Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) (7 page)

"That's exactly what I told
McCall, Miss Rachel. Nobody knows the happenin's around here better'n me."

Chapter 6

Hanging the tablecloths
on the triple row of lines really was the best part of her day. While she would use the dryer if she had to, the tight pinning and night breezes usually worked to take some of the wrinkles out of the heavy cotton cloth and the morning dew dampened them just enough for ironing. The night was quiet, the tourists were gone, and her work was done. For these few minutes, she was at peace and could think uninterrupted. She called it her quiet time.

Usually,
Rachel used the time to make a mental list of things that needed to be done around the hotel the next day or during the course of the coming week. Knowing she was organized and prepared for the coming few days calmed the growing anxiety that always made itself known by day's end. Usually, she tried not to think about herself. There was nothing interesting or productive there to think about.

Tonight, though, Rachel's thoughts wandered away from her duties at the hotel and to the new sheriff. A
fter hearing Eustace's account of his time with Mr. McCall, now Sheriff McCall, it was perfectly understandable that they would. What would their new sheriff be like? How would she describe him to someone else?

Well, to begin with, he looked like someone
who would be comfortable with his authority. He had an air of easy confidence about him. It was in the way he held himself, she decided; back straight, but not rigid; relaxed, but aware of his surroundings. He was tall and well-built. Men would find his size impressive and women would see it as a sign of virility, though Rachel wasn't sure if that was true. Tourists would see him as the perfect image of a Western Sheriff, tall and rugged, and looking like he could handle bank robbers and cardsharps and outlaw gangs or whatever else a Wild West town could throw at him.

He wasn't quite handsome, though he was attractive enough with his lo
ngish face and firm jaw, and gray eyes under straight and even brows. His nose was just a nose; not too big, not to small. It wasn't entirely straight and there was a small hump by the bridge where it had been broken, more than once, she suspected. He had a dimple in one cheek when he laughed, though why she'd noticed such a silly thing, she wasn't sure.

His hair was longish, falling past his collar and was pretty much cut to one length. It looked like he combed it back in the morning by running his fingers through it and he used none of the oils or pomades offered at the Tonsorium or the 'products' she'd heard
the tourists speak of. All in all, he seemed to be blessed with plenty of the animal attraction all wolver males were born with.

Rachel was glad he wasn't pretty as she didn't favor pretty males. They were too full of themselves and couldn't pass a mirror without stopping to preen. Jack Coogan was pretty and she didn't favor him at all.

While looking the part and playing the role of sheriff were all well and good, being the real thing was quite different. What was this Mr. McCall really like? Rachel assumed he'd been involved in a scandal of some sort involving his Alpha's daughter. That did not bode well for his strength of character, and yet, he'd championed Eustace and called him friend when for all he knew, such a gesture could have cost him his employment. He hadn't come to her aid while she whacked Jack Coogan, yet it was his foot that sent the cad sprawling in the dirt. What was it Mr. McCall said to her?

"You looked like you were doing fine without me."

He saw her as capable and that made her smile. He'd also called her a hot redhead and that made her blush.

She sighed and it was then she realized she was clutching a wet cloth to her chest. What was wrong with her, standing there daydreaming
when there was work to be done? She hung the cloth using four wooden pegs and reached for another.

And that was when she was grabbed from behind and spun. She was crushed to someone's chest and her lips mashed by a mouth that tasted of hard liquor and salt. She screamed into the open mouth covering hers and kicked at his ankles, but her thin leather shoes had little effect on the hard leather of his boots. She thrashed with her shoulders since her arms were pinned to her sides. Finally, her assailant let her go.

"It's time we settled it, Rachel," he said, letting her go.

"And this is how you expect to do it?" She wiped the taste of him from her mouth with her sleeve. "
There is nothing to settle. Get away from me," she snapped. "You're acting like an animal."

"
I am an animal and so are you," he said as if that excused his behavior, "You know you want it. You know you'd enjoy it if you let yourself go. Your wolf must be driving you crazy and I've waited long enough."

"I'd rather die," she spat, stepping away as he stepped toward her.

"Time's running out. Your father wants you mated and he'll approve of a mating to me."

"Then you'll both be disappointed.
I don't know how many times I have to say it. I won't be mated," she snarled and started to turn away, muttering, "Particularly not to you." Her only thought was to get to the door, lock it behind her, and wait until he left.

But h
e lunged at her again when she turned, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and forced her up against the post from which her laundry lines were strung. His free hand forced her chest back as her basket tumbled over and her snowy cloths spilled onto the dirt.

"
I told you. Time is running out and my patience is at an end. You've got no choice."

"Let me go," she choked against his hold.

His lip curled. "You'll mate with me, Rachel Kincaid, or…"

Rache
l had been surprised and angry before. Now, she was afraid. She'd never seen him use the ruthless force of his wrath, but she'd seen the results of the unleashing of it. She'd always had a sense that his wolf lay close to the surface and there was something about the creature that set her nerves on edge, but this was different. She could feel his wolf, snarling and violent, almost feral, and lunging to get out.

The hand at
the neck of her dress pressed harder. She thrashed with her free arm and fist, but with his body tightly pressed into hers, her blows meant nothing. It was the same with her kicks. She knew she could breathe, yet no air reached her lungs. Panic gripped her.

Like a hide stretched on the barn wall
, she was well and truly pinned. With his hand at her neck and his knee pushed between her legs, pressing painfully against her, she couldn't move. He was still talking, but the rushing in her ears prevented her from hearing what he said. The fire in her lungs exploded into her eyes in bright flashes of light.

A shadow, darker than the night, filled the space behind her attacker and
the hand at her neck, along with the body it was attached to, was suddenly gone. Rachel slid down the post, her legs no longer having the strength to support her. Her body melted into the puddle formed by her skirt and petticoats, next to the pile of wet and now muddied tablecloths.

Gulping for breath and holding her hand to her throat, it
was the sight of those cloths that erased her fear and replaced it with anger. As she gasped to replenish the air in her lungs, something inside her began to boil. Those cloths would have to be rewashed and hung, taking the one hour a day that was hers and hers alone. She was sick of it! Sick of the cooking and the cleaning, sick of being treated like a child, sick of men who did as they pleased with impunity.

She grabbed the handle of her wicker laundry basket as she rose and swung it with all her anger behind it. It wasn't until she heard and felt the satisfying smack of basket on head that she realized she'd hit the wrong man. Her unexpected blow caused the man to stagger a bit, which was enough to turn the upper hand over to her attacker, who quickly began to pummel the newcomer with flying fists.

"No!" she shouted in dismay at what she'd done.

The newcomer, who'd just regained his footing and was once again holding his own, stopped and looked at her, thinking her shout was an order. His reward for obedience was an uppercut to his jaw that lifted him off his feet and sent him stumbling back. Rachel now recognized him as the hotel's guest and, according to Eustace, the town's new sheriff. His dog, hackles raised and watching the scuffle intently, seemed to second her shout with a sharp bark.

"No!" she cried again, this time to her attacker who'd raised his massive fist for a finishing blow. She didn't know what possessed her. She'd never done anything like it before in her life.

Rachel leapt at the raised arm, grabbed fist and forearm, and as her weight and surprise brought it down, she bit him. She sank her teeth into the flesh of his wrist. He howled in pain and snarled as he swung his arm, with Rachel attached, outward,
slamming her against the wall of the house.

McCall was on his feet and charging, but not in time to save the wind from being knocked from her again. He roared his outrage as his shoulder plowed into his opponent, driving him into the wall next to Rachel. McCall grabbed the man's shirt at the shoulders and slammed him again and again, so hard she was sure the pictures on the inside walls were rattling.

"Like it?" he asked his victim in a snarling voice. He gave the heavier man no time to recover, but lifted him off his feet and tossed him to the ground. Wrapping his fingers about the downed man's throat, he pressed downward. His knee was pressed into the man's chest, forcing the air out. "How does it feel, asswipe?"

Now it was her attacker's eyes that bulged. It was her attacker who couldn't breathe. It was her attacker whose heels drummed against the dirt. Rachel's satisfaction was fleeting when she thought McCall was going to kill him.

"Stop! Stop!" she cried, but when she moved forward, the dog was there, lip curled and warning her back.

When she stopped, the dog returned its attention to its master, who had raised his arm as if she might hit him with something again.

"Do you mean it this time?" he asked, not taking his hand from his opponent's throat.

"Yes, yes, I mean it. I don't want any trouble," she told him a little breathlessly. Her heart was still pounding and her insides roiling.

"Seems to me, he's the one got trouble, not you," McCall said, rising to his feet, but keeping his eyes on the man coughing and sputtering on the ground. "Seems to me, there's laws against assaulting a female."

"Yes, but…"

"You ain't no lawman yet, McCall, and if I have my say, you won't be. You'll pay for this." The downed man struggled to his feet and Rachel cringed when McCall laughed derisively.

"You need a new script writer, jackass. Who are you supposed to be, anyway, the big, bad cattle rancher driving the poor beleaguered farmers off their land? 'Cause listen up, asshole. This ain't
no movie western on late night TV and even if it were, I'd be the guy in the white hat."

"Mr. McCall," Rachel whispered, frightened now for him and not for the other man who was rising to his full height, "You don't understand. This is…"

Power swelled in the tiny enclosed yard. The dog whined, but held its place between her and the men, never taking its eyes off of McCall. Rachel was not so brave. She lowered her eyes and dropped her shoulders and head, unable to look at the wolver wielding it. She didn't want to, but she was a wolver and when a powerful alpha exerted his dominance, she had no choice. Standing next to her, Challenger McCall acted as if nothing was happening. His body was relaxed and, glancing up at him, she saw he was staring straight into the other's eyes.

"That all you got?" he sked casually.

"You have no idea who I am."

"You got that right, asshat, and I don't much care."

"I'm the Second of this pack."

In any pack, the Second was the Alpha's most trusted pack member and strongest ally. He wasn't always the strongest physically and he wasn't necessarily the heir to the leadership of the pack, but more often than not, he was both.

"Which only proves there's no accounting for taste. I'm not a member of this pack, which makes you jack shit to me." McCall turned toward Rachel. "Let's get you inside."

As he put a hand to her back to steer her toward the door, the Second grabbed his shoulder. Power flared from McCall, so strong and wild, Rachel stumbled. Then as quickly as it came, the surge was gone.

The Second hesitated, too, removing his hand and that evidence of caution only increased his anger.

"You're done in this town," he snarled, but made no other move toward McCall. "Pack your bags and get out. I'm the Second, and in this pack, that means my word is law. You can forget the job."

"Fine. Keep the job," Mr. McCall told him. He shrugged and the face he made showed his indifference. "But before I go, I'll Challenge and you won't live to enjoy your petty victory."

Challenger McCall said it as calmly as saying it looks like it's going to rain. Rachel's eyes widened at the stupidity of the remark and the man who made it. Had he no wolf sense at all? Didn't he hear what the Second said about his word being law? Did he not understand? Did he have a death wish?

Challenges were issued for position in the pack. To challenge the Second was to Challenge the authority of the Alpha himself.