Spirit of the Wolf (10 page)

Bess hoped the burden of grief would one day lift from her father's shoulders.
If only Pa would look around him
, she'd tell herself,
he'd see he's surrounded by hundreds of things to be thankful for:
He had his own good health. The farm had been productive
, even in the worst of times
. The boys were healthy
—why
even Matt's injuries were healing faster than Doc had predicted
!—and
Bess had never suffered so much as an ingrown toenail. His employees were honest and hard-working and devoted to their boss.
What more could he ask
? Bess wondered time and again.

She loved her father. But his behavior these past years had been slowly chipping away at the respect and admiration she'd felt for him while her mother was alive. Most of all, she pitied Matt and Mark, for they needed a father who was a pillar of strength, who could give them security, comfort, and a man they could imitate as they grew from fine strong boys into good decent men.

He hadn't been there for her, either. Take the night of Matt's surgery, for example, when she'd been forced to assist Doc Beck and comfort Matt and Mark
,
and Micah, too. If it hadn't been for
Chance
that night....

Bess sighed.
She'd stepped into Mary's shoes quite willingly. After all, Mary hadn't chosen t
o leave them.
Micah, on the other hand,
had
chosen
to leave them
, emotionally
. And if the truth be told, his kind of leaving hurt far worse. There wasn't a blessed thing anyone could do to bring Mary back, but Micah...Micah was
alive
!

She resented his helplessness.
Bess
missed her mother, too, yet her father's grief had forced her, barely twelve at the time, to take on his responsibilities in addition to Mary's. If Bess had refused to assume those roles, bills would have gone unpaid, fields wouldn't have been plowed or seeded or harvested....

Many times, it took all the strength and self-control she could muster to keep from telling him, face to face, exactly what she thought of his self-pitying, hang-dog ways. Ironically, Mary saved him even from that: "Your pa and me, we're just flesh and bone," she'd said, "and from time to time, we'll make mistakes, some of them big ones. When we do, it'll test your mettle, Bess my love, because that's when you'll find it hardest to treat us with respect
as our Father commanded
."

Bess sighed deeply and set aside her exasperation toward her
pa
. Her mother had been right, after all; Bess reminded herself that the Fourth Commandment didn't say "Honour thy father and thy mother...
if
they deserve it...."

She'd all but given up hope on Micah.

And then
Chance
came along.

Bess sat in her window seat and stared into the darkened yard. A wistful smile on her face, she hugged the
candle wicked
pillow to her chest and sighed. Yes, she'd given 'I love
Chance
' a thought or two, but she'd quickly dismissed the feelings as silly, immature infatuation. Too many people depended on her, needed her, and she had neither the time nor the inclination for romance.

At least, that had been true in the past.

Chance
's kiss had changed all that.

Bess put her fingertips to her lips and closed her eyes. Her heart swelled as she remembered the way his mouth lightly grazed her chin, her cheeks,
t
he way his big strong arms wrapped around her
and gathered her close, making
her feel safe and warm...and womanly.

If a man as handsome and available as
Chance
had taken
a romantic interest in her, why, maybe she wasn't so plain and unattractive after all! She'd waved away such thoughts in the past, telling herself that
the sins of pride and
vanity had put them into her head in the first place.

Surrounded by the steady strength of his embrace, he'd told her, without words, that it was all right to need others, at least once in awhile
. T
o
take
occasionally, instead of always giving.
Until now,
she'd been the family's sole source of strength. In all that time, she hadn't allowed herself to express fear
or worry,
sadness
or grief
. How could she cry over typical girlish concerns when it had become her responsibility to be mother, father, and friend to her brothers...and Micah's confidant and rock as well!

Bess believed that when
Chance
wrapped her in that sheltering hug, he'd said in his quiet cowboy way that he loved her.
Smiling, s
he remembered the Widow Rennick's advice, and freely admitted how very ready she was to be loved.

***

Chance
was a man who'd spent most of his adult life out of doors, so the long hours he spent under-roof, visiting with Bess and her brothers had been hard for him at first. But each passing hour
, he
felt more comfortable, until it seemed
as natural and normal as breathing…until
he couldn't stay away from the house.
Though he
’d thoroughly
enjoyed playing checkers and chess with Matt and Mark,
Chance
admitted
the real reason he
wiled away so many hours
in the manor house: Bess.

He thought of her day and night. And that surprised him, because though he'd courted a few women in his years on the run, he'd never felt even the faintest stirrings of emotional involvement toward a one of them.
Chance
remembered how he'd occasionally donned white shirt and black string tie, and escorted the prim and proper daughters of wealthy ranchers to fancy parties. He'd courted town girls in practically every city he'd visited. Spooned with the flirty girlfriends of other ranch hands. Why, he'd even bedded a few
…but
only if they'd invited him to, and only with the understanding he'd soon be on his way....

He'd lived on the edge because he believed that someday, he'd die on the edge.
Chance
saw no reason to steal a woman's heart, saw even less reason to give his own. Because sooner or later, he'd have to say goodbye.

Or die.

So h
e resigned himself to life alone.
As the years slid by, i
t
became
easier to stick to his self-imposed rule
of solitude
as he watched frail little women
turn
big strong men
into
well-trained lap dogs. If a gal set her sights on a trinket or a bauble, he wondered, why didn't she just come right out and ask for it, instead of pouting and
whining
until she got what she wanted? If her man did something to rile her, why didn't she just point-blank tell him what he'd done, instead of punishing him with the silent treatment until
the poor fool
puzzled it out?

There were scores of questions about life that he'd likely never figure out, but the only thing he
did
understand about women was that all the way back to the days of Adam and Eve, they'd been troublemakers, liars, users.

At least, t
hat's what he'd believed...until Bess.

Pretty and petite, she could have used her gender and diminutive size as a shelter from hard work. Instead, she challenged her curvy little body to perform chores that would have given
full-bodied
men pause. She didn't flutter her long, thick lashes and giggle to gain attention. Rather, Bess let the importance of what she had to say command the notice it deserved. He'd seen plenty of girls leap onto chair seats or hide behind their boyfriends at the sight of a field mouse. Not Bess
!
She'd grab a broom or a mop and chase the furry critter outside with a stern warning that if she cau
ght sight of its wooly little behind
in her kitchen again, it'd
end up
flatter than a griddlecake.

She laughed easily and ate heartily. And the only time he'd ever seen her cry had been the night of Matt's accident. Even then, she'd been embarrassed that he'd
witnessed
her tears, and apologized profusely for them, as though they'd been a symbol of some great character flaw.

When he pulled her near that night, he'd wanted to say something to soothe her ragged nerves. Wanted to assure her that her brother would be all right. Wanted to promise nothing bad would ever touch her life again, not if
he
had anything to say about it. But, frustrated by his inability to express what he felt,
Chance
could only hold her tighter, hoping to let her know with his actions
that he'd be there for her any time she needed him.
At least until he had to hit the trail again.

Then
she
’d
melted against him, her tears dampening his shirt
and moving him as nothing ever had. Before, she’d
seemed so strong and secure
, so
sure of herself
. H
er
moment of
vulnerability touched him deeply.
That's
why he'd kissed her, he told himself later.

But deep in his he
art, the truth lived...and grew: He'd kissed her because it’s what he’d
wanted
to
do
since the first time he set eyes on her.

She was a remarkable woman, all right. She'd been mother and father to Matt and Mark. She'd kept Foggy Bottom running, almost single-handedly. She'd done all the womanly chores anyone could have expected of her, plus a few most tried to foist on their menfolk. Beautiful and talented and honest, she'd somehow remained untouched by life's viciousness.

Bess was sweeter than any woman he'd ever known. She made him feel smart and important, decent and
good
. He liked the way he felt around her.

Liked the way she felt in his arms, too, because while other women had made him feel virile, he'd never before felt
wanted;
others had made him feel lust, and Bess made him feel
loved
. If he didn't have a death sentence hanging over his head, he'd ask her to marry him, right now!

Hard as it was to admit,
it had been a bad idea to take her in his arms, an even bigger mistake to kiss her. Because now that he'd had a taste of what real love could feel like, it would be hard, real hard, to leave it behind.

Micah ordered
Chance
to accompany Bess on the ride into Baltimore, despite her insistence that she'd safely made the trip on her own plenty of times. "The bigger that city gets," Micah said, his voice uncharacteristically stern, "the more dangerous it gets. You'll take
Chance
with you or you won't go at all."

This glimpse of the old Micah, strong and in-charge, gave Bess such a feeling of hope that she stifled any further protestations.

At first,
she
seemed content to ride quietly alongside
Chance
. But less than ten minutes into their five-hour journey, she said, "I really don't understand Pa's attitude. I've gone to Baltimore dozens of times, all by myself. It's insulting, that's what it is, the way he made me take a chaperon along."

"He's just looking out for you, Bess,"
Chance
said without taking his eyes from the road. "Can't say as I blame him. If you were my
—“

"Well, I'm not your daughter," she interrupted.

He looked at her, a wry smile sparkling in his blue eyes. "I was about to say," he continued calmly, "if you were my woman, you wouldn't go
anywhere
alone."

If you were my woman
, he'd said. She liked the sound of that, and grinned. "Why wouldn't you let me go anywhere alone? Do you see me as a needy, helpless female?"

Chance
focused on the team. "Needy and helpless?
You?
" He chuckled. "Hardly."

His sideways flattery made her sit up a little straighter, but she decided it was time to change the subject. "Matt's doing well, don't you think?"

Chance
nodded. "That boy's bound and determined to be fully mended before the harvest." His eyes met hers again. "I reckon stubbornness runs in your family."

She smiled. "I'll just take that as a compliment,
Chance
Walker."

He'd been wearing the name for ten long years, yet he still bristled every time he heard it. If his Uncle Josh had been there at the moment, he'd have beaten him senseless. The man's lie had cost
Chance
his home. His freedom. Even his name. He'd been feeling pretty chipper since learning Micah expected him to accompany Bess into Baltimore. Suddenly, a foul mood enveloped him.