Native Wolf

by Glynnis Campbell

  Samuel glanced toward the jail cell. The door stood open. Except for a pile of clothing, it was empty. He ground his teeth. Had the jailer taken Chase out and had “an accident” after all?

  “Where is he?” Samuel barked.

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ to find out,” the sheriff said.

  “I’m tellin’ you, Sheriff,” the jailer whined, “he turned into a ghost and floated off into the woods.”

  That was the worst fabrication Samuel had ever heard. “What?”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the sheriff said.

  “That’s what I thought,” the jailer said. “But I saw it with my own eyes. He was movin’ as fast as lightnin’—whoosh, whoosh—in front of me, behind me, right past me. And moanin?” He imitated the sound—a high-pitched, warbling sound like a loon. “I emptied my Remington into him, but he kept circlin’ and circlin’.”

  “Dammit!” The sheriff smacked the desk with the flat of his palm. “I don’t know what you did or what you thought you saw, but I’m holdin’ you personally responsible for getting’ my winnin’s—and my woman—back.”

  The jailer sank onto his chair and rested his head in his hands. “Aww, consarn it, Sheriff. How am I supposed to catch a ghost?”

  He knew the jailer hadn’t seen a ghost, but Samuel could tell he believed he’d seen a ghost. Maybe the half-breed had slipped some jimsonweed or something into the jailer’s coffee and gotten him to unlock the cell. The rest might have been a figment of the jailer’s drug-addled imagination.

  The question was where had Chase Wolf gone if he had escaped? Samuel half hoped he’d headed for the hills and was gone for good. But if the man cared for Claire like Samuel was afraid he did, odds were he was sticking around. And if he was still in Paradise, Samuel had to contain the situation before it got out of hand and ruined Claire’s reputation.

  He stroked his mustache. Where could the half-breed be? He couldn’t have many friends in Paradise. But the one he trusted, the one who’d covered for him before, was the proprietress of the Parlor. As much as it grated on Samuel’s sensibilities to set foot in such an establishment again, it was worth a try.

  “The half-breed?” The madam seemed amused by Samuel’s discomfort. “You sure you don’t want to avail yourself of one of my girls? They seem a mite more your style.” He frowned, and she motioned up the stairs. “Sure. Same room as before.” Then she eyed his rifle. “But I don’t want any trouble, you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Samuel said, adding in a murmur, “not if I can help it.” He thanked the woman and proceeded upstairs.

  He didn’t bother knocking. If Chase had drugged the jailer and broken out of jail, he didn’t exactly deserve fair warning. Instead, Samuel cocked his rifle and shoved open the door, closing it behind him with his elbow.

  There was a flurry of scarlet skirts, a tumble of black curls, and the flash of dark eyes as a woman leaped from the bed to confront him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, oblivious to the rifle pointed at her. “And what do you want?”

  He’d gotten the wrong room. The woman was clearly a lady of the evening. She was bold and beautiful. She had an exotic accent. And her vivid dress was cut sinfully low.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said sheepishly, lowering the rifle. “I’m looking for—”

  “Who is it, Cat?” he heard from the bed.

  Samuel frowned and looked past the woman.

  Chase Wolf was lying in the bed with his eyes closed. He looked horrible—pale and sweaty. His shirt was missing, and a bandage was wrapped around his ribs.

  For one instant, Samuel felt concern. Had the jailer lied? Had he given the half-breed a beating after all?

  And then he remembered the prostitute.

  He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t brought Claire. It would have broken her heart to know how quickly Chase had replaced her—and with what quality of woman.

  “Well, I see you’re showing your true colors, Mr. Wolf,” Samuel grumbled. “I can’t say I’m surprised. But I am disappointed. You could have at least waited till you left town to take up with…” He couldn’t say the words. Instead, he gave the woman a disparaging glare…

  Which she returned in equal measure, biting out, “How dare you! Can you not see he’s hurt?”

  “Cat,” the half-breed called weakly from the bed, “who are you talkin’ to?”

  With a woeful little cry, she picked up her skirts and rushed to his side. “Don’t worry, caro mio. I will make him go away.”

  Just how she was going to do that, Samuel never learned, because at that moment he heard a familiar voice in the hallway, and the door swung open behind him.

  “Here you go,” Claire announced, balancing the big breakfast tray in one hand as she nudged the door open. “Eggs, bacon, beans, and cof-…” She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. “Father!”

  “Claire?”

  Claire’s thoughts churned madly as her father’s face turned first white, then gray, then red.

  “How nice to see you,” she improvised, handing the tray off to Catalina.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he bit out, his face almost purple.

  She could feel her cheeks growing hot as she gently closed the door, stalling for time. “I woke early this morning, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I...”

  “You came to town, to this…” he began in a loud voice, then suppressed it in a low growl, “this…den of iniquity?”

  “Here?” She clasped her hands. “Well… I…” Then she straightened. “Wait. What are you doing here, Father?”

  Catalina chimed in with a smug smile and an arched brow. “Yes, what are you doing here?”

  To Claire’s chagrin, he didn’t even bat an eye, but said pointedly, “Looking for an escaped prisoner.”

  His gaze slid to the man lying in the bed, and Claire realized her father thought that Drew was Chase. Of course, she realized. He didn’t know Chase had a twin.

  Suddenly, every dime novel plot she’d ever read raced through her brain, and she began inventing a story to rival the best that Beadle had to offer.

  With a conspiratorial glance at Catalina, she rushed to Drew’s side and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Father. The truth is I helped him escape.”

  Her father was frowning.

  “You see, I know he’s innocent. I’m sure of it,” she said. “How could he have taken that money? He was with me.” She ran her fingers through Drew’s hair, ignoring Catalina’s narrowed eyes. “I couldn’t bear to think of him locked in that jail cell for one more minute.” She leaned over to kiss his brow, and Catalina made an odd strangled sound that turned into a cough.

  “You expect me to believe you broke him out of jail?” her father asked.

  Claire gulped. “I had some…help.” She glanced at Catalina, whose lips were compressed into a thin line.

  Her father sighed, shook his head, and muttered an oath that made Claire’s eyes widen.

  “Nobody saw us,” she assured him, certain that was his primary concern.

  “The jailer claims he saw a ghost,” he said.

  “A ghost?” Claire gave a nervous chuckle.

  Her father shook his head again. “So what did you do?” He was looking at Catalina. “Slip jimsonweed into his coffee?”

  “Yes!” Claire said. “That’s exactly what we did.” That would have been a good idea. Claire wondered if her father had experience with jailbreaks.

  He nodded toward Drew. “So what’s wrong with him?”

  “He was shot in the escape.”

  “Is he going to live?”

  Catalina’s brow crumpled. “Of course he’s going to live. How can you say such a thing?” To Claire’s consternation, Catalina rushed to the opposite side of the bed and lovingly took Drew’s hand. “Va tutto bene.”

  Her father’s frown deepened with disapproval.

  “Father, this is Chase’s…sister…from Hupa.” Claire
hoped her father couldn’t tell what language Catalina was speaking.

  He pursed his lips. “His sister? Is that what she told you?” He raked Catalina’s scanty attire with scornful eyes. “I think you need to come home with me right now, Claire.”

  Claire had to think of a plan—quickly. At the moment, Chase was sleeping off a very long night down the hall in Catalina’s room. But if she didn’t get her father out of the Parlor soon, Chase might show up and ruin her story. Fortunately, she had a bargaining chip. She knew her father would like nothing better than to sweep the whole affair under the rug.

  “I’ll make you a bargain, Father.”

  “A bargain? I hardly think you’re in a position to—”

  “I’ll come with you willingly, and I won’t make a fuss, if you promise not to tell the sheriff he’s here.”

  Her father pretended to stew about it, but Claire wasn’t fooled. She was sure he never intended to say a word to anyone about Chase’s whereabouts. He’d just as soon forget Chase Wolf existed. The less people knew, the better.

  Still, he groused. “You really think you can trust folks at the Parlor to keep quiet about it?” He cast a sideways glance at Catalina.

  Claire shrugged. “I would imagine they’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”

  He blew out another annoyed breath and then addressed Catalina. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  She nodded.

  Claire reluctantly crooked her hand around her father’s elbow, giving Catalina one last important message. “Please take care of…Chase…for me.”

  Catalina nodded again, sending Claire a silent assurance with her eyes. And then Claire left the Parlor with her father by the back door, waiting out of sight until he brought the horse around.

  What he talked about on the way home was insignificant—something about cattle he was looking to buy, a shed that needed repairs, the upcoming spring dance. All Claire could think about was how soon she could get back to Chase.

  When Chase awoke in Catalina’s room with Claire nowhere in sight, he wrapped the sheet around him and burst out of the door, eliciting a chorus of appreciative chuckles from the ladies loitering in the hallway.

  Ignoring them, he brushed past to Drew’s room and knocked softly on the door.

  The woman answered. She was even more striking in the daylight with her dark hair and ruby lips, but she looked haggard, as if she hadn’t slept a wink. Her dress drooped off of one shoulder, her eyes were rimmed with red, and her hair hung down her back like a tangle of black ribbons.

  “How is he?” Chase asked.

  She let him in, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “He will get better, no?”

  Chase approached the bed. Drew looked pale. His eyes were sunken and gray. The doctor had been able to retrieve the bullet last night, and it hadn’t done too much internal damage. But the laudanum he’d given Drew for the pain was keeping him foggy. Chase wished his grandmother were alive to use her native medicine.

  “He will get better?” the woman asked again, her brows furrowed.

  “Yep. Sure,” he said, hoping he was right. “Has the doc been by yet?”

  She shook her head.

  He pulled the covers up over Drew’s chest. “Where’s Claire?”

  “She left.”

  His breath caught. “Left. What do you mean?”

  “Her father came. He was looking for you. She made him believe that Drew was you.”

  “And?”

  “She promised to go home with him if he would not tell the sheriff you were here.”

  Chase didn’t like the idea of her going back to the ranch. But he had to admit it was a clever ploy. It would buy them some time. With any luck, Drew would be up and around in a few days, and they could slip out of Paradise unnoticed. No one would ever know there were two half-breeds in town. No one would know they were twins. Until then, they’d have to lie low.

  The hardest part for him would be missing Claire. Until he’d been shut off from her in that jail cell, he hadn’t realized how much he’d grown used to her company. Now, being without her was like being without part of his heart.

  He looked at his brother, lying wounded in a whore’s bed, and wondered if Drew would ever know what it was like to be truly in love, to care for a woman so deeply that you didn’t think you could survive without her.

  He glanced up at the lady on the other side of the bed. She was worrying her lip with her teeth. She didn’t seem like one of those saloon girls who pretended to be sweet on a fellow for a few extra dollars. She seemed genuinely concerned for Drew.

  He felt sorry for her. She didn’t know it, but his brother had a habit of leaving ladies in the dust. It wasn’t that Drew was cruel. He was just restless. Chase doubted he’d ever settle down with one woman.

  The lady dipped her lacy handkerchief in the basin of water on the nightstand and used it to wipe Drew’s forehead. Drew was damned lucky to have a woman care for him like that. It was too bad he didn’t know it. But at least while he was unconscious he couldn’t break her heart.

  On the other hand, it would be a shame if the woman missed out on several days’ wages for no good reason. So as much as he hated awkward conversations with strange women, he thought he should break the news to her as best he could.

  “Listen, ma’am. I don’t know what my brother told you, but he’s not the marrying kind of man. I’m sure he paid you well for your services and probably enjoyed them too. But if you’re looking for him to put a ring on your finger, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m sorry to have to break it to you this way, but…”

  He trailed off as her laughter filled the room.

  “Is that what you think?” she said. She waggled her fingers at him, one of which sported a gold band. “I already have his ring on my finger.” She clucked her tongue. “For a twin, you do not know your brother very well.”

  Chase didn’t appreciate her amusement at his expense. He also didn’t believe that ring had come from his brother. “And you do? You’ve known him all of, what, three days?”

  She shrugged. “I can tell which brother is which,” she pointed out.

  That was true. She’d known instantly that it was Drew who’d gotten shot last night, which was remarkable. Some of their own tribe couldn’t tell the twins apart.

  Still, that didn’t mean Drew could tell her from all the other whores he’d bedded.

  “Look, ma’am, I just don’t want you to waste your time on my brother when you’ve got paying customers waiting.”

  “It is not a waste of time. I have no customers. I belong to Drew.”

  Chase scoffed. He wondered if Drew knew that. Something must have gotten lost in translation. She wasn’t even Drew’s type.

  “What I’m trying to say, ma’am, is that my brother is a love-them-and-leave them kind of man.”

  She wrinkled her brow in confusion.

  “A rolling stone?” he tried.

  She looked even more baffled.

  “A tumbleweed? One that doesn’t put down roots?”

  She shook her head, not comprehending.

  He sighed. “My brother is the kind of man who will give a woman a kiss and then vanish into the night.”

  “Oh,” she said, understanding at last. “That he does. But he always comes back in the morning.”

  Chase’s shoulders drooped. The woman was hopeless. He supposed she’d have to hear it from his brother’s lips then. It would probably break her heart. He just hoped, for Drew’s sake, she wouldn’t have a six-shooter in her hand when he told her.

  Chapter 23

  Claire had managed to avoid her former fiancé for the last three days. But this morning, her father had announced he’d be spending the night at a neighbor’s ranch, leaving her in Frank’s care. She nearly groaned aloud at his transparent attempt to rekindle the romance between her and Frank.

  He doubtless imagined Claire would forget all about Chase Wolf once Frank came a-courting. He probably expect
ed that the whole episode with her running away, her kidnapping, the jailbreak, and the incident at the Parlor would fade into oblivion, like an insignificant bump in the road.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She’d decided before she’d ever met Chase that she couldn’t marry Frank. It wasn’t fair to either of them. She didn’t love Frank. She’d only gone along with the engagement because it had pleased her father. And at that time, she would have done anything for his approval.

  But things had changed. She deserved better. Frank deserved better. And she didn’t really care if her father approved or not.

  Furthermore, no amount of persuasion by Frank in the way of flowers and bonbons and the picnic he’d put together this afternoon was going to change her mind or her heart.

  She was bound to Chase Wolf now—body, mind, and spirit. They belonged together. Whether it was destiny, God’s will, or the will of Chase’s Creator, there was a bond between them that was unbreakable.

  Somehow her father had forgotten about that kind of bond. He’d known it once with her mother. It was a bond that survived hardship and pain and loss. It was a bond that stretched beyond the grave.

  “Chicken, Claire?”

  Claire looked up blankly at Frank. He was sitting across from her on the gingham square, in the dappled shade of an oak tree, holding up a golden fried drumstick in a napkin.

  She had no appetite, but she didn’t want to get into another discussion with Frank about how she could use a little more meat on her bones. So she took the drumstick.

  He dug through the contents of the wicker basket the cook had put together.

  “Biscuits, sweet butter, coleslaw, pickles, peach cobbler,” he recited. “Here’s a flask of apple jack for me,” he said with a wink, “and lemonade for you.”

  She nibbled on the end of the drumstick and watched Frank as he began laying out the feast. He wasn’t a bad catch. He had curly gold hair that shone in the sunlight, bright blue eyes, and a ready smile. He was trim and fit, dressed well, minded his manners for the most part, and knew how to do the two-step.

  He would make someone a suitable husband.