Big Bad Wolf

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Nothing in this house had changed in more than twenty years, since his mother’s death. A portrait of Vanora Trevelyan hung in the parlor that had been her favorite room. When he remembered her, it was in that room with its pastel colors and opened windows. She had spent so much time in the parlor, declaring the rest of the house too dark for her tastes.

  Wolf was ten when his father called him into this study to tell him that his mother was dead. Just like that. There was no softening of the blow, no words of comfort. It wasn’t that Penn Trevelyan hadn’t cared for his wife. He’d loved her dearly, and in the years after her death he never even considered marrying again. He just wasn’t what you would call a loving man, a man who would think to make a mother’s death easier for her only child.

  Wolf had known that his mother was sick. He was instructed not to bother her when she was not feeling well, which was often. During those days or weeks he had to tiptoe through the house, or else face his father’s anger.

  He expected that her illness would pass, as it always did, even though her spells in bed were becoming longer and longer. When she was well, the house would again be a lively place, filled with her laughter and a mother’s love.

  But she didn’t get better, and Wolf was left with a father who knew nothing about raising a child. Penn Trevelyan mourned his wife, and left his only son’s care to a succession of governesses.

  All Wolf remembered of his father during those childhood years was his unbending intolerance. You met Penn Trevelyan’s expectations or you suffered the consequences. That intolerance included everyone, even a child and the governesses who were dismissed regularly, usually just as Wolf was beginning to like them.

  It didn’t take Wolf long to decide that perhaps if he didn’t like them, his father would allow them to stay for more than a month or two. He became as difficult a child, he imagined, as his father was dictatorial. The governesses continued to come and go on a regular basis. This nightmare continued until Wolf was old enough to go away to school.

  Those years away had been somewhat more tolerable, but by the time Wolf returned home, his father was dying. An assurance of death didn’t soften the old man one bit, but only made him more determined to see his empire established. That meant Wolf’s marriage to Jeanne Rutledge, a quick heir to assure the continuation of the Trevelyan name and to assure that Wolf settled down to his responsibilities.

  The disaster of his son’s wedding night had pushed Penn Trevelyan over the edge, and less than three months later he passed away in his sleep.

  Wolf was left with the flourishing shipping business, to which he had added in the last five years lumber, a saw mill, even a steel mill he’d recently acquired. It was all organized so well, managed so efficiently, that Wolf often found himself in times like these, with nothing pressing keeping him in New York.

  And he returned here, subjecting himself to a sort of penance. He should have sold the big house years ago, and established a permanent residence in New York City. There was nothing to keep him here, and still he occasionally felt the undeniable call to return.

  “Sir?”

  Wolf turned to find Larkin standing just inside the doorway.

  “Cook asked me to inform you that dinner will be on the table in half an hour.”

  Wolf nodded, and Larkin retreated into the hallway, face remaining forward, chin tilted up. Wolf had never seen the butler’s back, that he could remember.

  “Larkin,” Wolf stopped the butler with a lifted hand. “You are acquainted with many of the residents of Kingsport, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Larkin said as he stepped back into the study.

  “Do you know a family by the name of Kincaid?”

  If Larkin were surprised to be asked this question, or any question at all, he didn’t show it. “There’s a Mary Kincaid, sir, and her mother-in-law, Nelda Kincaid, who lives just outside town. They’re both widowed.”

  The omission of Molly was significant, in Wolf’s mind. Was Larkin trying to protect another young Kingsport maid from Wolf Trevelyan?

  “How do they make their way?”

  Larkin’s face revealed nothing, not a spark of interest, but he hesitated before answering. “Mary Kincaid bakes bread. We’ve bought some from her on occasion. She also takes in laundry from a number of the unmarried fishermen, and does a bit of seamstress work as well.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work just to get by,” Wolf muttered.

  “I believe it is, sir,” Larkin observed coldly. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Wolf considered letting the man off easily, dismissing him and ending it here, but not for long.

  “What about the girl?” Wolf asked sharply. “Molly Kincaid?”

  Again Larkin was stone-like. Emotionless. “I do not know her personally, sir. She seems a nice young lady.”

  There was just a touch of censure in Larkin’s voice. Everyone knew that ‘nice young ladies’ were not for Wolf Trevelyan.

  “Does she have a suitor, Larkin?” Wolf persisted. “A nice young man?”

  Larkin’s eyes were dead. “I don’t believe so, sir. She spends all of her time helping her mother.”

  “How noble,” Wolf muttered under his breath.

  “Yes, sir,” Larkin replied. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  What did the old man expect? That Wolf would demand that he bring the virgin forth for sacrifice?

  Wolf had no illusions about his place in this household. The servants in his own house liked him no better than the people of Kingsport. They tolerated his occasional presence because it was infrequent, and because he paid them exceptionally well. Everyone had a price.

  At the moment, Wolf could believe that Larkin more than disliked his employer. Perhaps detest was a better description. No wonder the old man never showed Wolf his back.

  “No,” Wolf snapped. “There’s nothing else. I expect you’ll keep this conversation to yourself, Larkin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Larkin backed out of the room, and Wolf didn’t turn back to the window until the old man was gone and the door was closed.

  He’d do well not to show the butler his back.

  The sun warmed her, but Molly missed the cool comfort of the woods. She missed the tall trees, the sense of passing through a special place.

  But she couldn’t chance meeting Wolf again, and she knew he would be waiting. Waiting with another kiss, and with a request she would find harder and harder to refuse if he persisted.

  She’d dreamed of him last night, after tossing and turning on her narrow bed for so long. She’d dreamed of the kiss and the passion in his eyes and had awakened wanting something she couldn’t name. Something to ease the ache in her heart.

  Wolf Trevelyan never stayed at Vanora Point for very long. A few days, a week or so, and then he was gone again. From everything she’d heard he didn’t visit his family home more than two or three times a year.

  Which meant that he would soon be gone. Back to New York City and out of her life. She couldn’t allow what she felt for Wolf to be anything more than it was. A passing fancy, a fascination.

  There would be no more shortcuts through the woods until he’d returned to New York.

  Grandma was waiting, and Molly gave her a wide smile. She looked better every day. The cold spring had passed, and the longer, warmer days seemed to agree with the older woman. Today there was even a spot of color in Grandma’s cheeks.

  “You’re awfully quiet today,” Grandma said as she finished her meal. “Are you ill?”

  “No, of course not.” Molly tried to give her grandmother a reassuring smile, but judging by the frown she received in return, she failed miserably.

  “You were quiet yesterday, too,” Grandma observed. “Too quiet. No more questions about love and marriage?”

  “No. That was just a . . . a passing fancy.”

  Grandma nodded, but Molly didn’t think for a moment that her explanation was believed. “A passing fancy,” Gra
ndma repeated wisely. “And just what was this passing fancy’s name?”

  Molly sat on the hearth near her grandmother’s rocking chair, and hugged her knees to her chest. It was a poor substitute for Wolf’s warm body, but it would have to do. “Do you remember when I told you, a few days ago, that I met Wolf Trevelyan in the woods?”

  “Saints preserve us,” Grandma muttered.

  Molly cut her eyes up to watch her grandmother’s disapproving face. “That’s what you said when I told you the first time. I didn’t want to worry you, but I’ve been taking the shortcut against your advice, and every day he’s been there.”

  “Did he hurt you, child?” Grandma whispered.

  “No. He was very nice.” Wolf was many things, but nice was not one of them. There just wasn’t another word to describe the man, without alarming Grandma. “It’s just that I think I’m falling in love with him, and I know nothing can ever come of it.”

  Grandma sighed deeply. “You must stay away from him.”

  “Today I walked the road.” Molly rested her chin on her knees.

  “Good,” Grandma said energetically.

  “And I will stay on the road until he leaves again.” The certainty in her voice was for her sake, as well as Grandma’s.

  “Good.”

  “I can’t . . . ” Molly sighed. “I can’t love him, can I?” She knew this fascination with Wolf was hopeless, but saying so aloud hurt.

  “No, child, I’m afraid you can’t.”

  Grandma sounded as if she understood, as if she felt sorrow for Molly rather than anger.

  They tried to talk of normal, everyday happenings in Kingsport. Molly always kept her grandmother apprised of the latest gossip. She’d already shared the news about Stella’s baby, and was sharing her theory that perhaps Mr. Hanson was sweet on Mary Kincaid when the knock came, hard and insistent at the front door.

  Molly jumped up to answer, and Grandma was right behind her as she threw open the door.

  She’d never seen Wolf looking so savage. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was hard, and his hands were balled fists. He seemed to tower over her, even though she knew he hadn’t grown taller in the day that had passed since he’d kissed her.

  Before either of them could speak, Grandma rushed past Molly and raised her cane. She smacked Wolf once, twice, three times across the chest, driving him back and away from the door.

  “Stay away from my granddaughter, you beast.”

  Wolf raised his hands to ward off the blows that continued, as Grandma followed him into the yard, flailing her cane in his direction, occasionally striking a solid swat. Finally, he tired of the unending attack, and reached out to take the cane in one hand.

  Grandma maintained her grip on the handle, while Wolf clutched the end and turned his eyes to Molly.

  “This is your sickly grandmother?”

  “I’m not sickly, you animal.” Grandma tried to wrest the cane from Wolf’s grasp, but her struggle was futile and short-lived.

  “I can see that,” Wolf said through clenched teeth. “Listen, I only want to talk to Molly —”

  “No,” Grandma interrupted.

  “Just for a few minutes . . . . ”

  “Over my dead body.”

  Molly stepped away from the doorway. “It’s all right, Grandma. This won’t take long.”

  Somehow she would have to be strong and tell Wolf that she couldn’t see him again, ever. That she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

  Wolf cautiously released Grandma’s cane, watching for another assault that didn’t come. He didn’t say anything until the old woman was in the house and the front door was closed.

  “If I’d known you weren’t taking the footpath today, I would have gotten here before you and locked the old witch in the pantry,” he grumbled.

  She would have smiled, if there hadn’t been a touch of truth in his voice. “Wolf, I can’t —”

  “Hear me out,” he insisted, planting himself before her with his arms crossed over his chest. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Molly felt the blood drain from her face. He was going to try to buy her again, try to make her his mistress for a short while. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He ignored her plea. “I know your mother relies on you, and I’m not a complete brute, in spite of what your grandmother seems to think. Here’s what I’m willing to offer you. A life-long yearly stipend for your mother. Irrevocable and substantial enough so that she’ll never have to bake a loaf of bread if she doesn’t want to, and she’ll certainly not be doing laundry.”

  “Wolf . . . . ”

  He continued to ignore her. “For your lovely grandmother, a paid, live-in companion, if we can find one who’ll take the job. She’ll have everything she wants and needs for the rest of her days, including the best medical care.”

  It was the most horrible kind of blackmail. He promised nothing to her, but to provide for the two people in the world she loved the most.

  “I’m not . . . Do you think I have no . . . How could you do this to me?”

  He raised his eyebrows in an annoyingly superior way. “It’s a perfectly agreeable arrangement for everyone, Red.”

  “Not to me.”

  Wolf looked as if he couldn’t believe she would refuse him. He was trying to hold his irritation in check, but Molly could see it in his eyes and in the unnatural tenseness in his stance. “It’s not as though you’ll be bothered with me on a permanent basis. I’m at Vanora Point, two, maybe three times a year. Most of the time you’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “I’ll not be a kept woman,” Molly insisted. “I thought I made that clear —”

  “You made it clear I haven’t yet offered your price.”

  “Wolf, don’t . . . . ”

  “It’s just business. Red,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t we finish with this game, and you can tell me exactly what it will take.”

  “For me to be your . . . . ?”

  “Mistress,” he finished the sentence she couldn’t, with a cold and calculating gleam in his eyes.

  She couldn’t even say it, much less agree to his proposal. “Go away, Wolf,” she said softly.

  “Afraid?” he challenged. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve kept a number of mistresses over the years. Not at Vanora Point, of course, but you’ll be happy to know they’re all alive and well. Even those I parted with on less than friendly terms.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Molly whispered.

  “No,” he conceded. “You never were, were you?”

  Molly shook her head slightly. It was true, she had never been afraid of Wolf. In fact, the more time she spent with him the more she knew the stories had to be false. That didn’t mean she would consent to be his mistress.

  Wolf stopped pacing, planted his feet in Grandma’s front yard, and stared at her intently. She remembered the dream she’d had last night, the demanding kiss, the love she’d tried to deny.

  “What do you want, Red?” he asked in a low voice.

  Should she tell him? He would laugh at her if she confided that all she’d ever dreamed of was a husband who would love her. Children, and lots of them. She was an only child, and she’d missed having brothers and sisters. There was nothing in her dreams about living in a big house and waiting for the man she loved to pay her a visit.

  “I want you to go away,” she said softly. “Go back to New York, where you belong.”

  “I don’t belong there anymore than I belong here, Red. Scandal doesn’t stop at the state line, and I’ve broken far too many of your precious rules in my lifetime.”

  “Then why don’t you tell the truth about what happened that night.” It was a bold and uncalled for suggestion, and Molly immediately wished she could take the challenge back. It had not been her intention to hurt him, but before her eyes the savage and hardened Wolf Trevelyan paled.

  “What if the truth is even worse than the rumor?” he suggested, recovering quickly. “What if I t
old you everything you’d heard was true?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  She’d managed to shock him, or at least to surprise him. Did no one ever speak to him of that night? Was it a dark, unspoken blight in his life?

  “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” He ignored her soft assertion, her insistence that she didn’t believe the rumors. “I promise you. Red, you wouldn’t regret it.”

  “I would.”

  She waited for Wolf to try again to convince her. If he came toward her, if he touched her, it would be hard to say no. Another kiss and she might actually consider . . . .

  Wolf began to pace, in the shadow of Grandma’s trees. He ran his long fingers through normally neat strands of hair, and while his attention was on the ground Molly almost smiled. It was true that there was nothing beautiful about Wolf Trevelyan, but there was something elegant about his harsh features and the way he moved his large body, with a grace that shouldn’t come naturally to such a large man.

  To see him disconcerted was like watching a fish out of water. Had no one ever said no to Wolf before? Had he come here actually expecting her to agree to his outrageous suggestion?

  “There must be something you want,” he said, stopping suddenly and turning to face her. “You want your own house? Is that it? You don’t have to live at Vanora Point if you don’t want to. I’ll buy you a house in town, and you can stay at Vanora Point only when I’m there.”

  “Just what I’ve always dreamed of,” Molly said softly. “To be the town whore.”

  Her choice of words shocked him, and he raised those black eyebrows rakishly.

  “What?” she continued. “Would you really think of me any differently? And what would I do when you were finished with me, Wolf? I suppose there would be another man in town who would eventually take your place, and when he tired of me there would be another, and another — .”

  “It wouldn’t be like that,” he protested.