Code of the Wolf (6 page)

For a moment Serenity didn't understand. When she did, her answer was immediate.

“Never,” she said. “I want him gone.”

“Even if he could make all the difference between a good season and a bad one?”

“Even if he were willing, and I don't see why he should be, he is only one man. How can he make a difference?”

“If it's that you don't want to ask him, I can—”

“No. He'll ruin everything. He—” Serenity swallowed and took a deep breath. “We all agreed on terms when we came together here. We would never ask for the help of any man. Do you want to go back on that promise, Bonnie?”

“She won't have to.”

Constantine came sauntering down the stairs from the porch, a blanket draped over his shoulders, quiet as a panther. Serenity hadn't even been aware he'd come outside, let alone that he'd been listening.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Miss Campbell, Miss Maguire,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn, “but Miss Maguire is right. And, I owe you a debt, and I'd be glad to help out for a week or two.”

 

I
T WAS A MISTAKE,
and Jacob knew it.

He thought he'd made his decision. He'd intended to leave tomorrow, just as he'd promised Miss Campbell…borrow a horse and get right on Leroy's trail. It wouldn't have gone too cold for a werewolf. Not yet.

But it might be in a week or two. He was about to sacrifice not only the bounty, which he needed, but the chance to bring another bad man to justice. And Serenity Campbell had been right to mock him when she'd asked him about becoming “protector” to these women. He'd pried into their business when he had no
right or reason to, and every reason
not
to. God knew he wasn't fit to offer protection to anyone, let alone…

He tried without success to shake off the bitter memories. He hadn't taught Ruth to protect herself. She'd been a gentle soul, and he hadn't thought it was necessary. He'd sworn never to make himself responsible for any woman again.

If it weren't for the Code—the same code that wouldn't let him forget a debt—he wouldn't be here now, able to make a choice like this. He would have been dead—if not physically, then in every other way that mattered. He would have thrown himself into a fight he couldn't win, walked right into the Renier stronghold to take his revenge for Ruth's murder and started shooting without caring who he killed.

But he was alive because of these women. They had saved him at considerable risk to themselves. He hadn't intended to overhear their discussion in the yard, but his keen wolf's hearing had made it impossible for him to avoid it. Now he knew how much they needed him.

He couldn't do anything about their tricky situation here, surrounded by men who would no doubt be glad to take advantage of them and steal their cattle, if not their land. All he could do was discharge his debt, and maybe buy them a little more time.

“That is very generous of you, Mr. Constantine,” Bonnie said. “If you're sure you're able to—”

“No,” Serenity said, looking away. “Mr. Constantine has his own work to do. We would be selfish to keep him here.”

“Not at all, ma'am,” Jacob said. It was so easy to see through that tough facade to the scared woman beneath
it. Scared of
him.
And he was sure that fear had something important to do with why there were no men here, why these women had made some kind of pact to keep the male sex from intruding on their domain.

He didn't like to scare women. He'd known right off that Serenity had been bothered by seeing him without his shirt. It wasn't just some kind of prudish disapproval. No, it went a lot deeper than that. If he'd known how hard she would take seeing him that way, he would have found something to throw over himself earlier.

She didn't seem to appreciate that he'd done it now. “You don't owe us anything,” Serenity said. “You can be on your way with our blessing.”

Bonnie Maguire met his gaze, begging him not to accept Serenity's dismissal. She, along with the girl, Frances, and Changying, had no difficulty in accepting his presence here, while Caridad shared Serenity's intense dislike. They weren't all of the same mind.

“I pay my debts,” he said. “I know how to work cattle. I may be one man, but I'm good at what I do.”

“I said we don't need you.”

“I think you do, and if you cared about this outfit and these friends of yours, you'd realize that.”

Angry blue eyes fixed on his. He had to admire Serenity Campbell in spite of himself. Scared she might be, but she would do everything in her power not to let him see it, not to show by a single word or deed that she was weak in any way. Just like she would do her best to hide her womanliness under ill-fitting boy's clothes.

“Let him help us,” Bonnie said, resting her hand on Serenity's arm. “Most of the branding will be over in
a few weeks, and then he'll be on his way. Won't you, Mr. Constantine?”

Nothing in the world could keep me here,
he thought. “That's right, ma'am,” he said aloud. “Miss Campbell, you don't have to worry. I'll do my work and never trouble you again.”

Serenity weighed his words as if she were Blind Justice herself. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Constantine,” she said. “You will be here on sufferance. You will treat every woman here with courtesy and respect. You will give no orders. And you will make no advances. None of any kind.”

As if he would ever touch any woman who didn't invite him to do so. That generally meant whores who made their living entertaining men. They didn't expect anything from him but his money. Unlike Ruth, they could take care of themselves.

The woman standing before him would never invite any man to touch her.

“Do those rules suit you, Mr. Constantine?” she asked. “Because if they don't—if you break a single one of them—we will drive you out. And if you fail to do your share of the work, or prove less competent than you claim, we will dispense with your services.”

Jacob hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers. “I reckon you've made yourself clear, ma'am.”

It wasn't the answer she'd expected. She'd wanted him to take offense, walk away and save her the trouble of dealing with him one moment longer.

“Bonnie,” she said, turning her back on him, “he still needs to be measured.”

“I'll see to it.”

But the other woman didn't move, and Serenity was the first to leave. She set off at a pace that must have challenged her small body and went into the bunkhouse.

“I'm sorry,” Bonnie said. “Serenity didn't mean what she said.”

Jacob studied the redhead with interest. “I think she did,” he said.

Bonnie glanced down at the milk pail by her feet. “I'd better take this inside before something gets in it,” she said. “Come on in.”

He moved to pick up the pail, but she beat him to it. He followed her into the house, and watched as she carefully poured the contents of the pail into several bottles and capped them. “Where did you work cattle?” she asked.

“Lots of places,” he said, leaning a hip against the table.

“But you're a bounty hunter now.”

“That's right, ma'am.”

“Call me Bonnie.”

He wondered if calling her by her Christian name would break one of Serenity's rules of conduct. “Have you been here long, Bonnie?” he asked.

“About a year.” She looked over her shoulder. “It's a good place, with good people.”

“Miss Campbell didn't want to tell me much about it,” he said. “Or about herself.”

“She never talks about herself, not even to us,” Bonnie admitted. “Don't expect her to confide in you, of all people.” She turned to face him, bracing her hands behind her on the worktable. “Serenity bought this land
three and a half years ago,” she said. “The owner of the land had died, and his kinfolk wanted nothing to do with this country. There was nothing on it but a few corrals, and an old adobe
casa
that had already been done in by wind and rain. She, Zora and Caridad started with only a few cattle. Within two years there were ten women working here, and a lot more cattle.”

“Only ten women?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Usually it's enough. Helene can't ride, of course, but…”

Jacob paced away from the table, crossed the room and swung around again. “Do you all feel the same way about men as Miss Campbell does?”

She laughed. “I guess it's pretty obvious, isn't it?” She sobered. “I can't talk for the others, but just about everyone here has some reason for wanting to get away from men. Some just wanted their freedom. Others wanted peace. I wanted…” She hesitated. “I think you know what I used to be, Mr. Constantine. I see it in your eyes. Well, I'd had enough of that life, and it seemed to me that the best way to start fresh was to go somewhere and do something that had nothing to do with whoring.”

“Why do you trust me, Bonnie?”

“I'm a pretty good judge of men. I think you're honest.” She hesitated. “I see something else in your eyes, too. You want to know about Serenity. But I can't tell you. If she decides to trust you, maybe she'll tell you herself.”

Jacob wasn't used to being so easy to read, or to being so firmly put in his place.

By unspoken agreement, he and Bonnie let the con
versation lapse, and she went in search of the sewing things. She returned with a tape measure and set about recording the length and breadth of his chest, shoulders and arms.

Jacob felt nothing when she touched him. Bonnie's movements were as efficient and impersonal as they could be. For some reason he couldn't fathom, his thoughts turned back to Serenity.

She'd touched him less than a half-dozen times, usually as if he were a side of beef or a sack of flour, but even those brief contacts had stirred him in a way he didn't like. It was wrong, and he knew it. Just as it was wrong to wonder what had made her what she was.

There was no reason to give it any thought at all. In a few weeks he would be gone.

I
T WAS A MATCH
made in hell.

If there had been any other way, Serenity wouldn't be riding beside Jacob Constantine, constantly aware of his presence, of the smell of him, of the easy way he sat on his horse. If she hadn't been so bent on protecting the other women from him—even Bonnie, who was far too trusting, and Caridad, who might shoot him and have to live with the remorse—she would gladly have sent him out with someone else.

But he was
her
responsibility. So she rode out with him in silence to the southwest quarter of the range, beginning the search for calves in need of branding. No words passed between them; she didn't offer conversation, and he seemed content to concentrate on the work.

He doesn't want to know me any more than I want to know him,
she thought. And yet, in spite of herself, she began to notice little intriguing things about him that broke her concentration and awakened a far from easy curiosity.

First, there was the way he worked the cattle. She had to admit that Constantine was worth several men in terms of skill and efficiency. He was just as good as he'd implied, guiding his horse with his knees and
hardly a touch on the reins, handling the beeves as if they were harmless little lambs.

Ordinarily, branding required a minimum of three riders for each quarter of the range, and weeks of grueling work. But Jacob didn't need any help at all getting the calves down, holding and tying them while she wielded the branding iron. In fact, he seemed to put very little effort into the work at all, and yet he achieved results that almost aroused her admiration.

Then there was the way he treated her. Though they seldom spoke, he was invariably courteous when he addressed her, never attempting the slightest intimacy or asking a single personal question. If he saw her as anything but a working partner, he showed no evidence of it.

She, however, could never be less than keenly aware of his lean, broad-shouldered frame, or the face she had been forced to concede was handsome in its own rough way. Nor could she pretend she wasn't aware of her own body, even though she had long ago made it a habit to forget it was anything but a living machine to be fed and cared for as one would any valuable animal.

The first night they made camp beside the well at the far west border of the property—one of several that, along with a natural spring, made Avalon so valuable. There was enough of the branding fire left to cook the brace of cottontails Constantine had provided, a welcome addition to the coffee, beans and biscuit makings Serenity had brought.

When he'd left camp to go hunting, Serenity had been half-convinced that he'd gone for good. Maybe he thought his debt had been paid with a day's hard work.
The fact that he hadn't taken his horse didn't convince her otherwise; it just meant he wasn't a horse thief.

But when he'd come back he'd had the rabbits in hand and had laid them on one of the nearby rocks without comment. She had thanked him briefly, brushed aside his offer to cook the rabbits and set up the spit herself. While the first one cooked, the two of them shared not so much as a single word. Jacob sat very still, listening to the night sounds, alert but relaxed. Serenity only wished she could feel the same.

When the first rabbit was ready, Serenity found herself offering it to him just to break the silence.

“No, ma'am,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I reckon you're entitled to it.”

His easy refusal angered her out of all proportion to his words. “Because I'm a woman?” she snapped.

“You've worked as hard as any two men combined. You need to keep up your strength.”

And why should he care about her strength? Why bother with such compliments when she had never shown the slightest indication that she had any use for them?

“You're the one who's been hurt,” she said.

“I can wait.”

He wasn't going to back down, and she was too exhausted to argue. She hung the other rabbit on the spit and began to eat. She was far too hungry to be dainty about it, but Constantine didn't pay the least attention.

He accepted the second rabbit and ate with remarkable tidiness. When he'd finished, he picked up the battered tin plates.

“We don't want any coyotes bothering us,” he said
with a slight, wry smile and walked out into the dark to wipe them clean in the sand. His words and that smile made it seem almost as if he was keeping some secret joke she wasn't meant to understand.

Her temper flared again, and she was forced to acknowledge that her emotions were out of control. All the feelings she had tried to master over the past six years were bubbling to the surface, and Jacob Constantine was the one who'd set them to boiling.

But blaming him for her upset wouldn't help her. She knew that her anger was a sign of her own weakness, a dangerous vulnerability, a painful reminder that she had yet to erase the brand Lafe Renier and his gang had left on her soul. As long as she carried that brand, she would be a prisoner to her past. And her pain.

She had always known there was only one way to conquer that pain squarely: stare it in the face and spit in its eye. Unfortunately, she hadn't yet found the means to put that plan into action.

But there was something else she
could
do, here and now: refuse to give Jacob Constantine the satisfaction of knowing just how thoroughly he disturbed her. And she could learn as much about him as possible. If she understood him even a little bit, she would know how to deal with him, how to react, how to ignore him when it suited her. She would be able to defend herself.

From what?
she thought. But she shoved the thought aside and considered what question to ask first.

“How did you become a bounty hunter?” she asked abruptly when he returned.

She'd asked him a similar question before, and he'd
rebuffed her. She was prepared for the same reaction this time, but he surprised her.

“You've heard of the Texas Rangers?” he asked.

“I lived in Texas as a—” She broke off, took a deep breath and started again. “I have heard of them.”

Constantine pulled his hat over his eyes and stretched out on his back, supporting himself on his elbows. “I was a Ranger for ten years,” he said.

Most people would have considered that something to admire, but there hadn't been Rangers around when the Reniers had attacked Serenity's home, killed Levi and her parents, burned the house and taken her away.

She picked up a small stick and idly poked at the ashes. “What made you stop?” she asked.

“It was good work, but the time came when it just didn't suit me anymore.”

“Why not?”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes glittering red in the firelight like a coyote's. “Everyone changes,” he said.

He returned his attention to the darkness beyond the fire, but Serenity had the feeling that he was listening intently to every breath she took. Gooseflesh crept up her arms.

“Are you good at what you do, Mr. Constantine?” she asked. “When you're not being ambushed, I mean?”

“Jacob.”

The suddenness of his reply startled her. She'd deliberately provoked him, but instead of reacting with annoyance or anger, he'd offered her his Christian name.

Once she would have found such informality natural, as it had been among her kinfolk. But she knew
she and Constantine could never be friends, let alone intimates. He must know that as well as she did.

And yet to refuse his request would be surrendering to the very fear she rejected. She had no obligation to reciprocate with a similar invitation.

“Jacob,” she said.

He nodded briefly without looking at her. “Yes, Miss Campbell,” he said. “I am good.”

It wasn't just arrogance on his part. He was confident with good reason. She had seen how supremely competent he was, how at home in his own body, graceful and powerful at the same time. Never a wasted motion, like a wolf in pursuit of its prey.

“How many criminals have you caught?” she asked.

“As a Ranger, or a bounty hunter?”

“Both.”

“Maybe fifty or so.”

It seemed an incredible number, but she didn't doubt him. “How many did you kill?”

His jaw set. “I don't kill unless I have no choice.”

“Even when someone tries to kill
you?
”

“I defend myself like any man.”

“You would have killed Leroy, wouldn't you?”

He gave her another of those long, flat stares. “If I had to. My aim is to take them in alive.”

“What happens when you deliver a wanted man to the authorities?”

“He's tried by a judge and jury.”

“Have you ever arrested an innocent man?”

He looked away again. “Not that I know of, ma'am.”

Ma'am
. It was a safe word, a respectful word, but suddenly she hated it.

“Serenity,” she said.

Constantine—Jacob—was silent for a time. “It don't seem right, Miss Campbell.”

“You asked me to call you Jacob.”

“It's not the same.”

“Because I'm a woman?”

“That's what you are, Miss Campbell, even if you don't want to admit it.”

She scrambled to her feet. “Not as far as you're concerned, Mr. Constantine.”

His mouth twisted in that familiar smile. “Don't worry. I'll stick to my side of the bargain.” His smile faded. “Maybe you have good reason to distrust all men and refuse to have any on your place. I just can't help wondering what that reason is.”

 

J
ACOB HADN'T MEANT TO
ask such a direct and personal question. He should have discouraged Serenity's curiosity about him as soon as she started to talk. He'd told himself he didn't want to know anything more about her, but the longer they were together, the less true that seemed.

He hadn't lied when he'd said she worked as hard as any two men, and just as well. Her skill wasn't in question; wherever she'd learned to handle cattle, she'd taken to the lessons like a dog to a bone. And she'd never asked a single favor of him, never expected him to take on dirty work she wouldn't do herself.

The fact was that she'd been easy to work with, and he'd had more than one assumption about female ranchers proved wrong—which only made his need to understand Serenity that much stronger.

Now she stared at him, her full lower lip caught between her teeth, and he noticed again just how pretty she was. Fresh and clean, like a desert night.

“We have discussed this before,” she said. “Does it really seem so strange to you that women might strike out on their own simply because they have the means and courage to do so?”

Her response was much less defensive than he'd expected, which pleased him for no reason at all. He phrased his answer carefully.

“There are easier ways to strike out on your own than to try running an outfit like this.”

Serenity uncorked her canteen and took a long drink. “We don't just try, Mr. Constantine. We succeed.”

No easy answers, just as he'd expected. “You were lucky to get a place like this,” he said. “You have a spring here?”

“Coming out of the Organs,” she said. “We also have two good wells.”

“There are some pretty big outfits in the county,” he said. “The owners must envy what you have here.”

“Their envy is no concern of mine,” she said, the ice returning to her voice.

“They never give you trouble?”

“What trouble could they give us?”

“You've never been pressured to sell?”

“We are capable of defending ourselves, Jacob. There are plenty of good shots at Avalon. Anyone who comes here looking for trouble will get it.”

“You've had no problems with rustlers?”

“None to speak of,” she said.

Only because they'd been lucky, which didn't make
Jacob feel any easier in his mind. Even if the more powerful ranchers in the area didn't find a way to move them off the land, some gang like Leroy's was bound to see Avalon as a plump chicken waiting to be plucked, come in force, and then—

He cut off the thought and took another tack. “If you're having trouble with branding,” he said, “what do you do when you set up a drive?”

“We supply cattle to Fort Selden and Fort Cummings. We manage very well on our own.”

And they must leave the ranch pretty much undefended at such times, which seemed like sure suicide.

Unreasonable anger gathered in Jacob's chest. “You think you've found some kind of freedom here,” he said harshly, “but this peace won't last forever.”

She sprang to her feet. “You have no stake in our success or failure,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “You won't see any of us ever again once you leave.”

Why did that simple fact make him want to argue with her? She was right. But he still hadn't learned a damned thing about what drove her. He knew generally why these women had come here, but not what made
her
so wary of men, or why she would risk so much to prove she didn't need them. She must have had a father, a brother, maybe even a husband. The thought of her having been bound to any man had a strange effect on his heart. It made him forget to be careful.

“You saved my life,” he said. “That gives me some reason to care what happens to you.”

She froze in the act of turning away, her face caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. “You don't have to
worry,” she said. “We know the risks. We live our own way and make our own rules. No one here has to be afraid…”

She didn't finish the sentence, but Jacob recognized how close she'd come to revealing something important about herself. She must have realized it as well, for she suddenly broke into a brisk walk and strode out into the darkness.

Jacob could still see her. He knew she wasn't in any danger, and she wasn't angry or reckless enough to stray far from the fire.