Wild Secret, Wild Longing: A Sweet Historical Western Romance Novella (The Front Range Series Book 3)

by Charlene Whitman

  “Where did Dan find you, I wonder. Prob’ly raised you from birth.” LeRoy couldn’t imagine any other way a wolf would take to a human. He wondered if Dan had killed her mother and then found the den. Had there been more pups? That was a story he’d like to hear, but didn’t figure he’d ask. Dan clearly coveted his privacy and kept a lot of thoughts to hisself. LeRoy didn’t blame him. He would probably be the same if he lived all alone up here.

  LeRoy stood and listened to the soft sound of snow falling. He sniffed the air. Whatever meat Dan had been smoking was no longer giving off a scent. His coals had probably gone out. He then heard a noise of something banging against wood, then relaxed when the bray of a mule or donkey met his ears.

  “C’mon, Peluche, head over thataway,” he said, pointing in the direction of the sound. Instead of obeying, though, the wolf trotted back to the cabin, done with her business and with him, it seemed.

  “That’s my mule,” Dan called from the front stoop, broom in hand. He’d already gotten most of the snow swept off, although more was falling and already laying a blanket over the boards. “Git back inside.”

  LeRoy frowned. He sounds just like Ma. When LeRoy made it to the stoop, Dan said, “There’s oats and some venison jerky. I’ll make some coffee.” They stomped boots and slapped snow off their hats and headed inside. LeRoy closed the door after Peluche came in, snow falling in clumps onto the floor.

  “Fool thing! Why didn’t you shake outside?” Dan said, picking up a towel and wiping up the puddles of water. Peluche ignored him and plopped down on her blankets. LeRoy chuckled.

  “What?” Dan asked, a grumpy look on his face.

  “It’s just . . . she’s such a dog.”

  Dan frowned, but a smile inched up one side of his mouth. “Yeah, well, I reckon it’s ’cuz she is part dog.”

  LeRoy’s eyebrows raised. He could swear the animal was all wolf. But now that he took a closer look, he made out the wider muzzle and head under all that fur.

  “The man who gave the pup to me said she had some Irish Wolfhound in ’er.”

  LeRoy hung his coat and hat on the pegs as Dan puttered around fixing breakfast. “Why don’t you let me do that? You c’n tend to your mule.”

  “You can hardly stand. You wanta pull those stitches out? If you do, I’m not fixin’ ’em.”

  “I’ll be all right.” He added, “You did a fine job. I’m on the mend.”

  Dan merely grunted and turned his back on LeRoy. Presently the aroma of coffee and hot oats wafted on the air. Dan poured milk and sugar into the pot and stirred, then removed the pot from the heat and set it on the warmer. “Bowls’re in there.” He pointed to a cupboard. “Help yourself.”

  Dan made for the door, picking up his rifle that lay on the table. He checked the chamber on the old Springfield, then turned around. “Don’t you be snoopin’ around in my things,” he said. “Peluche.” The wolf-dog perked ears at her name. “Keep an eye on ’im.” He turned back to LeRoy.

  The wolf-dog sat up and looked over at Leroy. Dan’s stare was full of threat. “I won’t be long. Have a few chores to do. You jes sit tight.”

  LeRoy nodded. Dan went out and shut the door behind him. Peluche eyed LeRoy with her keen yellow eyes. She watched his every move. Darned if the fella doesn’t have that wolf-dog trained. That beats all.

  LeRoy wondered about Dan’s harsh warning. Maybe the fella was hiding a stash of money somewhere. Made sense. But why would he think a man who’d faced down a grizzly to save his life would be interested in his cash? The fella sure was a bit unsociable.

  As he scooped out some hot oats and checked the coffee to see if it was done boiling, he cursed his luck—or lack of it. Last thing he needed was to be holed up in a cabin with a surly fella—and snowed in, to boot. He’d make hisself useful, keeping busy to while away the hours, if he didn’t have those stitches. But if he wanted to mend, he had to take care and give those slashes time to heal. He cringed thinking about that bear and how fearsome it was. He hoped he’d never have to look that close into such a beast’s face as he had last night. He imagined the grizzly would haunt his dreams for years to come.

  Peluche’s ears suddenly perked up, and a low growl rumbled out of her throat. LeRoy studied her, then limped to the nearest window. All he could see was snow and trees. He held a hand against the cold glass pane and listened, closing his eyes to hear past the snow and the natural mountain sounds. Nothing.

  The wolf’s fur puffed out in alarm, but the animal didn’t move. She stood on her blankets, her head cocked. LeRoy kept his eye on her as he ate his food and drank a cup of bitter coffee. He knew the wolf’s hearing was better than his own, but what was she hearing? Maybe she growled at anything or everything—how was he to know? Still, his eyes lighted on his rifle by the door—where Dan had put it last night. He’d better check to make sure it was loaded and ready to fire.

  Gennie swam her arms through the mounds of snow as she pushed through the drifts with her legs. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her eyes stung from the cold. Already this much snow, and the golden leaves were still clinging to the aspens. An early winter, and a long one coming. She’d seen it often enough to know. The thought struck her heart with misery.

  I can’t do it. I can’t make it through another winter. What can I do?

  The helplessness seized her, making her knees buckle. There had to be a way out, another way to live. She only needed to get enough money so she could live someplace else. But where? The sight of her smoker disheartened her further. Only the top foot of the structure poked out of the snow. The embers had gone out, which meant the meat and wood and coals were all wet. She’d have to clean it out and get a fresh set of coals going, haul all the partially smoked meat inside. She didn’t know if she’d be able to smoke it properly now. Would she have to eat it all to keep it from spoiling?

  She looked up into the tree branches. The deer haunches were untouched and still hanging, frozen. That gave her a spark of hope. She set her rifle against the side of the house, under the overhang, and pushed her damp bangs off her forehead.

  After swiping the tears off her cheeks, she set her face against the tasks at hand. Letting her anger and pain propel her, she grabbed the shovel out of the small shed lean-to and began digging. With each thrust into the snow blocking the smoker, she grunted with determination, wishing she didn’t have so much to do and a stranger sitting inside her cabin. First, she’d clear away the drifts. Then get the hand cart and shovel all the wet coals out of the smoker. Then, she’d go to the wood box and load up on dry kindling . . .

  Across the snowfield, her mule began braying with an edge of panic.

  “Now what?” She stuck her shovel into the snow and listened. Her eyes widened at the sound of thrashing in the trees near the mule’s shed. The mule brayed frantically now, and Gennie heard its hooves smacking the back boards of the stall.

  “What in blazes—?” Gennie sludged a few steps, then froze, her heart in her throat. Her mouth went suddenly dry.

  The grizzly lumbered out from the trees toward the mule’s shed, plowing through the powder. A few seconds later, it rose to full height, and with one hefty swipe, ripped a board off the wall.

  Gennie screamed along with her mule. The grizzly stopped and swung its massive head in her direction. Across the snowy expanse, their eyes locked.

  Shaking with fear, she stumbled over to the side of the cabin and grabbed her rifle, then ran back to the smoker. At least a hundred feet stood between her and the bear. The grizzly ignored her, and turned back to the dilapidated, rotting wood shed.

  Gennie knew she had precious few minutes before that bear would tear the shed apart and her mule would be killed.

  “Git! Git!” she yelled, then fired off a shot. The bear didn’t even flinch when the bullet hit its shoulder. The grizzly calmly ripped another board off the shed. She cursed, knowing she was out of range. She felt in her pocket for another heavy bullet, then loaded it into the chamber and cock
ed it into the barrel. Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck.

  Tears pressed behind her eyes, blurring her vision. She wiped at them and tried to aim the rifle. Sobs burst from her chest. The bear would kill and eat her mule. Then it would get her deer meat, destroy her smoker. Probably kill her too, in the end.

  Hopelessness engulfed her as she lunged after the bear, plowing through the knee-high snow, her legs burning and her heart breaking. She had lost everyone and everything she’d loved. She had so little to cling to, and now she was losing that as well.

  Gunshot! LeRoy limped across the cabin as fast as his legs could take him. He threw open the door, and the wolf raced out. He heard the faint echo of the rifle’s report drift on the air. Then he heard something else. It was Dan, screaming. And the mule.

  LeRoy’s blood froze. It’s that grizzly. He didn’t doubt it a second. Quickly, he threw on his coat, squashed his hat on his head, and grabbed his rifle. Crimany! I need my bullets! He couldn’t recall how many shots he’d fired last night, but he wasn’t going out to face that bear without a full chamber plus some.

  He hobbled over to his pack, which lay on the stone hearth, and rifled through it until he found his bullets, wishing now he’d brought his cartridge belt. He stuffed the small pouch in his coat pocket, then spotted a shotgun propped up against the siding. It looked like an older Winchester. Just the thing he needed.

  Using the old gun as a crutch, LeRoy hobbled as fast as he could manage, his own gun strap slung over his shoulder, falling snow fixing to bury him as he made his way carefully along the channel Dan had forged through the meadow. There was no sign of the wolf, but LeRoy guessed she had hurried to find Dan. The few paw prints he spotted were presently filling up with snow. He clenched his teeth hard against the pain rippling across his gut, hoping he didn’t tear all his stitches. But that was the least of his concerns right now.

  Why couldn’t that bear have waited until I hunted him down? How in tarnation is it still alive?

  Taking what felt like forever, LeRoy rounded the side of the cabin. He spotted the canted roof of Dan’s smoker, then looked at all the footprints beaten down in the snow. He followed Dan’s boot tracks around to the other side of the smoker, then heard Dan yell.

  He raised his head and looked across the snowy field. His jaw dropped at the sight.

  Gennie waved her rifle in the air, tripping and falling, then pressing onward. The seconds dragged as she made slow progress, the bear now swinging its claws in the air and watching her. The terrified squeals of her mule wrenched her heart.

  “You. Are. Not. Getting. My. Mule . . .” she ground out through clenched teeth. Breathless, she stumbled to a stop halfway across the field, where a lone giant sugar pine stood, seeking some relief from the snow dumping on her hat. She raised the rifle again. The kick of the gun slammed into her sore shoulder as the bullet whizzed through the air and smacked the bear in the arm. The grizzly roared and threw its arm back in pain. The mule’s frantic braying made Gennie even madder. She knew she was losing her mind, acting crazy. But there wasn’t nothing for it. What other choice did she have? She would either kill that bear or it would kill her. Now.

  The bear lowered down on its haunches and regarded her—as if he recognized her from last night and had a score to settle. He galloped straight toward her.

  “You just come on and git me!” Strangely calm, she fed another bullet into the chamber and took aim. This time she’d wait until he was just a few feet away. She’d shoot him right in that crazed beady eye. He’d probably kill her before he knew what hit him. But she’d die pleased to know he wouldn’t cause any more trouble.

  Snow spun around her in a dervish dance, and the wind whistled a high-pitched song. Her funeral song.

  Just then she heard a loud crack overhead. She tipped her head back and gasped. A widow-maker the size of her mule careened down from the heights, smashing into one branch after another, the pine boughs thick with packed snow that dumped buckets on her face.

  She only made it two steps before the branch crashed down on her, knocking the breath out of her as it crushed her against the ground. Her world spun, then went black.

  LeRoy ran in an awkward gallop, ignoring the screaming pain in his gut, eyes wide as he watched the pine branch bury Dan under a shroud of snow and boughs. He doubted the man could’ve survived such a blow, but he had no time to check. The crazed grizzly was already under the pine tree yanking on the fallen branch, searching for his prize as if lifting a log to dig out grubs. LeRoy had never seen such relentless determination in either man or beast.

  He pitched the rifle-crutch into the snow when he got within twenty feet of the bear and sought a steady stance for his trembling legs. His breath came out in painful spurts forcing him to take shallow breaths to dispel the brunt of the pain. Icy wind blew hard snow pellets into his face, stinging his skin as he sighted down the bear with his Winchester.

  The grizzly—mad, hurt, and obsessed—tore the limbs from the massive fallen branch as if they were matchsticks. Boughs flew into the air, and the grizzly roared to the sky in wrath.

  Amid the mayhem of the bear’s anger and the mule’s distraught squeals, a quiet calm surged through LeRoy’s soul as he cocked back the trigger. The pain in his gut now dulled to soft throbs as he swallowed and drew in a steady breath. The tremble in his legs ceased, and he felt locked in this one moment in time. As if the bear detected a connection between them, it rose up, turned its head, and glowered at LeRoy in challenge. It was now just him and the bear, and no one and nothing else existed in the whole world. The hunter and the hunted.

  The soft sound of snowfall shattered like a pane of glass as LeRoy fired, then fired again. His aim was straight and true, and the bullets hit their mark—one straight through the bear’s throat, and the other right between the stunned wide-open eyes.

  LeRoy lowered the gun with a sense of awe and respect for the great beast as it dropped down on its haunches, then listed to the side like a boat caught in a fierce current. LeRoy heard only the hard pounding of his heart and the trace echo of the gun’s reports buzzing his ears as he waited. The grizzly then toppled over and fell like a huge log into a river. A spray of powder erupted like a geyser, then settled in a misty silence.

  A minute passed, maybe two, before LeRoy concluded it was safe to approach, and he let out a long shaky breath when he spotted the glazed eyes staring at nothing, as if seeing beyond this world to the next. Perhaps the bear was now treading a path along the star field to wherever the great creatures of the world went when they passed from this life.

  LeRoy laid a hand on the magnificent creature’s chest and said a prayer, ushering its spirit to the heavens. But then he startled when he saw rustling out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked behind him at the pile of branches that were piled up waist high. A faint sound followed—a moan.

  Dan! He’d forgotten the man was underneath. How in blazes could he still be alive?

  Something poked LeRoy in the back, and he yelped in surprise and clutched his chest. He wheeled around and faced the wolf, whose eyes showed worry as she jabbed LeRoy’s arm with her massive paw, as if urging him to hurry. A pitiable whine came from her throat as LeRoy tugged at sharp branches with his bare hands, tossing them aside and wishing he’d remembered to put on his gloves.

  His hands were bloody, scratched, and near froze by the time he managed to leverage the enormous bough pinning Dan facedown to the ground. To his utter astonishment, he saw not a scratch on the man, as the branch had missed landing on Dan’s head by a foot or so. With care, LeRoy slid the body out by gripping Dan’s shoulders, and when cleared of the mess, he turned him over.

  Dan’s face was riddled with scratches and blood, but he was alive. LeRoy blew out a breath of relief, then wondered how in tarnation he’d get the fella back to the cabin.

  Chapter 9

  By the time LeRoy trudged back to the cabin, found the hand cart Dan used to haul wood, dug it out from under f
our foot of snow, dragged it inch by inch through the ocean of snow to where Dan lay, loaded the fella into the cart, then pulled it using every last ounce of strength he could muster, finally collapsing on the front stoop, the day was near spent. His time would’ve been cut in half if he’d been able to coax the mule out of its torn-up shed, but the animal was shook up. No doubt it smelled the grizzly nearby and wasn’t having any of it. LeRoy did what he could to patch up the broken boards to keep the snow from blowing in and comforted the mule as best he could.

  He’d taken a thick wool blanket from off the bed and wrapped Dan in it to keep him from freezing through the hours of LeRoy’s long laboring as the snow continued to fall. All that time he saw no signs of life, and Dan made nary a sound. But the last time LeRoy checked, the fella was still breathing.

  As he carefully lifted Dan from the cart at the door to the cabin and brushed the foot of snow off him, LeRoy sucked in a breath and winced. He had no doubt that he’d wreaked havoc on his stitches—warm sticky blood stuck his shirt to his stomach. But he’d deal with that later. First he had to see how bad off Dan was.

  He slid the gray blanket cocoon along the floorboards into the cabin, the wolf padding alongside, her head low and nuzzling Dan’s partially exposed face the whole way. LeRoy stumbled and collapsed onto the worn rug, relishing the warmth of the cabin that stung his cheeks as it thawed his half-frozen skin. The wolf plopped down and began a vigil, her eyes fixed on Dan’s flushed face.

  After a moment of collecting his strength and his wits, he set about stoking the fire in the stove and heating some water, ignoring the ache in his gut. He rummaged through his pack and pulled out the medicine pouch, shaking his head as the look on his ma’s face came to mind. He’d hoped she was wrong about needing her medicine, but she was never wrong.