White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  When the last notes died away, she began to play a soft, sad solo. Sadie crawled over and nudged her, then lay down with a low whine. Halfway through the tune, she stopped, unable to finish. She brought her thighs up to her chest and propped her arms across her knees. Chin resting on her fist, she stared into the gray-black of the night.

  Wolf stood in the shadows, riveted to the spot. He’d come to check on Jessie Jones but had stopped when he heard the mournful notes. The sound made him feel like a low-down snake for assigning the boy guard duty when he’d been looking forward to having some fun with the others. His actions left him feeling small and petty—even though Jessie deserved it after that last prank. In fact, to his disgust, some part of him admired the boy’s spirit. There weren’t very many men alive brave enough to put thorns in his bedroll or peppers in his food.

  When the softly played tune ended, guilt mingling with anger made his voice harsher than he’d intended as he jerked his thumb toward the river. “Go on, get outta here. You’re relieved.”

  Startled, Jessie jumped up with a cry of surprise. A shaft of moonlight filtered down past the haze of smoke. Wolf found himself staring into eyes filled with wary disbelief.

  Jessie’s jaw shot forward. “You’re relieving me of guard duty?”

  Wolf folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the boy. When he noticed the trail of dried tears on each side of his face, he felt another twinge of guilt for being so hard on him. He resolved to go easier on the kid. “Look, do you want to join your brothers for a while or not?” he said with a growl.

  The transformation was immediate and startling. The boy’s eyes sparkled like glittering jewels, and his lips curved into a wide grin. “Oh, yes, thank you, Wolf,” Jessie cried out joyously.

  Wolf froze, all his senses alert and screaming. The blood roared in his ears, muting the drifting sounds of music, laughter and the barking of a dog. The youngest Jones boy had looked almost beautiful with the soft glow of moonlight illuminating his wide green eyes, and his wide grin gave his lips a lush fullness in a face that seemed far too delicate for a boy.

  A startling thought flashed through his mind. Jessie Jones would have made one hell of a beautiful woman. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His gaze tracked Jessie running across the grass with Sadie. Jessie Jones? The truth hit him like a thunderbolt. Jessie Jones wasn’t an adolescent boy. Jessica Jones was a girl on the brink of womanhood. He laughed, the sound more of a bark. “You’re crazy!” But in his gut, he knew he wasn’t.

  Suddenly all the little things that had nagged at him made sense: Rook’s protective attitude toward Jessie, the graceful way she moved, her ease with cooking, but most of all, it explained why James hadn’t told him he’d had another brother. He didn’t. He had a younger sister. Thinking back to that night in the barn, Wolf cursed when he recalled how James had tried to tell him that he’d made other arrangements for Jessie to come out to Oregon.

  Wolf’s gut tightened painfully as anger overwhelmed him. The truth had been there all along, staring him in the face, but he’d been blind to it.

  After the evening festivities broke up, Jeremy and James insisted on walking Jessie back to her wagon. She didn’t mind. It gave them more time together. They wound their way around wagons and canvas tents in companionable silence. After an evening of visiting and listening to conversation about what to expect during the upcoming days and months along the trail, Jessie felt pleasantly relaxed.

  Nearing the Macauley tent, she yawned, more than ready to crawl into her bedroll and sleep. “What time do you go on duty, James?”

  “We’re both on as soon as we get back. Wanted to make sure you made it back without getting into mischief. Now, be good, brat.” James fixed her with his big-brother stare. “And no more of those pepper pranks.”

  Jessie stopped. “Me?” She couldn’t keep the glee from her voice, and James nailed her with his no-nonsense glare.

  “I’m warning you, Jess. No more. It’s a wonder Wolf didn’t beat you.”

  She giggled. “That’s ’cause he can’t prove I had anything to do with it. After all. Rook served him, not me.”

  “Yeah, you were lucky this time. Now—”

  An angry shout followed by the reverberating sound of a sharp slap interrupted his lecture.

  Jessie stopped in her tracks and stared at the Macauley tent. Her eyes narrowed and she clenched her fists at her sides. Drunk, Birk was mean as a torn turkey, and she knew he’d spent most of his evening drinking with a bunch of rough-looking men heading for California.

  James reached out and grabbed hold of her upper arm. “Come on, Jess.”

  But when the angry shouting continued, followed by another slap and the whimper of a scared child, Jessie glared at her brother and tried to break free. “Let go,” she said.

  James tightened his grip. “Stay out of it, Jess.” Jeremy moved closer on her other side, and the two men hustled her away.

  When James released her beside her wagon, she rounded on him. “James—”

  “No!” His voice was a harsh whisper. “It’s not any of our concern.”

  Jessie’s jaw fell open in disbelief. “He’s drunk, James. He’ll hurt her or the children.” She stared at her brothers, bewildered by their lack of compassion. “You’ve taught me to stand up for what’s right. What he’s doing is wrong. Eirica needs our help,” she pleaded, glancing from James to Jeremy when it was apparent she’d get no help from her oldest brother. Jeremy stared at his feet.

  From the first night on the trail when she’d heard Birk’s loud rutting, Eirica’s plight had haunted Jessie. Hearing a private act hadn’t bothered her—living in such close quarters on the trail, it was inevitable. No, what upset her was the soft weeping that had followed.

  Since that night, she’d lain awake, sometimes for hours, attempting to blot out the sounds of Birk’s harsh anger, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, a crying child, and finally Eirica’s humiliation. She’d tried taking her bedroll as far from the Macauley tent as possible, but no matter how far she went, she knew he was terrorizing his wife and children. She glared toward the Macauley tent. How she hated the abuse and longed to do something to stop it.

  James dug his fingers into her shoulders and shook her to get her attention. “I know that look, Jess. Forget it. I forbid it! We are staying out of it—all of us, and that includes you. Leave it alone, hear me?”

  Jessie stared at him in surprise. James was furious, his features cold and forbidding. Gone was her normally easygoing brother.

  “Do you hear me, Jess?” James shook her again.

  She nodded. “I hear you,” she whispered.

  James released her arm and stalked off without another word.

  Jessie rubbed her arms as she watched him go, confused by his strange behavior. She glanced at Jeremy, but he stuck his hands deep into his pockets and refused to meet her gaze.

  “What’s going on with him, Jeremy?” she whispered.

  Releasing his breath, he glanced down at her, his green eyes shadowed with worry. “You know he don’t like seeing women being beat up on.”

  “Then why won’t he do something? Why won’t he let me help Eirica?”

  Jeremy put his arm around her shoulders. Brother and sister stared off into the dark. “I don’t know, Jessie, but he’s right about one thing. You keep away from Birk Macauley. He’s a mean bastard who won’t tolerate interference from anyone. I don’t want you getting hurt. Remember that.” With another quick hug, he left.

  Jessie stood alone, tired and utterly drained. Voices from the Svenssons’ tent drifted by as the older boys returned to camp. Then silence fell. Shivering in the growing coolness, she finally grabbed her bedroll and unrolled it beneath her wagon. Leaving her boots on, she crawled on top of her blankets and watched the Macauley tent with her chin propped on her fists. Her work this night was not yet done. After what she’d heard earlier, she knew Eirica would need her tonight.

  Jessie yawned again.
The soothing sounds of crickets and other nighttime insects lulled her. But she didn’t give in to the overwhelming desire to close her eyes for even a moment. Instead, she concentrated on the noises around her: the sounds of snoring, Sadie’s soft whimpers as she chased a rabbit in her sleep, the pop of burning embers and the occasional howl of a lone coyote calling his mate.

  To keep her mind active, she thought of her new friends. On their second night on the trail, both Eirica and Anne had joined her at the stream to wash dishes. Though she’d tried to remain aloof, Anne had leaned close to confess that they both knew her secret, and so did Rickard. He’d pestered her from day one to teach him how to use a whip. They all promised to keep her secret, but Jessie worried now that it would only be a matter of time—and not very much time at that—before Wolf discovered the truth. She grimaced, knowing that there was no way in a tight-knit group to keep up the pretense forever. She could only hope they made it a lot farther west before Wolf discovered it.

  She groaned at the thought. Anne and her family, along with Eirica, thought her ploy amusing, but Jessie knew Wolf would not find any humor in her deceit. Pushing the foreboding feeling away, Jessie continued to watch the Macauley tent. The minutes ticked by. The sliver of moon rose higher, and Jessie’s eyelids grew heavy. Just when she feared she’d fall asleep, Eirica, a waiflike shadow in the silvery moonlit night, left her tent.

  Jessie’s eyes snapped open and she crawled out from the wagon, staying low, blending in with the deep shadows of the trees and brush as she followed Eirica along the fog-shrouded banks of the river. In return for Eirica’s silence and friendship, Jessie had vowed to look out for the other woman. Eirica needed a friend.

  She’d discovered Eirica’s nighttime wanderings by accident two nights ago when she’d been awakened by the sound of someone moving past her wagon. Peeking out from under her warm cocoon of quilts, she’d been surprised to see Eirica heading toward the river. Silently, she’d followed to make sure the other woman was all right. Jessie knew she’d be forever haunted by the sight of Eirica bathing in the river, desperately scrubbing herself raw.

  Coming to a stop beneath the protective cover of the trees, Jessie watched Eirica walk down the sloping bank to dip a cloth into the water and press it to one side of her face. After repeating the action several times, she left the water’s edge and fell to her knees in the grass, her hands splayed protectively around her middle. The tears came, slowly, then flooding into deep, gut-wrenching sobs, empty-of-hope, full-of-despair sobs that tore deep into Jessie’s sensitive soul.

  Eirica’s unhappiness brought a lump to her throat. It was difficult to witness her misery in hidden silence. Every instinct urged her to go to Eirica, but she forced herself to remain a motionless shadow, allowing the other woman to keep her pride intact. She wished she could leave the woman to deal with her demons in private, but it wasn’t safe for a woman to wander alone at night. Until Eirica brought up her husband’s ill treatment, Jessie would remain a silent but watchful guardian.

  Tears stung her own eyes. She brushed them away, her fury against Birk growing. She pressed her lips together, and her hand gripped the rough bark of the tree. How she longed to give that bastard a taste of his own medicine. Eirica’s sobs continued much longer than normal. Jessie frowned. Tonight’s tears were different. They were the sound of a woman who’d lost all hope. Jessie shifted, feeling like an intruder. This was private, and she had no business witnessing such personal grief. Just as she turned away, a figure emerged from the shadows hugging the bank. Jessie straightened, alert and watchful, fearing that Birk had followed his wife.

  “Well, whadda we have here? Who letcha out here all alone, darlin’?” The tall, thin stranger moved with the speed of a rat, grabbing Eirica by the shoulders and hauling her up against him. His hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream. “My, you’s a looker,” he jeered, running his other hand down her front, “even if you has a bun warmin’ in the oven.”

  Erica struggled to free herself, but her futile attempts only made her captor laugh. Jessie narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips as her fingers released her coiled whip from her belt. She moved forward, the leather lash uncoiling, snaking through the grass behind her.

  Just after midnight, Bjorn Svensson relieved Wolf of guard duty. The last few hours had left Wolf tense and restless, filled with a cold anger that threatened to explode. He headed for the river. Not one to act hastily or rashly, he stripped off his clothing and lowered himself into the dark, swirling water. The cold rush slapped against him, calming his raging emotions. He’d had several hours to think, and while he didn’t believe he was wrong about Jessie, he hoped he was. Still, he had to be sure before he confronted him—her.

  Sinking down, he leaned back to float, seeking the peace nighttime offered. Staring up into the heavens, he was no longer White Wolf, the Indian boy who’d been sent away from his people, nor was he the half-breed who belonged to neither world. He was just Wolf, a man with a battered soul who walked his path alone.

  Trailing wisps of clouds floated across the crescent-shaped moon. Wolf turned and pitted his strength against that of the current until he felt himself tire. But even that exertion wasn’t enough to keep his smoldering anger at bay. When the cold became too much, he headed for the bank. Crouched, half in the water, half out, he sensed movement beyond the grass-lined bank. Silently, he crawled out of the water, grabbed his knife and parted the tall grass.

  Eirica walked by, unaware of him. Why was she so far from camp at this time of night? It wasn’t safe for her to be out alone. He grabbed his clothes, then froze when another figure approached in a low crouch, staying much closer to the tall grass and brushing along the riverbank. Eirica was being followed. Sinking back into the deep shadows and swirling water, he hid as the unknown stalker passed by. He peeked out again between the dense foliage, his frown deepening when he recognized the silent figure of Jessie Jones. He dressed, then followed, his moccasin-clad feet making no sound.

  When Jessie stopped behind a thick trunk, Wolf crouched in the grass several feet behind her. From his vantage point, he saw Eirica sitting on the ground, sobbing. His jaw tightened. He knew what went on between husband and wife. He’d seen Macauley backhand her more than once when she didn’t move fast enough to suit him, but there was nothing he could do. His gaze switched from the crying woman to the other figure hidden in the shadows. What was Jessie up to now?

  Suddenly Eirica cried out. He jerked his attention from Jessie to Eirica. His grip tightened on his knife when he saw a stranger holding Eirica against her will. He surged forward, a cry of rage building deep in his throat, but before the sound could escape, a loud pop sounded overhead. He threw himself to the ground.

  Glancing around the tree trunk, he looked for the source of the gunfire. His jaw dropped when he spotted the actual source of the popping noise, but before he could call out or even get to his feet, Jessie lifted her hand and sent the rawhide whip singing through the air again. It split the quiet with a sharp snap, followed by a cry of surprise from the drunken man.

  “Let her go,” Jessie ordered. The hand holding the whip lifted once again.

  Wolf moved to another tree, closer to the scene unfolding at the river’s edge. Eirica had fallen to the ground and was sobbing softly; the intruder stood in front of her, holding his shoulder where the whip had torn a path through the faded material of his shirt.

  “Who the hell are you?” The man peered at Jessie when she stepped out of the shadows. He laughed and spat on the ground. “Go ’way, boy,” he said with a sneer, “else I’ll have ta hurt ya. This don’t concern ya.”

  “Leave the woman alone,” Jessie repeated, drawing the whip back.

  The angry man snorted and reached for the knife stuck in the waistband of his soiled breeches. In a flash, Wolf had his knife ready to throw, but Jessie stepped between him and the drunk. Once again, the whip zinged through the air.

  Another roar of pain followed. This time the drunk man
dropped his knife and put his hand to the side of his face. When he pulled his fingers away, he wore a look of utter disbelief as he stared at the blood on his palm. A long gash split his cheek. Blood poured down his chin. His pain-glazed eyes never left Jessie as he backed off slowly.

  Jessie moved in front of Eirica. “Get your worthless hide out of here before I strip more flesh off your no-good bones.” Her voice shook, but she held the whip in front of her, making it clear that she wouldn’t hesitate to use it again.

  The man spat. “Ya ain’t heard the last of me, boy. We’ll meet again, and I’ll give you what-for,” he threatened, his voice filled with hatred.

  Wolf narrowed his gaze and watched the man stagger away, muttering vile threats. When he looked back at Eirica, Jessie was on the ground, holding her in her arms, rocking her, comforting her, smoothing the hair from her face. If he’d had any doubts about Jessie’s true sex, they were gone. What he witnessed could only be one woman comforting another.

  He backed away. It was obvious that Eirica knew what Jessie was, and it served to remind him that he’d been deceived. Fury engulfed him. His fist clenched into a tight ball, and he had an irresistible urge to strike out at something, anything. He turned, searching for a target. Then he remembered the drunken man’s threat to harm Jessie. He took off in that direction.

  When Wolf came upon the staggering drunk, he sneaked up from behind and whirled him around, grabbing him by the shirtfront. A beam of light from above fell across the surprised man’s face, revealing eyes wide with fear and illuminating the bleeding wound on his face. Wolf felt a measure of satisfaction. The scum would carry that scar for the rest of his life. To his surprise and resentment, he also felt a twinge of pride that Jessie had handled the situation with the same fearlessness either of his sisters would have shown.

  For long moments, Wolf stared at the man through slitted eyelids. He tightened his hold, his nostrils flaring at the stench of unwashed flesh. “I don’t take kindly to others messing with the women in my wagon train,” he said in a growl. “Nor do I like scum who threaten them.” In the dim light, Wolf looked every bit the fierce warrior. He ignored the no-good varmint’s pleas and excuses as he continued to level his glare of rage at the blubbering man. For good measure, he decided to make sure the bastard knew that Wolf protected those for whom he was responsible.