Wolf's Oath (After the Crash 3.25)

by Maddy Barone

  “Stag would be a good choice,” she said in a whisper, probably because she knew how good werewolf hearing was. “Someday he’ll give up on Sherry, and you can snag him on the rebound.” She nodded again and walked to the pantry to fetch something one of the cooks needed.

  Connie looked back at Stag. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, but it was hard to feel romantic about a man who had helped you pee into a cup when you couldn’t stand on a broken ankle.

  His cousin Des, on the other hand, was even more handsome and he hadn’t helped her with any personal business. He also had an aversion to wearing any more clothes than was absolutely necessary, which left a good bit of his muscular body on display. Connie had no complaints about that. A man with a body like his was well worth looking at. She didn’t want to marry, but she had a healthy appreciation for the view he’d presented every time she’d seen him. Pity he lived a few miles north of Kearney with the Pack, instead of at the Plane Women’s House.

  Sometimes Connie lost track of who was who in the werewolf world. There was the Lakota Wolf Clan, the primary group of werewolves who lived in teepees on the prairie like Indians in the Old West, and there was the Pack, who lived in an old motel they referred to as their den. From what Connie could understand, the Pack was just a stationary branch of the nomadic Clan, and Taye was the Alpha of the Pack. His word was absolute law for his followers. Des was one of Taye’s seconds-in-command. They must all be related somehow, because they all called each other cousin, and there was a definite resemblance. She hadn’t seen an ugly one yet, and she had spent quite a bit of time covertly staring at them while she recovered from the crash. Des was absolutely the best of a good-looking bunch.

  She rubbed her temples again, feeling a little like a teenaged voyeur. There was nothing wrong with discreetly ogling a good-looking man. Des was more than just handsome, more than just well built. He was also her personal Sir Galahad. He had chased off Dick Dickinson and other pushy would-be suitors with a mere scowl, and on occasion had literally picked them up and removed them. He was quiet and grim, and hadn’t shown any romantic interest in her. Her interest in him was of the fantasy variety, the kind that showed up in erotic dreams, not the real life romance variety. But if he ever did show any interest in courting her, she’d be tempted to see where it would go. He was one of the good guys, and she could imagine falling in love with him. Hell, she was already half in love with him, at least in her dreams.

  She accepted the tea Stag brought her. The stuff was nasty, but it probably would help her headache. Common medicines that could have been picked up at any grocery store were hard to find here. Whatever pain relievers the survivors had had in their purses were mostly exhausted now. Thank God the native medicines like the ones Stag brewed were surprisingly effective. She gulped tea down as quickly as its hot temperature allowed and handed the cup back. “Thanks, Stag.”

  On her way out of the kitchen she glanced over at the calendar again and forced her shoulders to not slump. Visitation started in seven hours. Damn it.

  Chapter Two

  One good thing about visitation night was that the extra bodies warmed the place up. Connie leaned a shoulder against the back wall in the Big Room, her cane balanced in the notch made by the fancy wooden frame of the kitchen door. With her arms folded and brows pulled low in a scowl to ward men off, she tried to think of other positives, but came up empty. She hated visitation nights, when dozens of men invaded the Plane Women’s House with the goal of getting one of the women to agree to marry him. Men in this time and place thought it was a crime for any woman to be single. Well, of course they felt that way. There were two hundred men for every woman. If a man wanted to get laid, he either had to travel to Omaha and spend an exorbitant amount to hire a prostitute, or he had to convince a woman to marry him. With so many men flirting with the same woman, the competition was fierce.

  And it was a competition. Connie looked over the crowded room. Women were seated by the stoves, and the men clustered around the women like bees swarming around flowers. Some of the men were aggressive, some were charming, but all of them wanted the same thing: a wife. Faron Paulson and his deputies allowed only fifty male visitors in at a time, three times a week, and they controlled who was admitted. Faron limited the visitors to only the “good” men, those with the income to support a wife. No lowlifes need apply, no sir, thought Connie sarcastically. We can’t expect helpless women to be able to decide for themselves who might be fit for marriage.

  Having a plane load of women magically turn up must have seemed like the best Christmas present in the history of the world to the men of Kearney. Connie inwardly snarled at the idea of being anyone’s present. She hated this set up. Hated being seen as an object instead of a person. Hated that all the women were being slavered over by men who wanted to force them into marriage. Most of all, she hated feeling helpless to change any of it.

  Did it matter to the men that not all of the women wanted a husband? Connie’s gaze fell on Nikki, a young mom who had left a husband and two children behind in 2014. Her pretty face, surrounded by a sweep of tawny brown hair, was stony as she listened to three men from Kearney try to flirt with her. She grieved for her husband and children, and wasn’t interested in acquiring replacements. Connie could sympathize with that. Her gaze passed on to Jasminka, whose husband had died in the crash and who didn’t speak much English. She had an uncertain smile on her face, as if she didn’t understand what was going on but wanted to be polite to the half-dozen men surrounding her. Sherry sat straight in the wooden chair by one of the stoves, hands folded primly in her lap and face turned away from Stag, sitting on her left. The Native American man divided his attention between Sherry and the men in the room. Connie had seen his hackles rise more than once when a stranger approached Sherry. Sammie sat opposite Sherry. She was a nineteen-year-old college student who’d planned on a career in law enforcement, not marriage to some stranger.

  And why shouldn’t she have a career instead of a husband? Connie ground her teeth, infuriated by the sense of helplessness that wanted to overwhelm her when she wasn’t looking. They didn’t require husbands to provide for them. In the spring they would open the restaurant. Kathy had decades of experience managing restaurants, and Renee, one of the survivors living at the wolf den a few miles away, was a chef who was teaching some of the women to cook.

  Renee was living at the den because one of the werewolves had claimed her for his mate. Connie suppressed a shiver. She had tried to defend the chef from an unwanted marriage, but Renee had assured her she liked Hawk and was glad to be with him. Several other survivors lived at the den too, and one of them, Carla, had been claimed by Taye. Connie didn’t believe in love at first sight, but she had seen how Taye looked at Carla, and how Carla looked at him. If it wasn’t love it was a damned good imitation.

  Katie, the blonde who shared Connie’s apartment with Kathy, sat at the nearest stove. She laughed loudly and playfully slapped the shoulder of one of her current boyfriends. Connie mentally shook her head. Katie was one of the women who enjoyed all the male attention. She and JaNae loved flirting with the men who tried to outdo each other in their lavish gifts and compliments. Katie’s voice rose above the low murmur of voices.

  “I need the little girl’s room,” she told the six men hovering around her, flashing them a flirtatious smile. “I’ll be right back. Don’t any of y’all fight while I’m gone, hear?”

  She detached herself from the cluster and gestured for Sammie to join her. The younger woman jumped up and abandoned her admirers without a backward glance. The two women walked toward the kitchen door.

  Katie paused to grin at Connie, who raised one brow. “Why do you flirt with them like that?” she asked. “And why are you using that fake southern accent? You’re from Minnesota.”

  Katie’s cheeks flushed and she hunched a shoulder, as if embarrassed, then she shrugged and her grin flared bigger. “I’m copying your accent. The men love it!”


  Connie managed to not roll her eyes. “Are you ever going to actually pick one and marry him?”

  Katie shrugged again. “Someday, I guess I will. But I’m enjoying myself too much to settle down with one yet.” Her hand smoothed down the curve of her waist to her wide hip and down to her thigh. “After more than thirty years of being too fat to attract a man, it’s a rush to have dozens of them fighting over me.” She winked and grabbed Sammie’s arm to tow her through the kitchen door toward the outhouse in the yard.

  That was one thing Connie did like about the men here. They didn’t judge a woman solely by her body. They liked big women even better than skinny women, but every woman, no matter her age, looks, or size, found herself the object of blatant admiration. Connie had added considerable padding to her own hips since she’d left the Marines, and many men had tried to catch her attention in spite of her loud avowals to never marry. It had taken her over a month to shake Dick Dickinson off. Thank God he’d finally given up on her. He was the self-proclaimed richest man within hundreds of miles, but he gave her the creeps. He stood too close, spoke too loudly, and tooted his horn so often she couldn’t get a word in edge-wise.

  Connie’s gaze sharpened when she noticed Stag’s head lift and his nostrils flare like those of a wild animal scenting the air. His head swiveled in the direction of the backyard and when he rose and strode through the room to the kitchen, Connie followed him. Men saw them coming, and melted out of Stag’s way.

  The noise level dropped sharply once they were in the empty kitchen. It was quiet enough that Connie could plainly hear Katie’s voice raised in what sounded like a mix of fear and anger, and Sammie’s voice, quieter but with an edge of hysteria, sobbing. When Stag threw open the back door, Connie was able to distinguish words.

  “We don’t want your money!” Katie shouted. “Let her go!”

  A man’s voice was impatient. “Quit playing, lady, and tell us your fee.”

  “I’m not a whore!”

  Connie froze for a split second, but Stag leapt forward, running bare-chested through the snow. She recovered, and ran after him, not bothering to grab a shawl from the pegs beside the door. In the light of a lantern sitting in the snow, she could see Katie, shawl hanging from one shoulder, her forearm in the hand of a man Connie had never seen before. Her other hand gripped Sammie’s. Sammie was struggling hard against a second man. When she saw Stag she jerked harder to free herself, almost pulling the stranger off his feet.

  “Stag!” she cried with tearful relief.

  Something on Stag’s face made the man pale and let go of Sammie’s arm as though it was on fire. Sammie flung herself toward Stag, who caught her with one arm and passed her to Connie. Katie, having been hastily released, picked up the lantern, settled her shawl back over her shoulders with dignified outrage, and stalked to Connie.

  “Take the ladies inside,” Stag said in a flat, even voice. “Get Faron Paulson and bring him to the kitchen.”

  Connie opened her mouth to refuse, but he went on before she could speak. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes, and I’ll haul these two in with me.”

  Connie didn’t mind getting out of the cold, but the women here were hers. The paternalistic men of Kearney frequently neglected to include her in anything important, but she’d noticed that Stag and other Lakota always consulted her, so she reluctantly nodded.

  “Okay,” she agreed, and gave Sammie’s back a little push to get her moving toward the back door.

  “What happened?” she demanded as she stepped into the kitchen.

  Katie set the lantern on the table and went to dip some water from the barrel beside the stove to start heating. Sammie was shaking, maybe with cold, maybe with fear. She dragged her shawl back up over her shoulders and clenched it tightly beneath her chin.

  “We were on the way to the bathroom when those two guys walked up to us,” the nineteen-year-old said. “I think they were hiding behind the outhouse. Scared me to death! They asked how much I charged.” Her eyes gleamed with tears. “How much I charged?” Her voice rose an octave. “I didn’t know what they were talking about!”

  Tears. Connie shot a quick, panicked glance at Katie over by the stove. She never knew what to do when women cried. Yes, she did. Retreat and call up reinforcements. “Okay, hold on to that thought. I need to find Faron.”

  Faron was sitting knee to knee with Donna, staring into her eyes with the sappy lovesickness of a teenager with his first crush. Connie got his attention the third time she tapped his shoulder.

  “Come back to the kitchen,” she told him. “We have a situation.”

  The lovesickness faded as his eyes sharpened. She led him back to the kitchen and saw Stag had brought the two men in. Katie and Sammie were seated at one end of the wood-topped worktable, sipping steaming tea flavored with mint and other locally grown herbs. Relief bloomed in Connie when she saw Sammie had stopped crying, although she held on to her warm tea mug with fierce concentration. The two men were on the opposite side of the table, with Stag standing so close behind them they must have felt his body heat. Their shoulders were hunched forward, and Connie saw them flick quick glances over their shoulders at Stag. She’d be nervous too. She knew Stag was a sweetheart, but right now he looked as sweet as a mother bear ready to maul the fool who tried to steal her cub.

  Faron stopped beside Katie. “Is there a problem?”

  Katie inhaled the steam that rose from her tea. She shrugged and jerked a chin at Sammie. “On our way out to use the bathroom, these two guys stopped us. They wanted to know how much we charged.”

  Faron’s jaw bunched, making his round face more angular. “Charge for what?” he demanded, voice hard.

  The two men, one with dirty-blond hair cut very short, one with light brown hair worn longer, exchanged glances. “A fuck,” the blond said in a calmly reasonable tone.

  Without meaning to, Connie clenched her fists. “What do you think this is, a whorehouse?”

  The men looked at each other again. This time the brunet spoke. “Well, sure. The Plain Women’s House?” He was boyishly handsome when he smiled at Katie. Connie wondered if he were older than twenty. “I sure don’t know why they call this the Plain Women’s House. You’re really pretty.” He shared his smile with Sammie, then glanced up at Connie. “You too. Not plain at all.”

  Sammie let out a slightly hysterical giggle. “What a pair of morons,” she told Connie.

  Connie had to agree. She raised an eyebrow at Faron. His arms were folded over his barrel chest and he was glaring at the men.

  “I don’t recognize you boys. Who are you? Where are you from?”

  Blondie and his friend looked at each other again. “I’m Troy Hodson. This is my cousin, Bob Ternley. We’re from Bellevue. It’s outside Omaha. We’re visiting out at the Baranski place. Heard about the ladies here and thought we’d drop in. Try our luck.”

  Faron looked them up and down with icy disdain. “You didn’t come in the front door.”

  “Uh, no.” Bob picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his wool jacket. “We were turned away, so we climbed the fence and staked out the outhouse. We figured one of the girls would come out eventually and we’d see if we could make a deal with her.”

  Again Sammie let out a peal of laughter as she lifted her mug. Her cheeks were flushed and she slammed back the tea like it was a shot of whiskey. Katie lifted the cast iron teapot and refilled Sammie’s cup. Connie wondered if there was more than just tea in the pot, and if so, if she could have a shot too.

  “So you propositioned me.” Sammie laughed, as if it was the funniest thing she’d heard in days, but Connie heard the suppressed sobs edging her voice. “Sucky—I mean, lucky me!”

  Troy leaned forward with a smile. “We have money,” he began.

  Stag’s growl was utterly feral, and utterly furious. Troy and Bob jumped and jerked their heads around to stare up at the werewolf looming behind them. Maybe they were finally cluing in on how dangerous
Stag was. “Mister,” one whined. “If we did something wrong, we’re real sorry. We didn’t know we did anything wrong.”

  “Liar,” Stag snarled. “You knew climbing the fence was wrong.”

  The expression of fright on their faces pulled another maniacal giggle from Sammie. “Dude!” she said, slapping the table. “You are so totally lucky it was me you propositioned. Stag would have buried you by now if I’d been Sherry.”

  “You’re part of this pack and they frightened you.” Stag’s voice remained hard and flat. “I can still bury them.”

  Sammie leaned forward toward the two strangers. “He’s really protective,” she confided in a tone she probably thought was whisper.

  When multiple voices rose in anger and fear, Connie pinched the bridge of her nose to try to relieve her headache. Faron cut through the babble with a roared “Be quiet!”

  Connie raised her head as everyone shut their mouths and stared at the sheriff.

  He stabbed a finger at the two men. “This isn’t Omaha, and this isn’t a whorehouse. How old are you?”

  Bob swallowed. “Twenty.”

  “I’m nineteen,” Troy said.

  Faron’s face was coldly condemning. “Old enough to know better. In Bellevue what would happen to two men found breaking into a compound with women?”

  Two Adam’s apples bobbed. “We didn’t mean anything. Really! We’re sorry!”

  Faron nodded at Stag. “Take them to Ray Madison.” He looked at the men again. “The mayor will decide what to do with you.”

  Stag wasn’t particularly gentle when he pulled them out of their seats and pushed them to the back door. He cast a frown at Faron. “Your guards didn’t see them climb the fence,” he said with disgust.

  “You’re right.” Faron sounded just as disgusted, with a big helping of anger added. “I’ll deal with the guards.” He waited until Stag and his prisoners had left before turning to Sammie and Katie. “I’m sorry you had such a terrible experience. Could you leave me and Miss Connie to talk now?”