by D. M. Turner
“He certainly did.” Randy flipped further in the Bible. “In fact, God blessed him richly. He gave him back everything he’d lost, two-fold, and replaced the children he’d lost.” A grin flickered. “Personally, I’ve long suspected the latter was as much a judgment on Job’s nagging wife as it was a blessing to Job. Having to go through the pain of giving birth to ten more children.”
Mrs. Madeline playfully slapped his arm, even as she chuckled. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Ian chuckled.
Randy lifted his wife’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anyway, in the New Testament, what Job learned is reinforced. The Lord makes the sun shine on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and unjust.”
“But rain is a good thing.”
“Yes. The point Jesus is making in that passage is that the Lord allows good things to come to all, even the wicked. On the flip-side of that, He also allows bad things to befall both. We live in a world degraded by sin, so bad things happen to everyone. God allows them to happen even to His people for the purpose of helping us grow spiritually.”
“Oh.” Ian nodded.
The conversation played through Ian’s head long after he’d bedded down in front of the wood stove in the sitting room. As hard as he’d worked, he should’ve fallen right to sleep, but sleep remained elusive. Had Randy been right? Was Ian a good man being tested and tried by God like Job instead of an evil one being judged and punished? If so, what did that mean for his life? What kind of man was God trying to mold him into?
* * *
Three days later, Ian put the finishing touches on the chicken coop and was still no closer to an answer about what God wanted from him. No more tasks remained to keep him busy during the day, so he’d leave the next morning. Four full days in Tucson socializing with the Benton family should appease the wolf for a while.
He’d return to the mountains, dig up the metal box he’d buried to safeguard the notes he’d written, and maybe work some more on that book about the Civil War. He’d jotted notes as he’d found scraps of paper here and there after discovering quite by accident that sharing his thoughts alleviated the nightmares he’d had since his Turning.
“Oh, Mr. Campbell, it looks wonderful!”
He flinched. How had that woman sneaked up on him? Had he been that wrapped up in his thoughts? He twisted the final bit of wire into place and stepped back before glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Madeline. “That should do it.”
She smiled then let go of the hand of her son, who toddled over and wrapped pudgy fingers in the wire around the chicken pen.
“The coop has a wood floor, so no critters can go in under the walls. It’s as sturdy as I can possibly make it.” He pointed to the door. “Nest boxes can be reached easily from inside without the risk of a hen escaping as well.”
“How will I ever thank you?” She pulled open the door and looked inside. “This is beyond my wildest expectations.”
“You’ve more than thanked me already, ma’am, with good food and a warm place to sleep.” He lowered his gaze to the little boy who stood no higher than his knees. “I’ll be heading on down the road tomorrow since y’all don’t have anymore work for me.”
“Why don’t you stick around for a while? I’m sure Randy can find others who need work done. You’re a hard worker, and you do a wonderful job. I just know others could use your help.”
“I’m much obliged, but it’s time I move on.”
“You don’t stay in one place long, do you?”
“No, ma’am, I suppose I don’t.” At least, not where there were people.
“It must get lonely.” Compassion filled her eyes.
“Sometimes.” He couldn’t lie about that. “But I manage.”
“Well, at least think about staying for a few more days. Please. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Randy so enjoy conversation with another man.”
Ian chuckled. “He just likes giving personalized sermons, ma’am.”
Mrs. Madeline laughed, the gentle sound of a songbird that stirred his heart. “You could be right about that.” She scooped up her son and headed for the house. “I better get back to the kitchen. I don’t want to burn those biscuits.”
He watched her go then turned away. Pining after a wife and family was one thing. Desiring another man’s wife was something else entirely. It was definitely time to move on.
“And who might you be?”
Ian tensed then turned to face a man who rounded the side of the house.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Benton.”
“She’s in the kitchen.” He pointed to the house.
“I see.” The man’s hand rested on a gun belt. “And who are you?”
“Name’s Ian Campbell. I’ve been doing some work for the pastor and his wife.”
“You didn’t happen to be near the bank today, did you?”
“No, sir. I don’t even rightly know where it is. Regardless, I’ve been here all day working on this chicken pen.”
“Can Mrs. Benton verify that?”
“I assume so, but you’d have to ask her. I can’t speak to what she does or doesn’t know.” He really didn’t like the way that man was sizing him up. The wolf grew restless, and Ian resisted the desire to growl.
“Good afternoon, Marshal.” Mrs. Madeline stepped onto the back porch. “Is there something we can help you with?”
“I hope so, Mrs. Benton.” The man stepped to the edge of the porch, keeping Ian in his peripheral vision. “I heard you had a new hired man, and I came to ask after his whereabouts earlier today.”
“He’s been here all day, working on the new coop for my chickens.”
“Has he left the premises at any time?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“The Faro Bank was robbed, and I’m trying to find the culprit. All I know about him is he’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black mask and a wide-brimmed hat.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, it most certainly wasn’t Ian. I can assure you, he’s been right here all day. He had a long lunch with me and Randy, but otherwise he’s been working away since first light.”
The law man gave Ian a suspicious look then nodded. “Alright then. I’d better be on my way. I have a thief to hunt down.”
* * *
“I really wish you’d reconsider.” Randy laid a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I know a couple of folks who could use a good hand like you, and for a longer haul than a handful of days. You’d be set at least until spring.”
The morning sun warmed icy air to some degree. It’d be nice to return to wolf form. Far warmer than human skin. He smiled. “I’m obliged for all you’ve done as it is, but it’s time for me to move on.”
“Oh, before you go. I have something for you.” The young pastor turned and entered the house, leaving the front door open. He was back almost immediately with a book in hand. He held it out. “This is for you.”
Ian accepted it and smiled when he read the cover. “A Bible?”
“A man should spend time every day in the Word of God. That’s how we get answers to some of our most burning questions.”
“Really?” He glanced at the book with greater respect. Well, that could certainly be helpful.
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t pay for this.”
“Consider it a gift from the church. We keep a few on hand for those in need of a Bible of their own.”
“Well... thank you.” He turned away and blinked back tears. No one had ever given him such a gift. “I’ll most certainly read it.”
“Good.”
He started down the walkway.
“Mr. Campbell, wait!”
He turned in place as Mrs. Madeline rushed out the front door, a package in one hand, a fold of her long skirt in the other to keep it out from underfoot. She stopped in front of him and offered the package. “I put together a bit of food for your trip. It’s not much, but it should do you for a day or two.”
; “Thank you, ma’am. That’s mighty kind.” He accepted the bundle and pulled it to his chest along with the Bible. “It’s been a real pleasure spending time with y’all.”
Randy stepped forward and slipped an arm around his wife’s trim waist. “You stay safe out there on the road, Ian.”
“Will do.” He nodded with a smile then headed down the street. Part of him yearned to stay, but that was impossible. He couldn’t surrender to such desires. The next full moon would be his undoing.
* * *
As evening approached, Ian huddled over a small campfire and consumed the biscuits, cheese, and smoked beef Mrs. Madeline had packed for him. He’d reached the foothills well before dark, but it would take a day of hiking to reach the hiding spot he’d chosen for his possessions. He’d wait until he got there to Shift to the wolf. Such a large creature would be too easily spotted until the forest provided cover.
A faint sound downwind broke the silence of the evening. Ian calmly closed up the package and set it to one side, bracing for whatever might come. It could simply be a stranger wandering by, seeking the warmth of the fire.
“I knew I smelled another wolf.” A thick, gravelly voice accompanied the slow thump of a horse’s hooves.
Ian got to his feet, his movements efficient, smooth, and moderated so he didn’t appear jumpy. He turned to face his visitor.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in blue jeans, a blue plaid shirt, and a black leather vest sat atop of big sorrel mare. A dusty black bandanna was lashed around his neck. A wide-brimmed cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead, shading his eyes from the setting sun. He had to be no more than twenty or twenty-one, which was surprising given the depth of his voice. Leather creaked as the man shifted in the saddle and leaned a forearm on the horn.
Another wolf? Ian took a slow, deep breath, but the man was too far away and downwind to catch his scent. If that is a wolf and he wants a fight, I could be in trouble. It had been a long while since he’d run into a wolf as tall and heavily-muscled as himself. They were in neutral territory, so there shouldn’t be any need for a fight. They could chat and go their own ways afterwards. Simple as that.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee, but you’re welcome to warm up by the fire.”
The big man cocked his head. “You ain’t afraid of me.”
“Should I be?”
“If you knew who I was, surely.”
“And who might you be?”
The man straightened. His chest puffed out. “Name’s Will Farley.”
Ian stared at him for a moment, suppressing a smile at the young man’s bluster. “Ain’t never heard of you.”
Will flinched and scowled. “What do you mean, you ain’t never heard of me?”
“I mean, I ain’t never heard of you.”
“You been living in a cave or something?”
“Or something. I don’t get into town much.” Understatement of the century. “When did you become a wolf?”
The young man snorted in annoyance but allowed the change in subject. “I was born one, not Turned like you probably were.”
Born? Someone could be born cursed? Turned? That was the word Ian had chosen a long time ago for what had been done to him. Capital letter emphasis and all. It was actually the correct term for it? How odd.
“Where are your folks?”
“Dead.” A sly grin curved the young man’s mouth. “My pa thought he could play bossy alpha with a growed wolf. My ma got in the way.”
“You killed them?” The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. What kind of man could kill his own parents and find it amusing?
“Of course. That’s what we do. We kill those who want to make us submit to their will.” He waved a hand, indicating their surroundings. “In a world of weak humans, we’re gods.”
Ian had known a couple of officers in the Union army who’d had such delusions. One of them had even believed himself immortal. Right up until he’d died on a battlefield, his head taken off by a bouncing cannon ball. Ian had never seen it in a man so young though. “We ain’t gods. Gods can’t be killed, and we can die just like humans. The fact you killed your family proves that.” Come on, boy, put it all together. We’re not invincible.
The young man swung down from the saddle. Tension radiated from him. The wind shifted and carried with it the scent of rage. He removed his hat and hung it over the saddle horn. Then he untied the bandanna and shoved it into a saddlebag, soon followed by his shirt.
Great. Ian sighed softly. So much for avoiding a fight. Hopefully he could take the young man down a notch or two, rather than having to kill him, or dying himself. He stripped off the long buckskin shirt and toed off his moccasins. Before he could strip off his leggings, Will hit him. Hard.
Ian rolled with the force of the blow, Shifting at the same time, coming to all four feet by the time momentum stopped. He stepped out of the loose leggings and loincloth to avoid being entangled by them.
The big, black wolf circled, head down, teeth bared, hardly making a sound.
Ian watched quietly, waiting for the other wolf to make the first move. Youthful arrogance and impatience would be Will’s undoing. Hopefully.
When the black launched, Ian danced to one side and slashed open Will’s neck and shoulder with a swipe of his teeth.
The wolf yelped then landed, growled, and turned to face Ian again.
Ian waited. The young wolf was fast, but Ian had experience and maturity on his side. Hopefully it would be enough to throw the scales in his favor. If not, at least he’d no longer pine for things he couldn’t have.
Will launched again, in a repeat of the previous maneuver.
Ian hopped sideways, but Will was prepared for it, turned, and latched onto Ian’s muzzle. He shook the young wolf loose, but it cost him in torn flesh and broken bones, if the crunch of bone on one side was to be believed. He swallowed a yelp of pain and faced the enemy. The boy learned quickly.
The fight went on. The sun went down.
Both of them bled from wounds to various parts of their bodies. Ian just wanted peace, but Will seemed disinterested in a truce. There was no choice but to finish it.
Will came at him again.
Ian dropped to the ground and came up underneath, tearing into the soft underbelly.
The boy hit the ground with a sickening thump but gamely tried to regain his feet.
Ian didn’t give him a chance. He pounced, pinning the young wolf with his weight and locking his teeth on the boy’s jugular. He paused, giving Will a final chance to admit defeat.
Instead of surrendering, the boy growled and tried to claw Ian’s stomach.
Regret and satisfaction warred within him as he bit down. Warm, pulsing blood spewed into his mouth and flowed out, spilling to the ground. To be sure the injury wouldn’t close, he ripped the chunk of flesh out, leaving a gaping wound even a wolf couldn’t heal fast enough to avoid bleeding to death. Ian stood over him, waiting for death. He couldn’t leave this one alive. A man who thought himself a god would only bring harm to others. Innocents.
Will went still then the pulsing of blood stopped. Death glazed his eyes.
Ian sighed and lowered his head. Why were the young so often stupid and impetuous?
He turned to the task of burying the body. He could leave it for the vultures, but that seemed wrong somehow. He sought out and found a spot of ground soft enough to dig up. One advantage to being the wolf, he could dig a deep hole quickly. He hopped out of it and dragged Will’s bloody, naked human form to the hole then pushed with his nose until it fell in. Then he shoved dirt and rocks back into the hole. He walked across it a few times to be sure it blended with the rest of the area.
Then he headed back toward the fire.
Oddly enough, the mare had stayed put. Why hadn’t she bolted when wolves appeared or after the fighting started? Had Will gotten her accustomed to such things? The very idea sickened Ian.
He returned to human form, reset his nose, and as
sessed other injuries. Nothing serious. They had already closed. He wiped blood away as best he could and got dressed. So, what should be done with the man’s belongings? He’d killed his family, so there was no one to locate and send his possessions to.
The mare nuzzled Ian when he approached. Strange animal, indeed. A mighty fine horse, too, his eyes and hands told him. He had no need of a horse though, and if he gave her to someone, they’d surely ask where he’d gotten her. He didn’t need questions.
Then he remembered a band of mustangs he’d seen a while back not too far west. If he could find them, she could join the herd. He gathered up the man’s clothes and shoved them into one of the saddle bags, picked up his own meager belongings, put out the fire, and mounted the horse.
It took until late the next morning to find the wild band, and he’d had to go further than he’d hoped. He dismounted under the watchful eyes of the band stallion. The well-muscled stud bugled a challenge Ian had no intention of accepting. The mare’s head rose, and her ears pricked forward. She nickered at the big stallion.
“He’ll watch over you, help you learn to survive out here.” Ian stripped the mare’s saddle and bridle then swatted her rump.
She trotted in the direction of the other horses. The stallion came out to meet her and herded her, his neck low and snaking, until she joined the rest of his small band. He turned to watch Ian.
“She’s all yours, boy. Take good care of her.” He grabbed up the saddle bags and other belongings but left the tack where it lay. He had no use for it, so there was no point carrying the weight for miles.
* * *
Two days later, Ian finally breathed a sigh of relief. Back where he belonged. He set a small fire in a sheltered spot, dug up the metal box, which had remained untouched in his absence, and sorted through the saddle bags as he dropped the things he could use into the box and tossed the rest aside to be disposed of.
The shirt, jeans, and boots were new. He could use them later, after the clothes had had a good washing. The cotton bandanna was filthy and wreaked of the wolf he’d killed, so he tossed it and the sweat-stained hat aside, along with the empty saddle bags. He’d bury those and let the earth reclaim them.
