by Maddy Barone
Sammie blew out a big breath. “Sure. I’m feeling pretty warm now. I mean, better now.”
Katie gave Connie a smile that looked apologetic and helped Sammie stand. The younger woman appeared to be trying to stand straight, but she swayed bonelessly until Katie put an arm around her waist. Connie reached for Sammie’s tea mug and raised it to her nose to sniff the dregs. Then she pinned Katie with a demanding stare.
Katie’s smile turned into a wince. “It’s in the third cabinet in the pantry, top shelf on the left.”
As the two other women left, Connie made a mental note to dig out Katie’s stash and have a slug as soon as Faron finished talking to her. She pulled out a chair and sat, placing the mug back on the table.
Faron sat down too, and his face had a serious expression on it. “This was bound to happen eventually. A house with more than two dozen unmarried women? Most men think exactly what those two kids did, that this must be a whorehouse.”
Connie forced herself to loosen her grip on the mug’s handle. “So? They’re wrong.”
He looked directly at her. “Ray gave you this house and arranged for some men to guard it, but he meant that to be a temporary arrangement. We expected you would be married by now. We were planning to give you until the first of the year before talking to you about this, but those two morons have moved the timetable up a few days. Miss Connie, we have got to get these women married.”
She swallowed hard. “Not all of us want to be married. Not all of us are ready to get married yet.”
“I know some of you lost husbands in the plane crash.” He sounded apologetic, but firm. “But this isn’t the Times Before. You’ve had two months to mourn. It’s time to move on. Ray can’t afford to keep you here forever. We’re giving you the food you eat with no charge, and that’s expensive. So is paying the men who guard you.”
Connie spread one hand flat against the table, studying it until she steadied her breathing. “If you didn’t expect us to stay here, why is Steve Herrick wasting his time doing all the repairs and renovations? Why did you offer me a stove this morning?”
Faron shrugged. “Getting a sound building into good repair is never a waste. You know why this place was abandoned? Because this is the pest house where women were quarantined during the Woman Killer Plague breakouts. More women have died here than anywhere else.”
Connie gave a little shudder. She’d heard of the epidemics that had killed so many women after the nuclear attacks.
“And it’s winter,” Faron went on. “Most of the men volunteering to work on the house don’t have much else to do right now, and it’s a good way for them to see the women. But come spring they’ll be busy. Miss Connie, I’m getting tired of living in the basement here instead of in my house. When Donna and I marry, I’m taking her home to my place.”
A boiling mix of fear, frustration and anger swirled in her stomach. “We’ll be self-sufficient once we get the restaurant up and running,” she began, but Faron cut her off.
“The restaurant was a nice idea, but be realistic. Any man you let in the door is a possible woman thief. You would all be in danger.”
Her cherished dream of independence was running through her clenched fingers like water. “But the guards,” she protested.
Faron shook his head. “In a few months most of ’em will be working in the fields. There won’t be enough men to guard this place twenty-four hours a day, and without guards you’re vulnerable.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Even with guards you’re vulnerable, if tonight is anything to go by.”
“Stag will stay. He can guard us.”
She hated the pity on his face. “Stag is worth any three of my men put together,” he said gently, “but he’s only one man. What happens when he gives up on Sherry and goes back to his family on the plains?”
Connie’s head gave a vicious throb. “What do you expect us to do?” she demanded in a voice only the most stringent effort kept steady. “Pick some guy we barely know and marry him? What if we don’t?”
“Then Ray will raffle you off or hold Bride Fights to see who will win you. That way, instead of spending money to keep you here, he’ll make money.” Some sympathy colored his tone. “Wouldn’t it be better to choose a man yourself? You have until the Mayor’s New Year Gala to decide on one.” He pushed himself to his feet. “That’s three weeks.” He walked to the door and paused. “I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”
Three weeks. Three damned weeks for newly-widowed women to find husbands. She controlled her urge to smash the mug on the floor. No amount of violence would still the helpless rage churning in her gut. Why the hell was this happening? Women weren’t objects to be handed out to men like door prizes. Marriage should be more than two strangers shoved together like a dog and a bitch in a breeding kennel. There had to be a way around this mess. She needed to find it. She would find it, but first she needed a drink or two. Or ten.
Connie’s eyes went to the door of the walk-in pantry on the other side of the kitchen. Third cabinet, top shelf. She crossed to the pantry, carrying the lantern, and dragged the stepstool over to the wall of cabinets. There it was. A two-quart–sized glass bottle of amber brown liquid, still nearly full. Score! She lifted it with a grunt of effort, climbed down the stool and grabbed a towel from the kitchen to wrap the bottle in. No sense advertising. Tucking the bottle under her arm, she strolled casually through the Big Room, calling cheerful good nights to the men and women still clustered around the stoves. Her cheerfulness should have raised suspicion, but no one looked at her strangely. Still trying to appear casual, she went up the stairs to her apartment.
It was freezing in the living area, and even colder in her bedroom. She set the bottle on the tiny bedside table, pulled up the three-legged stool, and poured herself a drink. In the months after her fiancé’s death, she had come to understand the allure of drowning her sorrows. She’d been careful to control her drinking. A drunk combat pilot could easily kill herself and her crew. Right now she had no crew, just a bunch of women who didn’t yet know they would be forced into marriage in less than a month. Getting drunk sounded like the plan for tonight.
The first swallow burned its way down her throat. Connie sucked in a breath and blew it out. Holy cow, this stuff was potent. She poured a second glass and drank it quickly, eyes watering.
She wasn’t crying, she assured herself. It was just the burn of the alcohol that brought moisture to her eyes. She never cried. Well, almost never. When Paul had been shot down by insurgents in Afghanistan, she had cried. But that was four years ago. She poured another glass and drank it down. She had survived three combat tours overseas. She survived crashing here. She had taken charge and given the survivors a leader they could look to for guidance. She considered herself a tough, competent woman. But telling women like Nikki that she had to choose a husband or have one chosen for her might take more strength than she had left.
Connie lowered her aching head to rest her cheek on the table in her icy bedroom, and wept.
Chapter Three
Des Wolfe came to the gates of the Plane Women’s House just after nine o’clock that night. His feet in their leather moccasins moved lightly over the packed snow. It was cold enough that even a wolf warrior of the Clan needed something to protect his feet, and the wind had torn at his heavy braids every step of the three mile walk from the den, trying to unravel his waist-length black hair. The Lupa, the Alpha female of the Pack, had tried to insist that he wear a heavy winter coat. Even though Carla had mated the Alpha almost two months ago, she didn’t seem to completely understand that wolves didn’t feel the cold the way human did. A coat was unnecessary. After all, it wasn’t even below zero.
He nodded at the man who came to see what he wanted. The guard was so bundled up Des was surprised he could move. “I’m here to see Faron Paulson,” he told the guard.
“It’s late.”
Des lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I have news from his mother.”
The
man opened the gate, and Des passed through it. He found the house quiet and dark, although it wasn’t very late. The darkness wasn’t a problem for Des’ wolf sight. He went down the hall to the basement stairs. A soft golden glow of a lamp shone in a bar at the bottom of Faron Paulson’s door. The next room, belonging to his pack mate, Jumping Stag, was dark. He tapped on Paulson’s door.
When he opened the door, the sheriff’s tired face sharpened with alarm. “Des. What is it?”
Des strolled into the small room. “It’s good news. Your mother is marrying my cousin Red Wing tomorrow. She wants you to come to the den to give her away at the ceremony.”
Faron looked blank. “I thought they were already married.”
“Mated,” Des corrected. “His wolf chose her to be his mate, and she accepted his claim. But now they will be married too. Tami and Tracker are getting married, and she wanted to be married by a priest, so Tracker fetched one from Grand Island. The Lupa and the Chief are getting married too, and so are Renee and Hawk.”
A smile threatened to tug at Des’ lips. There had never been a wedding performed at the den in the twelve years he had lived there, and now there would be four. It would be a joyful event for the Pack. That was enough to make even a lonely wolf smile.
Footsteps so quiet only a wolf would hear them told Des Stag was coming down the stairs. Des turned to the door and spoke over his shoulder. “You’ll come? The wedding will be in the afternoon.”
“Of course I’ll come. My mother is getting married.” Paulson shook his head and spoke, as if to himself. “I never knew her. I thought she died when I was a kid. My grandparents told me my mother was never heard from again after she flew away on a plane. And here she is, alive, looking half my age. A miracle. Of course I’ll come,” he repeated.
Des left Paulson sitting on his bed, shaking his head over the wonder of reconnecting with a mother he’d thought was dead. Stag was in the hall at the door to his room, waiting for Des. With a nod, the other wolf opened the door and waited for Des to follow him in before closing it. They pounded one another on the back in a wolf warrior’s embrace.
“What are you doing here?” Stag asked.
Des allowed a brief smile to express his happiness. “Tomorrow Father John from Grand Island will perform marriage ceremonies at the den. Miss Tami agreed to marry Tracker, but only if a priest performed the ceremony. Since the priest is there anyway, others are being married too. I came to bring a message to Faron Paulson from his mother. And another message, to warn Miss Connie that Dickinson might try to court her again, now that Miss Tami won’t be available anymore.”
His heart rate jumped; just to speak the name of his unclaimed mate was a painful joy. The thought that another man might court her roused the jealous rage of the wolf inside him. Des forced the beast down with the brutal reminder that she didn’t plan to ever marry. She had refused them two months ago, just as she had refused every other man who’d begged for her hand since.
“I’m going to find Miss Connie,” he told Stag. “See you tomorrow at the den?”
“Yes,” said Stag, but he looked preoccupied.
Probably thinking about Sherry. Des didn’t know if he pitied the other man or admired him for not giving up. He climbed the stairs to the foyer, then went in search of the woman his wolf had chosen to be his mate. The main floor was strangely empty, but he could hear women in the kitchen. The motherly woman, Kathy, was there with two others, washing a few dishes and tidying up the counters.
When he cleared his throat at the door, the women put out a scent of fear that quickly faded when they recognized him. “I’m looking for Miss Connie,” he said.
Kathy frowned. “I think she’s gone to bed.”
Another woman snorted. “She’s not asleep. I was just up there, checking on her, and she’s in her room.” She coughed gently. “Not sleeping.”
Des cocked his head at the odd note in her voice. “Will you ask her to come down?”
The woman paused. He recognized her now. Katie. She and Kathy shared Connie’s living quarters. “You know, I think I should take you up to her.”
Kathy jerked in a sharp breath. “It’s late, and I don’t think Connie’s up to visitors tonight.”
His breath stilled. “She’s sick?”
“No.” There was a slight hesitation in Kathy’s face. “Not sick. Something must have happened. I think she’s upset.”
Des leaned forward, but before he could speak, Katie laughed.
“And Des is exactly the right guy to help with that, I bet,” she said blithely. She picked up one of the lanterns on the counter. “Come on, I’ll walk you up.”
He made himself match Katie’s shorter steps as she led him out of the kitchen. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know.” She pursed her lips and reconsidered. “Well, actually, I do. Two guys climbed the fence and caught some of us on our way to the outhouse.”
Rage rumbled deep in his throat. She stopped walking to glance nervously up at him. “Everything’s fine. Stag took care of it,” she said quickly, turning back to the stairs. “I think it’s more than just that, though. She’s acting weird. See if you can get her to talk to you.”
He would love to talk to Connie about anything at all. She was always pleasant when they encountered one another, but she barely noticed him. His heart thundered and he could hardly keep his eyes off her whenever they were together, but she showed more interest in her cane than she did in him.
At the top of the stairs Katie paused and called “Man on the floor!” before moving down the dark hallway. In a quieter voice, she said to Des, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but it can’t be good. Please, try to help her, okay?”
“I’ll help her.”
Something was wrong with the woman his wolf had chosen for his mate. Though she rejected him, and he was determined to not harass her with his demands, his chest tightened with the need to defend her from any trouble. Worry made his breath harsh in his ears. In spite of that, a sound caught his attention, and something perilously close to panic surged through him.
Crying. Almost soundless crying, coming from the apartment Miss Connie shared with Katie and Kathy. Panic was followed swiftly by rage. Without hesitation, he opened the door and flung himself inside, gaze sweeping the room to find whatever had reduced his strong, unclaimed mate to tears. There was nothing in the main living area, so he tore open the door to a bedroom. Connie sat at a small table, her pale blond hair untidy as though she had raked her fingers through it. She jerked her head up from the cradle of her hands to stare at him.
“What the hell?” she began.
“Who hurt you?” he snarled.
She rose from the chair to face him, chin up and mouth firm. “I’m not hurt.”
“Then what made you cry?”
Red bloomed over her pale face. “I’m not crying.”
Tenderness, a feeling utterly alien to his nature before he’d seen this courageous woman, swamped him. “Okay,” he said, attempting to sound calmly reasonable. ”I can pretend there’s no tears on your cheeks if you want. Tell me what upset you.”
She folded her arms with a glare that aroused him. Instead of answering his question, she attacked. “What are you doing upstairs? Men aren’t allowed up here.”
Did she have any idea what her strength did to him? Lust. Love. The two wrestled with his control. He wanted to crush her mouth under his, to feel her body molded against him. He wanted to give her comfort and assure her nothing would ever be allowed to make her cry again.
Before he could do something he would regret, Katie poked her head in the door. “Um, I brought him up. My bad. Sorry.” Her gaze went to the bottle on the table. “Should I take that out?”
Connie wrapped a protective hand over the neck of the bottle. “No,” she snapped.
Katie retreated half a step. “Oooh-kay.”
Connie jerked her chin at Des. “You can take that out.”
Des braced his feet and f
olded his arms over his chest. “That isn’t going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”
Connie’s pale blue eyes narrowed. Then she briefly closed her eyes, drew a long breath and let it slowly out. “Look, Des, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really. But this isn’t any of your business.”
She was his mate, unclaimed or not, so anything that affected her was his business. His wolf demanded he fix whatever was bothering her. “Miss Connie, something is wrong. Maybe talking to someone will help.”
She scrubbed her hands over her wet cheeks and stared at him for a few long moments. “All right, fine. Katie, would you please give us some space?”
Katie glanced between them before closing the door. He heard her walk across the apartment and then the outer door closed. Connie seated herself on the bed and waved at the stool at the table.
“Make yourself comfy,” she invited. “But this won’t take much time to tell.” She splashed some whiskey in her glass and offered him the bottle. He shook his head, attention fixed solely on her. She shrugged. “To make a long story short, we all have to find husbands in the next three weeks or Mayor Madison will find them for us.”
Icy fingers gripped his heart. “What brought that about?”
She took a long sip and shrugged. “Tonight, two morons from the Omaha area climbed the fence and hit on Katie and Sammie. Thought we were all whores.”
Des maintained his calm, relaxed posture on the stool. He marveled at his own self-control.
“That’s when Faron sprang it on me.” She tipped the rest of the drink down her throat and waved the empty glass at him. “Madison never expected us to actually open a restaurant. He thought we’d all be married off before spring. Like women just can’t manage to exist without a man to take care of them. Ha! As if. Right?”
He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he ventured, “As if what?”
