Spirit of the Wolf (2 page)

Slowly, he straightened to his full six-foot height, and winced. He'd broken a few ribs in his day. Once, at eight, when he'd fallen from the barn loft; again at ten, while branding ponies. The searing pain in his lungs told him that when the wagon hit bottom, he'd
cracked them
again. He looked at the swollen fingers of his left hand; in all likelihood, he'd broken a few of those bones, too.

But he'd faced pain
—the
physical and the mental kind
—plenty
of times before
. And
he'd beat it. W.C. poked his chin out in grim determination, and started walking.

He wondered, as he limped along, how long it would take them to find his trail. An hour? Two?
More'n likely, they'll call in the Texas Rangers. The U.S. Marshals, even
....

He hitched the canteen's leather strap higher on his aching shoulder. They were a determined lot, those U.S. Marshals, and
few things
riled them more than losing a prisoner. He'd heard-tell of one bank robber who'd been on the run for eight years before they managed to wrap a noose around his neck. The thought made his own neck hairs bristle, and he cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

Better get used to doin' that
, he told himself, stepping up his pace.

The way his life had been going lately, he believed he'd earned a kiss from Lady Luck.
Seems that li'l gal is always puckerin' up for somebody else. Why not me for a change?

Maybe, with her on his side, he'd be south of the Rio Grande by this time tomorrow....

Freeland, Maryland, 1850....

The distant sound of wagon wheels, crunching down the gritty drive, was swallowed up in a fog of memory
as thick as
the dust
from
the work horses' hooves. Sometimes, it seemed an eternity since the Beckley clan had buried their beloved Mary. Other times
—like this—Bess
missed her mama so much it felt like only yesterday that she'd placed wild roses atop the burnished mahogany coffin.

The wagon and its passengers came into full view, waking Bess from her daydream. She waved as it rounded the last bend in the long, narrow lane that ribboned from the main road to the house, and returned her father's weary smile.

This year, as every other, she watched the newcomers' gazes flit from the two-story stone house, to the big red barn, to the acres of green, hilly fields beyond. Later, as the hired hands devoured their first meal at Foggy Bottom Farm, they'd ask the questions that churned in their minds, and her father would, as always, let his own food grow cold to answer each in turn.

And this year, like every other, one of the unmarried hands would
no doubt
try to woo
the farmer's daughter
.
He'd
pretend to love her, listing her beauty, her sweetness, her intell
igence as reasons for his ardor. But
in reality
, he'd see
marriage to Bess as the quickest cut to a slice of Foggy Bottom.

And maybe, he'd love her truly.

Either way,
it didn't matter
: There
'd
never be
wedding bells in Bess Beckley's future
.
She'd vowed the day they lowered the fancy brass-trimmed casket into the ground
that she'd never marry, because
she didn't possess the strength to withstand the demands of such a union. She'd seen how marriage had changed the boys and girls she'd gone to school with
, how it had worn her poor ma to a frazzle; i
f a
husband and young'uns m
eant giving up her
self,
Bess would just as soon live out her li
f
e alone.

Besides, her father had been a fun-loving, high-spirited male while his dear Mary lived.
S
ince her death, Micah rarely spoke, and smiled even less. If losing a beloved spouse could so drastically alter the character of a man as strong as Micah had been, well, how could she
—a w
oman with so few years of living behind her
—even
hope
to
endure
pain like that?

So this year, like every other, Bess
would see to
it that her so-called suitors returned home after the fall harvest
,
untethered, but with their male egos firmly intact. "I'm too busy taking care of Pa and the boys and the house and the books," she'd
gently
explain, "to
be a proper wife to any man." And t
hat much, at least, was true.

Bess sighed. Maybe, this year she'd
get
lucky, and every man on the wagon would already have a wife and children back home. And, if there was
a
bachelor
among them, he'd have a lovely
fiancé
waiting for him.

The wagon stopped in the shade of the giant oak beside the drive, halfway between the house and the barn. Micah climbed down from the driver's seat and took her in his arms. "Bess, darlin'," he said, "you're sure a sight for
my
sore
ol'
eyes."

"Welcome back, Pa." She'd never grow tired of their now-routine greetings. But it would be wonderful, Bess thought, to see Micah's wide practiced smile reach his eyes for a change.

Forcing the wish from her mind, she stuffed one hand into her apron pocket. "Why don't you gents get washed up over there," she suggested, pointing to the pump beside the house. "I'm sure you're hot and tired after your long ride."

All five of them quickly
cl
imbed d
own from the wagon. As her twin brothers took turns introducing each field hand to their sister, Bess nodded politely. Her hope that they'd be married or engaged died, as it always did during this initial inspection.

They were drifters, every last one of them. Their eyes, dulled by years of hard luck, brightened slightly at the prospect of having a cot and three squares a day, if only for a few months. And their smiles, dimmed by a lifetime of misfortune, widened a bit as they reckoned with the fact that, in exchange for their hard work, they'd earn a fair wage. Where her father found these ragamuffins had always been a mystery to Bess. But each and every year, he managed to round up half a dozen or so misplaced wanderers, all so different, yet so much alike.

All but one, that is.

For one thing,
he
'd ridden in on a horse of his own
. For another, w
hile the others loudly introduced themselves, he did
n't sa
y
a word.
His clothes
,
unlike theirs,
had
been recently
laundered
, and he
stood head and shoulders above the
rest
.
More than anything else, it
was his
eyes
that captured Bess's full attention. Pale blue and darkly-lashed, they bored into hers with
such
fierce intensity
that despite the heat, a chill snaked up her spine
.

Unconsciously, she took a small step
backward
, remembering
the day when, for her tenth birthday, her father had taken her to Baltimore. She'd been sitting on the bench outside the bank, waiting for Micah to complete his business when a commotion down the street caught her attention.
She’d
raced to the corner to see what had caused all the fuss and bother
. Peering
around men twice her size
, she
spied a huge, iron-barred cage.
What had Amos Parker captured for his Traveling Wild Animal Show this time? she'd wondered, wending her way to the front of the crowd. Almost immediately, the pacing, panting wolf came into view. She
got close
enough to run a hand through its shaggy grey coat
—had
she been able to summon the courage to poke that trembling hand through the bars
.

Instead, Bess stared into
the creature's round, golden gaze.
The moment hung like a spider web
,
durable, yet delicate. And like a
fly
in that web, she
felt
trapped and transfixed
, because i
t seemed
as though
the beast was trying to send her a message on the invisible thread that connected their eyes and hearts and souls.

This
handsome
man before her now
wore the same wary, insightful expression as that beautiful, wild creature. And,
just
as she had during her youthful encounter with the wolf, Bess shivered.

"There's the water pump, right over there beside the porch," Micah
said. His
reminder, thankfully, rescued his daughter. "Feel free to freshen up whilst Bess, here, gets our grub on the table."

Her brothers headed
up
the short, orderly line of men who waited their turn at clean, clear water, chatting quietly, nodding, smiling.

Except for
him
....

"This here's C
hance
Walker," her father said, a hand on the big man's shoulder.

C
hance
Walker
. Even his name sounded powerful. "Pleased to meet you," she said, fidgeting with the ruffled hem of her apron. Difficult as it was, she tore her eyes from his and look
ed
at her father. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, Pa."

She got an eerie 'somebody's watching' feeling as she walked toward the back porch
and
climbed the steps. One glance over her shoulder confirmed it. He grinned when she reached out and missed the door handle
, and d
espite herself, Bess grinned back. Then, feeling suddenly silly and
clumsy
, she hurried inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind her.

But no
thing…no
t pouring cool water into tumblers, nor dipping hot stew into deep crocks, not even setting steaming bowls of butter beans and corn in the center of the long trestle table blocked the memory of his penetrating stare. Something burned behind those ice-blue orbs. Something mysterious and (dare she even think it!) something dangerous.

Again, Bess pictured the wolf.

Again, she shivered.

Deep voices and masculine laughter interrupted her thoughts. "Pull yourselves up a chair, boys," Micah was saying as he took his seat at the head of the table. "Don't be shy, now. Help yourselves. Dig in and eat up."

While the others got situated, her brothers joined her in the kitchen. "Hey, there, Bessie-girl. Did
you
bake me a cherry pie, like you promised?" Matthew asked, kissing her cheek. "Why, I've been dreamin' 'bout it for miles."

Bess reached up to hug her younger brother. "You're big and strong as a man twice your age," she said, laughing softly, "but you don't behave a day over fourteen."

His twin, Mark, playfully shoved Matthew aside. "
Maybe t
hat's 'cause
h
e
ain't
a day over fourteen...least not 'til tomorrow," he said, getting a sisterly hug of his own. "
Will you
put a candle in the center of our birthday pie, and wish us a hun
dred
more happy birthdays?"

"Don't I always?" She gave the boys a motherly shove. "Now, get in there and eat,
the both of you
,
before your food gets cold,
and let me worry about the birthday party...if there's going to be a party at all...."

Micah got to his feet.
"Enough tomfoolery
.
It's time we said the blessing and let these hungry men eat. The
se boys have
a big day ahead of 'em tomorrow."

Mark and Matthew obediently took their seats as Bess stood in the doorway, lowered her head, and folded her hands.

"Dear Lord above," Micah began, "we thank You for our countless blessings
, for our
health and home and hearth. We especially thank You for our dear, sweet Bess, here, who made a tasty feast of this bounty You have so generously provided. We thank You for providing us with strong, honest men again this year, men who'll help us tend and harvest our crops. In Your most holy name, Amen."

Micah introduced h
is daughter
to each man at the table, then pulled out the chair nearest his. "Come, sit and eat with us, Bess."

"Now, Pa, there'll be time enough for me to eat later," she said matter-of-factly.