of the word ‘relief’. Chance saw the proof of it shining in Bess’s brown eyes. “This young’un,” she said, heading toward him, “has a name. Mary Ann…Mary for my ma, and Ann for hers.”

  Bess quickly explained how, while in town several months ago, she’d found a young girl, cringing and crying as she gave birth in the filthy alley behind the granary. Bess told him how she’d fetched the doctor, and, as the poor girl struggled to give birth to her baby, listened to the harrowing tale of how she’d run away from home to escape her own father—the fire-and-brimstone preacher of a church in the next county—who had raped her.