“Gordie’s my son,” he said. “He’s like me. Now you understand.”
Her lips parted. She tried to speak, but her voice was gone, along with her trust and the faith she’d clung to in spite of all the lies. Heath Changed, spun on his hind paws and burst into a run.
He didn’t see Rachel again, and she didn’t come out of the house the next morning to watch the hunters saddle their mounts and check their rifles. Heath closed off his senses, praying he wouldn’t smell her before he left with the others.
Sean didn’t even look at him. He waved to Amy, who stood with her mother on the porch, and kicked his stallion into a gallop. Heath turned Apache away from the rest of the hunters, all the male guests and most of the Blackwater hands, and set off toward the south. He knew Sean expected him to try setting his own trap. It wouldn’t matter if he made it look obvious by riding in another direction.
He couldn’t feel his heart anymore, but his brain was still working. He wasn’t sure what Rachel would do now that she had the letter, but he knew she wouldn’t try to take Gordie. Gavin would be waiting at Dog Creek, and if Heath didn’t return, he would see to the boy.
It wasn’t his own possible death Heath mourned with what little feeling he had left, but the knowledge that he might never see Rachel or Gordie again. Even if he survived, the half-life that remained would have meaning only because of his son, and it would end when Gordie no longer needed him.
RACHEL REACHED AGAIN for the gun tucked in the waistband of her skirt. It felt cold and evil under her fingertips. She had thought long and hard about bringing it, but in the end she had decided such bitter precautions were necessary. She prayed she would never be compelled to point it at anyone. Not even Sean McCarrick.
In the distance, the dust left behind by the riders was still visible, but she was rapidly falling behind. She kicked her horse’s sides and he broke into a trot, responding at last to her desperate need.
Her decision to follow Holden and the hunters had required only as much time as it took for her to dress, creep from the stable back to the Blackwell house and crawl into her bed. The world had become a maelstrom of emotion and disbelief—astonishment and horror and all the sensations that followed hard on their heels. The shocks had come one after another, building until it seemed as if her mind could contain no more.
Yet she had accepted all the rest because her feelings had not changed. It might be over for Holden, but not for her. There was a bond between them, between them and Gordie, that could never be broken.
And she came to understand, as she lay in bed shivering with the covers pulled up to her chin, that there was nothing in the world that could destroy them. Love was enough to overcome even the greatest fears and the gravest doubts. Even the impossible.
She hadn’t slept during what remained of the night. She had thought back to every discussion or experience that had involved the wolf, and everything began to make sense. The dream in which the outlaw had been replaced by the wolf that had attacked Louis, the story of the wolf attacking Sean. The meeting with the wolf at Dog Creek, and the conversation with Holden that had followed.
He shouldn’t have been there, he had said. He shouldn’t have been so close to the ranch after dawn.
Rachel had asked him not to shoot the wolf if he came back. She had said the wolf was beautiful, and he had told her most people wouldn’t agree with her.
Because his own foster father didn’t shoot his friend the wolf. He tried to kill Holden.
She had wept, remembering the story of his life on the run. How much sense it made now. No one could accept him. He had nowhere to go, no home, no hope. Until he had come to Dog Creek.
Don’t make the mistake of believin’ a lobo thinks like a man, he had said. But Holden was a man. A man capable of compassion and loyalty and great devotion.
And Gordie was his son. That was why he had so often questioned her about her own devotion to the baby. He was afraid she would become like the Mortons. He was afraid to trust anyone with his secret. It was why he had seemed so driven to tell her about himself, to explain his past, and yet never spoke of a future. Why he had loved her with such fierce tenderness and then walked away as if it meant nothing.
Yet still he had told her not to give up on Gordie when she had thought herself unworthy to keep him. Carin’ don’t mean givin’ up when times get hard, or just because you made a mistake.
In the end, he had tried to trust her, but she had betrayed that trust, recoiling from the great gift he had offered her, rejecting the miracle of his transformation. She had despised herself as she had lain in bed, her tears soaking the pillow, knowing there might never be a chance to set things right.
So she had risen before dawn, as the hunters were just beginning to assemble. She had dressed in the skirt she wore for riding and secured Holden’s gun. When Amy had come out of her own room a short time later, Rachel had told her that she wished to ride that morning. Amy had agreed, though with notable reluctance. She had offered to ride with Rachel, but Rachel had said she needed time to think over all that had happened at the party and promised she would not go far. She had asked in the kitchen for a bottle she could fill with water and a little food to take with her.
She had waited impatiently for one of the hands to saddle the Blackwells’ gentlest horse, a gelding Amy had ridden when she was younger. By the time she rode away, the hunters had already left. Soon they had become little more than specks in the distance. Rachel knew they were bound for a place along the creek called Willow Bend, where the wolf had last been seen. She followed the dust trail until it had blown away on the wind, then continued in the same direction, following the prints of their horses’ hooves on the hard ground.
Now, as the gelding carried her after the riders at a maddeningly slow pace, she wondered again what she thought she could possibly do if she caught up with them. The odds were very much against her. Yet she had too much to fight for, and fight she would, even if her greatest enemy proved to be Holden himself.
Three hours after she had left the house, she realized she had lost the hunters’ trail. Nor had she found the creek. She had remembered Holden’s warning about the desert, but remembering hadn’t been enough when she had been so bent on finding him. She didn’t dare dismount for fear that she might not be able to get into the saddle again.
The gelding blew out his breath and dropped his head. Rachel looked up at the sky. Holden had taught her a little about the angle of the sun and using the compass, and after a few minutes she realized she had gone in the wrong direction. Once again she set off, shaking her weariness away with a toss of her head.
She was certain her decision was correct when the sun reached its zenith and began its downward arc toward the west. But the gelding was beginning to droop, his pace slowing more and more, and Rachel had still not reached the creek.
By late afternoon her body had grown heavy and her eyes refused to focus. She dozed in the saddle, and when she woke again the gelding was standing still, his hip cocked as he, too, rested. The poor animal could go no farther, and in a few hours the sun would begin to set.
She knew then that she had made a terrible mistake—not in attempting to help Holden, but in failing to provide for Gordie in the event of her death. Lucia would certainly not abandon him, but even if she and Maurice found a good home for him, he would be alone, like Holden. Forever alone.
I must get back. She could rest the gelding for a while, share her water with him and wait until morning. She would not allow herself to die so easily. Someone was sure to find her sooner or later.
But Holden…
She did her best not to think at all and slid gingerly from the gelding’s back. She offered the horse water in her cupped hands, drank, herself, and took a little of the food she’d brought. After a while she lay down, hoping to sleep a little to gather her strength for the next day.
But the sun was still in the sky when she woke to find a long shadow spilling over her and a rider watchi
ng her from the back of a big gray horse. She scrambled to her feet, shading her eyes against the light.
The rider dismounted and touched the brim of his hat. His face wore an expression of strain and worry. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t expect to find anyone alone out here.”
Rachel hardly heard him. She was lost in astonishment over the man’s obvious resemblance to Holden, not only in face and coloring, but in build and natural grace. She backed closer to her gelding and laid her hand on his neck.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Gavin Renier.”
She didn’t know the name, but that didn’t lessen her unease. She saw with relief that he wasn’t wearing a gun and wasn’t making any attempt to come closer.
“Are you lost, ma’am?” he asked.
Rachel wasn’t prepared to admit any vulnerability to a stranger, especially not this one. “My name is Rachel McCarrick,” she said. “I am a guest of the Blackwells.”
“I’ve heard your name, Mrs. McCarrick. You live at Dog Creek.”
“Yes,” she said. “I have been looking for a band of hunters searching for a wolf.”
“A wolf?” Renier’s face became grim. “A black wolf?”
His sudden change of demeanor made her shiver. “Yes. Have you seen them?”
“Not yet. I’m also looking for a wolf of that description.”
Rachel wished she dared reach for her gun. “Do you intend to hurt him, too?”
“I intend to save him.” He searched her face with eyes more gold than green. “Why do you care, Mrs. McCarrick?”
Telling the truth was out of the question. “He…he is my friend.”
“Your friend?” He took a step toward her. “How is that possible?”
“He saved the life of a boy I know.”
He was silent for nearly a minute. “I understand that you have a foreman named Holden Renshaw. Do you know where he is?”
Rachel moved closer to the saddle, knowing that even if she could mount without help, she couldn’t get away before this man caught up with her.
“If I knew,” she said, “I wouldn’t tell you.”
The sun-etched lines around his eyes deepened. “I need to find him. He’s my brother.”
It couldn’t be true. Holden had never mentioned kin other than the mother who had abandoned him. But she could not deny the amazing resemblance between Holden and this man.
A man who was looking for a black wolf.
“Mr. Renshaw doesn’t have a brother,” she said defiantly.
“He didn’t know he had one until yesterday,” Renier said. “I spoke to him and asked him to come back with me to our family. He said he had business to attend to, and I knew he was going to get himself into trouble.”
Holden had known? He’d discovered he had family who might want him? Did that have something to do with why he had revealed his true nature?
He was in trouble. And he had no allies but her. Unless this man was telling the truth. Unless…
“Do you know what he is?” Rachel asked, throwing all caution aside.
Renier stared at her, and she could almost feel the threat radiating from his body. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.
“He and the wolf are closer than you can imagine,” she said. “Closer than brothers. You might say they are almost one creature.”
The threat was gone in an instant. “He told you?” Gavin asked.
“He showed me.”
Gavin removed his hat. “You must be a remarkable woman, Mrs. McCarrick.”
“I am not remarkable at all.” She glanced toward the western horizon. Time was running out. “Are you like him?”
“Yes. And I may be the only one who can help him.”
Her mind seized on an idea that seemed an answer to her deepest fears. “Is your family also…like that?”
“We are. That’s why we want him back.”
“Did you know that Holden has a son?”
“At Dog Creek. He said—”
“Will your family take him in if something happens to Holden?”
Once again he gazed at her as if she was something extraordinary. “Yes.”
“Gordie must have a home if…if Holden doesn’t return. If you care about Holden at all, please go to Dog Creek and be ready to take Gordie if the worst happens.”
“I’ve been there. Holden already asked me to go. But I couldn’t stay, knowing he was about to do something dangerous. Now that I know those men are after him—”
“He won’t be alone. I intend to do whatever is necessary to stop them.”
“You?” He made no effort to hide his astonishment. “How do you expect to do that?”
“I don’t know.”
Renier shook his head. “How will you find them?”
“Do you know where the creek is?”
He was quiet again, much longer than before. “I can track those hunters right now.”
“Then take me to them. There isn’t any time to waste.”
“I can’t let you—”
“You can. Would you condemn your brother’s son to a life of rejection and pain? I cannot assure him freedom from such a fate. But I may be able to help his father.”
He put his hat back on. “I don’t know why,” he said, “but I believe you.”
“I don’t think my horse can carry me much farther.”
“Mine can carry two for a while. We’ll lead yours.”
Renier wasted no time in tying her gelding’s reins to his horse’s saddle and mounting, easily lifting her up behind him. She put her arms around his waist. With a soft click of his tongue, Gavin Renier turned his horse toward the setting sun.
THE HALF-DOZEN MEN Heath had led away from the rendezvous site had lost his trail. They’d already been riled up because the whole long, hot day they’d only seen the wolf at a distance, never close enough to kill. When he’d finally let them chase him, determined to rob Sean McCarrick of his allies, he’d realized that Sean couldn’t have told them they were also after an outlaw. If he had, they never would have followed the wolf so far.
McCarrick was biding his time. As Heath had guessed, he must have returned to the scene of his crime sometime before the hunt, found what was left of Jed’s body under the overhang where Heath had buried it and laid out Jed’s bones where anyone could find them with just a little searching. He’d stayed with the biggest band of hunters until the last couple of hours, keeping himself safe from an unexpected attack. But he couldn’t give up on the chance to take Heath Renier himself and make the grand announcement of his victory right where Jed lay waiting.
The three men Sean had sent ahead of time to watch for Heath—El, Gus and Cash—might have laid a pretty good ambush if Heath hadn’t smelled them a mile away. They’d been too scared to leave their places to chase the black wolf when it showed up to taunt them, but the ranchers hadn’t been so cautious. Now they were too far behind to catch Heath before he went back to the place a quarter-mile from the rendezvous where he’d left his clothes.
But when he got there, he didn’t Change. Sean’s scent was heavy on the wind, mingled with that of his three men and two others who hadn’t gone with the ranchers.
Heath hesitated. He’d set out from Blackwater without any real plan except to kill Sean, knowing Sean expected to be ready for him. The wolf told him to finish it now, while so few of Sean’s allies where there to protect him. But the human…
There was no human here. The wolf had his way. Heath shook out his coat and set off at a trot, dragging the weight of his bitterness like a double-jawed trap. Right now Sean and the others were scattered behind the low hills overlooking the draw. All Heath had to do was lure Sean out from cover. When the men came running to help him, they would find his body along with the bones of the man he’d murdered.
Heath snarled, the taste of blood already on his tongue. He went straight for Sean’s hiding place and trotted to the top of the hill, ears and
tail erect, silhouetted plainly against the setting sun. He heard the rattling of pebbles and the scrape of Sean’s boots as he saw the wolf. But Sean hesitated, weighing whether or not he should risk exposing himself when Heath Renier might show up at any minute. A cricket chirped in the brush. Nothing else stirred.
The quiet didn’t last. Just as Heath expected, Sean couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He’d suffered humiliation at the hands of the lobo, and he had too much to prove now, to himself and the men. He was angry. Too angry to think.
He came out of hiding, scrambling up the hill with his rifle in his hands, his faced distorted with hate. He took aim. Heath grinned at him and trotted back down the hill. Sean came after him, panting and cursing. Several times Heath allowed Sean to get just close enough to aim, gradually leading Sean in a wide circle back toward the draw.
Sean was too fixed on the lobo to notice where he was going until they were almost on top of the bones. He went stock-still, glanced around and then looked straight at Jed’s remains.
Shifting his weight, Heath gathered himself for the burst of speed that would take Sean down.
And stopped. It was too easy. Once he got his teeth locked around Sean’s throat, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself until Sean was dead. The human in him knew that wasn’t enough. He demanded more. Much more. Not only Sean’s death in pain and terror, but his knowledge that he’d been beaten by the man he despised and shown for what he really was.
He spun around, loped over the next hill and raced for his clothes. Sean might go right back to his men, or he might follow again, but he wouldn’t get far.
Sean was still standing in the draw, looking just about ready to go back into hiding, when Heath returned. When Heath walked over the hill, Sean looked up, his mouth open and his eyes stark with sudden fear.
“Renshaw,” he said hoarsely. “About time you showed up.”
It was a pretty good act, but not good enough. Sean was scared out of his wits. His trap hadn’t worked out quite the way he’d planned.
“Looks like you lost your bet,” Heath said softly.
Bride of the Wolf Page 28