TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  "You are a true friend, Cecily."

  "And I hope one day to be much more—to you, and to Mr. Munroe. Good-night, Athena."

  "Good-night."

  Athena listened for Brinkley's steps and the sound of the front door closing on a gust of wind. She tugged the shawl back over her shoulders and wheeled her chair to the secretary. She chewed on the tip of her pen, considering the letters to be written, and began the first of them while sleet rattled against the windowpanes.

  Tomorrow she would see the letters delivered. And in a few days, she'd be at Caitlin's bedside, among the people who had come to mean as much to her as any of her Denver friends.

  Perhaps Morgan would smile at her again. She did not expect it, let alone anything more. If she could see Caitlin through her most difficult time, it was enough.

  It would have to be.

  Chapter 13

  The necessities of business had never seemed so interminable or the conversation so dull as they had been for the past five weeks. Niall leaned his head against the seat of the Pullman Palace car on the railroad heading west from Kansas City, profoundly grateful to be going home.

  Or was he? When he walked in the door of the house on Fourteenth Street, he would have to face Athena—and he knew the awkwardness that had grown between them would not have vanished so quickly.

  It wasn't that he expected Athena to defy him. In matters of importance, she had always deferred to him no matter how stubborn she might appear. That was how it ought to be. And Miss Hockensmith—Cecily—was looking after her. In fact, he had felt relieved at the prospect of getting away, allowing Athena a chance to reconsider her foolishness and return to her normal routine.

  But the niggling little worry remained: Athena was infatuated with the circus—worse, with Morgan Holt—and those people were a mere thirty miles away in the mountains. God only knew what they were doing at the ranch. And the girl—

  He loosened his collar and tried to relax, though he had neither slept nor eaten well since he had left Denver. That girl—Caitlin—he had thought of her far too many times in Chicago, in the loneliness of his hotel room with the empty commotion going on in the street below. He had remembered her smile, the halo of red hair, her courage in the face of a serious injury.

  The doctor had said she would recover with proper rest. That was the only reason she and the others were at Long Park. Apart from his providing them winter quarters, he was not responsible for what happened to Caitlin Hughes.

  Yet he thought of her. He imagined her like Athena, confined to a chair, her vibrant spirit stilled forever. And the sickness of guilt welled up in his chest, reminding him that he was as much a cripple as his sister.

  Athena had used their shared memories against him—he was too skilled a negotiator not to recognize that. Without directly calling upon the great debt he owed her, she had forced him to acknowledge the necessity of keeping Caitlin from the fate she had suffered.

  It will not happen to Caitlin. He had made sure of that. He had behaved correctly, honorably. Athena was grateful.

  But none of these truths comforted him. The closer the train drew to Denver, the more certain he was that he must see for himself how matters went at the ranch. He could speak to Mr. Durant and the foreman, make certain that the circus people were not taking too much advantage of their free accommodations. And while he was there, he would look in on Caitlin and carry a report back to his sister.

  Yes. I will go to Long Park. Only a brief stop in Denver, and then I will be on my way.

  The moment he made the decision, the tightness in his chest eased and his mind was clear again. He closed his eyes. The train's rocking became a soothing motion, and he no longer noticed the smoke or the discomfort of the long journey. For the first time in a month, he slept through the night.

  For three whole days, Cecily kept her fingers crossed and prayed for just a little bit of luck. Athena had left Denver early yesterday morning; a mere day and a half later, Cecily had achieved more than she had any right to expect.

  At first she had resented the position Athena had put her in. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was lie to Niall should he ask how his sister was faring—though, thank goodness, he had done so only once during his sojourn to Chicago. But Cecily had found it impossible to turn down the opportunity Athena unwittingly offered: that of making the Winter Ball her own.

  True, there were relatively few details left to attend in the week and a half remaining before the event, but those could be made quite important with the right emphasis. The usual guests had already been invited, and the catering arranged, but Cecily had been doing her own investigating while she helped Athena. She knew that the grand ballroom at the Windsor was available the night of the ball. And she had decided, immediately upon Athena's departure, to change the venue from the Munroes' private ballroom to the public setting.

  That, of course, meant more decorations, more hothouse flowers, and many other alterations. Cecily knew that Athena preferred intimacy and the same familiar circle of acquaintances to crowds and public display. With a complete lack of imagination, she chose guests who were generous with donations, not those who made fascinating company or offered new social or business opportunities.

  Cecily had no interest in charity beyond what it could do for her social progress. She knew of several dignitaries and businessmen from other states or cities, and even outside the country—including a prince of some small European nation and at least one English earl—who were currently in town; she sent invitations to them and a number of other useful personages who had been left off the guest list for want of space.

  After that, it was necessary to order additional foodstuffs, suitable for such elegant attendees. By the time the day of the ball arrived, the affair would bear little resemblance to the one Athena had planned.

  And Athena, bless her naïveté, would remember that she had given Cecily carte blanche to do as she saw fit. She would seem both foolish and selfish if she protested the changes. Indeed, if the girl were gone only the few days she had proposed, Cecily would be most surprised. By the time she came back, it would be too late to return to the previous arrangements.

  Cecily sighed with airy regret and stepped down from her carriage, glad to be home after a long day of shopping. The price of this deception might very well be the loss of Athena's trust and friendship. But Cecily had grown more and more confident of Niall's attachment to her; in fact, she had prepared several stories to explain Athena's absence should he return to Denver before his sister. Every one of them would reflect badly on Athena and leave Cecily the injured party.

  That was a risk, too, of course. Niall might decide to believe his sister instead, if she chose to brand Cecily a liar. But whom would Niall trust when his sister had so blatantly broken her word?

  The door to the Hockensmith house on Welton swung open as she reached it. The new butler, one of several servants recently employed thanks to Mr. Hockensmith's profitable partnership with Niall Munroe, bowed and took her coat.

  "Miss Hockensmith," he said with just the right note of deference, "there is a gentleman waiting to see you."

  "A gentleman?" She was both intrigued and annoyed; the man should know better than to admit a visitor when she was absent. "Who might that be?"

  "Mr. Munroe. He arrived only a moment ago, and is waiting in the parlor."

  Fear and excitement swallowed up Cecily's irritation. Niall had returned early, and might already know that

  Athena was gone—but Cecily was prepared for that very contingency.

  "Very well, Parton. Please inform him that I will be with him directly." She hastened up the stairs to her room and made the necessary adjustments to hair and clothing, rehearsing her story as she did so.

  She was quite clear-headed when she entered the parlor. Niall was on his feet, but he did not look particularly upset. Cecily released her breath and put on a look of grave concern.

  "Mr. Munroe! I am so glad you have returned."


  He swung about to face her, and his neutral expression changed into a frown. "Miss Hockensmith? What is the matter?"

  So. He could not have been home, or he would know. The servants would have told him at once. "Have you come directly from the station?" she asked, urging him to sit.

  "Yes. I will not be in Denver long. I came only to ask—" His frown deepened. "Why? Is it Athena?"

  "Oh, dear. I had so hoped to reach your hotel before you left Chicago, but the telegraph must not have been delivered. Naturally, as soon as I learned—"

  "Learned what? Where is Athena?"

  "She has gone to the ranch." There. If he admired directness, he would appreciate hers more than ever now. "It is all my fault. Things had been going so well—Athena seemed quite settled and I was helping her with the ball. Then, three days ago, she made some remark about wishing to visit her friends from the circus, in spite of your instructions to the contrary."

  "She has gone to the ranch?" Niall repeated, as if he did not quite believe it. "How?"

  Cecily composed her face into a mask of contrition and embarrassment. "I… I fear that she has hired some conveyance to take her there. She did not notify me or the servants—I only learned of this yesterday when your butler sent a message to inform me of her absence and the note she had left." That, at least, was very close to the truth. She had played ignorant with the servants as well.

  "I was so very sure I had talked her out of such an intemperate scheme," she continued. "I used every method of persuasion, you can be sure. It simply did not occur to me that I should mistrust her when she said she felt overtired and preferred to spend the next few days in seclusion. She seems so fragile, and she has been working so hard that I feared for her health. I even offered to send the doctor, but she refused. Apparently she lied to her maid about where she was going." She lifted her gaze in earnest appeal. "Oh, Mr. Munroe. I pray you can forgive me my terrible mistake."

  Her gamble paid off. If Niall had been prepared to blame her for dereliction, her stream of explanations and apologies had taken the first edge off his anger.

  "No," he said. "It is not your fault, Miss Hockensmith. I should not have expected you to succeed where I have failed." He strode to the window and twitched back the curtains. "I should have anticipated this all along. My sister has changed greatly in the past few months, and I have refused to see it. She has become adept at deceit and manipulation."

  "But surely you are being too harsh—"

  "There is no need for you to lessen the blow," he said. He turned back to her, all traces of anger hidden by a mask as expert as hers. "We were both taken in by her apparent innocence."

  Cecily rose. It was time to give him a few pushes in the right direction, and let him think the solution was his all along. "Perhaps she has simply gone to look after the injured girl."

  "You know that is not the reason. I may have been blind to the attraction before, but you were right. She has developed an inappropriate liking for Holt, and that is the true reason she has disobeyed me."

  Cecily dared to touch his arm in sympathy. "Whatever you may fear, Mr. Munroe, I am certain that Athena is not lost to all common sense. She may be driven by feelings she does not understand—so many young girls are—and her judgment is flawed. She has lived too sheltered a life in Denver, and at the same time she has a child's confidence in her own invulnerability. When you bring her back, you will have a chance to set things right again."

  "Set things right." A muscle in his jaw flexed. "I have not always listened to your advice in the past, Miss Hockensmith, but now I see that I must take direct action. Athena has grown to consider her position in Denver as unassailable. Her chair makes her safe from all censure. She does not believe that anything can change her world, even a flirtation with a scoundrel like Holt, and that is a conceit she cannot afford." He bent his head. "I have let her have her own way too often, and yet I have tried to protect her by keeping her close. Sending her away may be precisely what she requires."

  Cecily gave a silent crow of triumph. "Indeed. I cannot disagree with you, Mr. Munroe." She hesitated for a calculated moment. "You did say that you have cousins in New York. If I may be so bold—perhaps it might be best if you send her directly there rather than bring her back to Denver. Any rumors will be extinguished quickly, and she will be well out of reach of temptation. I will be able to complete preparations for the ball, so Athena's efforts need not be undermined. I realize that it is very sudden—"

  "No. Not at all." He met her gaze with grim approval. "I will leave for Long Park as soon as possible—if the weather holds, on a good horse I can reach it by tomorrow morning. I will begin making arrangements immediately for Athena's departure for New York." He took her hand. "I know that I may continue to count on your help, Miss Hockensmith."

  "Always." She poured her heart into her eyes. "I will make inquiries of my own and be ready when you call upon me."

  He lifted her hand as if he might kiss it. "You have been invaluable… Cecily. I will not forget."

  His use of her name was the crowning touch on her victory. "We understand each other so well… Niall."

  He smiled, but his thoughts were clearly focused on his imminent journey. "I will take my leave of you, for the time being." He strode into the hall and took his hat and coat from the butler. "Good afternoon, Miss Hockensmith. I will send word when I have Athena in my care."

  After he was gone, Cecily sank onto a chair and caught her breath. Her good fortune had not only held, but doubled. Niall had already been prepared to think the worst of Athena. No matter what his sister might say now, he wasn't likely to believe her.

  And Athena wouldn't be coming back to Denver. One major obstacle removed with little effort on Cecily's part—and the remaining impediments in her climb to the top of society would fall, one by one, when the Winter Ball proved a grand success. All the snobbish, insular doyennes of Denver would flock to her door once they realized just what Cecily was capable of.

  Especially after she became Mrs. Niall Munroe.

  Cecily stretched out her legs, licked her lips, and began to count her wedding presents.

  It had been a day like this one—crisp, cold, and ready with a gentle gift of new snow—when Morgan had gone to the wolves and left the bitterness of his old life behind.

  Once more he stood on such a threshold. Once more he considered casting off his previous existence just as he shook the snowflakes from his fur. But this change was not so easy.

  This change was terrifying.

  He crossed the open meadow at a fast lope, paws striking the ground noiselessly as he pursued the hare. Sharp air pierced the insides of his nostrils and whistled past his ears. Scents were always more acute at this time of year, and he knew, as he passed, where the bear had chosen her den, the bobcat had made his most recent kill, and the squirrel had stored her winter provisions.

  Windswept leaves and moist earth, the dry stalks of tender plants, and brittle twigs brushed his pads and the short fur that fringed his feet. Most of the last week's snow had melted, for the days were not yet cold enough to maintain it. But soon, the wind promised. Soon, the pines whispered. Soon it will be winter again, and you must choose.

  The hare dodged abruptly to the left, hoping to evade its deadly pursuer. But Morgan was more than wolf, just as he was more than man. He spun in midair and cut directly across the hare's path. It skidded to a stop no more than a foot from his lowered head. He could hear its stuttering heartbeat as it flattened to the ground and waited in silent, terrified resignation.

  Morgan touched the trembling body with the tips of his toes. Years ago, he would not have paused as he did now. A wolf did not contemplate the feelings of his victims. He thought of his empty belly and the hard winter ahead.

  Sentimental fool. Morgan backed away, shaking his head in disgust. The hare remained still. Morgan bared his teeth and snapped at the air. The hare leaped straight up and was off before the mist of Morgan's breath ebbed away.


  Was this inexplicable urge for mercy not proof? Proof that, even if he wished, he could not go back to the wolves?

  He heard them often, singing in the mountains. They stayed away from the ranch, but they were there. A new pack, one that would accept his presence just like the first. Until, one by one, they were killed by men or driven deeper into the wilderness.

  Driven. Instinct and need drove the wolf. The thing that drove Morgan was a far more brutal master. It collared him with new memories and hopes, yanked and tugged him again and again toward those who had claimed his loyalty. Toward the ranch, and to the east and the city where

  Athena Munroe lived out her life of rules, rank, and restrictions.

  She would not come here. She would be a fool to do so, and Athena was no fool. Yet each time Morgan ranged a little farther to the edge of the long park, gazed up at the hills and dreamed of escape, he turned and went back.

  Just as he did today.

  The slow-witted cattle that browsed on the brittle grass blinked at him as he gave them wide berth. Munroe's ranch hands, who answered to the foreman and seldom saw their employer, were not even aware that a wolf roamed the park. Morgan was careful to choose paths that concealed his tracks. The last thing he wanted was a pack of men up in arms over the presence of a lone wolf among their precious livestock.

  The afternoon sky had taken on the flat gray patina of imminent snowfall, darkened with vertical drifts of smoke from the ranch's many chimneys. Morgan circled the outbuildings and the two bunkhouses, one reserved for the ranch hands and one for the troupers. He trotted out to the barn where the troupe's horses were stabled, nudged open the door, and jumped up into the hayloft where he kept his clothing.

  He dressed and walked among the horses, making note of their condition. They were growing lazy and complacent here, just as he was.

  Still, he walked a little faster as he approached the main house with its imposing stone exterior and sprawling, baronial magnificence. Long Park might run cattle, but at its center was a mansion a foreign prince might envy. Niall Munroe was not one to accept less than the best for himself or his sister. Athena would be as comfortable here as in her own home on Fourteenth Street.