TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  "Not even the price of wealth beyond your imagining?"

  "I will not betray my friends for money—"

  "I do not speak of betrayal." He took a step toward her and stopped, unable to think of what to do with his hands. "I speak of… you and me, Caitlin. Of what we might have together."

  "Can I believe what I just heard?" She closed her eyes. "Are you offering me—"

  "Everything." He perched on the edge of the chair, fighting the absurd urge to go down on his knees. "Security, fine clothing, carriages, jewelry, all the things you have never had. A real home to live in, Caitlin, not a tent. No need to endanger your life ever again."

  "You wish me to leave the circus? To abandon all my friends, the life I have always known, to become your…" Slowly her mouth relaxed, and she met his gaze. "To become your mistress. That is what you are offering, isn't it?"

  Heat rose in his face. Damn her, the woman could make him feel like a little boy who had just been caught with his fingers in the pie. How could he let her have such power over him?

  "Yes," he said coldly. "That is exactly what I am offering. But the mistress of Niall Munroe would lack nothing, I assure you." He looked toward the window, feeling a cold rush of air against his cheek even though the sash was closed. "I have never taken a mistress. I have never believed I wanted one, until now. I want you, Caitlin. I admit it. And I am willing to pay whatever you ask."

  The look on her face was so gentle that he could have wept. "There is only one problem, my friend. I'm used to freedom. I come and go and behave exactly as I wish, and no man tells me what I must or must not do. Your society would never allow that, not even in a great man's mistress. And I don't care to be owned. Not even by you."

  He stared at her blankly until he realized exactly what she had said.

  She'd turned him down. Turned him down, whom very few ever refused without profound regret. She, who had nothing, who lived from day to day with no guarantee of the next night's dinner, shunned by all decent folk, refused a life of ease and luxury. And him.

  "I have seldom in my life asked anything twice," he said. "I am accustomed to getting what I want. But I will offer once more. Come to Denver with me. Live in a fine house that you may call your own, where you may do whatever you please within its walls. I do not expect you to move in society or become like other women. I do not ask that you change yourself. I demand only that you and I enjoy each other as we wish, in all the freedom you desire."

  "But don't you see? I would change myself if I did what you ask. The woman you want now would cease to exist, and you would grow to despise what you admire in me. As I would grow to despise you." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Niall. There is only one reason that would compel me to accept, and that is if you give up this persecution of Morgan and Athena." She held out her hand. "Let them live their own lives, Niall, and I will share yours."

  He backed away from the bed, averting his eyes from her appeal. So she could be bought, after all… at a price he refused to pay.

  Damn her.

  "Very well," he said. "You have made your position clear. But understand me, Caitlin—my offer has no bearing on my intentions toward Morgan or my desire to protect my sister. I will do whatever is necessary, with or without your help." He bowed stiffly. "If you will forgive me, I have a murderer to find."

  Caitlin's hand hovered in midair, fingers curled in supplication, even as he shut the door on impossible dreams.

  Chapter 19

  "It is too risky. We ought to delay departure for at least another day," Ulysses said, studying the sky as if it were a dangerous and unpredictable beast.

  Which, Caitlin thought, was precisely the truth. And she would rather face that dangerous beast than spend a single night under the same roof as Niall Munroe.

  There was no sign of the noonday sun behind the flat gray canopy of clouds. She, Harry, and Ulysses stood near the bam, where the entire circus caravan was assembled and ready to make the journey east through the pass—a dozen wagons, fifty horses and ponies including Caitlin's, and the much-prized calliope. Niall, thank heaven, had not emerged from the house.

  Caitlin balanced her weight on a pair of makeshift crutches, aware of the stiffness in her leg but no longer in pain. If her injury couldn't stop her from leaving the place, no human being was going to do so. Not even a well-meaning friend.

  "You are as unlike your namesake as any man could be, Ulysses Wakefield," she chided. "Where is your sense of adventure? Your trouper's spirit? Or, for that matter, your pride?"

  "I have never been one for suicidal acts," Ulysses said. "Nor do I wish to see the troupe caught in a snowstorm. My desire to leave does not seem quite as urgent as yours, Firefly."

  Caitlin had told no one about Niall's offer. Despite Uly's misgivings, Harry was obviously as eager to leave as she was. It was difficult to say whether he worried more for her or Morgan—who was still in the vicinity, to judge by the wolf tracks that appeared every night near the house. He could not quite break his final ties to the troupe. Or to Athena, though he hadn't gone after her.

  How can men be such fools?

  "We are ready to go," Harry said, tugging his worn scarf more snugly about his neck. "Everything is in order, and I do not relish the prospect of remaining here with Munroe hovering over us like a starving buzzard."

  "I have spoken with many of the others, and they all agree," Caitlin added. "We will have to get through the pass while the weather is clear. If we don't do it now, we may not get another chance before winter's end." With an unreadable glance, at Caitlin, Harry hurried off to consult with the boss hostler. Horses stamped, dogs barked, and troupers waited impatiently for the order to move.

  The order came at last, and the caravan lurched into motion with much cracking of whips, groaning of harness, and hails passed down the line of wagons. Billows of vapor rose from the horses' mouths. The hazy light could not dim the bright colors of wagons and props, or the resplendent patchwork of apparel worn by the troupers. But there was no fanfare, and the circus folks were subdued as they trampled a path through the snow past the outbuildings and into the park. The ranch hands paused in their work to see them off, a few tipping their hats, and Mr. Durant came out onto the veranda, undoubtedly glad to see the last of his unwanted guests.

  Caitlin sat beside Harry in the office wagon, her injured leg propped out straight before her, and refused to look back. Niall had no reason to pursue them. He, like Durant, would be happy to see them gone. His only remaining interest in the troupers lay in what they knew of Morgan, and no one had answers that satisfied him.

  Inching along the half-covered dirt road all too slowly, the caravan passed through the gate that marked the boundary of the inner pastures. Before them stretched a blanket of white punctuated by the bare limbs of leafless shrubs, and the deeper green of fir and spruce. Ruts and furrows marked where ranch hands and their cattle had passed. Soon even those signs disappeared, replaced by the subtler tracks of fox, rabbit, and deer.

  When the last wagon had crossed the point halfway to the pass, a light snow began to fall. Caitlin sneezed and readjusted her blankets. A little snow couldn't hurt them, surely.

  But soon even she wasn't able to pretend that all was well. The drizzle of snowflakes transformed into dense clumps that settled on every surface not warm enough to melt it. Soon the snow fell so thickly that Caitlin could not see any farther back than the next two wagons in line, and the trees beside the meadow became unidentifiable shadows. The mountains had entirely vanished.

  "Oh, dear," Harry murmured, his gloved hands very tight on the ribbons. "This does not look good. Not good at all." He clucked to the horses, but they were already struggling to break a trail through the ever-deepening snow. Their ears lay flat against their heads in eloquent protest.

  Caitlin closed her eyes and whispered an almost-forgotten prayer. "Ulysses was right," she said. "We must go back."

  "I agree. The road has disappeared. I cannot see how to find the pass, even if we
could cross it. But there is a small difficulty. I am not sure how to get back to the ranch."

  "But surely we can retrace our steps—"

  "We can but try." Only his worried eyes were visible between hat and scarf as he turned the ponderous wagon about. The horses heaved and plunged sideways through the unbroken snow. The wagon's wheels caught on some buried obstruction, but with many pleas and promises, Harry got the horses to pull them free.

  Gradually the other wagons followed Harry's example, each driver taking his cue from the one ahead of him. Visibility had declined to the length of a single wagon. Harry drove back the way they had come, using the caravan itself as his guide. Disembodied voices cried out questions and instructions. Caitlin caught a glimpse of Ulysses, but he was soon lost in the blizzard.

  It seemed hours before Harry reached the end of the line of wagons. Then there was nothing ahead but a wall of white, blending earth and sky together in a featureless void. Even the tracks left by the caravan were rapidly filling, as if Nature resented the blemish the intruders had made on her chaste perfection.

  "I do not know where to go," Harry said, his voice sunk to a whisper. "Every direction looks the same."

  "The boss hostler has a compass," Caitlin said. "Go find him, Harry, and I'll wait here."

  He signed and passed the ribbons to her. With a grunt he eased himself down from the high, narrow driver's seat, landing awkwardly in the knee-deep snow. He trudged back toward the nearest wagon, no more than a smudge in the distance. His breath trailed skyward in steam-train puffs with every step.

  As long as he keeps close to the wagons, he can't lose his way, Caitlin reminded herself as the minutes passed. The wagon behind was invisible now, and no others had come nearer. It was difficult to believe anyone else existed in this bizarre world of nothingness. Even sound had become muffled, and she doubted that she could have heard a shout from a few feet away.

  After an hour, she began to be afraid. If Harry had gotten himself lost, she would have to find him. The crutches were useless in snow. Unhitching one of the horses and riding it bareback was hardly a better option. But if she did not try, some roving cowhand looking for stray cattle after the storm would find them frozen to death only a few miles from safety.

  Niall, she thought, grasping at the name as if it were a magical incantation. If you ever cared for me, even a little, come and find us. Help us.

  But it was not Niall who answered her silent call. At first she thought the dark shape emerging from the haze was Harry, safe and sound, and she laughed in relief. But the figure was too low to the ground to be human.

  Morgan. She sat up, ignoring the gale that tore at her clothing, and squinted against the snow. "Morgan!"

  He glided toward her like a dark angel borne on imperceptible wings, his coat repelling the snow as if it were the gentlest of spring showers. He stopped well distant from the nervous horses and made a low, questioning sound between a bark and a growl.

  "Thank God you're here," she shouted into the wind. "We're lost! Harry is back there somewhere, and I'm afraid—you must find him!"

  Morgan lowered his muzzle in a wolfish nod and turned gracefully on his hind legs, bounding off with ears pricked toward sounds only he could hear. Caitlin slumped on the seat and dared to breathe again. Strange how she had prayed for Niall when Morgan was by far the better choice to save them. Niall, after all, was only a man.

  Yet she continued to imagine, with absurd persistence, that Niall was even now on his way. When Harry and Morgan returned to the wagon, the old gentleman clutching Morgan's fur and stumbling along in the path he had made, she cursed herself for wishing Niall out in this nightmare.

  Perhaps Niall was lost as Harry had been. Perhaps he would die proving false all the terrible judgments she had made of him out of anger and hurt.

  At the end of his strength, Harry climbed onto the wagon's seat, and Caitlin covered him with her own blanket. He tried to speak, teeth chattering each time he opened his mouth. His ice-rimed moustache was stiff as a board.

  "Don't try to talk," she said. "Morgan?"

  The wolf appeared beside her, his immense paws resting on the side of the wagon. His slanted eyes met hers, and he Changed.

  As remarkable as it was to see a naked man standing thigh-deep in snow and unaffected by the cold, Caitlin was in no mood to marvel. "We have to get back to the ranch," she said. "Can you lead us?"

  "Yes." He glanced the way he and Harry had come. "I'll take word to the rest of the caravan and gather the wagons." He paused, frowning at Harry. "He will be all right, Firefly. Keep him warm. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  "Morgan… Did you… did you by any chance see Niall on your way to us?"

  His eyes were hard as topaz. "No. No one could follow you in this, even if he wished." He turned and leaped into the snow, moving twice as fast as any human. Caitlin inured herself to another wait, warming Harry with the heat of her body and their shared blankets.

  A horse's urgent whinny was the first indication that Morgan had succeeded in reaching the others. Soon another wagon pulled alongside Harry's, Ulysses at the reins. He nodded to her calmly, but his eyes told a different tale.

  "Is everyone all right?" Caitlin called.

  "Well enough. It is fortunate that Morgan arrived when he did." He gestured behind him, and Caitlin saw the shadows of other wagons drawing near. Morgan ran among them, human and then, in a heartbeat, wolf again.

  It was as a wolf that he took the lead and guided the troupers to shelter. The going was difficult, far more so than it had been in the other direction, but Morgan was endlessly patient and resourceful in keeping the caravan together, providing encouragement to the weary horses, and pulling wagons out of snowdrifts.

  Riders met them when they reached the outskirts of the ranch. Morgan scrambled into the back of the wagon while Caitlin pulled up at the ranch hand's signal.

  "Miss Hughes?" the leader said, his face obscured under layers of scarfs and bandannas. "We thought you wouldn't make it back. We were just headed out to look for you."

  "We are all right," she said, glancing at Harry. "Please tell… tell everyone that we're safe."

  The rider shook his head. "Mr. Munroe set out after you when the storm began. Some of the men went with him, but they got separated. They came back, but he hasn't. Did you see him, miss?"

  Her heart plummeted to the heels of her boots. "He… Mr. Munroe went looking for us?"

  "Yes, miss. As soon as the snow lets up, we'll be going ourselves. Mr. Munroe ain't used to this kind of weather."

  The men saluted and rode off. Morgan jumped down from the rear of the wagon and ran alongside, keeping the vehicle between himself and the riders.

  Sick to her stomach, Caitlin guided the wagon toward the barn, only half-aware of the other wagons rolling up behind. Several hands were there to help her and Harry to the bunkhouse. Shivering, miserable teamsters unharnessed the horses and secured them in the barn.

  Caitlin did not see Morgan again. She sat on the edge of a cot, rocking back and forth while constant noise and movement swirled around her. Someone threw another blanket over her shoulders, and Harry came by, much improved, to ask her a question she didn't quite hear.

  She looked up. Harry and Ulysses stood side by side, stout old man and handsome dwarf, gazing at her as if they had grim news to impart. Caitlin prepared herself for pain.

  "You're worried about Munroe, aren't you?" Harry asked softly. "You needn't worry any longer."

  Hope seeped into the shriveled husk of her heart. "Is he here?"

  "He is still missing," Ulysses said. "But we came to tell you that Morgan has volunteered to search for him. If any man—any creature upon this earth—has the skill to locate him, it is he."

  "Morgan… volunteered?" Morgan, who hated Niall and was hated in return? Why should he wish to save his enemy from almost certain death?

  Because, like it or not, he had an unbreakable tie to Niall Munroe. Caitlin didn't imagine that Mor
gan did it for her sake. Niall was Athena's sister, and she knew that Morgan would risk anything to spare her the sorrow of losing the last member of her family.

  So much for indifference. So much for freedom and breaking all bonds of love or friendship.

  Now all she had to do was pray—pray, not only that Morgan found Niall, but that they didn't kill each other when he did.

  "You'd be crazy to go on in this storm, miss," the innkeeper said, shaking his finger at Athena. "They say it'll be the worst of the season. Can't figure how you made it this far."

  Athena stood in the doorway of the livery stable and gazed out at the blowing snow. Even after a long stop in Golden, it did indeed seem something of a miracle that she'd come all the way from Denver in increasingly bad weather. Though she scarcely felt the cold, the journey had been far from pleasant. Her legs had gone well past the point of pain, numb appendages useful only for gripping the belly of her horse.

  The gelding had shown great spirit in carrying her so far into the mountains, to this small mining town with its narrow street of saloons, shops, and the single hotel and stable. Dandy certainly deserved a warm stall, an ample portion of oats, and a good night's sleep.

  But Yankee Gulch was still miles away from where she wanted to go. Where she must go.

  "I can't let you take one of my horses out tonight," the innkeeper said fretfully. "There's only another hour of daylight. It'd be the same as murder—you and the horse, both."

  He was right about the horse, and hers certainly could not go any farther. She faced the unpalatable choice of staying the night, knowing that Niall must already be at Long Park, or risking the life of some innocent beast.

  That she could not do. But the third alternative filled her with such terror that she felt a coldness far more savage than anything nature could provide.

  She sighed and turned to the innkeeper. "You said that you have a room," she said. "I will take it for the night, and leave in the morning."