Native Wolf

by Glynnis Campbell

  He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

  "I mean," she amended, "if the light’s good and...and..."

  He looked at her with a mixture of wonder and disgust, then walked on.

  She followed, tugging on his arm to halt him again. "Chase told me you were a dead-eye."

  He narrowed his eyes and drawled, "You been readin’ dime novels, ma’am?"

  Her cheeks flamed like a Christmas hearth. "Dime no-...wh-...bu-"

  "I’m not gonna shoot anyone."

  He stalked off without her, muttering something else she couldn’t make out. Too mortified for words, she scurried silently after him.

  "You wait here," he said when they got close to the back of the block building. He pointed to a blind of manzanitas.

  She crouched beside the brush and watched him. He moved with the grace of a cat for all his size, slipping close to the edge of the wall and circling the structure. She waited for several minutes while he stole around the front of the building. Finally he crept back to where she waited.

  She tried to hide her disappointment. She’d half expected him to bring Chase with him.

  "There’s one door, no windows," he whispered. "There’s a horse tethered outside. I could hear the guard inside, playin’ solitaire."

  Claire frowned. She wondered how he knew it was solitaire he was playing.

  He shrugged, guessing her question. "Rhythm of the cards."

  "So you’ll have to break down the door?"

  He actually winced. "No."

  "Then how will you..."

  He rubbed his palm thoughtfully over his jaw. "We’ll need a little time. And a distraction."

  He grew silent for a long while after that, and she bit her lip in frustration. Finally she could stand it no more.

  "But he’s just on the other side of that wall," she whispered, fighting to keep the irritation from her voice. "Can’t you just charge in, shoot the guard, fire a couple of times at the lock until it busts open, steal the guard’s horse, and ride off into the night?"

  She wished she hadn’t said anything. He gave her such a look of amusement that she blushed all over again.

  "And was that Dashing Dick who did that or Buckskin Bill?"

  Humiliated, she verbally lashed out at him. "Chase would do it for you."

  He grew instantly somber. "No. Even my bull-necked brother would use his brains, not his brawn.” He scratched at his cheek. “What’s he wearin’? Is he dressed anything like me?”

  She shook her head. Chase was wearing blue jeans and a blue shirt. Drew sported a fancy white shirt and brown trousers.

  “All right then,” Drew said with a sigh. “Here’s what we’re gonna do."

  After he told her his plan, Claire decided Drew was a good brother after all. He was noble, brave, and selfless. And if his crazy scheme worked, she would owe Drew much more than she could ever repay.

  While Claire stood guard, Drew shuffled out of his clothing. When he’d stripped down to his drawers, he asked her, “There. How do I look?"

  She turned cautiously. "Good," she said with a nervous nod. "You look good."

  One corner of his mouth curled up, reminding her painfully of Chase. "You know, most ladies say that with a little more enthusiasm." He winked at her. “You remember what you’re supposed to do?"

  She nodded, swallowing hard.

  He gave her arm a squeeze. "Tell Chase I’m headin’ south." Just before he slipped away, he winked. "And don’t you go shootin’ anybody, Calamity."

  Claire’s heart raced like a runaway train while she waited.

  Everything seemed to go according to plans. She heard the jailer’s horse snorting and whinnying under Drew’s pestering, drawing the jailer from his game of solitaire. She held her breath as a widening swath of light indicated the jailer had opened the door to see what was up. Drew’s plan was to hesitate long enough to let the man see his face.

  "What in the holy hell?"

  Then Drew took off like a streak. Only then did Claire realize the gunslinger was unarmed.

  Muttering another curse, the jailer drew his gun and scrambled after him on foot, leaving the door wide open.

  Trembling, Claire counted slowly to five. Then she ran into the jailhouse.

  All night, Chase had been tossing and turning on the jail cot. He couldn't quiet the raging thoughts inside his head.

  He had to protect his brother. Those charges against him were false. He knew Drew. Drew would never cheat at cards. He didn’t have to.

  But what if Drew couldn't be found? What if Chase had to defend himself against the charges? He didn’t have Drew’s charm or his silver tongue. By morning, Chase could very well find himself with a rope around his neck.

  Yet how could he die? Chase didn’t feel like his journey was finished. He was meant to mend Yoema’s broken circle. What sense would it make for him to pass from this world before wedding Yoema’s spirit daughter, before healing the past, and without leaving children to bring honor to his ancestors?

  He sat up on the cot, bowed his head over his knees, and closed his eyes, praying to Yiman-tiwinyay for a vision. But the only thing he saw were visions of Claire...her face luminous with adoration, her eyes dancing with laughter as he caught the trout, her naked tears at her grief over Yoema, the softness of her smile by the firelight, the ecstasy in her gaze when he entered her and they became one.

  He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to erase the bittersweet images, but he couldn't. It was as if the joining of their bodies had also welded their spirits together. And now, separating from her was impossible to imagine, like removing the copper from bronze.

  While he sat in thought, the horse outside began to snort uneasily. He stiffened. The sound of flicking cards from the next room ceased. Chase heard the scrape of the jailer’s chair across the wood floor, then footsteps toward the front door. Everything happened in a rush after that. The jailhouse door creaked open, and, with a curse, the jailer raced out of the building. Chase got to his feet, peering through the iron bars for a glimpse at what had caused the disturbance.

  The last face he expected to see was the one that had haunted him for the good part of the night, the one that still kept him from sleep.

  She rushed in like a sweet spring breeze, flushed and breathless, and the sight of her—as wrong as it was, as impossible as it was—melted his heart. His fingers tightened around the bars of his cell.

  "Oh, Chase," she sighed. On her lips, his name sounded like a welcome wind in the pines.

  For a moment, he only stared at her, doubting his eyes, doubting his sanity. How could she be here, now? How was it possible? She was so beautiful. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, to gaze into her limpid eyes, to graze her pale cheek with his breath, to drink in her womanly perfume.

  “Claire, what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to rescue you,” she gushed. Her face shone with joy as she hurried over and closed her fingers around his.

  “But how?” he asked, lapping his thumbs over hers. "If anyone sees you..."

  She shook her head. "Drew has taken care of that. He—”

  "Drew!"

  She nodded.

  "Drew is with you?"

  "Yes.” Her face fell a bit. “Well, no, not now. He’s distracting the jailer so you can escape.”

  “Distracting him how?”

  “He’s pretending to be you, leading him on a merry chase.”

  “Damn! Where?”

  “He said he was heading south.”

  Chase nodded. Drew was like Oleli, Coyote, stealing fire from the Creator. Everywhere he went, a blazing torch followed him, igniting the forest around him. Once Drew was involved, everything would become a spectacle. He wondered if it already had.

  “He said something else.” Claire wrinkled her brow, not understanding the message she was passing on. “He said to tell you to strip down to your drawers. And then he said he was planning to play the two-spirit game.”

/>   Chase scowled. The two-spirit game. They hadn’t played that since they were boys. It was a foolish trick, one invented by Drew. And now that Chase was grown and saw how it made a mockery of the spirit world, he didn’t approve of it. On the other hand, if it helped them to escape…

  “Hurry,” she urged. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  She was right. He swiftly undressed. Whatever happened later, for now he had to get out of the cell. He was of no help whatsoever trapped in this cage. He had to find his brother before Drew got himself into serious trouble.

  Meanwhile, Claire scanned the wall, searching for the key to the cell. It wasn’t on the hook. She rummaged through the jailer’s desk. She found all sorts of official-looking papers, a length of twine, a half-dozen cigars, handcuffs, a nearly empty flask of whiskey, a nail, even a pack of well-worn naughty playing cards. But no key.

  Claire felt like screaming. She dug her nails into the wood of the desk. What would she tell Chase? That she couldn’t get him out of jail after all? That his brother was out there somewhere, running for his life from a man who thought he was a fugitive?

  Behind her, Chase already knew. "The jailer wears the key around his neck."

  She wrung her hands. “Then what do we…” Her breath caught as she faced him. Dressed in just his drawers, he looked more like his brother than before. Only a discerning eye—or someone like Claire, who’d spent hours memorizing every muscle—would be able to tell the difference between them. “You really do look alike.”

  “Nope, Drew is the pretty one,” he said with a smirk, reaching through the bars to pick up the padlock and turning it over in his hand.

  If only they’d had a gun, she thought, they might be able to shoot it open. She was sure she’d read something about that in one of her dime novels.

  "Do you have anything long and pointed, like a porcupine quill?"

  Her mind retraced the objects she’d just seen. "A nail?"

  "Maybe."

  She yanked the desk drawer out so hard that it spilled half its contents onto the chair. She scrabbled through the wreckage, found the nail and handed it to him. He stuck the sharp end of it into the lock and started wiggling it slowly.

  She cocked her head. "Where did you learn that?"

  "My brother." He frowned, adding, "It's not something I’m proud of."

  Claire didn’t care. She’d be grateful for anything, criminal or not, that set him free. If only it didn’t take so long, she thought, her heart racing as he carefully twirled and jiggled the nail.

  "We can take the jailer’s horse," she told him breathlessly. "It’s just outside."

  The only indication he heard her was the tensing of his jaw as he worked the lock.

  She licked her lips. "Unless you think we’d be better off tracking him on foot.”

  At his continued silence, the back of her neck began to prickle with foreboding.

  “Or we can take turns riding, and—”

  "You’re not coming with me."

  For a moment she couldn’t speak. What was he saying? She hadn’t come just to set him free. She meant to run away with him. Perhaps he misunderstood. She forced a brittle laugh. "Of course I’m coming with you. I love you, and you love me. I’ll follow you wherever—"

  The lock clicked, springing open.

  Panic blew through her like a rogue north wind. “Chase?”

  He slipped the lock from the bars and swung the jail door wide.

  “Chase!”

  He shouldered past her to rummage through the jailer’s possessions.

  When he didn’t reply, her panic turned to anger. “Chase Wolf, don’t you dare think of leaving without me.”

  “I have to go after my brother.” Once he found what he wanted, he returned. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, stepping close to rest her palms on his bare chest, over his heart. She gave him a shaky, seductive smile, lifting one hand to coil a lock of his hair around her finger. “Besides, we’re joined now, like you said. We’re like a circle, with no beginning and no end. You can’t keep me from—”

  Her words were swallowed up by his kiss. His mouth branded her, claimed her with a ferocity he’d never shown before. One hand tangled in the back of her hair, tipping her face up, and he bore her backward until she was pressed up against the bars of the cell. His breath came fast and desperate, his kisses bruising in their intensity, and she melted like candle wax under his fiery touch.

  Then his mouth softened, his caress lightened. His fingers drifted forward, beneath her ear. His lips parted from hers, and his thumb brushed her cheek.

  His eyes shone—dark and mysterious—like a well so deep she couldn’t see the bottom.

  "Niwhdin," he whispered. "I love you. Remember this. No matter what happens, I will love you forever, whililyo, wife of my spirit."

  His words of devotion should have comforted her, but the subtle shift in his eyes chilled her to the bone. She felt something cold close about her wrist, then heard it snap shut.

  She gasped. No. He couldn’t have.

  But the guilt of his betrayal was written on his face.

  Her heart plunged to the bottom of her stomach. By the time she recovered from the shock, caught her breath, and found the courage to look down at the twin circles of the handcuffs—one around the bar of the jail cell, one around her wrist—he had already fled into the night.

  Chapter 21

  Chase chucked the nail into the bushes and headed south after his brother.

  Leaving Claire had been so hard, harder than he'd anticipated. Her mouth tasted like spring, fresh and flowery and as sweet as young grass. Her skin—soft and scented from her bath—aroused his spirit, his body, his heart. And her eyes, like those of a young fawn, were so trusting.

  But he knew he had to do this alone. This time the whole town would probably be hunting them, and he refused to drag Claire into another dangerous escape across the countryside.

  As far as the brothers, luck was almost always on Drew’s side, but evading capture and escaping with their lives was going to take more than luck. Even Drew’s two-spirit game couldn’t assure their safety.

  And if luck turned on them, Chase figured at least he’d be comforted by the knowledge he’d kept his beloved Claire safe.

  In time, she'd understand. In time, she'd forgive him for his treachery. And eventually, her heart would mend.

  But for now, he must purge her from his thoughts. His brother needed his help, and Claire was a distraction he couldn't afford. So, like leaching the bitterness from acorns, he washed her beautiful image from his mind. He forced his thoughts to Drew Hawk.

  He didn't take the horse. Stealing a white woman, breaking out of jail, and shackling a lady to the bars of a cell were severe enough offenses. He didn't want to add a second horse theft to his growing list of crimes. Besides, he could travel more stealthily on foot.

  So, guided by his instincts and starlight, he set out due south on a quest to save his brash brother.

  At first Claire was too stunned by Chase’s betrayal to move. Then she was hurt and heartbroken. Then she became spitting mad.

  After all the time they’d spent together, all the perils they’d faced, Chase thought she couldn’t handle chasing after Drew. It was an insufferable insult.

  She might not be intrepid Maude Berland, but she wasn’t exactly a lily-livered shrinking violet. She’d done battle with a skunk. She’d held Frank at gunpoint. Hell, she’d even gone into a brothel to fetch his brother. He could hardly claim she was a mewling female, afraid to soil her kid gloves.

  She rattled the shackle around her wrist, pulling and tugging violently at it, wondering if she could break the metal or squeeze her hand through the cuff.

  But after several minutes, all she achieved was a raw, red wrist and an even more strained temper.

  She didn’t even have a gun to try to shoot off the lock, though she wondered if it was worth the risk. What if she mis
sed and shot herself in the hand?

  She growled in frustration. Then she sank into a pathetic puddle of brown skirts, rasping the handcuff all the way down the iron bar of the cell.

  While she was mulling over her limited options, she heard someone moving outside—rapid footsteps kicking up leaves and growing closer.

  Was it Chase? Had he changed his mind and come back for her? Was it the jailer, returning from a fruitless hunt? Or was it someone else?

  She quickly rose to her feet just as the intruder burst into the jail.

  It wasn’t Chase.

  And it wasn’t the jailer.

  It was a woman.

  She was quite beautiful. Her hair was long and coal black, part of it swept up into a messy knot atop her head. She had a beauty spot to one side of her full, rosy lips. And her dark eyes were full of fire. With a swish of scarlet skirts, she swirled with breathless haste through the doorway like a whirlwind on a mission and leveled a Colt forty-five at Claire.

  “Where is he?” she demanded in a slight foreign accent. “I know he came here.”

  “Who?”

  The woman ignored her question, instead giving Claire a pointed perusal from head to toe, sizing her up. “Are you his wife?” she bit out.

  Claire frowned. “Whose wife? And will you please put down that—”

  “Drew’s.” She gave the “r” in Drew a light flick of her tongue. Claire wondered who she was. She’d never seen her in Paradise before.

  “Drew's? No!”

  The woman pursed her generous lips. “His, what-you-call-it, financier?”

  “Fiancee? No. Who are you?”

  She ignored the question. “But you came to the jail with Drew, yes?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What have you done with him?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t… Will you please put down that gun?” She showed the woman her cuffed hand. “I can’t do you any harm. Who are you anyway?”

  She lowered the revolver and lifted her chin, saying proudly, “I am Drew Hawk’s lady.”

  Claire returned the woman’s perusal. Her velvet gown was low-cut and tight-fitting, and the vivid scarlet hue was one no modest gentlewoman would wear. Yet she seemed to wear the dress with dignity, as if exposing a good portion of her bosom was perfectly acceptable. She must be one of the fallen women from the Parlor. Claire couldn’t help but wonder just how long she’d been Drew Hawk’s lady. A couple of hours?