by Jill Gregory
Moments later she handed each child a steaming cup of tea flavored with a peppermint stick from Koppel’s General Store.
The two were huddled on the sofa together now, beneath the quilt.
“Well, let’s see. I’ve met Joey. Maybe you should tell me your name,” she suggested to the dark-haired youngster, who clutched his cup between small, sturdy fingers. Outside, the storm raged unabated, but the cabin seemed positively cozy, Rebeccah reflected with a little lift of the heart. She pondered this as she settled in a straight-back chair. It was surprising how much homier the house appeared with two children snuggled near a blazing fire, their hands clutching teacups.
The dark-haired boy took one tentative sip from the steaming cup, licked his lips with a gusty sigh, and replied, “My name’s Billy Bodine.”
Rebeccah froze on her chair, her fingers clenched around her cup. This boy was Wolf’s son?
Of course he was. The eyes were the same. Only younger, more innocent. But the intensity and intelligence in them was the same, as was the sharp, observant way of looking at the world.
She managed to nod casually. “I’m Rebeccah Rawlings.”
“I know.”
“Oh. How?” Had Wolf talked about her at home, with his wife and child? Or perhaps Caitlin had mentioned something ...
“Everyone knows,” Billy grinned, and his small, handsome face lit up. Oh, he would be a heartbreaker when he grew up, just like his fath—Rebeccah blocked the rest of that thought.
“How?” she asked again.
“Easy. The whole town’s talking about you.”
“Because of your pa,” Joey piped in. He appeared to be recovering rapidly; there was color in his freckled cheeks, and his eyes held a cheery gleam. “Bear Rawlings did some mighty awful things in these parts. My ma says he—”
“Shush, Joey!” Billy suddenly realized that Rebeccah would be hurt if she knew the purpose of the meeting in town tonight, and about Myrtle Lee Anderson’s idea to run her out of Powder Creek. He glanced at her face and decided she looked a little more pale than she had a few moments before, and he knew that it would be wrong of him and Joey to upset her by repeating such talk. He was suddenly ashamed of what he’d done tonight, coming here to spy on her. It was wrong too. And mean-spirited, though they hadn’t meant any harm.
“Joey, there’s no need to go into all that right now,” he said quickly. “I’m sure Miss Rawlings isn’t interested in gossip.”
“Oh, but I am. It’s all right, Billy, I can take it, whatever it is. Tell me why everyone is talking.”
He hesitated. But her eyes were calm, her expression pleasant as she set her teacup on a crate that served as a table. And something very even and determined in her voice compelled him to go on.
“Well ...”
No. He couldn’t.
“It’s because of the bank robbery,” Joey burst out. Having finished his cup of tea, he leaned back against the horsehair cushions and nodded importantly. “The one where my little cousin Lottie was killed.”
Rebeccah’s heart stopped. Dear Lord.
Something in her face must have alerted even Joey to her shock, for he faltered, glanced at Billy for guidance, and then snapped his mouth shut.
But Rebeccah had to know. “Go on. I want to hear about it.”
So Joey told her about the bank robbery six years back, about the teller who’d been shot and killed, and about how during the gang’s getaway little Lottie Mason, Joey’s cousin, had been run down by someone’s horse, trampled in the dust while her ma looked on.
“Oh, God,” Rebeccah whispered. She covered her face with her hands.
Grief and guilt tore at her. Bear, Bear, what did you do? Yet a part of her knew that her father could not have been the one to run down the little girl. Bear was too good a rider, too strong and skilled not to have found a way to avoid her, even if she had been directly in his path. Bear would never have been able to live with himself if he had harmed a child, and in the past six years of visiting Rebeccah he had never shown any sign of the kind of guilt he would have felt had he run the girl down. But one of the others—Russ Gaglin, Homer Bell, Fred Baker—any of them might have done it and been able to live with themselves.
And Bear had been partly responsible, a small, cold voice told her. He had planned the robbery, ordered it, led it every step of the way. He always had.
Billy Bodine broke into her thoughts. “Sorry, Miss Rawlings. We shouldn’t have told you.”
Rebeccah swallowed. “I needed to know. Th-thank you.”
What was it Wolf Bodine had said to her?
Don’t expect folks around here to welcome Bear’s daughter with open arms.
Now she knew why, the whole reason, the real reason.
Maybe she should follow Wolf’s advice: get on the stagecoach and leave.
But where will I go? She glanced slowly around the small, polished parlor with its crackling fire and thought of the plans she’d had for this ranch, of purchasing Texas longhorns to fill the rangeland, of building a bunkhouse and corrals. She thought of her dreams for the cabin, of the new curtains she’d imagined fluttering at the windows, of the piano she would someday have, with music and flowers filling the house ...
“Miss Rawlings—are you okay?”
Both boys were staring at her in dismay, and Rebeccah realized there were tears on her cheeks. She brushed them impatiently aside.
“Of course I am. It’s just occurred to me that someone is going to be worried about the two of you. Do your families have any idea you were out in this storm?”
They looked at each other. “No, ma’am.” Billy’s cheeks reddened. “And please don’t ask why we were out in it.”
“That’s really not my concern,” she assured him briskly, though she was puzzled over what they were doing on her property. “Your horses are probably home by now, and your families must be searching for you. I’d better find your folks and tell them that you’re all right—”
Before the sentence was completed there was a pounding at the door. Sam sprang, growling, from the sofa, where he’d been resting his head on Billy’s lap. He stared at the door and growled again low in his throat. More pounding followed.
“Miss Rawlings! Open the door. Quick!”
She pulled it wide to find Wolf Bodine clad in a yellow slicker. Water streamed from it like a cascade of silver bullets. Behind him stood a burly, leather-skinned man with reddish hair and a hawk nose, also clad in a dripping slicker.
“They’re in here. They’re both safe and sound,” she said before either man could say a word. “Come in. How did you know—?”
“Joey bragged to his little brother that he was coming here tonight,” the burly man muttered as he stomped after her into the cabin. He stopped and stared at the two boys huddled on the sofa. “Joey, I ought to whomp you,” he exclaimed. “What happened to your head?”
“A tree branch hit me when Pepper bolted. Miss Rawlings took care of it just fine, though. It don’t even hurt, Pa. Honest.”
Wolf Bodine, his slicker streaming water onto Miss Rawlings’s clean floor, gazed quietly at his son. Billy returned the gaze, flushing, then dropped his eyes.
“You have something to say to me, son?”
“Sorry, Pa.”
“And to Miss Rawlings?”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“What is he sorry for?” Rebeccah asked, mystified.
Wolf said tautly, “I’ll let these two boys explain.”
Joey hung his head. “We didn’t mean nothin’, Sheriff Bodine—”
“Billy.”
“We came here tonight to spy on you, ma’am,” Billy confessed miserably. He stared hard at the floor, unable to meet Rebeccah’s eyes. “We wanted to see if you were a lady outlaw. It was wrong. I know that now—”
“You knew it when you set out, Billy, didn’t you?” Wolf cut in swiftly. Rebeccah could sense his anger. “I had told you to leave Miss Rawlings alone. And to stay home tonight because a
storm was brewing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the same for Joey,” Cal Brady agreed, regarding his son with a stern frown. “My boy disobeyed too.” He turned to Rebeccah and nodded. “I reckon we owe you, ma’am. I’m much obliged. Though I’d best be taking the boy home now, his ma will call tomorrow to give you her thanks. Maybe you can join us for Sunday dinner this week. We’d be most pleased to have you.”
Stunned by the invitation, Rebeccah nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Rebeccah wouldn’t allow herself to look at Wolf Bodine, and kept her gaze fixed on Mr. Brady as he withdrew another slicker from the cavernous pocket of his own and held it out to Joey.
“Fetch your clothes, son,” he told him gruffly. “And put this on. You’ve caused this lady enough trouble for one night.”
“Oh, it wasn’t any trouble,” she assured him. “I was worried of course, until I saw Joey was all right, but after that, well ...” She kept her tone light and brisk. “The boys were good company.”
She didn’t think Mr. Brady believed her. Fearing that he would be harsh with Joey after they’d left, she followed them to the door and called out as they departed into the wet night. “Come back tomorrow with your ma, Joey! I’ll give you some candy—I have lots more peppermint, and licorice too!”
There, maybe that will prove that I’m not angry with Joey about what happened. Perhaps Mr. Brady will go easier on him.
Wolf Bodine was another matter. His anger simmered below the surface, but it was there. While she’d seen the Bradys off, Wolf had been speaking quietly to his son.
Billy was donning a yellow slicker similar to the one Joey had put on. “Sorry to have caused you so much trouble, ma’am,” he mumbled, head down as he fastened the buttons, and Sam waited by his side, head hanging as though he, too, had done something terrible.
Rebeccah looked at the pair of them and laughed. Yet something in their forlorn expressions wrenched at her heart. She moved forward, gathering teacups with a casual air.
“Such glum faces, the two of you. And there’s no cause for it. Sheriff Bodine, whatever boys’ mischief Billy and Joey were up to, they’ve already been punished quite enough. They had an awful scare in the storm. Yet Billy was very brave and quick-witted to come and find me as he did. He showed me exactly where Joey had fallen and he helped me bring him back here. If I were you, I’d be very proud of him.”
“You’re not me.”
Wolf’s expression could have scalded milk, but Billy shot her a grateful smile, and Rebeccah was glad she’d said what she had. As the boy headed toward the bedroom to gather his clothes, he stopped beside her a moment.
“Don’t worry too much, Miss Rawlings,” he whispered. “Pa won’t give me a licking—that’s not his way. But he’ll find some other punishment that’s even worse—like two weeks without a bite of Gramma’s blackberry pie. Or extra chores for a month without any time for fishing or riding Blue.”
With that glum pronouncement and a roll of his eyes, he disappeared into the bedroom. She glanced at Wolf. She couldn’t tell if he had heard the boy’s words. His expression was grim and unreadable. How different he was as a father from Bear, she reflected, studying his cool, stern features from beneath her lashes. When Bear had been angry with her when she was a child, he’d exploded with oaths, yelling, cursing, shaking his finger. But after a few moments of hollering, he’d been done. The anger was gone, the air cleared. And the instant she said she was sorry, Bear was ready to forgive and forget.
Wolf was a different story. He obviously planned to deal with Billy’s disobedience in a private way, but she had a feeling he would certainly make his point.
He followed her into the kitchen as she carried the cups to the sink, and she was aware of his steady gaze burning into her. She wanted to ask him about the town meeting. Was she to be run out of Powder Creek? Should she prepare herself for armed vigilantes to attack her cabin in the middle of the night? A cold dread wrapped around her like a snake as she thought of what must have occurred at that meeting, of the things people had said, of how they must hate her. She couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject, though. If she did, she would undoubtedly be told, “Folks want you out of town —pronto.”
And she couldn’t bear that. Not now, not when she was finally starting to feel that this cabin and this lovely mountain-studded land was home.
There was another reason why she didn’t want to leave, but Rebeccah wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on that one. Being close to Wolf Bodine was not a reason to stay in a town that didn’t want her. He was married! He had a family. What possible difference could it make if she lived ten miles or ten thousand miles from him? There was no hope of anything between them other than an exchange of words now and then, words bitten out with contemptuous civility. The man held her in dislike, to say the least. And he felt nothing for her but disapproval.
You are an idiotic little fool, she told herself furiously. You should have left Powder Creek the moment you saw him here.
Glancing over her shoulder at him, she felt her stomach twist into knots. She braced herself. Wolf Bodine looked like he was in the mood to pick a fight with someone. Why shouldn’t he target me? she wondered wearily. But his next words came as a surprise.
“It looks like I’m the one who’s beholden to you, Miss Rawlings.”
His tone was soft. Downright pleasant.
Caught off guard, she nearly dropped the cups. Hastily she set them in the sink and spun to face him, suspicion darkening her violet eyes. What was he up to now? “Not at all,” she said warily. “It was nothing.”
“You’re wrong.” Wolf had been trying hard not to notice how pretty she looked in her yellow-and-white calico dress, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the night, her eyes overbright in her lovely, pale face. Every instinct told him to stop thinking so much about Rebeccah Rawlings. But she seemed to be haunting him these days, and he couldn’t figure out why. Frustrated by his own weakness, he nevertheless couldn’t keep his mind off how fresh and angelic she looked, how like summer flowers she smelled, how her slim eyebrows drew adorably together when she was thinking hard about something. And about how her feet fidgeted when she was nervous. They were fidgeting right now, Wolf noticed, and wondered with half amusement, half consternation if he made her nervous.
Lightning flashed beyond the window. Wolf stepped closer to her and saw her foot wiggle.
“You went out into the storm to rescue Joey, and you kept Billy from catching pneumonia,” he said, keeping his voice even and dispassionate, even when she turned those intoxicating eyes on him. “You took care of them both. You kept them warm and dry. I’d say that’s something.”
“Well—”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m trying to thank you.”
“It isn’t necess—”
“Rebeccah,” he cut her off. “Just say, ‘You’re welcome’.”
Confused, Rebeccah only gazed at him, feeling ridiculous. But it was hard to think when he was staring at her like that, hard to protect herself against his steady, powerful brand of charm.
Suddenly he grinned. Rebeccah’s heart turned over. He closed the distance between them with one stride, and before either of them seemed quite aware of what he was doing, he seized her with a firmness that would not be deterred and stared intently down into her face.
“It’s easy,” he continued, his tone more patient now, his vivid gray eyes glinting into hers with hypnotic warmth. She noted that his chestnut hair was damp, and this made it look even darker in the lamplight. He smelled of autumn rain and crisp leaves and good polished leather. His dimples deepened as he smiled, and he looked almost boyish, Rebeccah thought, her heart melting—yet not like a little boy at all.
“You’re ... welcome,” he prodded her gently. He sounded amused. His mouth curled in a slow smile. His face was only inches from hers. “Say it, Miss Rawlings.”
“You’re ... welcome, Sheriff.”
“Wolf,�
� he corrected swiftly.
“Wolf,” she murmured. A dizzy sense of unreality gripped her.
He leaned toward her. What the hell am I doing? Wolf wondered at the last moment, and paused. He told himself to pull away. But a force stronger than his own common sense kept him rooted to the spot, holding Miss Rebeccah Rawlings firmly by the arms, gazing directly into those brilliant eyes.
Then his lips touched hers. Lightly, tentatively.
“Wolf,” she breathed again, and her hands crept shyly against his chest.
That slight movement, the softness of her touch, was his undoing. Casting reservation aside, he deepened the kiss, and his warm, rough mouth captured hers. His powerful arms locked around her slender form before either of them realized what was happening. He inhaled the fresh, flower scent of her as he drew her close. Held her tight. Tasted deeply.
Rebeccah felt her senses swooning. Her full mouth clung eagerly to his. From her temples to her toenails she suddenly quivered all over with hot, glowing pleasure. Was this a dream—one of her many thousands of dreams since that night years ago when she’d stared into the jeweled heart of a campfire and hungered for him?
No, it was real. Real. His hands at her waist were strong, hot even through the fabric of her gown. His lips deliciously imprisoned hers, and she clung to the warmth of his mouth as if to sweet life itself.
“Sheriff ...” she gasped when he stopped for breath.
“Wolf,” he corrected her roughly, and kissed her again.
Swimming, swimming through pounding seas, she gave herself up to the pleasures he was awakening in her. When his hard, calloused hands slid along the fabric of her yellow-and-white calico to cup and stroke her bottom, a tremble ran through her, and she gasped against his lips. He kissed her harder. Gathered her closer. Rebeccah, breathless, felt herself catching fire, burning up.
Wolf touched his tongue to hers, sending a darting flame through her that seared straight down to her most private parts. Rebeccah’s tongue responded like a sword swinging into battle. She molded her curves against his muscles without thinking, only feeling. Hold me, she pleaded in blissful, silent need. Wolf, don’t ever let me go.
