Wolf's Tender

by Gem Sivad

  Even wrapped in a thick blanket, Naomi shivered in the cool night air, and pulled it tighter around her shoulders. She would wait for Charlie Wolf to arrive. She leaned against the rock wall, situated so that she could see anyone coming up the incline that led to the plateau.

  Naomi had time to puzzle over the appearance of Harvey Collins so far from Alabama and home. What was that old man doing, trafficking in blankets and beads with the Comancheros?

  Then she remembered the shipment the men had spoken of and how determined the outlaw had been to get it—guns—he'd said once during the argument. Of course, understanding settled around Naomi. Harvey had moved into another area of commerce and was now a gunrunner as well as a kidnapper, extortionist, and flesh-peddler.

  She pulled the scratchy wool material closer and sighed at the hard dirt and rough stone beneath her rump. This country was stark and bare compared to the lush green of her native state.

  That thought reminded her of Charlie Wolf's parting words. He'd said to take the money and go home. Did he mean for her to go back to Alabama? She was tempted to dig in his leather pouch and pull out the wad of money he'd had in the bar, and then again in the barn.

  She wanted to count it, hold it for just a time. She had never seen so much money in one place as when he'd thrown bills at the stable owner. And in his saddlebag, there was a wad of so much more. It occurred to her that if her marriage to him was real, her husband was a man of some material worth.

  She kept herself awake thinking of sassy remarks she could say to him. She already knew how to ruffle his calm and get a response. She relived the first night, moved on to the school when he buried Patrick, analyzed his rescue of the girls, and came to the end with him riding off to act as a decoy.

  Confidence that he would return was slowly replaced by pervasive unease, until finally, when the first light of dawn brightened the sky, she heard the clip of shod hooves against the stone path, she couldn't wait, but hurried down the trail to meet him. Relief was replaced with dismay. Charlie's horse was riderless. Old Mossy trotted in, reins tied up to make sure they were clear of dragging.

  The sound of the incoming horse woke Marta. Naomi was already scrambling to ready herself and talked as she prepared to leave. They all knew that Charlie Wolf would be on Old Mossy's back if he'd been able. The other seven girls ringed her and Charlie's horse.

  "I've got to go look for Mr. Wolf. He's obviously been injured somehow and sent his horse to find us."

  If Old Mossy hadn't been looking so expectant, nudging her with his head as though impatient for them to leave, it would have been a ludicrous statement. Instead the girls nodded agreement.

  Marta frowned thoughtfully. “He wiped our trail, how will you find him out there?"

  "I don't know, but I have to try.” The uneasiness of the night had now given way to panic.

  "He'll be mad. He said for us to stay put.” Marta teetered on her boot heels, thinking, and then added, “But I think you should go anyway. Keep the mountain straight behind you and watch the ground. If you come across any unshod pony tracks—” She paused and looked at Naomi considering her. “—ride like hell in the opposite direction."

  They filled two canteens from the barrel of water strapped to the side of Harvey's wagon. Naomi had intended to ride the buckskin mare, but since Old Mossy stood saddled and ready, she mounted him instead.

  Justine spoke up before she rode down the rough incline and onto the desert floor. “Maybe you should take the mare with you. You might need it to bring back Charlie Wolf's body."

  The rest of the girls glared at her, but Naomi nodded and put the mare on a lead line, as she had seen Charlie do with the remuda of horses.

  She did as Marta directed and rode straight, keeping the mountain at her back as her guide. It was midmorning when, despairing that she was riding too far away from the girls, she decided to turn back. That's when Charlie's horse picked up his pace, trotting toward a spot in the distance.

  Then the big stallion broke into a lope as they neared a body up ahead. Naomi tensed at the sight of buzzards circling in the sky, dreading what she would find when she arrived.

  Charlie lay in the limited shade of a cactus. He could feel the bones in his leg scrape against each other when he moved, and he knew that it was a bad break. The last time he'd tried to mount, he'd fallen and twisted it even worse.

  He'd managed to grab the rifle out of its scabbard as he fell, but the pain had taken him under for a spell. He'd lain all afternoon, sipped the canteen dry, and shivered through the night. Earlier, when the coyotes had started closing in, he'd sent Old Mossy running, shooing him away rather than have the animal die in the desert with him.

  He'd made it through the night. There were coyotes out there, but still intimidated by the man smell. That wouldn't last much longer. He dripped sweat from both pain and the scorching hot sun above.

  His thoughts drifted to the day he'd followed his father into the Battle of Sand Creek. He'd been fourteen, watching Gray Wolf's back as he rode to rescue Rachel McCallister, scooping her from sure death, before racing from the massacre.

  When Jericho circled behind the fleeing man and woman, Charlie hadn't realized the half-breed was fighting on the side of the whites until Jericho had thrown a saber, stabbing Gray Wolf. Charlie relived that time and the time after when he'd taken his mother back to the McCallister ranch.

  Almost lazily, he fingered the scar that marked his cheek and just missed his eye.

  "Nits make lice, boy. You're the son of a murdering savage. I'll beat the devil out of you every day you're here, but you'll always be a no-good savage.” The sound of the whip his grandfather always carried had lingered in the room while Charlie faced the hate-filled man. He'd wanted to kill the McCallister tyrant. Instead, he'd taken the whip from the old man, unwilling to kill his mother's father.

  His white cousins, Sam and Robert McCallister, subject themselves to the old man's violent temper, had hidden him and then brought his mother.

  She'd found him trying to tend his laid-open face. She'd stitched the wound and put a poultice on it. “Charlie, he'll kill you if you stay here. Go back to your father's people. Ride with them until I send for you."

  Charlie closed his eyes and let himself dream again. Dust whirls kicked up in the dry wind, creating the red haze in Lozen's prophesy.

  In his drugged state years before, his vision had shown his mother saving his father instead of the other way around. Now the image of his mother segued into a tall, sharp-spoken schoolteacher, and Charlie drifted through the escalating heat and pain, a sad smile on his face.

  It was near noon when Charlie squinted at the sun overhead, watching the buzzards lazily catch the wind, gliding and circling and waiting for him to be dead enough to suit them. His water was gone, and already his tongue felt swollen behind lips that were dry and cracked.

  It had been a stupid mistake. He'd been thinking about the woman he'd caught for himself, paying no attention to the world around him, more importantly the ground under him.

  He'd dismounted, dropping his reins to follow the tracks on foot, checking on the unshod hoof prints he'd crossed. He'd stepped into a gopher hole, falling hard, feeling the bone in his leg snap as he twisted.

  He couldn't leave the remuda of horses standing in the heat, ready to draw the first riders who happened by, knowing that it would either be the other part of Jericho's gang or one of the Apache tribes meeting with Mangas Colorado.

  He'd untied the lead line, hopping along on one foot and dragging his broken leg, intending to mount up and get back to the wagon. But hazing them in the opposite direction from the mountain where he'd told Naomi to take the girls, he'd fallen again. He knew it was bad when he'd called Old Mossy to him, tried to pull himself up and into the saddle, but he couldn't make his body obey.

  It wasn't the ending he'd expected, but he settled into meet his fate like a warrior. He pulled his knife out. He'd save bullets until the end.

  When Char
lie saw the horses coming toward him, he thought he was hallucinating. The closer they got, the surer he was that he was seeing a mirage until Old Mossy trotted to the cactus and butted him with his head, announcing his return.

  Naomi was out of the saddle, holding a canteen of water to his lips before he could blink. “I knew something was wrong when you didn't come back."

  "Help me up into the saddle,” he ordered her gruffly. She shouldered his weight, and he was glad again that he'd picked a tall, strong woman for his mate. Between the two of them they got him hoisted into his saddle. “Tie me on,” he told her. He wasn't steady enough to make the ride without falling.

  Instead of following his order, she climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his body, holding onto him tightly. “No time for that,” she said, “We need to get back to the girls."

  Charlie didn't remember much of the ride back to the mountains. Had she not held onto him, he'd have fallen and died in the desert. Naomi clung to him for hours as Old Mossy carried them to the foothills, and then up the incline to where the girls were hidden.

  He was delirious with pain when the girls eased him from Old Mossy's back, but not too far gone to reprimand his wayward wife. His last words to Naomi as she started working on his leg were, “What part of stay put don't you understand?"

  He would have preferred to slide into the oblivion of unconsciousness when she aligned the broken parts of bone and splinted his leg. Brody Quince stood next to her and helped set the break, while the other girls held Charlie down so that he couldn't thrash around and fight them.

  "Told my dad that Sparrow Creek Academy was a waste of money, but he's determined to see me be a lady."

  Brody snorted at the idea, as she squinted down at Charlie's leg, assessing the damage. Charlie played possum, Justine-style, and hid a smile as he listened to the derision in the girl's voice. Being a lady didn't seem to be high on her value list.

  The young girl squared her shoulders and stated flatly, “I'm going to be a doctor. Mama said she'd send me back East to medical school if Sparrow Creek didn't suit me."

  Charlie opened his eyes and looked at the girl more closely, taking in the strange aquamarine eyes, steady hands, and determined jaw. “You're already a lady. Someday, I have no doubt, you'll be a doctor too."

  From Brody's surprised, “Really?” Charlie figured that her Papa didn't agree with that plan.

  Brody Quince searched his face to see if he was sincere. Charlie met her gaze steadily, “Really."

  He didn't imagine the lips that brushed his ear when Naomi bent over him the next minute. “Thank you,” she murmured.

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  Chapter Twelve

  The first thing Charlie was aware of when he woke was the giggle of a young girl. It was an unfamiliar sound. He lay with eyes closed, analyzing what he heard—female whispers, the rustle of clothes, and the sound of a horse lipping the meager strands of grass nearby.

  He reached out with all senses, straining to gather information. Something was wrong, something had awakened him.

  His eyes jerked open, and he sat up so quickly he banged his head on the rock shelf Naomi had tucked him under.

  "Put that goddamned fire out,” he ordered softly, struggling to get up and do it himself.

  For once Naomi didn't question him. She kicked dirt on the small blaze of wood, smothering it quickly before hurrying to his side. “You need to lie back down and keep that leg still."

  Charlie's head hurt like a sonovabitch, he had to make water, and he had nine females peering at him like they'd never seen a man before. “I need to take a piss—now,” he growled.

  His crude words primmed her mouth, but she only nodded assent and bent as though to help him stand. He pushed up against the rock, waving her off. “I can take care of this."

  Damned if she didn't cross her arms and watch as he struggled to stand. When he was halfway inched up the rock and getting ready to straighten, she swooped down on him and tucked herself under his arm. “Lean on me. I don't want you twisting the bones in your leg."

  She had him on the move toward the makeshift privy they'd devised before he could tender a response. She was so damn smug, he couldn't help rattling her a little. He had his hand braced on her arm. Deliberately, he brushed the side of her breast with his knuckles.

  Her breasts pebbled. He could see her pointed nipples even through the thickness of his buckskins. He rubbed harder, bending over her to murmur for her ears only, “Two ass-beatin's. Told you to stay put, didn't I? You don't mind, woman.” He rumbled his threat in her ear, smelled her hair, and breathed the scent of his woman. She'd come for him, just like his father had rescued his mother.

  She turned her head and deliberately let her lips brush against him. “Behave,” she breathed into the soft kiss she landed on his shoulder.

  She left him to his own devices, handing him a stick he hadn't noticed before. She'd fixed him a makeshift crutch. Charlie's headache was forgotten. He contemplated his good fortune as he emptied his bladder. A strong woman, courageous, a little too independent, but he would manage that out of her, and young enough to have children.

  Another giggle floated to him—a son—he amended his thoughts. She was young enough to birth him a son. All the females swarming around the clearing made him uneasy.

  There were Comancheros scouring the country side looking for them, if he'd read the tracks right. And instead of cowering quietly until they were rescued, the girls appeared to be enjoying themselves.

  He limped on his crutch back to where Naomi was waiting. “Those girls need to quiet down.” Even as he spoke another soft laugh drifted on the wind.

  Naomi's smile instantly changed to concern. “Can you manage?” she asked, not waiting to see before she hurried back to shush her young ladies. Watching the sway of her hips inside his pants that she wore, Charlie's cock tented his own buckskins. Jesus, what the hell is the matter with me?

  He followed her across the stony landscape, intending to take charge of the females from the Sparrow Creek Young Ladies’ Academy.

  "There's a band of riders looking for sign out there,” he motioned toward the arid desert below. “Sign of you.” He listed his orders.

  "No fires, no talk.” Even Charlie recognized the impossibility of that, so amended his order to, “Whisper."

  Naomi frowned and murmured doubtfully, “We can't hide up here forever."

  Charlie answered gruffly, “We've got three horses, two guns, and a couple of knives,” he nodded with approval at Brody. “What would be your plan, teacher?"

  "Well, there's no reason to be sarcastic, Mr. Wolf,” she reproved him sharply.

  Charlie lay beside the wagon two nights later. Naomi had gone to their make-shift privy, leaving the girls to continue a discussion they'd been waiting to have. He'd kept his breathing even and his body relaxed as though in sleep, when the one they called Missy tiptoed over and looked down at him.

  He listened to the girls whispering in the dark. He'd refused their pleas for a fire and gruffly ordered them to bed. The girls’ gratitude for being rescued was quickly giving way to resentment. They planned a mutiny. “It's his fault we're stuck here. If we'd gone straight to Buffalo Creek, we'd be home by now.” There was more than a hint of tears in her voice.

  "We should leave without him. We can all go, ride double, maybe three up on the draft horse.” Rebecca's plan was simple. Take the horses and leave with whoever wanted to go. He grinned to himself wondering how Old Mossy would take to Rebecca's plan.

  "Charlie Wolf's stallion isn't going to carry anyone but maybe Miss Parker, and she's not going anywhere without Charlie Wolf."

  It was Brody Quince speaking. He felt a tinge of disappointment at her disaffection until she added, “And I'm not going anywhere without her. So, we might as well resign ourselves to being here a spell longer, because Charlie Wolf can't travel yet.” She spoke as a doctor, setting conditions for his recovery.

  The grum
bling that followed dispelled the immediate need to guard the animals. Naomi came straight over to where he lay by the wagon when she walked into the camp. The girls were in a tight circle, again inside Brody's makeshift snake protection.

  When Naomi leaned over him and placed the back of her hand against his head, he caught it and pulled her down.

  She didn't even struggle. She came into his arms like she'd been waiting for him to gather her close. He liked that. With eight sets of ears listening, there wasn't much canoodling to be done, but Charlie turned so that he lay on his good leg, and brought her back against his chest and her rump against his groin.

  They lay like that, spooning into each other's body, one muscle at a time relaxing until there was nothing between them but clothing. His cock was rigid, her rump moved restlessly. Her breath hitched and held when he slid his hands under the hem of his buckskin shirt and took ownership of her breasts.

  It wasn't his imagination when her hips pressed back and her ass rubbed his ever-growing erection. He pinched her nipples and felt her jerk and then thrust her flesh into his hands.

  He buried his face in her hair to keep from groaning aloud. She pressed backward, deliberately grinding against his need. His hand snaked under the waist band of the pants she wore and cupped her mound.

  She didn't try to keep him from touching her. Her body remembered last time and her legs parted, letting his fingers relearn the soft petals of her womanhood. He kept one hand on her breast, continuing to knead that luscious mound, tweaking the nipple, pulling and rotating until he could feel her shudders.

  But she remained totally silent—unwilling to give voice to her passion lest she wake her students and it end. Charlie played in the slippery evidence of her desire, nuzzling her ear and encouraging her wanton responses.