Bride of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  When he turned twelve, he’d realized that he was different from the Mortons in ways even he hadn’t guessed. He’d thought a lot of times about running away, finding someone else like him, but he didn’t leave the farm until Pa Morton saw him Change and tried to kill him.

  It hadn’t gone Morton’s way, that fight, even though Ma had turned against him, too, screaming about monsters and freaks. Heath healed his own wounds with a single Change. At fourteen he was on his own. Being a wolf meant he could survive, even when he didn’t have money to buy food and clothes and shelter. But he couldn’t always stay a wolf in a human world.

  So he’d learned to steal. Little things, at first, things no one would miss. He was faster and stronger than regular folk. He could smell twice as good, and hear the same way. By the time he began his search for his own kin, he had a pair of good mounts, several changes of clothes and enough money in his pocket to let him keep looking.

  It had taken him four years to learn his real name and track down others like himself. Only, they didn’t want him. He was half human, and the Reniers didn’t tolerate ’breeds or loups-garous who lay with humans. His ma had sent him far from her home and given him to the Mortons, people who wouldn’t ask any questions about where he’d come from. She’d thrown away her own child to stay in good with the ones who despised what she’d done and the child she’d borne.

  The Reniers had kept Heath out of their territory. He hadn’t been able to see his real ma, tell her just what he thought of her. But he’d known his real name. And he’d used it when he turned back to his thieving ways.

  Heath stretched his muscles and raced low to the ground, laying his ears flat against his head. Neither humans nor loups-garous wanted him, so he’d tried not to want them. But he could never figure out if he was more wolf or more human. He kept on looking for people he could trust. Men who would stand by him against the law, even if they found out what he was. Women who could prove that not all their sex were like Ma Morton and the loup-garou female who’d tossed him aside.

  Every one of them had betrayed him.

  A flash of white bounced out of Heath’s path. He could have taken the cottontail with a single snap of his jaws. He let it go and ran to the southern border of Dog Creek, then kept on going toward the Rio Grande, over the harsh and waterless desert no man claimed.

  This was where Jed had found him with a couple of beeves he’d rustled from Dog Creek. Jed hadn’t tried to shoot him the way any other man would have. He’d noticed Heath’s skill with the animals and offered him a job. It had been stupid of the old man, dangerously reckless, but Heath had decided then and there to change his life. Someone trusted him for no reason, and he was going to pay him back in kind.

  Because of Jed, he’d given up his outlaw ways. He’d taken up honest work, proven himself, been raised to foreman. He’d recognized Sean for a sneaking, greedy liar and warned Jed against him. He’d trusted Jed more than he’d let himself trust anyone in years.

  But he’d never let Jed know what he was. Until he’d made one terrible mistake.

  The earth was so hard that Heath’s paws began to scrape raw even as his claws tore furrows in the iron ground. He opened his mouth to suck in air, tongue lolling, eyes narrowed to slits. If Sean had been around just then, he wouldn’t have been as lucky as he’d been that morning.

  False dawn was breaking when Heath headed home. He hadn’t outrun his crazy thoughts or the feelings he didn’t want. Lust and hunger still rode his tail like a tick that wouldn’t let go.

  When he was back to the place where he’d hidden his clothes, he Changed again. There was no trace of the wound on his shoulder. He would have to hide it for a while so no one would question how it could be gone so fast. He got dressed, pulling on britches and boots, shirt and vest.

  The neckerchief always came last. Rachel was right; it needed washing. But he wouldn’t give it up. He’d worn it since the last time he’d been betrayed by a “friend,” his throat slit wide open nearly all the way to the bone. He’d been left for dead, his life’s blood leaking out of his body.

  Heath didn’t believe in miracles or divine providence, but he’d managed to Change. When he’d Changed back, the scar was there, healed over, ugly as sin.

  He touched the scar, feeling the hard ridge of puckered skin. It was the one and only wound the Change hadn’t undone. He’d stop trying to figure out why. It could identify him, no matter what else he might do to make himself look different, so he’d tied the bandanna around his neck and never took it off except when he was completely alone.

  Pushing his hat onto his head, Heath went to the house. Joey was lying on his belly, sleeping, and Rachel was slumped against the bed, her head pillowed on her arms. Heath wanted to go into the room, kneel beside her and stroke her dark hair.

  Turning quickly, he went back outside, saddled Bess and headed for Javelina, arriving by early afternoon. A woman was looking at bolts of cloth when he entered the store. She left quickly.

  Sonntag frowned. “Sometimes you are not so good for business, Herr Renshaw,” he said.

  Briefly Heath wondered if word had gotten out about the fight with Sean, but he figured Sean would make sure it didn’t. “I won’t be here long,” he said. “You still got that cradle?”

  The storekeeper’s expression brightened. “Do you wish to see it again?”

  “I want to buy it.”

  With a smile of satisfaction, Sonntag fetched it and set it on the counter. “It is direct from Germany,” he said. “The finest workmanship, the best—”

  “Yeah.” Heath slapped down the bills. “Wrap it up for me.”

  “Sehr gut.” As the shopkeeper went to work, he began to chatter. “Have you heard, Herr Renshaw? We have had an unusual visitor in Javelina.”

  Heath glanced at the wall where he’d seen the wanted poster. It was still there. “What kind of visitor?” he asked.

  “A bounty hunter. He came to inquire if anyone had seen the man on the poster.”

  Long practice kept Heath from showing any reaction. “Did he have any luck?”

  “Nein.” Sonntag finished with the package and tied it up with a piece of string. “He left after only a day, but he said he would be back.”

  Heath nodded shortly, grabbed the cradle and left the store. When he’d first seen the poster, he’d known he would have to keep his guard up and his eyes open, and that hadn’t changed.

  Maybe no one had recognized him, but a bounty hunter meant someone figured he was in the area. He needed to finish what he had to do fast.

  Or he could leave Sean alone, give Rachel the money, get the baby and leave today.

  He stopped in the middle of the street, forcing a mounted cowboy to swerve around him with a muttered curse. He couldn’t do it. He’d seen something in Sean yesterday that he hadn’t expected. Sean hadn’t just made threats this time. He’d attacked Joey, knowing the likely consequences, and tried to bait Heath. He’d gone plumb crazy.

  Even if Heath gave up on the revenge he’d planned for Joey’s sake, if he got Joey to take the money and leave as soon as he was fit so Sean could never hurt him again, Heath knew by now that he couldn’t convince Rachel to pack up and leave, at least not before he left. Not when he’d tried so hard to make her stay. She thought she was keeping the baby and Jed was coming back.

  You could tell her you know her secret. But even that might not be enough. And Heath’s gut was telling him that Sean wouldn’t stop at trying to intimidate her so she would leave. He wouldn’t dare hurt her the way he’d hurt Joey, but he could make her life hell before she gave up pretending and realized she didn’t belong in the Pecos.

  Heath’s growl was so loud that the cowboy twisted around in the saddle to stare at him. It wasn’t any good. He would have to do more than just give Sean a good thrashing. And no one, including Rachel, could ever know he’d done it.

  “Herr Renshaw!”

  Sonntag’s voice brought Heath out of his dark thoughts. The shopkee
per ran up to him, waving an envelope. “I almost forgot.” he said. “There is a letter for Mrs. McCarrick.”

  Feeling an unease he couldn’t explain, he took the envelope from Sonntag’s hand.

  It was from Ohio. He didn’t know the name on the back of the envelope. Kinfolk? Rachel had never mentioned having family, or any friends she’d left behind. Who was writing to her from Ohio?

  Hell. If she did have connections back East, at least she would have somewhere to go. Why didn’t that make him feel any better?

  “Thanks,” he told Sonntag, who was hovering curiously. He mounted and rode out before the shopkeeper could ask any questions. His fingers itched to open the envelope, but he left it alone and clucked to Bess, who swiveled her ears and broke into an easy canter. When he got back to Dog Creek around sunset, Maurice came to meet him, puffing and dripping sweat.

  Immediately Heath thought of Joey. He dismounted and grabbed the Frenchman by the shoulders.

  “What’s wrong, Maurice?”

  “The mare, she is foaling.”

  Heath let out his breath. “She’s all right?” he asked.

  “Non. The baby is not coming out right, n’est-ce pas?”

  Heath swore. The mare was Jed’s best, a half Thoroughbred he’d bought in Dallas. Jed had bounced around like a colt himself when he’d found out the mare was in foal.

  “Where’s Charlie?” Heath asked, heading for the stable.

  “I have not seen him since I spoke to him yesterday.”

  Having Charlie was better than having no hands at all, but not by much. “Ask Mrs. McCarrick to heat up some water,” Heath said. “You’ll have to see to Bess.”

  “Madame McCarrick is with the mare. She was so good with the boy, I thought she might help the mare, as well.”

  Alarm brought Heath to a halt. What in hell had Maurice been thinking? A troubled foaling was no place for a woman. No place for Rachel.

  Heath strode into the stable. Lanterns had been lit and hung on hooks on the walls, though Heath didn’t need their light. He could smell the mare’s distress.

  Rachel was standing at the wall of the loose box where the mare had been quartered, her hands clasped behind her back. It was clear that she hadn’t been dressed to leave the house; her skirts fell close to her legs, as if she wasn’t wearing petticoats, and Heath could see that she’d left off the corset females used to shape their figures. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a fall of night that didn’t look anything like the severe style she usually wore. She was concentrating so hard on the mare that she didn’t see Heath until he was at her side.

  “How’s Joey?” Heath asked.

  She jumped a little, her eyes wide and dark in the lamplight. “He is still resting. The baby is with Lucia. She’s staying in my room with me while Joey recovers.”

  Rachel looked like she wanted to ask him where he’d been, but she closed her mouth instead and looked back at the mare. Lily was lying on her side, grunting and straining to push out the foal that wanted to be born.

  “She seems to be in pain,” Rachel said. “I didn’t know what to do for her.”

  Heath shut out Rachel’s smell, and tried to ignore her tumbled curls and the unbound curve of her breasts. “Not much you can do,” he said. “I’ll try to help her, but I need to find out what’s wrong first. You go on back to the house. This won’t be pretty.”

  “I’ve witnessed births before.”

  He wondered if she was lying. Her face was white with strain, but her jaw was firm and her lips were set. “Have you ever put your arm inside a horse?” he asked.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m afraid I…don’t know much about horses.”

  Admitting a weakness wasn’t like her. Heath felt as if he were walking that narrow fence again, only the cactuses on either side had grown so many spines that he couldn’t see the tough green flesh beneath.

  “Then you can’t be any use here,” he said gruffly. He walked into the loose box, hung his hat over a post and knelt beside Lily. She tried to lift her head and groaned.

  “Settle down, now,” Heath said, running his hand over her neck, barrel and croup. He could feel the foal moving inside, struggling just as she was. “You ain’t alone now.”

  For a while all he did was soothe her, getting her muscles to relax. He almost forgot that Rachel had ignored his advice and was still there. Maurice came in with two pails of steaming water and set them down a few feet away. He mopped his face with a handkerchief and glanced at Rachel.

  “Are there any rags left in the house, madame?” he asked.

  “I believe there are. I’ll go get them.”

  Heath could hear the relief in her voice. She left the stable, and some of the tightness went out of his muscles.

  “Keep her inside, Maurice,” Heath said. “Say anything you have to, but I don’t want her here.”

  “That is easier said than done, monsieur,” Maurice said. “Madame is most formidable.”

  Maurice didn’t know the half of it. “She’s still a woman,” Heath snapped. “Last I looked, you was still a man.”

  Maurice drew himself up as if he wanted to talk back, but he lit off without a word. Heath scrubbed his arms up to the elbows and turned all his attention to Lily. He was just feeling inside her when Rachel returned.

  “Is she any better?” she asked, setting down the flour sack of rags.

  Heath would have damned Maurice for a coward except for one thing. He was going to need help after all. Maurice had been right. The foal wasn’t in the right position, and Lily could still decide to fight him. He couldn’t turn the foal and calm her at the same time.

  “You still want to help?” he asked without looking at her.

  “What…would you like me to do?”

  She was scared, but Heath didn’t have time to coddle her. “Come in here and sit near Lily’s head. Talk to her, quiet-like. Keep her calm.”

  For half a minute Rachel didn’t move, only stood staring into the loose box. Either she would run, or she would find her courage.

  But he didn’t think she would run. She wasn’t going to admit defeat, least of all to him.

  Finally she took a step inside. Her shoes rustled the straw as she traced a wide circle around Lily, coming to a stop near the mare’s head. She took a breath.

  “Will she—”

  Heath looked up. “Will she what?”

  “Never mind.” Rachel smoothed her skirts around her knees and knelt beside Lily. Her hands were shaking. Heath wanted to grab them and hold them still, stroke her wrists, soothe her as he’d tried to soothe the mare.

  “She won’t bite you,” he snapped. “Lay your hands on her. She ain’t no different than Joey.”

  Rachel laughed. He realized then that he’d never heard her laugh before. Even though it was a small and nervous sound, there was also a kind of warmth in it.

  “I wonder if Joey would agree,” she murmured.

  “He wouldn’t mind.”

  She hesitated, her hand in the air, and then slowly laid it on Lily’s neck. The mare quivered at the stranger’s touch and then settled again.

  “She likes you,” Heath said.

  “Does she?”

  “Horses know when people like them.”

  “But I’ve heard that they—” She broke off and tucked her legs to the side. “I’m afraid my knowledge of horses is very limited.”

  It was the second time she’d said as much. “No horses in Ohio?” he joked.

  She looked at him sharply. “Of course there are horses in Ohio. It’s just that I—”

  “You didn’t have much to do with ’em.”

  “No.” She stroked the mare’s cheek with her fingertips. “I have never been employed in any work that involved dealing with horses.”

  He wanted to ask her what kind of work she had done, but this sure as hell wasn’t the time. “You’ll have to learn quick,” he said.

  Lily’s barrel rippled, and she groaned again. Rachel leaned
close to the mare’s head and whispered in the flattened ear.

  “The foal’s leg is bent back so he can’t move freely through the canal,” Heath said. “I have to straighten it out. You just keep talkin’ to her. Tell her it’s all right.”

  “All right.” Rachel kept her face near Lily’s while Heath positioned himself by the mare’s hindquarters.

  After that, Heath didn’t have much time to think about anything but the horse. He worked his hand and arm inside, felt for the foal’s fetlock, and pulled its knee up so that he could straighten out the leg. When he got the foal in the right position, Lily moaned with relief. Next time she pushed, her water broke, and soon the foal began to slide out, one hoof after another followed by the muzzle. Heath wiped the white sac away from its nose, and then the baby came the rest of the way out, wet and glistening. Heath situated the foal to help it breathe and began rubbing it down with the rags.

  Rachel pressed her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  “He’s all right now,” Heath said. “Healthy and strong. Long legs, like his ma.”

  As if she’d understood, Lily gave a great, gusty sigh of satisfaction. Rachel brushed the mare’s forelock just the way she’d stroked Joey’s hair.

  “You’re a brave girl,” she whispered. “You should be proud.”

  Heath stopped for a minute, his throat suddenly as tight as a hangman’s noose. He didn’t feel any lust for Rachel now, but the liking and respect he’d begun to have for her, the desire to protect her, were only getting stronger. She had a quality he hadn’t seen in many people before: compassion. Not only for babies and half-grown kids, but for animals, as well.

  Would she feel that way about a wolf? Or a man who could turn into one?

  Never. Never again.

  Lily moved suddenly, and Rachel shied away. The mare rolled to her knees and then clambered to her feet. She went straight to her baby and began to lick him. Legs like knobby sticks wobbled as the colt learned how to stand on his own.