Code of the Wolf (18 page)

That made what Jacob knew about Serenity's past seem even worse than he'd thought, and at the same time all the more puzzling. If the outlaws had attacked a Quaker homestead, they would have found easy prey. There would have been almost no resistance. They might as well have been shooting infants in their cradles.

Serenity would have been raised to believe that things like hate and revenge were wrong. The murder of her family must have destroyed years of belief in pacifism and loving thy neighbor. She had become an entirely different person, willing to put a man to the noose. Willing to kill.

He'd always thought her name didn't match what he knew of her. Now he understood why. And he thought
he could see why she might have set out on her own rather than go to her kinfolk, close as Quakers tended to be. If she hated so much, maybe she couldn't see her way clear to being around people who couldn't or wouldn't share her feelings—especially if she'd been planning revenge from the moment she found herself the only survivor of the outlaws' attack.

It must have been hell. Hell to be separated from her kin and community, hell to be alone with the feelings eating her up inside.

But maybe—impossible as the idea seemed right now—once she got back to her own people she would find some of the things she'd lost. Things that would take the place of her need for revenge. Things he could never give her.

His breath seized up in his chest. Zora's horse tossed its head and snorted, reminding him to breathe again.

“Quakers are good folk,” he said. “If they're asking her to see her aunt, she should go.”

“I do not think she wants to,” Zora said.

“She just needs to be reminded of what's important. You can help me make that happen.”

“How?”

“I'm going to tell Serenity that the trail's gone cold. I'll suggest that she go to her kinfolk while I keep looking, then come get her when I locate the outlaws.”

“I do not think your idea will work.”

“You don't think she'll believe me?”

“You will make it very hard for her. She will wish to believe you, but she will doubt.”

Which wasn't any wonder after what had happened with Perry.

“You can help me make her believe,” he said.

Zora held Jacob's gaze. “I wanted you to stop her from finding these men and going to her death. But there are worse hurts.”

“If you mean her not getting her revenge…”

“You care for her very much. I know this is true. But is it not your intention to leave her and never return?”

That had always been his intention, hadn't it? If he'd managed to leave Serenity behind, he would have gone on to finish what they'd started. But after that…

He'd never thought about “after that.” He hadn't needed to. He would go his way and she would go hers.

“She cares for you,” Zora said. “You must know this.”

He stared at her. That word,
care,
had been flung around pretty freely, and he still didn't know what in hell it meant. What it meant to
him
.

“I don't know what you mean,” he said roughly.

“She has felt nothing but hate for any man since I met her,” Zora said. “Since you came, she is different.”

Different? Maybe she'd calmed down a little from the day she'd rescued him. She'd let him touch her—more than once. She'd trusted him, even if that trust had slipped a little today. But had he
changed
her?

His horse felt his agitation and tossed its head. He gentled it, struggling to gentle his own turbulent emotions, as well.

“What are you trying to say?” he asked Zora.

She touched her breast. “It is not enough to keep her from finding these men and killing them. She has lost much. You have begun to help her find those things
again. She will need your help long after her enemies are dead.”

He finally understood. She was asking him if he would stay with Serenity. Not just now, but for all time. And that was crazy.

His throat contracted painfully. “Why do you think I've helped her?” he asked. “You've barely seen her since we left Avalon.” He swallowed. “Did she say—?”

“She has not spoken, but any fool could see it.” She searched Jacob's eyes. “Do you deny such feelings?”

Her feelings? Or his own? He'd spent the past eight years living from day to day, like a wolf. If he saw the Reniers punished, that would mark the end of a phase of his life that had become so much a part of him that he didn't know what he would do when it was over. He had nothing and no one to go back to.

But Serenity did. She'd made a good place for herself, and once she finally let go of her past she could shape her life exactly the way she wanted it to be, with or without the companionship of a man. It was possible she might find some decent man who could make her forget she had ever hated the male sex. A man who would gentle her, caress her body, kiss her breasts, stroke her secret places until she opened to him like a blossom to the sun…

Pain that was far more than physical rose from Jacob's groin into his chest. Some man, but not Jacob Constantine. She might get over her dislike of men, but never of what he was. Not completely. And even if she accepted his nature—even if she wanted him to stay with her, which was a crazy idea by itself—she needed something he didn't know how to give.

She needed love. She needed devotion, someone worthy of her, who could teach her to trust and discover all the beauty she'd forgotten. Someone who could promise to settle down, respect her strength and accept her friends. Be the kind of mate he himself should have been for Ruth's sake.

“Maybe you don't see as clearly as you think,” he said. “If she goes back to her kin, she'll have a hell of a lot better chance to find what she lost.”

Zora looked out across the dry, rolling plain and watched a lone cow amble along the wash. “It is her happiness I wish for,” she said.

“I can't give her what she needs. Maybe her family can.”

Zora looked at him again. “She will not easily let you go. I do not think you will easily let
her
go, either.”

“I promised Serenity I'd find these men, and I will.”

It wasn't an answer, and Zora knew it. “I have wondered if you do not want to find these men for yourself,” she said.

The sudden accusation startled him. “I'm a bounty hunter,” he said. “As you once pointed out, I'm the best man to hunt other werewolves.”

“But you said you would not do so when I asked you. What made you change your mind?”

“That's my business.”

She held his gaze, wolf to wolf, half challenging and half apologetic. “Yes,” she said. “I will help you to convince Serenity to go to her people. But it will be easier if you come with us to this Quaker place.”

“You plan to go with her?”

“We will see her safely to her family. If you offer to do the same, she will not question.”

The hell of it was, she was probably right. Jacob didn't believe for a minute that Serenity felt about him the way Zora had implied. But Serenity wouldn't think he was abandoning her if he accompanied her to Kerr County. She would believe he was waiting until she was done with her visit to resume their search. If he was lucky, by the time he left she would have a reason to stay behind, maybe even give up her hunger for revenge.

And he wouldn't see her again. That would be the best thing for her. For both of them.

“I'll come,” he said. “But I won't stay long. Her folks aren't likely to want me there, anyway.” He tried to smile. “I'm not the kind they'd approve of. You'll have to make sure she stays behind, even if she doesn't want to.”

“We will find a way to keep her from going after you.” Zora glanced past him toward Bethel. “Is your business finished here?”

“Yes. There's no need to go back there again.”

“Then we should return to the camp. Serenity will be worried.”

And he wouldn't be easing her feelings any when he told her he hadn't been able to learn any more about the Reniers. He would have to lie with complete conviction and keep on lying all the way to the Quaker settlement. He would still be lying when he rode off to find the Reniers, knowing he would forever be robbing her of her revenge.

But she would finally be safe, and so would the
Code. He would send word when the Reniers were locked up and facing the noose. He could do that much for her, even though they would never meet again.

Like a gut-shot man who doesn't know he's already dead, Jacob followed Zora back to camp.

T
OLERANCE, TEXAS, LOOKED
much the same as it had seven years ago. Once they had returned from San Antonio, the prodigal settlers had rebuilt the burned barn and house in the same simple style, and restored the other houses they had abandoned to the elements. There were new whitewashed fences and vegetable gardens, pigpens and chicken coops, and all the features of a prosperous farming community. Cattle and horses grazed in pastures among stately oaks and late-summer wildflowers. Across the road to the north, close to the Guadalupe River, where the most arable land was located, crops grew in fields protected by scarecrows and split-rail fences.

“It's very pretty,” Victoria said.

Serenity came out of herself and tried to smile. “My…the Quakers are hardworking folk,” she said.

It was all she was able to say at the moment. Her throat was too choked with emotion, her heart with memories that set it to aching like the phantom pain from a missing limb. She preferred anger; anger had kept her alive, kept her fighting, had given her the strength to rebuild her world when it had seemed shattered beyond recovery.

But in this place, so peaceful and serene, the anger was slow in coming. She was a child again. Papa was
repairing a fence in the outer pasture. Mama, Elizabeth and Aunt Martha were baking pies. Levi and William were hitching the horses to the wagon, preparing to drive to Kerrville for supplies. Uncle Lester and all the other Friends contributed each in his or her own way, working not for themselves but for this small, hopeful community built in peace and love.

Maybe it would have stayed that way, if it hadn't been for the illness that had taken most of the cattle, the drought, the misfortunes that had befallen them one after the other. That last winter had been hard, and everyone but Papa and Levi had chosen to return to the community of Friends in San Antonio.

Closing her eyes, Serenity imagined she smelled the stench of burning wood. But it was all in her imagination. The blackened remains of the old house lay beneath the foundations of the new building. She wondered if they had gathered up the ashes and prayed over them before they buried them.

“This is not good,” Caridad muttered to Zora. “We should go back.”

Caridad had been against this visit from the moment Zora and Jacob had returned to their camp to tell Serenity that no one in Bethel had been able to reveal anything more about the outlaws or their present location. It didn't help that Jacob had pressed for the trip. Somehow Caridad sensed how difficult Serenity would find this homecoming. Or perhaps she had feared Serenity would never return to Avalon again.

There was no need to worry about that, Serenity thought. None whatsoever. True, she had been deeply discouraged when Jacob had told her that their jour
ney to Bethel had been for nothing. But after the harm that had been done there—two men wounded, one man dead, Zora's abuse, the incident with Perry—even finding the outlaws' trail hardly seemed worth the price.

Then there had been her treatment of Jacob…her ugly assumption that he would side with Perry. She'd apologized more than once, but her conscience still wasn't clear. She'd seen the hurt in his eyes when she'd accused him of betraying them—hurt he, as a man, would never want anyone to see.

But that rare glimpse of vulnerability, so much like the sensitivity he had shown when they'd spoken of their families—that, and his selflessness in confronting Perry and revealing his true nature to Victoria for the sake of her safety—had brought to full clarity the realization she had tried for weeks to ignore. Which was just how much his companionship—his mere presence—meant to her.

It meant so much that she hadn't been able to refuse when he, along with Zora and Victoria, had urged her to see her family. Of course none of them, not even Zora, knew that Tolerance was the very place where her parents had died.

But Jacob's sacrifices for Victoria's sake had forced Serenity to admit just how selfish she'd been to even think of continuing the hunt before she'd seen Aunt Martha.

The decision had been made easier when Jacob had offered to escort her and the other women to Tolerance. In spite of her reckless behavior in Bethel and their falling-out over Perry, Jacob wasn't giving up, not on her or their search. Once she had seen Aunt Martha and
assured herself the old woman wasn't as sick as Uncle Lester claimed, she would be off with Jacob again.

And then? What happens when it's all over, and you and Jacob go your separate ways?

Her mind stubbornly refused to settle on the question, but it had become less difficult to put it aside as they approached the settlement. There was no room now for anything but dread.

“
Muchacha?
Are you well?”

She blinked at the sound of Caridad's voice and looked around quickly. They were approaching the picket fence that ran between the wagon road and the cluster of houses and cottages that made up the heart of the settlement. A young man she didn't recognize was coming out of the barn across the yard from the largest house. He tipped back his hat, and stared at her and her companions in obvious surprise.

It was no wonder. Over the course of time more settlers would have come to the area—Serenity and her party had already ridden past several new homesteads and farms that hadn't been there seven years ago—and it would no longer be quite so uncommon a sight to see travelers on the wagon path that served as the only road west of Tolerance. Still, everyone in this part of the county would take note of all comings and goings, and strangers would be noticed.

There was no turning back now, no way to conceal that she was no longer the meek, obedient girl she had been the last time her aunt, uncle and cousins had seen her. Not even if she had wanted to. She didn't even own a dress, and if she had, she wouldn't have brought it on her journey from Avalon.

Yet it didn't really matter; she would appear out of place here no matter what she wore, and so would her friends. Jacob had indicated that he would make camp by the Guadalupe, but she had refused to consider it. The Friends were usually hospitable to outsiders. They would freely offer shelter, food…anything a traveler might require.

While no outsider would ever penetrate the soul of the community unless he or she chose to become one of the Society of Friends, Caridad, Zora, Victoria—even Jacob—would be welcome for a few days, a week, perhaps longer if it were necessary.

But it wouldn't be necessary. No matter how sincerely the Friends asked her to stay—
if
they did—she wouldn't do it. Even if she had to tell them the reasons she had never admitted in the two letters she'd sent to them after her escape.

The young man had walked quickly from the barn to the path that led toward the largest of the houses, casting glances toward the travelers with every other step. Serenity led the others to the gate in front of the main house, hearing the distant sounds of children's laughter. This was a happy place, where children could laugh so freely.

She didn't see the children themselves, but a few minutes after the young man entered the house a modestly dressed middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and raising her hand to shade her eyes.

Serenity didn't recognize her, either, but as she reined her horse to a stop another woman, perhaps ten years younger, joined the first. Her dress, like that of
her companion, was almost absurdly plain, a nondescript brown of the most common cloth, with no decoration whatsoever. She wore an equally plain bonnet tied close under her chin. Her face was careworn and weary, as unremarkable as her clothing, but Serenity would have known it anywhere.

With Victoria, Caridad and Zora behind her, Serenity dismounted and tied her horse to the fence.

“Elizabeth Selden?” she called softly.

Elizabeth gasped. “Serenity Campbell?” she cried. “Is it thee?”

Serenity walked up the neat little path to the porch. “Yes, Elizabeth,” she said. “It's me.”

The woman Serenity didn't know addressed a whispered question to Elizabeth, who nodded vigorously. The other woman disappeared inside the house, and Elizabeth walked briskly out onto the path.

“Dear cousin!” she said, her faded blue eyes filling with tears. “I was afraid…” She held out her arms. “I thank God that thee has come to us.”

Taking that one step to meet Elizabeth was like leaping over a chasm. Serenity returned her cousin's gentle embrace and awkwardly patted her back murmuring senseless little reassurances.

At last Elizabeth drew away, searching Serenity's eyes with pity and concern. If she were alarmed by Serenity's appearance, her worn and dusty men's clothing and hat, she was too polite to mention it. “I am so glad thee is well,” she said.

“And I thee,” Serenity said, the once-familiar cadences of the plain language coming back to her with surprising ease. “Aunt Martha. Is she…?”

“She has been waiting for thee,” Elizabeth said, sobering quickly. “We prayed thee would receive the letter.”

“She is not worse?”

“The same. But seeing thee will surely lift her spirits.”

Perhaps, Serenity thought, Uncle Lester hadn't been exaggerating after all. She found it difficult to continue to meet her cousin's gaze.

“Elizabeth” she said, “these are my friends.” She turned to give Victoria a nod of encouragement, and the three women stepped inside the gate. “Victoria Curtis, Caridad Garcia and Zora. They have been gracious enough to escort me, and I hope it will be possible for them to stay a few days before they return.”

A spark of curiosity lit Elizabeth's eyes. “Thy friends are welcome here.” She looked beyond the women to Jacob, who had dismounted a few yards behind them.

“Will thee not introduce thy other companion?” she asked.

Serenity found herself blushing. “Jacob Constantine,” she said, “will thee…will you come meet my cousin?”

Jacob removed his hat, holding it close to his chest as he walked through the gate.

“Elizabeth,” Serenity said, “this is Jacob Constantine. Jacob, my cousin Elizabeth Selden.”

“Ma'am,” Jacob said, inclining his head. “A pleasure.”

“As it is mine,” Elizabeth said with a slight smile. She was obviously bursting with questions, but she had
a true Quaker's patience. “You must be thirsty,” she said, addressing all of them. “Please, come inside.”

It was Victoria who seemed least reluctant to obey. Caridad and Zora exchanged glances and slowly followed her. Jacob came last. Elizabeth stood to the side until the four of them, followed by Serenity, had entered the house.

It was cool and dim inside, the late-afternoon sun no longer shining through the windows that served the common room and large kitchen. A dining table big enough to seat sixteen at one time dominated the room. In many ways it was very like the kitchen Serenity remembered, and she felt a pang of fresh grief.

The man Serenity had seen by the barn stood near a cupboard against one wall, hat in hand. Serenity judged him to be not much older than herself. He was quiet and reserved, but it was obvious that he was very interested in the visitors. The older woman waited by the large table, her hands folded in her apron.

“Cousin Serenity,” Elizabeth said, indicating the woman, “this is Grace Hollander.” She smiled at the young man. “And this is Virgil Thompson.”

Surprise momentarily halted Serenity's reply. “Virgil Thompson?” she repeated.

The young man stepped forward, smiling warmly. “Thee remembers me, Serenity Campbell, though it is long since we were children together?”

A very long time. Yet they had been friends when she was ten and he twelve, before Virgil had left with his family to settle in Colorado. Serenity even remembered having admired him in the way of a girl on the cusp of womanhood.

“I remember,” she said, offering her hand.

His fingers were calloused and warm and held hers with gentle pressure.

“I have heard thy name spoken often these past months, Serenity Campbell,” he said. “It is a blessing that thee has come back to us.”

Serenity slipped her hand free and smiled at all three Friends. “I thank thee for thy hospitality,” she said, slipping easily back into the mode of speech she had grown up with. She beckoned Victoria, Zora, Caridad and Jacob forward to introduce them to Virgil and Grace.

Grace was obviously shy, and responded by bustling into the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of milk, some cheese and a loaf of bread. Virgil studied each of the women in turn, frowning a little as he tried to make sense of their appearance. Then he looked at Jacob, and his expression went flat.

It was no wonder. Though she had asked him and the others to leave their weapons with the horses, as she had done herself, everything about him, from the way he carried himself to the look in his eyes, marked him as a man who had known violence. The Quaker women were careful not to notice, but Virgil was evidently not so reticent.

“Will you sit?” Elizabeth said into the silence, gesturing toward the table.

Well aware that she was far too dirty to help the Quaker women in the kitchen, Serenity motioned the others to the sturdy chairs neatly tucked around the table. She felt as if she were moving in a dream, part of her acting within it and the other part observing from without. Every gentle word Elizabeth spoke drew her
deeper into the past she had tried to forget. She could almost imagine that Virgil was Levi, gazing upon his future wife with affection as she worked beside the other women in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal.

Virgil, however, remained standing, and his gaze was fixed on Jacob. Feeling Jacob's eyes on her, Serenity nibbled at the bread and cheese the Quaker women offered. Her stomach rebelled, but she didn't want him or any of the others to know just how unbalanced and confused she was. It was up to her to make her friends feel as comfortable as possible…and never to let on to the Friends how little she wanted to be here.