TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  "Do I understand that you wish me to imprison Miss Munroe?"

  "Do not presume to question my instructions, or those of your employer! If you do not feel capable of controlling one half-lame girl—"

  "It is all right, Brinkley," Athena said. "I don't expect you to defy my brother."

  The butler raised a well-shaped brow. "Why, Miss Munroe, I do not recall any such orders."

  "You—you heard him as clearly as I did!" Cecily cried. "I warn you, my man, if you continue in this way—"

  "I have been considering a return to England," Brinkley said to Athena. "Perhaps this would be a convenient time to give my notice."

  Athena could have hugged him. "You can go if you wish, Brinkley, but I am sure you can find excellent employment here in Denver if you must leave us."

  "Perhaps. I fear that the other staff may also wish to give notice, if"—he looked down his nose at Cecily—"they are compelled to take instruction from Miss Hockensmith."

  "How dare you!" Cecily started toward him, stopped, and glared at Athena. "You will not get away with this, either of you."

  "Don't worry, Cecily. You can tell Niall that I forced you to let me go."

  "You… you can't! You can barely walk. How do you intend to—"

  "I did it before, remember? And this time I can drive myself. If I leave at dawn, I should be able to reach Long Park not too long after Niall."

  "You are mad! If you drive into the mountains alone you will surely meet with disaster!"

  "It is kind of you to be so concerned, Cecily, but I have resources you know nothing of."

  Cecily's face hardened. "I will not let you go, servants or no servants." She gestured to Brinkley. "Get out."

  The butler looked at Athena. She nodded. "This is between Miss Hockensmith and me. I will not be requiring your services tonight. You may tell Fran that she may also retire."

  "You need only call, Miss Munroe." He left without a backward glance at Cecily.

  The moment the door was closed, Cecily advanced on Athena. Her fists were clenched, and for all her fine garments and meticulous coiffure, she looked like nothing so much as a fishwife.

  "Make no mistake," she hissed, "I will stop you." She reached for Athena's arm. Athena batted her hand away. Cecily gasped and fell back a step.

  "Good Lord," she said. "You are brazen! I will advise your brother to send you to a madhouse!"

  "In that case, let me give you a good reason for the recommendation." Athena smiled, and the wolf crouched on its haunches and prepared to spring. Cecily struck again, bent upon knocking her off balance. Athena twisted to the side, allowing Cecily to strike the wall, and pulled the older woman's arm behind her back.

  Cecily shrieked. Athena kept her grip with surprising ease, reaching deep within for the strength of the wolf, the strength she had known and embraced before the accident.

  "You might as well give up," she said. "You cannot hurt me, but I might hurt you if you struggle."

  All the fight went out of Cecily, and Athena began to relax. She saw the flash of light on metal an instant before the hairpin plunged toward her shoulder.

  Deftly she spun Cecily about and dodged the makeshift weapon. The silver hairpin scraped across the door and fell to the carpet. Athena growled.

  She growled, just as Morgan did, teeth bared. Cecily forgot to cry out in pain and shrank away from her in horror.

  "I warned you," Athena said. "You had better leave this house at once." She released Cecily, who stumbled away, clutching her wrist.

  "What are you?" she whispered.

  "You may pray that you never find out." She stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. Cecily did not need further encouragement. She rushed past Athena and scurried into the hall, her dark hair falling loose about her shoulders.

  The front door slammed. Athena leaned against the door and felt her body's reaction to what she had done. Her legs no longer cramped and trembled, but they would not hold her up much longer. She was living on energy borrowed from the very wolf she had only begun to acknowledge.

  She knew she had to act before that energy gave out. There was no leisure to contemplate how dramatically she had changed, or how close she had come to real violence. No time for regrets or second thoughts. By the time the sun rose, she would be well on her way toward the mountains. And Morgan.

  Bracing herself against any surface within reach, she made her way out of the library, into the hall, and back to the sitting room. Brinkley came to her before she had the chance to call.

  "Miss Hockensmith has left us," she said, finding a seat on the nearest chair. "I don't believe she will be back. I would appreciate your help, if you still feel able to give it."

  "I do, Miss Munroe. And so do the others. Your maid is prepared to resign with the rest of us, if necessary."

  Athena closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair. "Thank you, but I think I am capable of doing this alone."

  "Shall I ask Romero to prepare a carriage. Miss Munroe?"

  Would Brinkley be so cooperative if he knew she intended to ride rather than take a carriage? "I will speak to him later. For the moment, I would like to go up to my room."

  Brinkley offered his assistance, and she permitted herself the luxury of riding up in the elevator rather than taking the stairs. Once in her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, well aware that her plans were pitifully tenuous.

  The boy's trousers and oversized flannel shirt were still in the chest where she had packed them away years ago. The trousers were too large, but with the help of a pair of her brother's suspenders they fit well enough. She had Brinkley retrieve her shearling jacket from the storage closet and asked Monsieur Savard to pack a meal to carry with her on the road.

  At dawn she crept out of the house and to the stable without alerting Brinkley, dodged Romero, who had fallen asleep in the carriage house waiting for her, and selected the sturdiest riding horse. Her legs had received enough rest that they held her up with relatively little pain as she saddled and bridled her mount. After several tries, she made it into the saddle.

  It felt strange to hold the reins again, to feel the power of a horse at her command. Her legs were by no means back to normal, but they seemed more capable with every passing hour, and she had little fear that they would betray her when she needed them most.

  They, like the servants, like the circus folk, could be trusted. As she knew she could trust her own heart.

  Before sunrise she left the house and all her doubts behind. For the first time in her life, she wondered if she would ever return.

  I am coming, Morgan. You will not face my brother alone. And when we meet again, the whole truth will finally be spoken.

  Niall pushed his exhausted horse a few more paces and then reined it in, looking down on tree and meadow from the rocky escarpment that bordered the southern end of the park.

  The weather had been clear all during his journey into the mountains. Driven by rage and little else, he had made it halfway to the ranch before he realized that he and his mount needed a few hours of rest and sleep.

  Even so, it had taken him only a few hours longer than usual to cover the distance from Denver, and it was just midday. His anger had been muted by weariness, but the sight of the ranch sprawled out below, and the numerous figures scurrying among the buildings, rekindled his determination.

  Before the sun set, he'd have it out with Morgan Holt once and for all.

  He clucked to the horse and guided it down the steep pack trail into the valley, a much more difficult and direct route than the road through the pass. Oddly enough, it was not thoughts of Morgan that accompanied him. The face he saw in his mind's eye belonged to someone else entirely—mocking and impish and topped by a tangle of curling red hair.

  Caitlin. She was down there, as unsuspecting as the rest that he was on his way. What would she think if she knew he was coming? Would she mock him and spit in his eye the way she had done when she'd defended Morgan and
Athena? Or would she… might she possibly…

  His mouth curled in disgust. She had deceived him just as much as the others. She'd led him to think that she risked permanent crippling if she didn't have proper rest and quiet.

  The doctor said as much, he reminded himself. You had no reason not to believe him.

  Yet that same doctor had predicted that Athena would never walk again. So much for the opinions of doctors. Caitlin was strong enough to stand between him and something he wanted. His sister had turned from an obedient, well-bred, and quiet young lady to a willful, defiant hussy. It was no coincidence that she had become so only after close association with the circus.

  And with the former convict Morgan Holt.

  Niall gritted his teeth and felt the horse let out a great breath as it reached level ground. Little eddies of snow whirled about its hooves. No one else had come this way in some time… nothing human, at any rate. The air was brisk and cold, with a stillness that suggested bad weather to come.

  Sensing food and refuge very near, the horse picked up its pace and set off across the park at a trot. Niall didn't mind the jarring. Physical discomfort drove the image of Caitlin from his mind. A man couldn't think of a woman when his legs ached and his fingers were numb.

  Unless he began to picture a fire, a tumbler of whiskey, and a warm bed already occupied by a supple, naked, and very female body…

  The horse snorted as he jerked on the reins. Damn it. He'd see the witch soon enough, and the reality would abolish these ridiculous fancies. Lust for one such as Caitlin Hughes? It embarrassed him. Yet when he tried to imagine Cecily Hockensmith sharing his bed, he shuddered with something far worse than embarrassment.

  He kicked his horse into a brief but satisfying canter that carried him to the farthest outbuilding. Smoke rose in dark plumes from several chimneys, and he noted that there was considerably more activity among the circus people than he had seen before. People and animals moved to and fro. Wagons stood in the half shelter of buildings, and men were loading the vehicles in preparation for a journey.

  Niall could not mistake what he saw. The circus was getting ready to leave the ranch, livestock, tents, and all. Was Harry French mad, or simply an idiot?

  Or had he guessed that the troupers wouldn't be welcome at Long Park after the display in Athena's bedroom? In that, at least, he wasn't wrong. Niall had been too angry at Cecily's revelation to consider what he would tell French when he arrived. He might have decided to let the circus stay—except for Morgan Holt.

  But if they had already chosen to run, well…

  His horse attempted to head for the barn, and Niall pulled it about toward the main house. He dismounted at the steps to the wide, snow-blanketed veranda. A ranch hand conveniently appeared to take the animal to a stall, and Niall ran up the stairs and through the front door with hardly a pause to kick the snow from his boots.

  After the noise and bustle outside, the house was very quiet. Niall paused in the parlor to consider his course of action. Morgan might be here, or he might already be gone. Harry French wasn't likely to reveal the truth either way.

  Nor was Caitlin. Yet his feet inevitably carried him down the hall as if she had lifted her voice in a siren's call, summoning him to destruction.

  He opened the door to her room as silently as he could. She was there, in her bed. He had half expected to find her on her feet, no longer compelled to keep up the pretense of serious injury. But she was quite alone, plucking at the edge of her blanket with nimble, nervous fingers. Worried, he thought. Worried about my sister—and Holt.

  He slammed the door shut. Caitlin jerked and turned to stare at him, and he noticed for the thousandth time the way her freckles only added to her allure instead of decreasing it. The way her hair seemed to blaze in any kind of light, as if illuminated from within. The way her eyes…

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Where is Athena?"

  He laughed. It was no better a welcome than he had expected.

  "Athena is safely at home," he said, walking toward the bed. "Where she will remain. I am… grateful to see you looking so well, Miss Hughes."

  "You do not look well at all," she said, studying him with a frown. "You must have left Denver almost as soon as you got back. Did you ride all night?"

  Was that worry in her voice? "Aren't you interested in the reason I returned so quickly?"

  She settled back on her mounded pillows with a false air of nonchalance. "I do not even try to guess what may be passing through your mind, Niall Munroe."

  "And you are a liar." He found a chair and pulled it alongside the bed. "But I'll tell you anyway. Where is Morgan Holt?"

  She showed no surprise at his question, and he wondered how much she really knew. "I have no idea. We haven't seen him since you left. You should be glad that he's gone—" She narrowed her eyes. "Or aren't you?"

  "It depends upon whether or not I wish to see a killer run loose."

  That caught her attention. She straightened, holding his gaze with eyes as frank and fearless as a child's. But this was no child… far, far from it. "Are you calling Morgan a killer, even though he had the chance to hurt you and didn't?"

  "I'm calling him what he is," Niall snapped. "I'm surprised you are so sanguine about having such a creature in your midst, you and French… and yet you defended him. Encouraged him—"

  "Even though he is not quite human?" She smiled, and her eyes crinkled at the edges. "I sometimes think he is more human than anyone I know."

  "And how well do you know him, Caitlin? Did you know that he was in prison for years after murdering his own father?"

  "In prison?"

  She hadn't known. It was a small but important point in her favor. "I only just discovered it myself. But it explains a great deal about Holt and his behavior… his dishonorable treatment of my sister, and his propensity for violence. That is why I have returned, Caitlin—to make sure he can't harm anyone else."

  She considered his statement in silence. He sensed that his revelation hadn't been a complete shock to her, any more than Cecily's had been to him.

  "Well?" he demanded. "Do you still consider Holt your friend? Would you defend him now?"

  "Even if what you claim is true… and I'm not saying it is… what do you think you can do about it?"

  Niall had played out several scenarios in his mind during the ride from Denver, and every one of them had ended with Holt in a whimpering, bloody puddle at his feet. Beyond that…

  "Do you truly believe," Caitlin said, "that you can simply walk up to him and… what? Make him turn himself in to the authorities?"

  "I do not fear him."

  "Then you are a fool. A wise man would be afraid. But you have no right to do anything to him. He has not hurt anyone in all the time I've known him. You cannot ruin his life, and Athena's, simply because you hate what you cannot understand."

  "If I hated everything I did not understand," he said, "I would hate you."

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "You might as well hate me if you intend harm to my friends."

  He smiled bitterly. "I'm only interested in finding Morgan Holt. The rest of you… You are leaving, are you not?"

  "Within the hour. Harry decided that it would be the right thing to do. It was obvious that you would want us gone. You need not worry that we'll cause you any more trouble, Mr. Munroe."

  "It's too late to worry about that, Miss Hughes."

  "You have had your way. Isn't that enough?"

  He jumped to his feet. "No. It's far from enough." He crossed to the bed in two strides, gripped Caitlin's shoulders, and kissed her.

  She did not even bother to resist. The temporary stiffness came from shock, but an instant later she was pliable and willing in his arms. Her mouth opened to his with all the enthusiastic skill of an experienced whore.

  Oh, yes, she wanted him, just as he wanted her. No sentimentality or inconvenient expectations, not even the benefit of love or even real liking—simply
raw, unbridled lust. And Caitlin was not ashamed. No, not in the least.

  He ended the kiss and pushed her away. She leaned back, neither offended nor outraged by his liberties. Her freckles were very prominent.

  "What was that for?" she said, catching her breath.

  "You know." He turned his back on her so that he wouldn't see her lips and the frank desire in her eyes. "You've known since the day we met."

  "That you want me? That I want you?" She laughed softly. "What a relief it is to say it aloud and stop pretending. I was never very good at pretending."

  "No." He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the wall. "Ordinarily I am very good at it. One must be, in my type of work. But I seem to have lost my abilities where you are concerned."

  "And that troubles you?"

  "Why should it trouble me, that I am infatuated with a girl of no parentage, dubious morals, and interests that directly conflict with my own?"

  "And what sweet, loverlike words they are," Caitlin said as if to herself. "No woman could wish for a more devoted suitor."

  Niall turned on her. "How many have you had, Caitlin? Scores, I should think. Hundreds. Am I just another conquest, or am I a particular prize?"

  "What arrogance. You think the worst of me for having taken other lovers, but I'm sure you feel no qualms about the women you've had. Oh, no. All your remorse is for wanting me."

  He was torn between the desire to strike her and kiss her again until she was incapable of speech. "I allowed the circus to stay on the ranch for your sake, and yours alone. You've repaid me by taking Athena's part against her own brother, and against what is best for her. Holt is a convict, a murderer, and I will not allow him to remain where he has any chance of contacting my sister again."

  The change of subject steered the conversation back where he wanted it, but he could not concentrate. Caitlin's eyes continued to laugh at him, though he could have sworn he saw hurt under the humor. Could a woman like Caitlin be hurt, truly hurt, by a man?

  "I see," she said at last. "Well, I cannot help you. I do not know where Morgan is, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. I may want you, Niall Munroe, but not at any price."