Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) (18 page)

“Oh, no, I…”

“Good. Then put her down,” McCall said to him and walked away muttering something about goddamned schoolteachers.

Washington set her on her feet. “Don’t fall again,” he said
with laughter in his eyes, “Next time, I’m afraid I’ll have to let you break a leg.” He looked around the corner into the kitchen. “Gold Gulch needs him.” He looked back at Rachel and waggled his finger back and forth between her and where McCall had gone. “Is there something between…?”

“No,” she answered sharply.

“Ah.” He nodded and smiled as if she’d said something amusing and then he looked around the half painted room. “Are you doing this all on your own?”

“Without anyone to guide me, you mean?” As soon as she said it, she w
inced. There was no excuse for rudeness. She was surprised when he laughed.

“
Oh, I think you’re quite capable of painting. It’s your ladder skills I worry about. How about you come out and get me checked in and I’ll come down and help you finish.”

“Heavens no!’
I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re the schoolmaster.” Did someone in his position even know how to paint?

“You didn’t ask. I volunteered, and people are often capable of much more than we assume they are. You, of all people, should be aware of that.”

At his rebuke, Rachel suddenly felt as if she should lower her eyes in deference to this wolver. It wasn’t out of fear, as with the Second. This was something else; another feeling she’d never felt before and didn’t understand. Her wolf, now that she needed its opinion, was strangely silent.

“Thank you, then. If you’ll give me a moment to put myself in order, I’ll be right out
.”

John Washington spent no more than a few minutes in his room before he came back down the stairs collarless, in a blue cambric work shirt and a pair of spotted canvas trousers. He held out his arms for Rachel’s inspection. At her surprised look, he laughed.

“Who do you think painted the schoolhouse?”

“I saw that paint job,” McCall laughed, coming through the front door in the blue jeans he wore that first day and a faded blue tee shirt that clung to every muscle in his chest and exposed his powerful arms. “Maybe you should let a real man show you how it’s done.”

“Your challenge is accepted, sir,” Washington said in a formal tone
, and then sounded like a tourist when he said, “Bring it on, bro.”

“
Wait a minute,” Rachel called to them as they left her standing in the front hall, fussing over the dog that had arrived with McCall. It was bandaged and limping, but wagged its tail happily when it saw her. “What about me?”

Both men stopped and looked at each other.

“The nightshirt was kind of cute,” Washington said to McCall. He got a snarl in response which made him laugh.

The snarling sheriff raised his finger to Rachel. “No ladders,” he insisted.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Rachel barely made it through two walls before their mischief and harassment drove her crazy. When they declared a tie in their wall war and insisted they paint the second room to settle the challenge, she threw up her hands and left them to it. She closed the door on their banter and went to work serving the Victorian Luncheon which was fully booked, a rarity on a Monday, and helped Bertie and Liddy prepare for the five o’clock Tea.

When Josephus Kincaid failed to show up for his luncheon performance, it was Liddy who saved the day.
She was hesitant at first, but once she settled into her role, she seemed to enjoy it and was willing to do it again for Tea. With a ruffled apron she’d worn at the Sweet Shop over her widow’s weeds, she made the perfect ‘housekeeper’ and regaled the guests with stories of Sir and Madam, while explaining the Victorian obsession with complicated dining service and cuisine. Rachel prayed for a miracle of money enough to pay Liddy full wages for her service.

Her prayer was answered in the form of young Billy Smith, the saloonkeeper’s son who was making a delivery for his father. Rachel was at the front desk going over the numbers for that week’s bookings when young Billy arrived with a heavy wooden box.

“What have you got there, Billy?” she asked, half expecting another litter of kittens from the cat they kept at the saloon. The cat had looser morals than the girls in Daisy’s Bouquet.

“Mr. Josephus Kincaid’s weekly order,” he told her with a proud grin
as he handed her the receipt. “He always tips me a dollar if I bring it on time.”

Papa chose to go over the books each Monday because
Mondays were slow and the expense reports for the bank were due each Tuesday. Those reports were the only things Papa took care of at the hotel. He copied each of Rachel’s entries in his own neat hand, insisted that as the proprietor, his name should be on the form.

“Don’t worry about the money. That’s my job,” he
would insist when Rachel would question his borrowing cash from the register and now she knew why. Once again, Rachel marveled at her own stupidity at allowing this to go on for so long.

She checked the box full of liquor and seethed inside while smiling sweetly at the boy.

“Thank you, Billy. Mr. Josephus Kincaid requests that you tell your father all future deliveries should be billed to the bank where Mr. Slocum can transfer the amount from Mr. Kincaid’s personal account.”

As her father had before her, she paid the bill from the register, but
unlike her father, Rachel replaced the money with a receipt along with her instructions to William Smith for the payment of future purchases. Billy’s tip came from her pocket.

The she-wolf was unexpectedly excited about
Rachel’s decision, and in celebration of this solidarity, Rachel swiped two bottles of whiskey to hide away, along with a bottle of sherry for the ladies. With a smile on her face and a spring in her step, she headed back to the kitchen.

Chapter 17

“I thought you said you didn’t drink,” McCall laughed when he saw her burden.

The Mate was right. This wolver was good at pretending. Rachel kept waiting for him to catch her alone to talk about what happened the night before. He never did. The way he acted, the flash and fight might never have happened. Rachel decided to play along mainly because she still didn’t know what to make of what she saw or who, if anyone, she should tell.

“I didn’t,” she laughed back, “until I met a man who tempted me with his bad habits.”

Paint spattered, McCall and Washington sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating the dainty finger sandwiches as fast as Bertie set them on the plate. Rachel nodded at the plate. “Those
finger sandwiches are for Tea.”

Washington, who’d managed to snatch Bertie’s most recent creation, stuck his finger between the two tiny slices of bread and pretended to bite it. McCall laughed. Bertie and Liddy smiled with maternal indulgence. Rachel rolled her eyes.

They were six year-olds hiding in grown men’s bodies.

“The sandwiches for Tea are already in the icebox. This is leftover.” Bertie passed the next tidbit to the sheriff.
“What are the bottles for?”

In keeping with her new attitude toward
keeping secrets, Rachel told them about young Billy’s delivery. “I thought I’d set a couple of bottles aside, just in case,” she said, but neglected to add, “Just in case Mr. McCall showed up for another evening chat.” She raised the bottle of sherry and gave a slight bow to the ladies. “And this is to celebrate finding enough money to pay Mrs. Hornmeyer’s wages. Would you gentlemen care to join us?”

“Thank you, but no,” The schoolmaster said politely.

The sheriff shivered and wrinkled his nose. “Cough syrup. Wouldn’t mind a sip of the other, though.”

“If you’re offering,” The schoolmaster added.

Bertie fetched the glasses while Rachel poured. Liddy was the only one who wasn’t smiling.

“Do you think I’ll lose my Pittance?” she asked, worriedly.

“Oh dear, I didn’t think. I don’t know how it works, what the rules are.” It was something else to be added to her list of things she didn’t know about her pack. Rachel looked to the men to see if they knew the answer.

“Don’t look at me,” McCall shrugged, “I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a small pension given to widows and orphans to keep them from dying in the street and scarin’ away the tourists.”

“Bertie!”

“It’s true! Men may talk about being reduced to getting a Pittance, but I never heard of one who was. Why do you think Maudie went off her rocker the other morning? She’s been pushed to her limit trying to pay her rent and feed those cubs. What she gets from the pack barely covers what those cubs eat and she’s got no one to stand for her when someone decides not to pay what she charges if she’s late or a shirt isn’t ironed to their liking. And those that can most afford it are the ones who pay the least and she usually has to beg for it.” She turned to Rachel. “Victor and me bring her something now and again and Eustace adds his to it.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Bertie? I’d help.”

“I know you would, but your father wouldn’t,” Bertie told her and then grinned, “Anyway, you’ve been contributing pretty regular. Even Eustace can’t eat that much pie.”

“Doesn’t your family own the Sweet Shop?” McCall asked. “Shouldn’t they…?”

“They should, but they don’t,” Bertie answered for her. “Worked all her life and ends up with nothing. It ain’t right.”

McCall and Washington exchanged glances and Washington nodded.

“Why don’t I check into this for you, Mrs. Hornmeyer? I won’t mention any names,” Mr. Washington assured Liddy. “As a newcomer, I’ll be curious, that’s all. We’ll figure out how best to take care of you. You deserve it.”

“You’d do that for me?”

The way Liddy looked at the schoolmaster as she said it, with that gentle smile on her face and dreamy eyes, Rachel thought Mrs. Hornmeyer might be falling in love and Rachel could easily see why.

John Washington was a handsome man and clearly charismatic. When he spoke, you wanted to listen
. He was as comfortable speaking with Bertie and Liddy as he was with the Mate. The two women knew him no better than Rachel did and yet they were talking to him as they would to no other man. Maybe it was his rolled up sleeves and paint spattered shirt that made them forget who he was, but Rachel didn’t think so.

The she-wolf felt it, too.
Her reaction was now quite different from her earlier non-response. Tail wagging, but curled beneath her rump, she watched from a low crouch. When Washington looked Rachel’s way, her wolf did not lower her head or avert her eyes, but watched this new male with avid, curious eyes. There was deference in her stance, but no fear. The she-wolf liked him and so did Rachel.

“I’ll stand for you, Mrs. Hornmeyer
,” he was saying now. “If I’m to become a member of this pack, I must stand for you all. I must stand for my pack.” He was referring to the pledge each wolver took when they became members of a pack.

His simple words struck Rachel so forcefully, she blinked. He said them as if he meant them.

She’d never heard those words before outside of the one pack gathering a year when new members, or those who’d reached their maturity, were welcomed in. The new member said the words. The Alpha said the words. The other members repeated them. Everyone clapped and life went on.

It was much like saying ‘How are you?’ in greeting someone. It was a meaningless phrase because the person asking seldom wanted to hear any answer but ‘Fine, thank you, and you?
’.

Those words were at the core of a wolver’s existence and without them, most wolver’s would become lost in a sea of anonymity. They would lose a part of their soul. I stand for my pack. My pack stands for me. Pack was more than a group of wolvers who lived and worked in the same place.
In Gold Gulch…

“There is no pack,” she whispered to herself.

The room was silent. Liddy and Bertie were staring at her with mouths slightly open as if the words they wanted to speak, couldn’t be spoken. McCall and Washington shared a glance in which something was exchanged between them, but Rachel couldn’t tell what it meant. She expected a rebuke for her disloyal sounding comment. She lowered her eyes and turned her head slightly to the side and down, ready to receive it.

McCall slapped both hands lightly on the table. “We’d better get that furniture back in place,” he said as he arose. “I’m sure the schoolteacher here has some
Readin’, Writin’, and ‘Rithmatic thing he’s got to do and I’ve got to go make sure no one’s spitting on the sidewalk.”

“Or robbing a bank,” Bertie said, almost too quickly. “You’re supposed to shoot Victor at six.”

“There you go. The exciting life of the Sheriff of Gold Gulch.” He looked up at Rachel and winked in a way only she could see. “Come on, Red, show us where you want this stuff and then get out of the way. I’m sure you have your own fish to fry. Can I leave Dog here while I make my rounds?”

“Oh, um, yes, um, certainly, Mr. McCall,” she said. She was so relieved the men had chosen to ignore her foolish and disloyal
remark, she forgot to rebuke McCall for his familiarity or her wolf for liking the nickname.

Josephus Kincaid made his appearance right before supper. Laying his hat and walking stick in their usual place in the hall, he took his place at the head of the table. He must have thought his daughter sufficiently punished by his absence, since he smiled warmly when Rachel entered with the tureen of soup to begin their evening meal.

“You’re looking quite lovely this evening, dear,” he told her when she took her seat and began to ladle the soup while Bertie placed the bowls.

It was nice of him to notice. She’d worn one of her nicer shirtwaists with full sleeves and pleated front. A jade pin that had been her mother’s was fastened at the high neck. She’d been justifiably angry with him earlier, and things did have to change, but he was still her father and she loved him in spite of his aggravating ways. If this was his way of making peace between them, Rachel would gladly accept it. She would not make mention of his absence.

“Thank you, Papa.
Did you have a good day?”

“I did,” he replied and offered nothing more.

While Rachel had confined her comments to the kitchen, all the borders had witnessed the transfer of her father’s things to the upstairs room. Hearing the pair’s stilted conversation assured them something was amiss and they studiously bowed their heads to their soup. Rachel, as was her duty as hostess, attempted to start several conversations, but all felt awkward and fell flat.

She was rescued by the late arrival of John Washington who, after apologies and introductions, regaled the diners with stories of his student’s antics. When they were all smiling and relaxed, it was he who brought up what they hesitated to.

“Mr. Kincaid, may I commend your decision to take the room upstairs.”

The surprised look
that flashed across her father’s face told Rachel he’d had no idea she’d followed through on her decision. He quickly covered the look with a smile.

“
To make the sacrifice of relinquishing your own room for your daughter’s comfort is admirable,” Washington went on with a wink. “We gentleman tend to look out for our own comfort. I’m sure Miss Kincaid will enjoy her new retreat. The colors she’s chosen are delightful.”

Her father, who’d begun to puff up a little with the compliment,
deflated and frowned. “You’ve seen them, Mr. Washington?”

“Mr. Washington and Sheriff McCall graciously rescued me from my attempts to paint,”
Rachel chimed in, grateful the schoolmaster had found a way for her father to save face. “They are lovely and I can’t wait for you to see them. I’ve brought down draperies from the attic which will be aired and cleaned tomorrow and Mama’s chair. It looks so lovely with the little table by the window and I know I shall enjoy reading Mr. Washington’s book assignments there. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Your happiness is foremost in my thoughts,” her father said
to her, and then to Washington, “I would have hired the labor had I known of her plan to execute the refurbishment so quickly. I sometimes forget how impetuous young ladies can be.”

How often had she heard words like impetuous, impulsive, hasty, and irrational to describe women
and only now realized what it meant. They were euphemisms for disobedient women who made decisions without consulting wiser heads, namely men! She felt her wolf’s soft growl. She and her inner beast were finally becoming one. It made her smile, which headed off another burst of ‘irrational’ anger.

Awkwardness gone, dinner proceeded with smiles and enjoyable conversation. John Washington led the way and masterfully steering the discussions, elicited more information about their guests than Rachel had learned in six months. Maybe it was his training as a teacher, but
looking around at the attentive faces, Rachel thought it was something else.

This man was genuinely interested in the people around him. He cared about what they thought and how they felt. Even stuffy Mr. McKinley
, who spent most days alone in his room, relaxed a bit and offered his opinion, harking back to times gone by.

“It used to be a man would need an hour to make his way from one
end of the street to the other, there were so many friends to greet along the way. This younger generation has no sense of community. They bow their heads and go about their business. In the old days, no one was ignored.”

“When we were young and our cubs were little, Mr. Hornmeyer would insist we take an evening stroll to visit and see what was happening about the town. There weren’t as many tourists back then, but there was still a lot of work to do, building our homes and businesses. I’d fuss and he’d shush me,” she laughed in remembrance. “Friends and family are more important than brick and wood
and the dirty dishes can wait.” She lowered her eyes, and shyly admitted, “I was always so afraid someone would see those dirty dishes and think me slovenly.”

“Goodness! What you must think of me, then.” Rachel laughed, but knew exactly what the woman meant. The housekeeping standard in Gold Gulch was perfection, a standard that could never be met.

“I think you’re a good friend and a good woman and some young man would be lucky to have you, dirty dishes and all,” Liddy said boldly and looked directly at the schoolmaster.

Rachel was sure her face was as red as the turkey carpet beneath her feet. Mr. Washington, however, only smiled and nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure he would, Mrs. Hornmeyer, should Miss Kincaid find some gentleman to her liking.”

Rachel’s father smiled and looked as if he were about to speak, but kind Mr. Doughman chimed in, taking the focus away from Rachel and back to the subject at hand.

“I miss those days,” he said wistfully. “Where did they go? What happened?”

“Things change.” Liddy stated the obvious.

“But that was why we rebuilt Gold Gulch, so things wouldn’t change,” Mr. McKinley grumbled, back to his taciturn self. “When the old Alpha was alive,” he began, but didn’t finish. “The apple cobbler, as always, was delicious, Miss Kincaid,” he said instead.