Native Wolf

by Glynnis Campbell

Just not Claire.

  She gazed at the bouquet of daisies he’d bought her, tied up with a yellow ribbon by a shopkeeper, and couldn’t help but think about the rabbit fur slippers Chase had made for her.

  She glanced at the box of candy Frank had bought for her at the general store and remembered the honey Chase had harvested from the hive with his bare hands.

  She couldn’t blame Frank. He was doing the best he could. And Claire was sure that any other woman would be grateful for his efforts.

  But he wasn’t Chase Wolf. He didn’t arouse her senses. He didn’t quicken her heart. He didn’t stir her soul.

  “You know, Claire, I’ve been thinkin',” Frank said as he slathered butter on a biscuit. “It doesn’t seem to me there’s any reason to put off our nuptials any longer. It’s spring, after all, a perfect time for—”

  “Our nup-”

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he interrupted, shoving the buttered biscuit in her mouth. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got everything handled. Your father’s given his approval. We can do it this Sunday after church.” He leaned forward to confide, “I’ve even taken the liberty of havin' a weddin' dress made over for you, and—”

  “Wait!” Claire said, finally managing to swallow the bite of biscuit before she choked on it.

  “No reason to wait,” Frank countered. “On the contrary. The sooner we wed, the sooner we can get all this foolishness behind us.”

  “Foolishn-”

  “Your father’s practically given me the ranch,” he said cheerfully, though she now detected a note of desperation in his voice. “So we’ll have plenty to live on.”

  “But—”

  He pressed a cup of lemonade to her lips to silence her. “And we can get a family started right away.”

  She pushed the cup aside. “But I don’t want a fa-”

  “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you slept with that Injun, Claire,” he snarled, splashing lemonade on his shirt.

  Claire flinched, taken aback by his vicious remark.

  “Come on, now, be reasonable,” he said more evenly. She wondered if he was talking to himself or to her.

  “Frank…”

  “You know it’s the right thing to do, Claire,” he said, dabbing at his stained shirt with a napkin.

  “Frank…”

  “It’s what your father would want.”

  “Frank…”

  “It’s meant to be, Claire,” he said, flinging the napkin down like a challenge.

  “I don’t love you, Frank, and I never will.” There. She’d said it. He’d forced her hand, and she’d had to tell him straight out.

  “Dammit, Claire, that doesn’t matter!” he blurted. “You’re mine! You belong to me!”

  Fear streaked up Claire’s spine like lightning. She suddenly realized she was alone with Frank on a remote hilltop. If she called for help, no one would hear her.

  He must have seen the worry in her eyes, because he tempered his tone. “I’m sorry, Claire. I just can’t think straight when I…I care about you so much.”

  He reached out and took her hand. She fought the urge to snatch it back in disgust.

  He spoke softly. “There’s no reason to play innocent with me. I know what you did with that Injun.”

  Claire swallowed as his fingers closed tighter around her hand.

  “But I’m still willin' to take you as my wife,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “And there’s not many men who’d say that.”

  She tried to extricate her hand gracefully, but he held it fast. “You may be willing, but I’m n-”

  He lunged at her, planting his lips on hers before she could finish, grinding his mouth against hers and poking his tongue forcefully between her teeth. She tried to squirm away, but he held her still, grabbing the back of her head.

  Shocked and appalled, she pushed and pummeled at his shoulder with her free hand, but he stuck to her like a fly on molasses.

  Finally, she resorted to biting his lip, wincing at she tasted his blood.

  He instantly released her, swearing and pressing his fingers to his bleeding mouth. But even that didn’t deter him.

  “The savage taught you to play rough, eh?” he said, licking at his injured lip. “Well, all right. We can play r-”

  Before he could grab her again, Claire hauled back and punched him in the nose as hard as she could, knocking him flat. Then, cradling her bruised knuckles and without a backward glance, she scrambled to her feet and tore across the hillside, back toward the ranch.

  “You’ll see!” he yelled after her. “Nobody else will take you, Claire! Nobody wants damaged goods!”

  That was fine with Claire. She didn’t want “nobody.” She wanted Chase Wolf.

  Frank blinked back tears of pain as he nursed his stinging nose and watched Claire go.

  She’d be back. Sooner or later, she’d come crawling back to him on her hands and knees, begging him to marry her. What he’d said was true. No man wanted to plant his seed where another man had plowed.

  On the other hand, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He couldn’t wait for Claire to decide that he was right, that she had no other prospects. That Injun might have put a papoose in her already. Mr. Parker was a stickler for respectability, so Frank had to act quickly.

  He’d tried it the easy way. He’d tried to win Claire’s heart—bringing her flowers, buying her candy, taking her on a spring picnic.

  That hadn’t worked. She was still mooning over that confounded Wolf character. And, curse it all, instead of dangling at the end of a hangman’s noose like he was supposed to, the Injun had managed to escape jail and was still at large somewhere.

  It was troubling.

  Frank wanted that ranch. He’d worked hard for it, spending months shadowing Samuel Parker—riding from sunup to sundown, working with the stock, learning the ropes, studying the business. And he’d invested a lot of hours courting Claire—escorting her to the town dances, buying her gewgaws, taking her to the fair. He wasn’t about to give up everything just because some half-breed savage got Claire's knickers in a twist.

  So if she couldn’t be reasonable, if he couldn’t win her over with candy and flowers, Frank guessed he’d have to go about things the hard way.

  Chase had had just about enough of the two lovebirds at the Parlor. He’d never seen his brother let a woman make such a helpless fool of him. After three days, he was sure Drew was perfectly capable of feeding himself. Yet there he sat, letting that woman spoon feed him like he was a baby. It was sickening.

  “Chase,” Drew called from the bed.

  “What?” he grunted.

  Drew laughed. “See that, darlin’? My brother is sufferin’ from what we call the green monster.”

  “Green monster?” Catalina asked.

  “Envy,” he told her.

  Chase gave him a withering glare.

  Drew explained to her. “I’ve got my woman by my side, lookin’ out for me…feedin’ me…kissin’ me.” He stopped to indulge in the last vice, at which point Chase rolled his eyes. “But poor Chase, he doesn’t have his woman with him. He’s lonesome.”

  “Quit it, Drew,” Chase growled.

  “And irksome.”

  “Drew.”

  “And irritable.”

  “Enough.”

  Catalina clucked her tongue in mock pity. “Maybe I should ask Anne or Emily to keep him company tonight.”

  Chase gave her a scathing glare. “No, thank you.”

  Her mouth twitched with laughter.

  Drew chuckled once, then sobered and said, “Go see her.”

  Chase had been thinking about it all day. The trouble with the sheriff had been ironed out. Drew might not be turning cartwheels, but he was on the mend. Two rooms at the Parlor were costing a fortune. And frankly, Chase was getting pretty annoyed by his brother’s overt displays of affection for Catalina.

  Still, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Three days ago, he would have jumped at the
chance to see Claire. But now three days felt like a lifetime. She might have changed her mind. She might have realized how comfortable that big house was after all and decided she couldn’t give it up. She might have figured that their little adventure together had been just a lark. She might have reconsidered marrying Frank, who was clearly her father’s choice. Chase didn’t know what she was thinking. And not knowing was easier than finding out something bad.

  “Yes!” Catalina chimed in with far too much enthusiasm. “You must go to her. Wait until night, go through the window, and steal her again.” She turned to Drew. “It is so romantic, this story.”

  Drew grinned and caught her by the chin. “Almost as romantic as ours.”

  They giggled and kissed, and Chase growled in disgust. He couldn’t take much more. Holed up in this bawdy house, he was getting cabin fever.

  He had to get out, one way or another. Tonight. And then he had to decide whether he had the guts to face Claire.

  After her altercation with Frank, Claire fled all the way back to the ranch, marched straight up to her room, and locked the door. Her knuckles still throbbed from the wallop she’d given him. But she didn’t regret that punch, because he’d deserved it.

  He’d been a cad. He’d tried to pressure her into a hasty marriage, planning it behind her back. He’d even gone so far as to pick out her wedding dress. How could he imagine she was so desperate that she’d wed him without caring a fig for him?

  She flounced down on her bed and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She wished she’d never agreed to come back to the ranch. She should have realized her father would see it as an opportunity to force Frank on her.

  She wondered what her father would say if he knew just how pushy Frank had become. What if she hadn’t clouted the oaf? Would he have pressed his advantage? Would he have had his way with her?

  She feared that Frank believed what he said, that Claire belonged to him. He figured that since she’d allowed Chase certain liberties, she should do the same for him. He also believed that now her reputation was sullied, nobody else would want her.

  But Claire didn’t care what anyone else thought, as long as Chase wanted her.

  She uncovered her eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

  She hoped Chase still wanted her. It had been three days. His brother must have recovered from his wound by now. But she’d heard no news. And a niggling fear at the back of her brain told her that maybe Chase had changed his mind about her.

  What if he’d decided she was too much baggage? What if he’d fallen out of love with her? What if he’d already left town?

  She rested her fingers lightly on her stomach, which was churning with worry. Then she moved her hand lower.

  Frank did have one point. She might already be carrying Chase’s baby. If that was so, her father would make her give up the infant if she didn’t marry. He’d never let her raise a child out of wedlock.

  But she wouldn’t marry Frank, no matter how desperate she was. She’d run away first.

  If only she knew what Chase was thinking… If she could see his face, speak to him, feel his reassuring arms around her…

  It was late afternoon when the maid brought her a tray. On it was a glass of apple cider, a square of fresh-baked gingerbread, and an envelope addressed simply FOR CLAIRE.

  “Where did this letter come from?”

  The maid shrugged. “It was left on the doorstep, Miss.”

  Claire turned the envelope over in her hands. She half expected a letter of apology from Frank. But it wasn’t in Frank’s precise handwriting. It was in plain block letters.

  Could it be a message from Chase?

  Her pulse quickened. Was it good news or bad?

  She hesitated, afraid of what she might find inside.

  Then, taking a deep breath, she tore open the envelope.

  My sweet Claire - I cannot bear to be away from you one more day. If you still care for me, meet me in the barn tonight after dark. I will wait for you there. With all my heart, I hope you will come.

  The words brought a teary smile to her face. Chase hadn’t forgotten her after all. He still loved her. And he was coming for her. She was going to get her happy ending.

  “I’ll dine in my room,” she told the maid. She didn’t want to have to confront Frank at supper tonight…or ever again.

  It seemed like an eternity before the sun began to dip behind the hills. Claire was too nervous to eat the Hangtown fry and gooseberry pie the maid brought for supper. She changed into three different bonnets before she decided to forgo a bonnet altogether. Inside her bodice, she tucked the only thing she wanted to take with her—her copy of THE TRAIL HUNTERS OR MONOWANO THE SHAWNEE SPY. At sunset, she started pacing, as antsy as Jesse James planning to rob the noon train.

  Finally night fell. The ranch was quiet. Claire waited till the help went to bed and then padded across the parlor and stole out of the house. Across the yard, she could see the barn door was slightly ajar.

  She crept along the paddock fence, then eased the door open a few inches more, and slipped into the cool, shadowy barn.

  “Chase?” she whispered, squinting into the dark.

  One of the horses whickered softly and stamped a hoof.

  “Chase, are you there?”

  All she heard was the rustle of straw and the quiet jangle of harnesses.

  Maybe she was early.

  She moved farther into the barn, enjoying the peace and the sweet smell of hay. Feeling her way, she found the ladder leading up to the hayloft. A sly smile touched her lips. She wondered what it would be like to make love up there.

  Then she heard the door close. She turned. “Chase?”

  A match flared to life, blinding her for an instant before a kerosene lantern cast a pool of light on the straw-covered floor. Then her breath caught.

  “Goodness, Claire!” Frank said with sarcastic surprise. “Were you expectin' someone else?”

  Chapter 24

  Claire gulped. How could she have been so stupid? That damned letter hadn’t been signed. Frank must have written it after all. And she’d walked right into his trap.

  Frank shook his head, half amused, half disappointed. “And here I was hopin' you’d changed your mind.”

  Claire bit her lip. Frank was wearing his Sunday best, and he’d come in with a shotgun and a preacher.

  “What are you doing, Frank?”

  “Ever heard of a shotgun wedding, Claire?”

  Claire blinked. He couldn’t be serious. Shotgun weddings were for men who got women pregnant, to persuade them to take responsibility for their offspring. In fact, Chase had told her all about the shotgun wedding the miners had arranged between his own parents.

  Frank patted the stock of his shotgun. “Now I’m hopin' you’re not gonna make me use this. But I will if I have to.”

  She glanced in disbelief at the preacher, who was busy thumbing through his Bible.

  “Oh, he’s a real preacher,” Frank assured her, “but he’s just passin' through, so he’s not gonna concern himself too much about the letter of the law. As long as you’re of age and not my sister, he doesn’t much care, ain’t that right?”

  The preacher nodded.

  Claire’s mind was whirling. She was not going to marry Frank, come hell, high water, or the barrel of a shotgun. But until she could come up with a novel-worthy plan of escape, she’d have to try to reason with him.

  “Frank, you know my father will never stand for this. When he finds out what you’ve—”

  “Now, Claire, we both know he isn’t gonna give you his blessing to marry an Injun.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out, because she knew he was right.

  “And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let you whelp a half-breed’s bastard.”

  He was right about that, too. She closed her mouth and clenched her jaw.

  “In fact,” he said, “I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be glad I solved this problem… quietly.”

&n
bsp; She couldn’t argue with that either. Her father would be grateful to have the whole business forgotten. Rage and frustration made her tremble.

  “Now I know this isn’t the fairy tale wedding you had planned,” he said, “but, darn it, Claire, you’re the one who got yourself into this mess.”

  She ground her teeth. She was damned well going to find a way out of it.

  He gave her an irritating smile of pity. “Trust me. It’ll all be for the best. Think of it this way, Claire. Getting' married is like geldin' cattle. Sure, it smarts a bit, but the quicker you do it, the quicker it’ll be over.” He handed the lantern to the preacher and held out a hand toward Claire. “Shall we?”

  Gelding cattle? Was that what he thought of marriage? Claire thought she’d like to geld Frank right about now. But she was completely defenseless. She didn’t have a gun. She couldn’t reach a pitchfork. She didn’t dare so much as throw a punch while Frank had that shotgun tucked under his arm.

  Then she realized there might be a weapon she could use.

  She returned his invitation with a cold stare…at first. Then, feigning resignation, she sighed, picked up her skirts, and trudged toward him, hanging her head.

  “There, that ain't so bad, is it?” he said when she was standing beside him, overlooking the fact that she’d refused to take his arm. Then he frowned down at her bodice and, with a smirk of disapproval, withdrew her dime novel and tossed it onto the barn floor.

  She gave a tiny gasp, but resisted the urge to smack him for his trespass. Instead, she meekly lowered her eyes to the kerosene lantern that dangled from the preacher’s fingers.

  “Go ahead,” Frank told the preacher. “We’re ready.”

  As Frank straightened his collar and the preacher fumbled open his Bible with his free hand, Claire took advantage of their moment of inattention. Lifting her skirt, she kicked out suddenly and forcefully with her boot, punting the lantern right out of the preacher’s grip.

  The lamp sailed through the air, hit the wall, and shattered. Fire exploded through the broken glass. Kerosene splashed and spilled everywhere. Hungry flames erupted instantly to lap up the fuel as it spread over the dry straw scattered on the barn floor.