White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  With a lightning-quick movement, he slammed his fist into the other man’s nose with enough force to bloody his nose. Though he was tempted to do more, he leashed the savage fury that raged within him. “That’s for manhandling the woman,” he said, eyes gleaming with vengeance. Wolf reached down, picked up the cowering man once more and struck him again, this time in his soft, fleshy belly.

  When the man made no move to rise or flee, Wolf drew his own wicked-looking bowie knife and placed the sharp tip at the middle of the man’s chest. The drunken man broke out in a sweat and closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. “If I ever see you near any of my wagons or people again, I’ll cut more than your other cheek. Got it?”

  Eyes wide with fright, the man nodded. Wolf pulled his knife away and stalked off.

  Wolf’s fury lasted all night and into the next morning. He shouted out orders to roll out an hour earlier than normal. No one said a word, which made him feel even worse. It wasn’t their fault he was in a foul mood. As the wagons pulled away, he felt disgusted with himself for allowing anger to rule his actions.

  The discovery that the Jones brothers had a young sister gnawed at him like a bear at a sore paw. He couldn’t let it go. One part of him understood the close family bond that had been behind the deceit. He and his siblings were also close and would do anything for each other. But despite that understanding, he didn’t know if he could forget or forgive the Joneses for lying to him. Honesty and honor were traits he valued, and if a man had no honor, he wasn’t a man. Then there was the question of what he was going to do about it. He drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. He needed the Jones boys to drive the cattle, and had to admit they were hardworking and honest—except for passing off their sister as their brother. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Honest, hah!” he muttered.

  “What’s with ya, Wolf? You’s been techy as a teased snake all mornin’.”

  Wolf frowned at Rook. His wagon was first in line today and had already headed out.

  “Who’s in charge of your wagon?”

  “I put the lad in charge for a bit. Now, what’s with ya?”

  Wolf lifted his face into the wind, his hair flowing out behind him, his chin jutting out as he gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Lad? Don’t you mean lass?” He watched Rook remove his empty pipe. His expression never wavered.

  “You knew, old man. Dammit, you knew all along, didn’t you?” Wolf balled his hands into tightly clenched fists.

  Rook measured the extent of his anger and then nodded, fingering his bushy white beard. “Reckon I did.”

  Though he hadn’t expected his friend to deny it, the admission stung. Wolf smacked his right fist into his left palm and glared at his trusted friend. “Why?”

  Rook stared out into the clear, sparkling water of the river. “Guess I didn’t want to see her parted from her family.” His gaze grew watery. “Once I looked into those green eyes—”

  Wolf closed his eyes in defeat as his fury drained. He was probably the only man alive who knew what his friend had gone through after they’d returned to Rook’s cabin from a week in the mountains. There they’d found the dead bodies of Rook’s wife and young daughter. He couldn’t hate the man for his deceit. But that didn’t excuse what he’d done, what they’d all done. Wolf was furious with the lot of them. He whipped around, his eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “You had no right to interfere, old man.”

  Rook, far from being intimidated, lifted a brow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Seems if I remember rightly, ya assumed Jessie was a lad. As I recall, her brother tried ta tell ya, but ya kept cuttin’ him off, so full of righteous anger no one could get a word in edgewise. Seems ta me it’s yer own fault.”

  Wolf clenched his jaw, forced to admit Rook was right. Late into the night, he’d replayed that night and each passing day, seeing all the signs that he’d forced the situation. He shook his head. Even in his dreams, her elfin face haunted him: the generous smattering of freckles that trailed across her nose and cheekbones, those green eyes and that mischievous grin.

  No, in all fairness, it was his own fault—but he didn’t like feeling the fool. His stomach burned as if a hot rock had been dropped into it.

  “Ya know, Wolf, not all women are as shallow-minded and deceitful as that Martha gal.”

  Wolf glared at him. “Wrong, old man. She’s just as deceitful as Martha. All she cares about is getting to Oregon.” Jessie’s deceit reminded him of Martha. Each had lied to him so he would take her and her family to Oregon. Then had come the discovery that Martha was already engaged to a man waiting for her in Oregon. No, Jessie wasn’t any different.

  But while his mind searched for ways to redeem his shattered pride, his heart brought forth images of bright green eyes that mirrored her emotions: happiness and joy when she didn’t know he was watching her, resentment and anger in his presence, and now that he thought it over, could it be that he’d glimpsed admiration and desire in those bewitching eyes of hers as well?

  A thoughtful calm overcame him as he placed her true age at around sixteen or seventeen—which fit if Jeremy was nineteen. Seeing her silhouetted in the moonlight last night, he’d seen the curves that she somehow managed to hide during the day. And while she wasn’t well rounded, there’d been no mistaking the curve of her breasts.

  The corner of his lips tilted upward as the gem of an idea began to form and grow. He scratched the thick stubble lining his jaw thoughtfully, then lifted a brow and grinned—a wolfish grin. He knew her secret, but she didn’t know he knew. His grin widened. What if he turned her role as a boy against her, then built up her awareness of him as a man without letting on that he knew the truth? What a perfectly devious ploy, he thought, anticipating how she’d squirm when he changed his tactics and got close to her—very close.

  Then when she gave herself away, he’d let her and her brothers know what he thought of their lying ways. Taking a step closer to Rook, who was watching him closely with a worried expression, he jabbed a finger into the cook’s chest. “Not a word, old man. Not a word to anyone that I know.”

  “Now, Wolf. What are ye up to?” Rook demanded.

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Wolf said, striding away.

  Chapter Nine

  Jessie rode along the river with Lara cradled in front of her, aware that Wolf watched her as he rode up and down the line of wagons. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew she was responsible for the pepper in his stew, nor did she doubt he’d find a way to pay her back for it. But what puzzled her was his relieving her early from guard duty last night.

  She recalled the ribbing he’d received during supper because of the hot pepper. His very anger over her actions should have made him even more inclined to exclude her from the social gathering. Now she was left wondering what he was up to. That he felt guilty for the way he treated her was inconceivable. No, Wolf was up to something, and she’d do well to be on guard. Putting him from her mind, Jessie urged the horse into a canter and easily caught up with Rook.

  “Look at us, Rook.” Lara giggled, “Shilo goes ever so fast! How come your horse don’t go fast?”

  Rook wiggled his white brows, to the little girl’s delight. “’Cause we’s in no hurry, lassie.”

  Jessie sent the old man a mischievous grin. “Uh-huh, I could outwalk that old nag of yours, Rook.” Laughing at his indignant harrumph, she slowed her horse to the pace of Rook’s. Breathing deeply, she enjoyed this relaxation, for she knew once they stopped, she’d find no peace until she crawled into bed.

  Lara’s chatter claimed her attention for the next hour until the three-year-old fell asleep. She and Rook exchanged amused glances. Jessie stared down at the golden-red head resting against her breast. How she enjoyed the innocence of children and envied the girl’s ability to greet each and every day with an eagerness to learn and to experience life to its fullest. So she spent as much time as she could during the day with Eirica’s two girls, teaching them about the sights along th
e trail, even instructing them in their letters.

  But when she held their little brother, Ian, the desire for her own babe took hold. This longing to cuddle her own child to her breast surprised her. She’d never given much thought to having babies, but now she had visions of little boys with golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

  Suddenly a loud wail pierced the lazy afternoon’s quiet. Twisting around, grateful for any distraction from the impossible dreams that had taken hold, Jessie spotted Coralie lying facedown on the matted grass. She clucked her tongue. “Now what’s her problem?”

  Coralie struggled to her feet, a picture of weariness and defeat as she shoved her tangled blond hair from her face and attempted to brush the caked mud from her dress. Jessie eyed the ragged and torn hem of her dress and shook her head. “Why doesn’t she wear the boots and dresses Jordan packed for her?”

  “Pride,” Rook answered, his voice rough with compassion. Suddenly he squinted at her, his sharp blue gaze drilling into hers. Then he shifted his gaze back to Coralie and jerked his head, sending Jessie a silent command. He lifted his hands toward Lara.

  Jessie tightened her hold on the sleeping child. “Not a chance, Rook. I’m not helping her, not after the way she’s treated me. Nope, not me. You go help her.” She dared him to insist.

  But the old cook lowered his arms without a word. He didn’t need to. He just kept those penetrating blue eyes trained on her until guilt crept in. She scowled at him. Rook constantly amazed her: crusty and gruff on the outside, but inside lay a tender, caring soul. She gestured toward Coralie. “Look, she isn’t going to want my help. Besides, it’s her own fault for being so darn stubborn.”

  “Ah, lassie. I’m disappointed, I am. I thought ya had a kinder heart than that. That I sure did.” He exhaled loudly, his eyes full of reproach.

  His disappointment in her hurt. Jessie glared at Coralie, waiting for her to get to her feet. But instead, the girl put her hands to her face and cried. The sight of Coralie at her wits’ end stirred something deep inside her. She knew only too well the bitter taste of defeat. She’d felt that same way after finding out her brothers had planned to leave her behind. She had been full of despair, had lost all hope.

  “Go to her, lassie. Ferget yer pride,” Rook urged, his voice gruff but gentle.

  Jessie frowned. “Oh, blast,” she swore, handing Lara over. She supposed it was long past time to put the past behind them.

  She rode back to her sister-in-law and stopped. Coralie glanced up, her tear-filled eyes laced with suspicion. They stared at one another. Jessie noted the dark streaks and smudges across her cheeks, the girl’s sunburned skin, missing bonnet and windblown hair. Just two weeks ago, Jessie would have found great pleasure in witnessing the queen of snobbery’s fall from her pristine pedestal, but now she realized Rook was right. Coralie had pride, although it looked to have taken a severe beating. Sighing, she held her hand out.

  Coralie bit her lower lip. “You want a ride or not?” Jessie felt awkward and didn’t like the feeling one bit. As far as she could recall, this was the first time in their association that she’d offered to help. She grinned. For real, this time.

  Coralie shoved her matted hair out of her eyes. “I’m not falling for one of your tricks, Jessica Jones. If I try to take your hand, you’ll just ride off and laugh at me or you’ll let go and watch me fall like you did that time I fell into that pile of cow manure.” Coralie’s lips trembled.

  Jessie closed her eyes, saddened. There was a time when she’d have done just that. Her arm fell back to her side. She was tempted just to ride off, but, glancing down, she saw that exhaustion had overcome Coralie. Jessie frowned and tried once more.

  “I’m sorry, Coralie. This isn’t a trick. I really want to help.” Her voice roughened. “Now, come on. I’m calling a truce—at least until we arrive in Oregon.” When Coralie still sat there, Jessie made the first move. She dismounted and took Coralie’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She then removed a knife from the leather sheath hanging from the belt around her waist.

  “What are you doing?” Coralie squeaked when Jessie grabbed a handful of her skirt.

  “Stand still, Coralie. I’m just going to make a couple of slits so you can ride astride. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t ride sidesaddle.”

  “But you’ll ruin my dress,” she wailed. “This is my last one.” Tears flowed down Coralie’s cheeks, leaving muddy trails in their wake.

  Jessie gave her sister-in-law a hard stare. “Look, Cora,” she ordered, deliberately using the nickname Coralie hated, “quit acting so damn snooty. In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t town life. Look around you. Do you see anyone wearing their Sunday best?

  “Jordan provided you with brand-new dresses, made from the best he could afford. Don’t you dare put them down. Anyone would be proud to wear those pretty prints, me included. Now make your choice: ride with me or walk.”

  Silence fell between them, broken only by Coralie’s sniffs as she bent her head to her skirts and wiped her face. Then her head came up, her arms folded across her chest, her blue eyes bright with tears. She pressed her lips together. “Don’t call me Cora,” she finally said, her voice petulant once again.

  Jessie hid a smile at the familiar tone and slid her knife through the material. After making two slits, she stood and remounted. “Put your foot on mine, grab my hand and I’ll help you up.” When Coralie glanced around for her other shoe, Jessie sighed. “Forget the shoe; it’s ruined. Now, come on. We’re falling behind.”

  Coralie took her hand and Jessie pulled her up behind her, then spurred Shilo forward. Coralie gave a cry of surprise and wrapped her hands around Jessie’s waist, terrified. Jessie slowed Shilo out of consideration to her onetime nemesis.

  “Dang city folk,” she muttered then winced when Coralie pinched her side and made a snide comment about country girls.

  Jessie coughed to hide her laughter, and by the time they caught up with the others, some of the resentment and animosity that had built over many years and many pranks melted away. Neither spoke, each recognizing that their truce was as fragile as a newborn babe and needed careful nurturing if it were to be forged into something deeper and permanent. It wasn’t long before Jessie felt Coralie’s head fall against her shoulder, and the grip around her waist loosened. She reached down and grasped her sister-in-law’s arms, holding her so she wouldn’t fall off the horse as she slept.

  Jordan rode away from the herd of cattle, accompanied by loud whistles and hoots of merriment from his brothers and the other hired hands. He ran his hand over his jaw and knew that come tomorrow he’d be at their mercy once again. He laughed. Right now, he didn’t care. Wolf had given him the rest of the day off. At long last, he was going to take his wife away and begin his marriage properly.

  His mouth broke into a silly grin full of anticipation as he envisioned taking Coralie to a secluded spot along the tree-lined banks of the Kansas River, which they had followed since leaving Westport. He glanced across it. Tomorrow they would tackle swimming the cattle across, but tonight he wouldn’t worry over anything but pleasing his wife.

  Tonight it was just them, and the thought of being entirely alone with Coralie for the first time since their marriage sent his blood pumping with the eagerness of a randy pup. Some of his excitement dimmed as he thought of her reaction to his plan. He slowed his horse. Would she go with him and become his wife in every sense of the word? A small frown flickered across his features. He was the head of his household, Coralie his wife, his woman; she would go with him.

  A groan rose from deep within him. How he wanted her, needed to be her man, her husband—the one who would stand beside her as they began their life together in a new land and the one she’d turn to in times of need. He straightened in his saddle, squaring his shoulders in determination. A silly, love-besotted grin erased the grimness etched around his lips as he recalled the few kisses they’d shared before the wedding. True, they’d been quick, tame li
ttle kisses, but he knew she’d enjoyed them.

  With a kick, he sent his horse galloping toward the line of white-topped wagons. He’d just have to win her trust and show her she had nothing to fear. When he drew abreast of his brother-in-law, he slowed. Elliot glanced up from his place beside the oxen and greeted him, but Jordan was more interested in fetching his wife. He peered into the back of the wagon, but she wasn’t there. “Elliot, where’s Coralie?” A thread of panic crept into his voice. If anything had happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

  Elliot grinned and pointed. “Relax, Jordan. She’s fine. Look.”

  Jordan glanced in the direction Elliot indicated. At first he saw only Mrs. Svensson and Mrs. Macauley along with their children. A few feet from them, Rosalyn and Hugh rode, part of the wagon train, yet separate. Then he saw Jessie on horseback, his wife slumped behind her. “Is she all right? She isn’t hurt, is she?” he asked, fearing the worst.

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Jordan’s brows shot up in surprise. “Sleeping!” he parroted in disbelief. “Can’t be. Our sisters on one horse without killing one another? I must be dreaming! Are you sure Jess didn’t knock her senseless?”

  Elliot laughed softly. “I’m sure. I’ve been watching them for the last hour.”

  The two men exchanged looks of confusion. “Hey, don’t ask me to explain it. I gave up trying to understand the workings of the female mind long ago,” Elliot offered with a shrug, swatting the oxen to keep them moving.

  “Well, I don’t care how or why. I just hope the two of them have finally put an end to their feuding ways!” Jordan dismounted and hopped into the back of the wagon. He gathered a change of clothes for himself and Coralie, rolled them up into a small bundle, then tied them behind the saddle to his bedroll.