TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  She believed Morgan, as painful as it was. Since that argument months ago when Niall had accused her of doing too much, a part of her had been preparing for just such a battle. She simply had not believed it would come so soon, or in such unexpected form.

  She had lied to Morgan when she told him that Niall accepted her inhuman nature; in her heart she knew that he did not, not completely. It was a matter they had never discussed. But if Niall thought she might be reminded of her mother's heritage, and how it had brought her to this life of confinement…

  How could she admit how much it hurt that Niall had schemed behind her back, all in the name of protecting her from herself?

  Her reputation had become the least of her worries. Yet she could not ignore the effect Morgan had upon her, here in her own most private sanctuary. He was the wolf who spoke to the sleeping beast within her. The man who stared at her as if she were a desirable woman. Heaven help her, she had felt that stare like a touch whispering up and down her flesh, stirring sensations she had just begun to experience before the accident.

  Why, oh why had Morgan come to waken them again? Why did he make her feel more than any man alive, more than any person had a right to?

  And why was he so determined to protect her?

  She held her head high and watched him weigh her answer as ruthlessly as he had judged her life. At last he cocked his head, and a smile tilted one corner of his mouth.

  "Caitlin was right," he said. "You are brave enough."

  "Thank you. And now you must leave. If my brother finds you here, nothing in the world will convince him to let the circus remain in Denver."

  He inclined his head. "I will go."

  Athena allowed herself to relax just a little, knowing there would be no further chance at sleep tonight. She would spend the wee hours concocting a way to broach the subject with Niall… while not revealing her source of information.

  "Please convey my gratitude to Harry and the others," she said. "Ask them to wait until they hear from me. I will see that you get a message when I have spoken to Niall." Having a definite plan was comforting, however tenuous it was. "Regardless of Niall's response, I will make certain that the troupe receives the full payment they were promised."

  "Even if you lose the fight?"

  She shuddered inwardly at his insistence on using such violent terms. Perhaps he knew no other way.

  If she pursued that line of thought, she would let herself be drawn to him, into his life, with the hope that somehow she might unravel the mystery of Morgan Holt. She wanted very badly to understand him, even though she knew such a course was dangerous beyond her wildest speculation.

  The questions she might ask Morgan Holt would satisfy her curiosity, nothing more. The answers could not change what was.

  "If I lose the battle," she said, "you will have lost nothing."

  "And your brother will rule you for the rest of your life."

  "You seem just as determined to 'rule' me as he is. Are all men as thoroughly vexing as the two of you?"

  "Are all females as foolish as you and Caitlin?"

  "You do not know—you, a man of the world? Have you not left a trail of broken hearts behind you?"

  He twitched as if he would snap at her, and then his eyes kindled like golden lanterns. "Not yet. Should I begin now?"

  Never in her life had Athena been so grateful for a distraction as she was when she heard the unmistakable sound of a slamming door downstairs.

  "Niall is home," she whispered. "You must leave at once!"

  He gave her a most wolfish smile. "What would happen if I didn't?"

  "If you are quick, you can leave by the window. I am sure that climbing down from a second-story window is child's play for a man of your talents."

  Stairs creaked below the landing. Athena gestured Morgan toward the window. He started in the right direction obediently enough, but at the last minute he turned and glided to her bedside.

  Athena supposed that, somewhere deep inside, she was almost expecting what happened next. Morgan crouched beside her, his hands on the bed, and leaned very close. His heat washed over her like the summer sun. His thick, black, unfashionably long hair brushed the sheets, her pillow, her breasts.

  And he kissed her. His mouth came down on hers, hard for only an instant before it gentled and began to caress. His weight pressed her back into the pillows. She might have felt smothered, terrified, but her senses had become so heightened that waves of pleasure pulsed all the way to her toes. One of her arms moved of its own accord to wrap about his shoulders. Firm muscle clenched under her palm.

  "Athena," he murmured.

  She caught her breath. Her lips throbbed. Her body throbbed. "Morgan."

  A loose floorboard on the landing just outside her door groaned in warning. Morgan sprang back. He leaped for the window, threw it open and was gone. Cold air spilled through the curtains, making a vain attempt to cool Athena's heated skin. Hastily she rearranged her nightdress and scooted down under the blanket. There was no use in pretending that she hadn't been awake, not with the lamp still burning and the window wide open.

  The door swung in. Niall entered the room and glanced about. His expression was, thank heaven, no more than slightly perplexed. He lacked the senses to know that someone else had been in the room.

  "I saw the light on," he said. "Why aren't you asleep?" Before he could answer he noticed the billowing curtains and strode to the window to shut it. "You'll catch your death, Athena. Why is the window open?"

  "I felt rather warm," she said meekly. "I could not sleep."

  He frowned at her and stood by the bedside. "Are you feverish? Should I send for a doctor?"

  "No. I am quite well… merely thinking."

  He sat between the bars on the edge of the bed. "About what?"

  Athena tried to remember how long it had been since she and Niall had had a heart-to-heart conversation that did not revolve around common courtesies or, more recently, arguments over her activities. "The circus," she answered honestly. "The performance for the children. It is only a few days away."

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. His fingers plucked at a bit of her blanket. "Would you be very disappointed… if the performance had to be cancelled?"

  So he did feel obligated to say something, after all. She faced a clear choice: either pretend she knew nothing, using her supposed ignorance to undermine Niall's resolve, or confront him directly. She knew what she would have chosen yesterday.

  Many things had been different yesterday. She would not have believed the time would come when she would be compelled to defy her brother. But then, she would not have believed the time would come when she was kissed in her own bed by a near stranger… least of all one like Morgan Holt.

  "You plan to send the circus away," she said.

  He looked at her sharply. "How did you know?"

  "Something… something Cecily said today on the lot," she improvised. Cecily Hockensmith had acted rather strangely while she and Athena waited in the carriage for Mali's return, but Athena had been more concerned with her brother at the time. "I knew something was wrong by the way you behaved. It was not like you."

  She drew a breath of relief when she saw that she had guessed correctly. "I discussed the matter briefly with Miss Hockensmith," Niall said, "and asked her to come with me when I went to the lot—"

  "To ask the circus to leave Denver," she finished. "Why, Niall? They were a gift to me, to the children. Cecily said something about a bad influence, but surely—"

  "I had hoped this would not come up until they were gone," Niall said, rising. "But since you have guessed, I see no reason to deny the truth." He strode across the room and addressed the wall, his hands clasped behind his back. "I made a mistake when I brought the circus to Denver. It is not a suitable entertainment for the children, nor are the performers fit company for you and the other young ladies."

  "I see. And you discussed this with Cecily?"

  "Miss Hockensm
ith agreed with me."

  Athena bit her lip. It was difficult not to be a little upset with Cecily for taking her brother's side, but she knew that the other woman's motives were good even if her attitude was too severe. "What led you to make this decision, Niall?"

  There. Either he would tell her the truth, or he would work his way around it as if it were a ticklish business deal.

  He chose a middle path. "I received some new information that suggested it would be better if they did not remain. I offered them a substantial gratuity in compensation. They were happy enough to take it."

  Now he was lying. "Were they? It's not really the children you wish to protect, is it, Niall? You are afraid for me."

  He turned around and stared at her. "And if I am? You spend too much time with beggars and riffraff as it is. We discussed this before—"

  "They are human beings, are they not? They are far more apt to be harmed than do harm themselves. The troupers are constantly on the verge of disaster, yet they are generous and warmhearted."

  "You see? You already think of them as friends."

  "We formed a contract with them, and you have always said that contracts must be honorably fulfilled. Even if you don't consider such a contract sacred, I do." She gathered her courage. "That is why you must agree to let them stay to complete the performance."

  "I must? Did I hear you correctly, Athena?"

  "Yes. I have asked very little of you in the past several years, except that you allow me to use my portion of the inheritance as I wish. Now I am asking for this."

  He glowered and paced from one end of the room to the other. "I have already asked them to leave."

  "Send a message and tell them that you have changed your mind. You need not give any explanation."

  Now was the crucial moment. Either he must come up with a better argument than he had so far, or he would be forced to tell her his real reason for wanting the troupe—and most especially the "Wolf-Man"—out of her reach.

  "If you do this, Niall," she said, "I'll stay away from the lot until the day of the performance."

  "That is not enough. If I allow the circus to remain, you must promise to curtail some of your more intemperate activities."

  Athena closed her eyes. She knew that he was using this as a means to do the very thing Morgan had accused him of—control her. "You ask a great deal," she said.

  "So do you." The mattress creaked as he sat down again. "I am willing to compromise, but only if you will do the same."

  Compromise? she thought with unaccustomed bitterness. Negotiate is too nice a word. Manipulate is more accurate. You have all the advantages.

  "Very well," she said. "Will you send a message tomorrow morning?"

  "Yes." He patted her hand. "It's for the best, my dear. The performance is to be on Sunday. I foresee no trouble as long as you remain at home until then."

  Athena was very tempted to argue. She did not enjoy arguing, and she'd had her fill of it tonight with Morgan. But a kernel of anger lay hard and cold in her heart, threatening to grow into something larger and much more intractable. Something with claws and fangs and the tenacity to drive every obstacle from its path by any means.

  Exactly like Morgan Holt.

  She tucked her hand under the covers. "I am tired now. I think I would like to sleep."

  "Good." He got up and went to turn off the lamp. "I'm sure that you will have plenty to do until Sunday. I'll ask Miss Hockensmith to visit and bring your friends."

  She didn't answer. After a while the light went out, and the door closed softly. Niall's footsteps retreated down the hall to his own room. Another door closed. All was silent save for the tapping of cottonwood branches on her window.

  Athena lay cold and stiff under the blankets, fighting to control her unreasonable passions. Her stomach clenched and roiled as if she had digested every last shred of the contentment she had cultivated since the accident.

  You lied to me, Niall. You treat me like a child, and I ceased being a child when you carried me out of that snowdrift.

  A child. To Niall, she would always be that, dependent and unable to guide her own destiny.

  Morgan Holt did not see her that way. She shivered, remembering the kiss, and the icy kernel in her heart was all but consumed in a blaze of sheer physical yearning.

  Morgan Holt believed she was brave and capable. He saw her as a woman grown. He didn't give her pretty words. He was barely courteous. Yet his actions spoke more eloquently than the most cultured speech.

  And he had kissed her.

  She touched her lips. It was just as well that she must stay away until the performance. If she met him again in private, she didn't know what she would say or do. What he would say or do, when there was no future to be shared between them.

  In dreams, she could walk, and run, and even Change again. In dreams, all the barriers between her and Morgan Holt dissolved like snow in a teakettle, and she forgot that her life was laid out now as it would always be.

  She closed her eyes and willed the dreams to come.

  Niall ushered Athena, Miss Hockensmith, and the few friends who had chosen to attend the performance to the special seats set aside for them at the very edge of the ring. Workers were busy making final adjustments to the props to be used by the performers—the high wire, the trampoline, the various balls and banners and hoops. Scaffolding for the aerialists hung overhead. An off-key trumpet sounded outside the trouper's entrance at the opposite side of the ring, and teachers from the orphanage herded the last of their charges in the common seating area, which the circus people called the "blues."

  Children's voices rang and echoed under the artificial cave of the tent. Sounds of innocent, uncomplicated joy. Niall glanced at the happy, upturned faces, and was glad he had not begrudged the orphans this small pleasure. Athena had invited the residents of Denver's other orphanages in addition to her own; nearly a hundred youngsters filled the blues.

  Athena had been true to her word. She'd kept quietly at home until this afternoon. If there had been a slight strain between him and his sister, Niall had dismissed it as minor pique on his sister's part. She would get over it—she always did. No one in the world was less apt to hold a grudge than Athena.

  Niall knew that better than anyone.

  As confirmation of his judgment, Athena beamed impartially at him and at anyone else who came in sight, including Harry French. The old man had personally attended them and arranged for refreshments to be provided, bobbing up and down the while with ingratiating humility. Fortunately, he had not found the temerity to ask Niall why he had changed his mind about allowing the performance, though Niall had made certain that the "Wolf-Man" stayed away. There was little risk that Athena would be reminded of things best left buried.

  Cecily Hockensmith touched his arm. "Oh, Mr. Munroe, I am so glad that you found a way to permit the show in spite of our concerns," she said. "Athena looks so happy. You were very clever to find a solution that pleases everyone."

  "I do not like making my sister unhappy," he said, sparing her a glance. "There is no reason why such matters cannot be settled in an equitable manner."

  "Indeed. My father has often said how much he admires your skills of negotiation."

  He murmured some rote courtesy and gazed about the ring. If not for Athena and her friends, he would have preferred to remain in the office at work, Sunday or not. But this was a moment of triumph for Athena, and he would not ruin her pleasure in it.

  He didn't know why he continued to scan the tent while Cecily Hockensmith chattered away beside him. When Harry French, replete in bright coat and vest, entered the ring to announce the start of the show, he listened for a while and then let his mind wander to the latest reports from his mining investments and banking interests.

  The performance began with the inevitable clowns. They gamboled about the ring, playing out skits and teasing children in the audience with their absurd antics. Niall watched the first act, decided that it was competent and q
uite harmless, and returned to his calculations of profit and loss. The laughter and cries of children, punctuated by the occasional gasp or comment from Miss Hockensmith, hardly disturbed his ruminations.

  A blast of music from the small band marked the change to the next act, a motley pack of trained dogs. It flew by like the first. Niall made a few changes to a contract written in his mind. Another performance, by a trio of acrobats, followed the second, and he composed a letter to the manager of his smelting operation in Argo.

  It was only when the fourth act began that he finally took notice, though he could not have said at first why he did so. A line of caparisoned gray horses trotted into the ring, necks arched and plumes waving proudly. Behind them, light as a fairy, bounded a girl in tights and short skirt, her red hair burning like a halo about her piquant face.

  That was when he knew what he had been watching for.

  Facts and figures vanished from his mind like chalk erased from a slate. Caitlin Hughes danced gracefully to the center of the ring, an ornamental whip in hand, and called out to her horses. They reared up in perfect formation, much to the delight of the children.

  "I believe I recognize that girl," Miss Hockensmith said. "A tiny thing, is she not? I cannot imagine what sort of upbringing she must have had."

  Niall barely heard her. He was remembering his last conversation—argument—with Miss Hughes, and how she had pulled back that remarkable hair to reveal her delicately pointed ears.

  Ears like… like an elf out of legend. And she had been so defiant. Her eyes had flashed like the sapphire earrings Niall had given Athena two Christmases ago.

  The girl was too far across the tent to see him now. His gaze followed her every motion as if she had cast a spell upon him. Once or twice Miss Hockensmith spoke, but he heard only her voice and not the words.

  How remarkable Miss Hughes was. Niall tried to remember her coarse ways, her rudeness, and her physical oddity, but it grew increasingly difficult to do so. She handled the horses as if she spoke their language; they reared and bowed and frolicked at her slightest invitation.

  All too quickly an assistant came to retrieve the horses, leaving one in the ring with her. She leaped up upon the animal's bare back and balanced there while her helpers positioned themselves at various points on the ring, suspending banners in the path she and her mount would follow around its circumference.