Bride of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  “Thank you, Mrs. McCarrick,” Amy said. “That is very gracious of you. We had been concerned that you have been finding it lonely here in your husband’s absence. How difficult it must have been to arrive in a strange place only to find no one to meet you.”

  But someone did meet me, Rachel thought. “I am grateful for your concern, Miss Blackwell,” she said carefully, “but I’ve found so much to do here that I’ve scarcely had time to be lonely.”

  Amy nodded sympathetically. “One becomes almost accustomed to the isolation, though we do our best to lighten it with gatherings among the various ranchers in this and the surrounding counties.” She smoothed a crease in her gown. “Have you heard from Mr. McCarrick?”

  There was no turning back now. “Not recently, but…” She bit her lip. There was no reason why she couldn’t tell as much truth as possible. “I confess that I’ve been a little worried.”

  The young woman’s eyes sharpened with interest. “In what way?”

  “Jedediah and I corresponded for a year before he married me,” she said. “It is not like him to fail to write, knowing that I would have arrived weeks ago.”

  Amy reached across the space between them and rested her hand on Rachel’s knee with a gesture that seemed impulsive. “Please don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Jedediah is not only a good man, but he has spent many years in Texas and knows what he is about. What is your foreman’s opinion? I know that he and Jedediah have been close.”

  Amy’s mention of Holden raised Rachel’s guard. If Sean was living with the Blackwells, they might very well share his opinion of Holden. In fact, she was certain of it. Though she had seen Holden with very few people, all of them at Dog Creek, she would be willing to wager all four of her dresses and her threadbare shawl that he had far fewer friends than Sean McCarrick. And Sean had certainly been eager to tell her of Holden’s manifold sins against him.

  “The last time we spoke of it,” she said, “Mr. Renshaw was not overly concerned.”

  “There you are.” Amy met Rachel’s gaze. “You must find Mr. Renshaw invaluable.”

  “He is accustomed to running the ranch.”

  “But he is hardly personable.”

  “I expect nothing from him but that he keep Dog Creek in working order until Jedediah—” She broke off. “I am sorry about the quarrel between Mr. Renshaw and Mr. McCarrick. I was ignorant of the situation when Mr. McCarrick left.”

  “Of course you were. It was best that they be separated. They were never well disposed toward one another, and Sean now has an excellent job as our foreman.”

  The girl spoke lightly, but Rachel sensed a thread of anger underneath the casual words. Though there was no reason for her to think so, Rachel was suddenly struck by the thought that Amy might regard Sean as something other than her father’s employee. They were both young and attractive, and Sean, in addition to being handsome and well-spoken, had displayed a keen ability for the same scheming he had attributed to Holden. A man of ambition and modest means would regard the daughter of a wealthy family as a very profitable catch, as Rachel well knew.

  But what were Sean’s ambitions? She had only the vague notions that Holden, and Sean himself, had put in her head. That and the fact that Sean obviously hadn’t wanted her at Dog Creek.

  “Men can be trying at times, can’t they?” Rachel said, rising. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll check on the tea.”

  By the time she returned with the tea things, such as they were, Amy seemed uninterested in resuming the topic. Instead, she brought up one just as uncomfortable.

  “And how is the child, Mrs. McCarrick?” she asked.

  Of course Sean would have told them about Gordie.

  “Very well, Miss Blackwell,” Rachel said. “He has thrived since Mr. Renshaw brought him to Dog Creek.”

  “And you have not located his parents?”

  “Unfortunately, there was no way of finding them, since they had abandoned him at a deserted farmhouse. In any case,” she said more brusquely, “his parents clearly did not want him.”

  Amy nodded approvingly. “May we see him?”

  Irrational as her feelings might be, Rachel didn’t want to show Gordie to the Blackwells. Nevertheless, she rose, went to the bedroom and took Gordie from Lucia, holding him close as she brought him into the parlor.

  She expected Amy to ask to hold him, but the young woman only extended one delicate, silk-clad fingertip and brushed Gordie’s cheek. “How delightful,” she said. “It is clear he has your affection.”

  “Yes.”

  “It would be ideal if Mr. McCarrick were to adopt him. Surely he will be glad to see such a strong, handsome boy when he returns.”

  Rachel swallowed. “I hope he will.”

  As soon as Amy withdrew her hand and Mrs. Blackwell had looked her fill—without comment—Rachel took Gordie back to the bedroom. When she returned, Amy seemed content to pursue more mundane subjects, such as the weather, the lack of the most basic women’s sundries at the general store in Javelina and the social opportunities in San Antonio.

  “Of course, we are limited here, but, as I said, we make the best of what we have,” Amy said. “In fact, we had hoped, Mother and I, that you might consent to join us at a gathering at Blackwater in ten days’ time. All the ranchers in Pecos and Crockett Counties will be invited, and you shall be the guest of honor. I know that everyone will wish to hear about your life in Ohio and your correspondence with Mr. McCarrick.”

  Rachel set down her cup with such force that it rang against the tabletop. “I…I am very flattered, Miss Blackwell, but—”

  “Come, Rachel! May I call you Rachel? You cannot disappoint so many people, and I assure you that you will find a warm welcome. All the women—and there are not many of us—are eager to bring you into the fold. I do so much want to get to know you!”

  At a loss for words, Rachel raised her cup and drank the cooling tea. Amy Blackwell had made an invitation she could not politely refuse. Rachel would ordinarily assume that it had been tendered in all goodwill and friendliness, with no ulterior motive. And in fact, that was almost certainly the case, and her unease was no doubt only due to a lingering fear of exposure. Indeed, what harm could all the Amy Blackwells of the world and their judgment do her now?

  But in her determination to maintain her fiction just a little while longer, she had never considered the necessity of entering the local social sphere. She had intended to live quietly until Jed returned or she could creep away like a little field mouse when the first snow covers the autumn stubble.

  “Mother,” Amy said, sensing Rachel’s hesitation, “tell her she simply can’t refuse.”

  Mrs. Blackwell gave an almost imperceptible sigh. “Let me add my pleas to my daughter’s, Mrs. McCarrick.”

  “Come, do,” Amy said warmly. “Mr. Renshaw may escort you.” She waved a hand in airy dismissal. “I don’t expect there will be any trouble between the two men, not with everyone else there. Sean is arranging a hunt for that horrible brute of a lobo who so badly injured him nearly two weeks ago. I suspect that Mr. Renshaw will wish to join in, whatever his quarrels with Sean. After all, any wolf is a threat to every cattleman in the county.”

  Rachel went suddenly cold. She couldn’t imagine why Sean would suffer Holden as a guest if he had any influence at all over the proceedings. But this mention of a wolf…

  “A wolf attacked one of the outlaws when he was whipping Joey.” That was what Holden had said that night in the stable. She had asked if there were many wolves in the area, and he’d replied that there were not as many as there used to be.

  He had also said they almost never went after people. Nearly two weeks ago. Could two wolves have attacked two different men in the same area at the same time?

  Rachel came very close to bolting, but somehow she managed to keep her seat. If it was the same wolf, the black wolf she had seen at Dog Creek, there could be only two possible explanations. Either the
lobo was indeed a dangerous animal that had to be eliminated before it hurt someone again.

  Or Sean McCarrick and the “outlaws” were one and the same.

  “May we count on you, then?” Amy asked eagerly.

  Rachel blinked at her, too dazed to do more than mumble her assent.

  Amy clapped her hands.

  “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “We shall expect you on the twenty-third.” She rose, lending her mother her arm. Rachel rose with them, belatedly aware that she had just committed herself to something that had awakened a sense of alarm she could not dismiss. Alarm that had nothing to do with her tenuous position, and everything to do with Holden and Sean McCarrick.

  You need not go. Leave today. Tomorrow.

  Somehow she managed to accompany the Blackwells to the door, where she took Amy’s offered hand.

  “I have so much enjoyed our visit,” Amy said. “I know we shall become fast friends.”

  Rachel stood on the porch while the ladies ascended into their carriage—an actual carriage, not a wagon—and set off. Holden rode into the yard a few moments later, staring after the carriage with a hard, set look on his face. He dismounted, left Apache by the hitching post and joined her in the doorway.

  “What were they doing here?” he demanded.

  Rachel went back into the house and sat at the table, poised between fury and fear. “They have invited us to a party,” she said, gazing bleakly at the door.

  “A what?”

  “A party, in honor of my arrival in Pecos County.”

  “You didn’t say yes?”

  She looked up at him, hoping no trace of her emotions showed on her face. “Was it Sean who whipped Joey?”

  He stopped in the middle of an angry stride and swung to face her. “Sean?”

  “Miss Blackwell said he had been attacked by a wolf at the same time your ‘outlaw’ suffered the same punishment,” she said.

  Narrowed eyes fixed on hers. “It was Sean, all right,” he said grimly.

  “For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?”

  After four long weeks he had finally learned when she was not to be foisted off like a child. He shook his head and rumbled that peculiar, growling noise she had heard him make only when he was dangerously angry.

  “It wouldn’t have done no good,” he said. “You wouldn’t have believed Sean could do somethin’ like that, ‘gentleman’ that he is. Even I hardly believed it. You couldn’t have done nothin’ about it, and I—”

  “Did you see it happen? Were you there?”

  “I stopped it.” A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I had to bring Joey back, or I would have—”

  “Why in heaven’s name would Sean want to hurt him?”

  Holden paced a tight circle and came to stand before the table again, his fists knotted with corded tendons and blue veins. “Because he hates Joey, just the way he hates anything Jed loved. Joey reminds Sean that he was cast off by his own pa, who had better things to do than raise a kid. Jed was stuck with a whelp who’d rather see someone dead than let them get anythin’ he couldn’t have.”

  “But what could Joey possibly have done?”

  “He didn’t have to do nothin’ but get in Sean’s way. Sean wanted to be the only thing Jed cared about, the one Jed would raise up to be the ‘gentleman’ he thought he should be. Sean decided he didn’t have to play by no rules, because Uncle Jed owed him the easy life his pa didn’t give him. When he didn’t have things just the way he wanted, he tricked Jed, stole from him, used him like he was some stupid old man instead of the one who’d taken Sean in and given him a fancy education and duds and money for wastin’. And Jed kept lettin’ him do it until just before he left. He was goin’ to run Sean off himself.”

  How was it only now, when so much was coming to a head, that Rachel was discovering the secrets that drove Sean McCarrick and Holden Renshaw to such extremes of hatred? Of course Sean had despised her. He was clearly a bad man, and she was yet another interloper to take his place in his uncle’s affections.

  But Joey…he was only a boy. A child who could never have intended to arouse such violent resentment in Jedediah’s nephew.

  How could Sean possibly have expected to get away with the whipping? Perhaps there had been no other witnesses, but he would have to be more than a little mad to commit such an act, even in such a seemingly lawless country as this. Joey might be only an orphaned boy, but he was not without friends. Friends who would not hesitate to punish Sean for his crime.

  If she could, if she had influence and money and power like the Blackwells, Rachel would have gladly punished Sean herself in any way short of outright violence.

  She closed her eyes. After he had brought Joey to the house, Heath had said the outlaws “wouldn’t be back.” He had implied that he would kill them if they ever tried. But he had just said he’d stopped the whipping, and aside from whatever injuries the wolf had caused, Sean was still apparently hale and employed. No consequences had been called down upon his head for the senseless maiming of a boy who could have done him no harm in return.

  Yet she had seen the look in Holden’s eyes when he had spoken of Joey’s attackers. If he had kept the incident a secret and convinced Joey to do the same, he must have had his reasons, and they would not be to Sean’s benefit. Holden would never let Sean get away unscathed. There had to be an explanation for why Holden had taken no action. Why he hadn’t spoken of Sean’s crime at all.

  Holden must have sensed her question before she asked it. “He ain’t gettin’ away with it, Rachel,” he said softly.

  With vivid, violent clarity, a vision played out behind Rachel’s eyes, an image of Holden and Sean facing each other with Joey lying injured at Holden’s feet. Perhaps there had been no open threats, but none would be needed. A single look from Holden would have been enough, that and the hatred between them.

  “He’ll pay,” Holden said, leaning heavily over the table. “He’ll pay, Rachel.”

  Pay with his life. Holden would find the gun she had hidden. He would belt it on and walk onto the range and challenge Sean to a fight to the death.

  She had thought to tell him that she would soon be packing and would be leaving on the next stage. But how could she say that now, when something terrible was about to happen? Something…she might somehow prevent?

  With exquisite control, Rachel began to fold the diapers she had washed that morning and stacked on the table. “When did you intend to kill him?” she asked.

  His fists bumped the table as he jerked away. “I had to be careful, Rachel. I wanted to find Joey first if I could, and I—”

  “Is that why Joey ran away? Was he afraid Sean would hurt him again?”

  Despair crowded the simmering rage from Holden’s eyes. “He knew I wouldn’t let anyone hurt him again. But he was…” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s just as well he’s gone now. I didn’t want to bring no trouble down on his head, or yours. I was waitin’ for the right time. But now…”

  Now. What had changed in his mind? Was it the party? Rachel’s mind worked furiously, pushing aside the more distressing aspects of Holden’s revelation. The invitation itself made no sense in light of what he had told her.

  “Could the Blackwells know what Sean has done?” she asked, sick with sudden horror.

  Heath’s lips twisted in bitter amusement. “You think Sean would’ve risked makin’ himself look bad by admittin’ somethin’ like that to anyone? The Blackwells ain’t as nice as they seem, but they have a reputation to keep up. They wouldn’t approve of open violence against someone from Dog Creek. And Sean wants Amy.”

  As Rachel had guessed. “So this party is being given in complete ignorance of Sean’s behavior?”

  He hesitated, his eyes moving with his thoughts. “Ignorance of whuppin’ Joey, yes.”

  Which made perfect sense. Amy had let slip the bit about the wolf attack in complete and blissful ignorance of how it had really happened. Yet Rachel could no
t shake the dreadful feeling that there was something very wrong in the timing of the party.

  “Would Sean have any control over who is invited?” she asked. “He scarcely knows me. Perhaps he now has reason to believe that you have not told anyone at Blackwater of his crime, but what if you had informed me? He would scarcely be in favor of such a celebration if he thought I might expose him.”

  “Don’t reckon he thinks you do know,” Holden said.

  “But you were invited! Can it be that he doesn’t expect you to take any action against him?”

  Holden barked a laugh. “He knows I will. That’s why he won’t let me get anywhere near him when he’s alone.”

  “Then he must expect you to challenge him at the party.”

  “Challenge him?” Holden’s slow smile was more terrifying than the deadliest rage. “He knows no one would take my word against a gentleman like him, a settled landowner’s kin with friends in high places.”

  “Then what…?”

  She could have wept at her own stupidity. The picture she had formed in her mind was all wrong. She had always recognized the leashed violence in Holden’s nature. She’d known he couldn’t have worn that gun just for show, and had been prepared to consider that he might have killed in self-defense. Even yesterday, she and Holden had half seriously spoken of shooting Holden’s adoptive father and the man who had abandoned her.

  But that had been only talk, unlike Holden’s plans for Sean. He had never intended to challenge Sean to a fair fight, no matter how likely it might be to prove fatal for one of them. He wouldn’t see any reason to bestow such a privilege on someone who had hurt his friend the same way Pa Morton, a man he despised beyond any common hatred, had hurt him.

  Shaking, she clenched her hands together and met his gaze. “Do you intend to murder him before the party, or when the Blackwells and all their guests are present?”

  “I may not have no education, but I sure as hell ain’t stupid. I won’t do anythin’ to Sean where anyone can see. No one’ll ever know I done it.”