by Linda Howard
Chapter Six
It was after nine when they heard Wolf’s truck, and both of them froze with mingled tension and relief: tension because they dreaded to hear what had happened, and relief because he was home instead of locked in jail. Mary couldn’t imagine Wolf in jail, even though he’d spent two years in prison. He was too wild, like a lobo that could never be tamed. Imprisoning him had been an act so cruel as to be obscene.
He came in the back door and stood there staring at her, his dark face expressionless. She and Joe sat at the kitchen table, nursing cups of coffee. “Why are you still here? Go home.”
She ignored the flatness of his tone. He was so angry she could almost feel the heat from across the room, but she knew it wasn’t directed against her. Getting up, she dumped her lukewarm coffee into the sink and got another cup from the cabinet, then poured fresh coffee into both cups. “Sit down, drink your coffee and tell us what happened,” she said in her best schoolteacher voice.
He did reach for the coffee, but he didn’t sit down. He was too angry to sit. The rage boiled in him, robbing his movements of their usual fluidity. It was starting all over again, and he’d be damned if he’d go to prison again for something he hadn’t done. He’d fight any way he could and with any weapon he could, but he’d die before he’d go back to prison.
“They let you go,” Joe said.
“They had to. The girl was raped around noon. At noon I was delivering two horses to the Bar W R. Wally Rasco verified it, and the sheriff couldn’t figure out a way I could have been in two different places, sixty miles apart, at the same time, so he had to let me go.”
“Where did it happen?”
Wolf rubbed his forehead, then pinched his nose between his eyes as if he had a headache, or maybe he was just tired. “She was grabbed from behind when she got in her car, parked in her own driveway. He made her drive almost an hour before telling her to pull off on the side of the road. She never saw his face. He wore a ski mask. But she could tell he was tall, and that was enough of a description for the sheriff.”
“The side of the road?” Mary blurted. “That’s…weird. It doesn’t make sense. I know there’s not much traffic, but still, someone could have come by at any time.”
“Yeah. Not to mention that he was waiting for her in her driveway. The whole thing is strange.”
Joe drummed his fingers on the table. “It could have been someone passing through.”
“How many people ‘pass through’ Ruth?” Wolf asked dryly. “Would a drifter have known whose car it was, or when she was likely to come out of the house? What if the car belonged to a man? That’s a big chance to take, especially when rape seems to have been the only thing on his mind, because he didn’t rob her, even though she had money.”
“Are they keeping her identity secret?” Mary asked.
He looked at her. “It won’t stay a secret, because her father was in the sheriff’s office waving a rifle and threatening to blow my guts out. He attracted a lot of attention, and people talk.”
His face was still expressionless, but Mary sensed the bitter rage that filled him. His fierce pride had been dragged in the dust—again. How had he endured being forced to sit there and listen to insults and threats? Because she knew he’d been insulted, by vile words describing his mixed heritage as well as by the very fact he’d been picked up for questioning. He was holding it all in, controlling it, but the rage was there.
“What happened?”
“Armstrong stopped it. Then Wally Rasco got there and cleared me, and the sheriff let me go with a friendly warning.”
“A warning?” Mary jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing. “For what?”
He pinched her chin and gave her a coldly ferocious smile. “He warned me to stay away from white women, sweetcake. And that’s just what I’m going to do. So you go on home now, and stay there. I don’t want you on my mountain again.”
“You didn’t feel that way in the barn,” she shot back, then darted a look at Joe and blushed. Joe just quirked an eyebrow and looked strangely self-satisfied. She decided to ignore him and turned back to Wolf. “I can’t believe you’re letting that mush-brain sheriff tell you who you can see.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Maybe it hasn’t dawned on you yet, but it’s all starting again. It doesn’t matter that Wally Rasco cleared me. Everyone is going to remember what happened ten years ago, and the way they felt.”
“You were cleared of that, too, or doesn’t that count?”
“With some people,” he finally admitted. “Not with most. They’re already afraid of me, already distrust and dislike me. Until this bastard is caught, I probably won’t be able to buy anything in that town, not groceries, gas or feed. And any white woman who has anything to do with me could be in real danger of being tarred and feathered.”
So that was it. He was still trying to protect her. She stared at him in exasperation. “Wolf, I refuse to live my life according to someone else’s prejudices. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me—”
She could hear an audible click as his teeth snapped together. “Do you?” he asked with heavy sarcasm. “Then go home. Stay home, and I’ll stay here.”
“For how long?”
Instead of answering her question, he made an oblique statement. “I’ll always be a half-breed.”
“And I’ll always be what I am, too. I haven’t asked you to change,” she pointed out, pain creeping into her voice. She looked at him with longing plain in her eyes, as no woman had ever looked at him before, and the rage in him intensified because he couldn’t simply reach out and take her in his arms, proclaim to the world that she was his woman. The sheriff’s warning had been clear enough, and Wolf knew well that the hostility toward him would rapidly swell to explosive proportions. It could easily spill over onto Mary, and now he wasn’t just worried that she would lose her job. A job was nothing compared to the physical danger she could suffer. She could be terrorized in her own home, her property vandalized; she could be cursed and spat upon; she could be physically attacked. For all her sheer determination, she was still just a rather slight woman, and she would be helpless against anyone who wanted to hurt her.
“I know,” he finally said, and despite himself, he reached out to touch her hair. “Go home, Mary. When this is over—” He stopped, because he didn’t want to make promises he might not be able to keep, but what he’d said was enough to put a glowing light in her eyes.
“All right,” she murmured, putting her hand on his. “By the way, I want you to get a haircut.”
He looked startled. “A haircut?”
“Yes. You want me to wear my hair down, and I want you to get a haircut.”
“Why?”
She gave him a shrewd look. “You don’t wear it long because you’re Indian. You wear it long just to upset people, so they’ll never forget your Indian blood. So get it cut.”
“Short hair won’t make me less Indian.”
“Long hair won’t make you more Indian.”
She looked as if she would stand there until doomsday unless he agreed to get a haircut. He gave in abruptly, muttering, “All right, I’ll get a haircut.”
“Good.” She smiled at him and went on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Good night. Good night, Joe.”
“Goodnight, Mary.”
When she was gone, Wolf wearily ran his hand through his hair, then frowned as he realized he’d just agreed to cut it off. He looked up to find Joe watching him steadily.
“What are we going to do?” the boy asked.
“Whatever we have to,” Wolf replied, his expression flinty.
When Mary bought groceries the next morning, she found everyone in the store huddling together in small groups of two or three and whispering about the rape. The girl’s identity was quickly revealed; it was Cathy Teele, whose younger sister, Christa, was in Mary’s class. The entire Teele family was devastated, according to the whispers Mary heard as she gathered her groceri
es.
Next to the flour and cornmeal, she encountered Dottie Lancaster, who was flanked by a young man Mary assumed was Dottie’s son. “Hello, Dottie.” Mary greeted the woman pleasantly, even though it was possible Dottie had started the rumor about her and Joe.
“Hello.” Dottie wore a distressed expression, rather than her habitual sour one. “Have you heard about that poor Teele girl?”
“I haven’t heard anything else since I entered the store.”
“They arrested that Indian, but the sheriff had to let him go. I hope now you’ll be more careful about the company you keep.”
“Wolf wasn’t arrested.” Mary managed to keep her voice calm. “He was questioned, but he was at Wally Rasco’s ranch when the attack occurred, and Mr. Rasco backed him up. Wolf Mackenzie isn’t a rapist.”
“A court of law said he was and sentenced him to prison.”
“He was also cleared when the true rapist was caught and confessed to the crime for which Wolf had been convicted.”
Dottie drew back, her face livid. “That’s what that Indian said, but as far as we know, he just got out on parole. It’s easy to see whose side you’re on, but then, you’ve been running with those Indians since the day you came to Ruth. Well, miss, there’s an old saying that if you sleep with dogs, you’re bound to get fleas. The Mackenzies are dirty Indian trash—”
“Don’t you say another word,” Mary interrupted, color high in her cheeks as she took a step toward Dottie. She was furious; her hand itched to slap the woman’s self-righteous face. Aunt Ardith had said that a lady never brawled, but Mary was ready to forever relinquish any claim she had to the title. “Wolf is a decent, hard-working man, and I won’t let you or anyone else say he isn’t.”
Dottie’s color was mottled, but something in Mary’s eyes made her refrain from saying anything else about Wolf. Instead she leaned closer and hissed, “You’d better watch yourself, Miss Goody-Goody, or you’ll find yourself in a lot of trouble.”
Mary leaned closer, too, her jaw set. “Are you threatening me?” she demanded fiercely.
“Mama, please,” the young man behind her whispered in a frantic tone, and tugged at Dottie’s arm.
Dottie looked around at him, and her face changed. She drew back, but told Mary contemptuously, “You just mark my words,” and stalked away.
Her son, Bobby, was so distressed he was wringing his hands as he hurried after Dottie. Immediately, Mary was sorry she had let the horrid little scene develop; from what Joe had told her, Bobby had a hard enough time handling everyday problems without adding more.
She took a few deep breaths to regain her composure, but almost lost it again when she turned and found several people standing in the aisle, staring at her. They had all obviously heard every word, and looked both shocked and avid. She had no doubt the tale would be all over town within the hour: two of the schoolteachers brawling over Wolf Mackenzie. She groaned inwardly as she picked up a bag of flour. Another scandal was just what Wolf needed.
In the next aisle, she met Cicely Karr. Remembering the woman’s comments during the school board meeting, Mary couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I’ve received a letter from Senator Allard, Mrs. Karr. He’s recommending Joe Mackenzie for admission to the Academy.” She sounded challenging even to her own ears.
To her surprise, Mrs. Karr looked excited. “He is? Why, I never would’ve believed it. Until Eli explained it to me, I didn’t quite realize what an honor it is.” Then she sobered. “But now this terrible thing has happened. It’s awful. I—I couldn’t help overhearing you and Dottie Lancaster. Miss Potter, you can’t imagine what it was like ten years ago. People were frightened and angry, and now the same nightmare has started again.”
“It’s a nightmare for Wolf Mackenzie, too,” Mary said hotly. “He was sent to prison for a rape he didn’t commit. His record was cleared, but still he was the first person the sheriff picked up for questioning. How do you think he feels? He’ll never get back the two years he spent in prison, and now it looks as if everyone is trying to send him there again.”
Mrs. Karr looked troubled. “We were all wrong before. The justice system was wrong, too. But even though Mackenzie proved he didn’t rape Cathy Teele, don’t you see why the sheriff wanted to question him?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because Mackenzie had reason to want revenge.”
Mary was aghast. “So you thought he’d take revenge by attacking a young woman who was just a child when he was sent to prison? What sort of man do you think he is?” She was horrified by both the idea and the feeling that everyone in Ruth would agree with Mrs. Karr.
“I think he’s a man who hates,” Mrs. Karr said firmly. Yes, she believed Wolf capable of such horrible, obscene revenge; it was in her eyes.
Mary felt sick; she began shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No. Wolf is bitter about the way he was treated, but he doesn’t hate. And he would never hurt a woman like that.” If she knew anything in this world, she knew that. She had felt urgency in his touch, but never brutality.
But Mrs. Karr was shaking her head, too. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t hate! It’s in those black-as-hell eyes every time he looks at us, any of us. The sheriff found out he’d been in Vietnam, in some special assassination group, or something. God only knows how it warped him! Maybe he didn’t rape Cathy Teele, but this would be a perfect opportunity for him to get revenge and have it blamed on whoever did rape her!”
“If Wolf wanted revenge, he wouldn’t sneak around to get it,” Mary said scornfully. “You don’t know anything about the kind of man he is, do you? He’s lived here for years, and none of you know him.”
“And I suppose you do?” Mrs. Karr was getting red in the face. “Maybe we’re talking about a different kind of ‘knowing.’ Maybe that rumor about you carrying on with Joe Mackenzie was half right, after all. You’ve been carrying on with Wolf Mackenzie, haven’t you?”
The scorn in the woman’s voice enraged Mary. “Yes!” she half shouted, and honesty impelled her to add, “But not as much as I’d like.”
A chorus of gasps made her look around, and she stared into the faces of the townspeople who had stopped in the aisle to listen. Well, she’d really done it now; Wolf had wanted her to distance herself from him, and instead she’d all but shouted from the rooftops that she’d been “carrying on” with him. But she couldn’t feel even the tiniest bit of shame. She felt proud. With Wolf Mackenzie she was a woman, not a dowdy, old maid schoolteacher who even owned a cat, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t feel dowdy when she was with Wolf; she felt warm, wanted. If she had any regrets, it was that Joe hadn’t been fifteen minutes later returning the day before, or even five minutes, because more than anything she wanted to be Wolf’s woman in every way, to lie beneath his thrusting body, eagerly accepting the force of his passion and giving him her own. If for that, for loving him, she was ostracized, then she counted society well lost.
Mrs. Karr said icily, “I believe we’ll have to have another school board meeting.”
“When you do, consider that I have an ironclad contract,” Mary shot back, and turned on her heel. She hadn’t gathered all of the groceries she needed, but she was too angry to continue. When she plunked the items down on the counter, the clerk looked as if she wanted to refuse to ring them up, but she changed her mind under Mary’s glare.
She stormed home and was gratified when the weather seemed to agree with her, if the gray clouds forming overhead were any indication. After storing her groceries, she checked on the cat, who had been acting strange lately. A horrid thought intruded: surely no one would have poisoned the cat? But Woodrow was sunning himself peacefully on the rug, so she dismissed the idea with relief.
When this is over…
The phrase echoed in her memory, tantalizing her and stirring an ache deep inside. She longed for him so intensely that she felt as if she were somehow incomplete. She loved him, and though she understood why he thought it better for her
to stay away from him right now, she didn’t agree. After what had happened that morning with Dottie Lancaster and Cicely Karr, there was no point in allowing this exile. She might as well have stood in the middle of the street and shouted it: she was Wolf Mackenzie’s woman.
Whatever he wanted from her, she was willing to give. Aunt Ardith had raised her to believe that intimacy belonged only in marriage, if a woman for some reason felt she simply couldn’t live without a man, though Aunt Ardith had made it plain she couldn’t imagine what such a reason would be. While Mary had accepted that people obviously were intimate outside of marriage, she had never been tempted to it herself—until she’d met Wolf. If he wanted her for only a short time, she counted that as better than nothing. Even one day with him would be a bright and shining memory to treasure during the long, dreary years without him, a small bit of warmth to comfort her. Her dream was to spend a lifetime with him, but she didn’t allow herself to expect it. He was too bitter, too wary; it was unlikely he would permit an Anglo to get that close to him. He would give her his body, perhaps even his affection, but not his heart or his commitment.
Because she loved him, she knew she wouldn’t demand more. She didn’t want anger or guilt between them. For as long as she could, in whatever way, she wanted to make Wolf happy.
He had asked her to wear her hair down, and the silky weight of it lay around her shoulders. She had been surprised, looking in the mirror that morning, how the relaxed hairstyle softened her face. Her eyes had glowed, because leaving her hair down was something she could do for him. She looked feminine, the way he made her feel.
There was no point in trying to make people think her neutral now, not after those arguments she’d gotten into. When she told him what had happened, he’d see the uselessness of trying to maintain the sham. She even felt relieved, because her heart hadn’t been in it.