Wolf Shadow

by Madeline Baker

  Leaving the store, they continued down the street to the hotel where Chance secured a room for the two of them.

  Teressa couldn’t help blushing when the clerk’s gaze settled on her left hand, obviously looking for a wedding ring. Squaring her shoulders, she met his smirk with an aloof expression.

  The clerk slid a key across the desk. “Room 23.”

  “We’d like some hot water sent up for a bath,” Chance said, picking up the key.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Taking Teressa by the hand, Chance headed for the staircase.

  Room 23 was located at the end of the hall. It was a large corner room, with one window overlooking Main Street and another overlooking an alley. Starched white curtains hung at the windows. The bed was large, covered with a blue and beige spread. A large cherry wood chest with an oval mirror stood against one wall. A comfortable looking overstuffed chair stood in the corner. There was a zinc tub partially hidden behind a screen.

  Chance tossed the key on top of the dresser, then drew Teressa into his arms. With a sigh, she rested her cheek against his chest. His lips brushed the crown of her head as his arms tightened around her.

  “Tell me no one will ever separate us again,” Teressa said, clinging to him.

  “No one will ever take you from me again, I can promise you that.”

  She smiled up at him. “I love you, Wolf.”

  He arched one brow. “Wolf?”

  She shrugged. “That’s how I always think of you. Would you rather I called you Chance?”

  He chuckled softly. “Sweetheart, you can call me anything you want.”

  Rising on tiptoes, she locked her hands at his nape and pressed her lips to his, only to pull away when there was a knock at the door. “That didn’t take long,” she remarked.

  “Not long enough,” Chance muttered as he opened the door to admit two young men carrying buckets of hot water.

  They filled the tub, nodded at Teressa, and left the room.

  “Too bad the tub’s not bigger,” Chance mused as he closed and locked the door.

  Teressa looked at him, a teasing smile curving her lips. “And why do we need a bigger tub? This one looks plenty big enough to me.”

  “Big enough for you, maybe. But not for the two of us.”

  “The two of us?”

  He pointed at her, then at himself. “You. Me. Two.”

  She gave him a little push. “Ladies first.”

  “Can I watch?”

  She looked at him in mock horror. “No!”

  “I’ll wash your back,” he murmured suggestively.

  “I remember the first time you offered to do that,” she said.

  He put his hand on her shoulder, let it slide slowly down her arm. “And do you remember what else I said?”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “You said ‘One of these days, I’ll ask you to bathe with me and you won’t refuse.’ But the tub is still too small. Besides, we did bathe together.”

  “That was in a river. Come on, the water’s getting cold.”

  She wouldn’t have believed they could both fit in the tub, which just proved how wrong she could be, and how stubborn he could be.

  He got in first and she settled herself between his thighs, her knees bent, her back to his chest. Picking up the soap, Wolf washed her back and her shoulders, then reached around to wash her belly. She was tingling with anticipation as his hands moved upward, shivered with pleasure as his soapy hands slid over her body.

  Growing up, she had never dreamed that falling in love would be like this, that a man, any man, could become such an intimate and important part of her life.

  With a great deal of effort and splashing, she managed to turn around in the tub so they were face to face.

  “My turn,” she said, and taking the soap from his hand, she washed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. It was amazingly erotic to run her hands over his soapy body, to hear the growl of pleasure that rumbled in his throat, to know that her touch aroused him so quickly.

  The water was growing cold when Chance lifted her from the tub, quickly dried them both, and carried her to bed.

  It was a long time later when they went downstairs for supper.

  They boarded the stagecoach a little after noon the next day. The window shades, meant to keep out dust, sun, and rain, were up. Teressa sighed as she glanced out the window. The journey to San Francisco was still fresh in her mind and she wasn’t looking forward to spending another four days bouncing around inside a dusty coach. It was not the most comfortable way to travel. The stage to San Francisco had stopped every twenty miles or so to change horses, and stopped twice a day so the passengers could rest and get something to eat. The food along the way had usually consisted of boiled beans, salted meat, hardtack, and coffee, and cost a dollar a plate. The worst part was that the passengers had been given only seven minutes to eat. Sometimes dinner had consisted of tough beefsteak, boiled potatoes, stewed beans, and dried apple pie. She didn’t know which menu was worse.

  But she wasn’t complaining. She was with Wolf and that was all that mattered. She glanced at the other passengers in the coach. A florid-faced man sat on Wolf’s left side. A minister in collar and frock coat sat across from her. A young couple sat beside him. Somewhat shyly, they introduced themselves as Joseph and Emily Thompson. They had been married a month earlier and were returning home from their honeymoon. She was glad no one was sitting on the narrow bench in the center of the coach.

  A short time later she felt the coach sway as the driver and guard took their places topside. A sharp crack split the air as the driver snapped the whip and the horses leaned into the traces.

  Teressa looked at Wolf, smiled as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  She smiled back, excitement fluttering in her stomach. Soon, they would be back at Wolf’s ranch; soon, she would be his wife. “Do you think we can go visit the Lakota next summer?”

  “Sure, sweetheart, if that’s what you want.”

  “Lakota?” the florid-faced man exclaimed. “You want to visit Indians? Haven’t you heard? They attacked the last stage that went out. Killed three people.”

  Teressa looked at Wolf, waiting to see what he would say.

  “We have family there,” Chance said, his unblinking gaze focused on the other man’s face. “You got a problem with that?”

  The florid-faced man swallowed hard. “I…uh…no, sir.”

  Chance’s gaze flicked over the faces of the other passengers. “Anybody else?”

  There were murmured denials and suddenly everyone in the coach was looking everywhere and anywhere except at Chance.

  Teressa thought he looked a trifle self-satisfied as he leaned back in his seat and slid his arm around her shoulders.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rosalia Bryant entered her husband���s study, her eyes filled with worry. “Where can she be, Eduardo? It will be dark soon and she is not yet home.”

  Edward Bryant shook his head. “I don’t know where she is, but I have a pretty good idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rising, he drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. “I think she’s run off.”

  Rosalia’s eyes widened. “Run off? You mean eloped? With McCloud?”

  “That is exactly what I mean. Damn the man! I had him but he got away. He’s as slippery as an eel.”

  Sitting in the chair in front of her husband’s desk, Rosalia folded her hands in her lap. “What are you not telling me?”

  Muttering an oath, Edward dropped back in his chair. “I think he was at the masquerade. I happened to see the two of them together the next day when Tessa was supposed to be visiting with Cynthia. They went to the Royal Arms that afternoon and didn’t leave until hours later. You can imagine what they were doing there.”

  Rosalia shook her head. “No, not Teressa.”

  Edward grunted softly. “I thought I had the problem solved, but the bastard managed to escape. He didn’t go b
ack to his hotel. I don’t know where he holed up, or where he is now.”

  Rising, he rounded the desk and began to pace the floor. “I don’t think he’s gone far,” he said, thinking aloud. “His horse is still at the livery, but wherever he is, you can be sure Teressa is with him.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to see Cynthia Witherspoon. I think she knows where they are, and I, by damn, intend to find out.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chance and Teressa were about an hour away from Buffalo Springs when the coach came to a halt.

  “What is it? What’s happening?”

  The question came from Emily Thompson. Her husband shook his head. “I don’t know, dear.”

  “It’s a holdup,” Chance said, peering out the window. “Just do what they say. Give them whatever they ask for.”

  “Now see here…” the florid-faced man sputtered.

  “I doubt if anything you own is worth your life,” Chance said curtly.

  “Joseph, I’m scared.”

  Joseph Thompson put his arm around his wife and held her close, though he looked just as frightened as she did.

  The minister closed his eyes. Teressa assumed he was praying for deliverance.

  Outside, one of the robbers hollered for the driver to throw down the strong box. A shot was fired, someone yelped in pain, something heavy hit the ground with a sharp thud. She hoped it was the money box and not the driver.

  More voices, and then a man wearing a kerchief over the lower half of his face opened the door and ordered the passengers outside.

  Chance was the last one out of the coach. There were three men, all masked. Chance raised his hands over his head as ordered, stood mute as one of the bandits relieved him of his Colt and carelessly tossed it aside. A second outlaw stood a little apart from the other two, covering the passengers with a rifle while his companions moved among the passengers, taking cash and jewelry and whatever else caught their fancy.

  “No!” Emily cried. “Please, don’t take my wedding ring!”

  “Give it to him,” Joseph said. “I’ll buy you another one.”

  “But I want this one!”

  The bandit grabbed Emily’s hand, intent on taking the ring. She jerked her hand away from him. Angry now, the bandit slapped her. She reeled back, the man’s handprint already showing as a dark bruise against her pale skin.

  “There’s no call for that,” Chance said, taking a step forward.

  The outlaw turned his gun on Chance. “Mind your own business!”

  Chance stared at the man, the muscles in his back twitching. He’d been sixteen the last time he heard that voice. “Finch.”

  The bandit’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know me?”

  “I know you’re a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “I never murdered anybody who didn’t have it coming.” Finch took a step forward. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And how the hell do you know who I am?” He stared at Chance for several moments, his brow furrowed.

  Chance could almost see the man’s mind turning, trying to place him. He knew the exact moment when Finch realized who he was.

  Finch’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No, it can’t be!”

  “Remember me now, do you?”

  “I remember your mother,” Finch said with a leer. “How is she?”

  “She died after what you did to her.”

  Finch swore. “I should have known. It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who killed Weston and the others?”

  Chance nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “And I aim to take you out the same way.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Chance tensed as Finch’s finger curled around the trigger. He was about to tackle Finch in a last desperate play when Teressa shouted “No!”

  Before Chance could react, she threw herself in front of him as Jack Finch squeezed the trigger.

  Her harsh cry was swallowed up in the sharp report of Finch’s pistol.

  The next few minutes seemed to pass in slow motion.

  A bright crimson stain spread over the front of Teressa’s bodice.

  Lowering his gun hand, Finch stared at Teressa as her knees gave way and she dropped to the ground.

  The other two bandits both stopped what they were doing and turned in the direction of the gunshot.

  Chance dove for his Colt. He rolled to the right as his hand closed over the walnut grips of the gun.

  Finch was the first of the outlaws to move. He pivoted on his heel, his gun tracking Chance’s movements. Chance quickly rolled to the left and fired. The two men fired within seconds of each other. Chance’s bullet found its mark but Finch’s shot went wild.

  The remaining outlaws were moving, too, but it was too late. Chance rolled to the right again. Sprawled on his stomach, he fired at the two bandits.

  There was a sudden silence, punctuated by Emily Thompson’s high-pitched wail.

  After making sure all three outlaws were dead, Chance hurried to Teressa’s side. Her bodice was soaked with blood, her face was pale.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Emily wailed.

  “No!” She couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t let her be dead. He lifted her carefully so he could check her back, relieved to see that the bullet had gone through, relieved that the wound was in her shoulder and not in her chest, as he had feared at first.

  He looked up at Emily Thompson, who was hovering nearby, her face streaked with tears. “Tear off a strip of your petticoat,” he said brusquely.

  She stared at him a moment, then quickly tore off the bottom ruffle and thrust it into his hand.

  Chance ripped the material into thirds. He made two thick pads, which he placed over the wounds, front and back, then used the third strip to hold the bandages in place.

  “Teressa? Teressa!”

  Whimpering softly, she opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “You damn fool, I’m fine. What were you thinking, to jump in front of a bullet like that?”

  “I couldn’t let him shoot you.”

  He gathered her gently into his arms. “Dammit, Tessa, don’t you ever do anything like that again.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Chance glanced at Finch’s body. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

  So was the shotgun guard. Thompson and the drummer wrapped his body in one of the lap robes and tied him onto the roof of the coach.

  “What about the others?” the minister asked. “Shouldn’t we bury them?”

  “Let the coyotes have ‘em,” the stagecoach driver said.

  “It’s our Christian duty,” the minister said.

  “I’m not feeling very Christian right now,” the driver retorted. “They killed a friend of mine.” He spat a stream of tobacco in the dirt. “As far as I’m concerned, they can rot.”

  “If you have a shovel…”

  “Parson, this stage is leaving in about two minutes,” the driver said. “With you or without you.”

  “At least give me time to pray for them.”

  “Make it short.”

  * * * * *

  They reached Buffalo Springs just over three hours later. Under other circumstances, they would have covered the distance in far less time, but, mindful of his wounded passenger, the driver kept the horses at a walk.

  As soon as they reached town, Chance carried Teressa to the doctor’s office. The doctor cleaned the wounds, applied disinfectant and clean bandages, then put her arm in a sling, and advised her to stay in bed for the next ten days to get her strength back.

  “She’s lost some blood, so give her plenty of liquids,” the doctor told Chance. “Make sure she gets lots of rest. The bullet went clean through. She’ll be good as new in no time.”

  Chance thanked the doctor, then lifted Teressa into his arms and carried her out of the office and across the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the hotel.”

  “I can walk,
” she protested, aware of the curious stares of passersby, but Chance ignored her. “And why are we going to the hotel?”

  “You’ve been bounced around enough for one day. I want you to rest, like the doctor said. We’ll head out to the ranch tomorrow or the next day.”

  Lyle Hunsacker looked a trifle surprised to see Chance enter the hotel with Teressa in his arms. Mindful of Teressa’s reputation, Chance asked for two rooms.

  Hunsacker handed Chance two keys. “I’ll sign the register for you, Mr. McCloud.”

  “Obliged.”

  Opening the door to the first room, Chance carried Teressa inside. Drawing back the covers, he settled her in bed, then sat down beside her. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her brow. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again, you hear?”

  “He might have killed you.”

  “Better me than you. Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want anything?”

  “Just you,” she murmured fervently, “here beside me.”

  * * * * *

  In spite of her insistence that she felt perfectly fine, Teressa slept most of the day. Chance had their dinner sent up from the hotel dining room. She had little appetite and after eating only about half of the meal, she fell asleep again.

  Chance sat in the chair beside the bed, watching her, thinking how close he had come to losing her.

  They left for the ranch the next morning after breakfast. When they arrived, Chance carried her inside.

  “But I don’t want to stay in bed,” she said as he drew back the covers and insisted she spend the rest of the week in bed, threatening to tie her to the bedpost if she so much as thought about getting up.

  “The doctor said to rest for ten days,” he said firmly. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

  When she protested, he threatened to tie her to the bedpost if she so much as thought about getting up, insisting that she take her meals in bed, as well. He brushed her hair each morning, and bathed her each night.

  Eight days later, she’d had enough coddling. She threatened to go back to San Francisco if he didn’t let her get out of bed. Muttering an oath, he let her have her way, though he refused to let her do anything more strenuous than get dressed and sit in the parlor.