Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)

by Rhoades, Jacqueline

  "You can't bring the dog in here, and out there, it must be on a leash."

  "Actually, I was looking to rent a room for a few days." He stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. "Miss Kincaid? I think you should sit down."

  Her face fell into a different kind of frown. Etiquette, practiced for years, was lost. Words of polite discourse were nowhere to be found. "How do you know my name?" she asked rudely.

  "You told the guy you just gave the ass whuppin' to. It's Miss Kincaid, you said."

  She started to reprimand him for his language and then her befuddled brain kicked in and she realized what he'd said. "How much did you hear?" she asked in a high pitched squeak that sounded nothing like her own well-modulated voice.

  "From the minute the bastard spoke," he told her, grinning. "I was standing in the doorway, admiring your, um, dustpan skills, when the jackass made a crack about your…"

  "You saw the whole thing? Why didn't you speak?" And save her from making a fool of herself.

  "Should I have? You looked like you had it under control." He winked at her. "Next time I'll remember to step in."

  "There won't be a next time, Mr.… I'm afraid I didn't get your name."

  "Challenger McCall, though most folks just call me…"

  "Sheriff McCall." She rolled her eyes heavenward with a silent prayer to the Good Lord to strike her dead without delay.

  "I hope so," he said, starting to laugh. "Is that a problem?"

  "No, sir, of course not. Why would it be?"

  "I don't know. You just seem a little upset by it, that's all."

  Upset? Why would she be upset? It couldn't be because the visitor, who should be as all visitors were, gone in the next day or two never to return, a visitor who witnessed the most improper, unrefined and disrespectable circumstance she'd ever found herself in, turned out to be the very handsome and unsettling new sheriff. Oh, heavens no. That wouldn't be upsetting at all. Her stomach rolled and fluttered in unaccustomed discomfort, as if she’d ingested something alive and still moving. Panic started to rise.

  "Papa!" Rachel called more loudly than was necessary. "Papa?" she called again, but didn't wait for an answer. Hand pressed against her rumbling stomach, she went directly to the door of the Gentlemen's Lounge where Papa often napped.

  "Papa!"

  There was a snort and grumble of someone being disturbed from sleep. "Wha…what?"

  "We have a guest in need of a room," she said impatiently and glanced back at the wolver. He was grinning again and eyeing her in a way that made her nervous.

  "Well don't just stand there snarling. Get him checked in while I pull myself together," said the disembodied voice of her father.

  Rachel felt the color rise up her neck and flood her cheeks. She'd been insulted, embarrassed, and now humiliated. She fought down the explosion that was forming in her chest

  "Of course, Papa, I'll take care of it," she said and her stiffened shoulders slumped as she let out a tired breath. "We've just been so shorthanded lately," she said to excuse herself.

  "What do you mean shorthanded? Where's Debra?"

  How could Papa have already forgotten their conversation of this morning? There was an odd feeling inside her, as if her corset was too tight, and if her wolf had been with her, it would have growled. She took her next breath and was proud of her quiet response, though it was tinged with snappish impatience.

  "She's been gone for three weeks, Papa. Remember?" Her shoulders slumped again. "Never mind." She turned back to Mr. McCall, naming the price for the night and by the week and looked down at the dog sitting quietly at his heels.

  "No dogs allowed in the room and it needs to be on a leash to go anywhere else. There's a place outside where you can tie it for the night."

  "Dog doesn't do leashes or tying up. We'll sleep in the truck, but there are things I'm uncomfortable leaving out there and I'd like to get them stored away before dark."

  Sleep in the truck with his dog? She looked up at that, but made no comment. Instead, she spun the old fashioned register around for him to sign. "Just to make you aware," she said in a low voice, "Only our kind spends the night."

  McCall nodded. "Good to know."

  "Room seven," she said after taking down a skeleton key with a wooden tag attached. "It's at the back, so you can keep an eye on your dog. You can park in the private lot where it says Hotel Parking and follow the path up."

  Mr. McCall shrugged as if unconcerned. "Dog and I will be all right. It’s my gear that needs looking after."

  "Now Rachel, dearest, don't be so hasty with our new guest," her father admonished as he came through the door. He was wearing a dark green pinstriped suit with a yellow vest and high collared shirt. He straightened his tie and reset the gold stickpin.

  Rachel rolled her eyes heavenward in long suffering patience and sighed again. "Very well, Papa, I'll let you handle it from here." She passed him the key and started around the desk, back toward the kitchen, but stopped short when her father issued more instructions.

  "Be a good girl and fetch Eustace to help you with our guest's bags."

  "Yes, Papa," she said with a slow release of breath.

  As she waited for Eustace to finish his latest tale to a group of children on the porch, Rachel had time to think of the consequences of her indelicate temper tantrum. How often had her mother warned her about action without thought?

  "It takes years to build a solid reputation, sweetheart, and only a thoughtless moment to destroy one. Remember, action without thought brings dire consequences."

  She could hear it now, her name bandied about the saloon as the new sheriff regaled the regulars with his introduction to Gold Gulch in the Tale of the Insane Spinster. Jack Coogan would become the star instead of the villain. And how would she know what coarse story was being told, except through the smirks of men as she went about her business in town?

  "Tell us another. Please? Please?"

  In the child's cry for another story, Rachel saw a possible solution to her dilemma. Eustace, a pack omega who earned his way as a storyteller and helped where he was needed, could repeat any story after hearing it once. The same went for any conversation he heard, which made him the most reliable gossip in Gold Gulch.

  "I want to know everything he says," she whispered to him when he answered her beckoning finger, "Everyone he talks to. Don't leave him alone for a minute. It's important."

  "Rachel!"

  "Coming, Papa." She pointed her finger at Eustace's nose. "I'll pay you for it, but I want every word."

  "Don't you worry, Miss Rachel, you can count on me."

  There was nothing Eustace liked better than gossip.

  Chapter 3

  "Papa's not going to like this," Rachel said as she stripped the sheets from the bed of Room 3, formerly Mr. Jack Coogan's room. "He'll be so angry."

  Mrs. Hornmeyer's head snapped between the two speakers as sharply as she snapped the new sheet into place.

  "No he won't," Bertie stated emphatically. She stuffed the last of Jack Coogan's unmentionables into the suitcase. "Not once you tell him what that no-good weasel said."

  "Oh, I couldn't tell Papa that." It was too personal. Like some of the other things he's said, it was too embarrassing to reveal to her father or any other man.

  She knew Mrs. Hornmeyer was curious, but too polite to ask and Rachel couldn't bring herself to repeat what she'd already told Bertie. Saying it once was hard enough and that was to Bertie who knew everything about her, including how many diapers she wet through when she was two days old. That's how long Bertie had been with her.

  "I could. Not that he'd listen to the likes of me," Bertie told her, snapping the case shut. "But somebody ought to show him up for what he is. I'd like to know how he got himself a seat at the big bug's table in the first place. His folks were no more 'n me and Victor, hard-working betas. And don't tell me he earned it. Murlene Davis' cub started over to the Bank long before Jack Coogan and he ain't livi
n' near so high off the hog."

  Jack Coogan's ambition was another thing her father admired. Coogan had made the leap from beta to alpha and Papa spoke of him as a wolver on the rise. Not unusual, yet in this case, Rachel failed to see how or why. While the man had some brawn to him and could no doubt handle himself physically in a Challenge, as far as she could see he was a coffee boiler, a lazy and shiftless wolver.

  Rachel had no idea what a Challenge entailed because females took no part in it, just as they took no part in any of the decisions made for the businesses of Gold Gulch. Their standing within the pack was based on their father's standing and eventually their mate's. They had no rights, but those their governing male gave them and those rights were few.

  It was the way things had always been and up until a little over a year ago, Rachel had never thought much about it. With the exception of her refusal to mate, she'd accepted the role she was born to play. She'd been content. Nothing in her life had changed, yet slowly her contentment began to fade and was replaced by a growing dissatisfaction with the hand she'd been dealt.

  "What's wrong with me?"

  She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Mrs. Hornmeyer answered.

  "Why, nothing's wrong with you, dear. You're a lovely young woman with a fine face and figure. You have this fine hotel as an inheritance and you've plenty of time to bear young. I can think of a number of young wolvers who would consider themselves fortunate to have you. Once you're mated and have someone to take care of you, things will settle down."

  In Rachel's present mood, it was the wrong thing to say.

  "No! I don't have an inheritance," she snapped and Mrs. Hornmeyer jumped. "I've run this hotel for fifteen years, but it will never be mine. It makes no difference if I mate or not, a male will profit from my hard work and if that male decides to turn this place into a gambling hall, I will have no voice in that decision. What can a mate offer me that I don't already have? The privilege of making his meals? Keeping his house? Bearing pups who also need to be fed and cared for? And all in addition to the work I do here. And what will be my reward if I somehow manage to outlast the male in charge?"

  "Rachel," Bertie warned, but Rachel wasn't listening.

  "I'll end up renting a room from someone else because my house isn't mine any more, living on the trifle I've managed to save from what little pocket money I've been allowed or on the allowance my family pays me to stay away because it’s cheaper than feeding me themselves. So I ask you, what good does it do me to mate?"

  Poor Mrs. Hornmeyer looked like she'd been slapped and realizing how close to home she'd hit, Rachel was immediately contrite.

  "Oh no, Mrs. Hornmeyer, I didn't mean… I only meant…"

  "If you don't mind, dear, I think I'll go to my room. I'm not…" She sniffed and turned away. "Not feeling very well."

  "You know that window God opened for us?" Bertie said when the door closed behind the weeping woman, "I think you just closed it." She shook her head with a look of disgust. "Your poor mother would be ashamed of what you just did, cutting that poor woman down when she's already been pushed lower than she deserves. Do you know why she's here? Because that sorry excuse of a son of hers tossed her out.

  "I remember when Liddy Hornmeyer first came to Gold Gulch, her but a slip of a girl, newly mated and willing to do what she could to make a go of it. That was over fifty years ago, when this place still wasn't much of anything but loose boards and sagging roofs. Lucius Hornmeyer was a good man, a good wolver, and I don't believe for a minute he'd leave his wife thinking she'd have nowhere to go and nothing to go with. I expect he thought his son would do his duty by his Mama, just like Lucius done by his, but that son of his is cut from different cloth. He'd as soon she starved to death if it'd save him the few dollars he spares her every month.

  "Then you come along and rub her nose in it. I never thought I'd say this, Rachel Kincaid, but I'm ashamed of you, too."

  Rachel sat heavily on the partially made bed, beaten by the rebuke and horrified at her own cruelty. "If it's any consolation, I'm ashamed of myself. I'll apologize."

  "Sorry don't fix what's broke," Bertie told her.

  "I know," Rachel said sadly. Once words were said, they couldn’t be taken back. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were pleading. "What's wrong with me, Bertie? I'm so angry all the time. It's been building and building inside. I can't keep it down any more and I feel like I'm going to explode. And please don't tell me I need a man, because I don't. I don't."

  Bertie stared at Rachel for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. "When was the last time you took a walk through this town and said howdy to your neighbor ladies? I ain't talkin' going to the mercantile to place an order. I'm talkin' about socializin'."

  "Bertie, I don't have time…" Rachel began, but shut her mouth and closed her eyes when she felt the anger rising again.

  "I ain't passin' judgment, I’m askin'."

  "I don't know. Years."

  "Why?" Bertie asked.

  "You know why!" Rachel answered and felt her temper flare yet again. "I don't have time. By the time I get the hotel ready for bed, I'm ready for bed myself."

  Bertie nodded. "Then maybe you better make time and get out there and take a look around, because you're gonna find a whole passel of women out there who look like you. They smile at the tourists, but that smile don't reach their eyes. They're wore out. Not like me," she laughed suddenly and winked.

  "What's the secret then, Bertie? You work harder than anyone I know."

  "I got Victor," Bertie laughed. "Now don't go lookin' all prissy at me. I ain't sayin' you need a man, unless, of course, you can find one like Victor."

  Rachel stared at the woman. Victor Mullins wasn't any wolver woman's dream. He was small and wiry with a face like a mule. He had little ambition and the only reason he kept his beta position within the pack was because he showed up promptly three times a day to get shot while robbing the bank, cheating at cards or insulting a gambler's card playing. Folks said he was so good at dying because he liked lying down. When he wasn't getting shot, he could be found doing town maintenance or sitting on someone's porch, playing checkers or tidily-winks with the tourists.

  "I know what you're thinking," Bertie said with another laugh, "And I'm telling you, I got a better life than most. I like my job. I like the lady I work for." She winked. "'Cept when she's being mean to poor widows. I come in, do my job and go home. You're the one working after hours, not me, and I'll tell you another little secret about that no-account Victor. When I go home to fix lunch for him? I'm lyin'. He's the one that makes it every day. Breakfast, too. He's not ashamed of woman's work and he does his share. I don't speak of it, because I don't want to shame him in front of the other men and I'd be ashamed to admit it, too, because it says I'm not a proper mate and housekeeper, but it's what works for us, so we keep our little secret. We're a team, me and Victor, and if you look close at Laura and Mary's eyes, you'll see them smilin', too, because Victor taught our boys how to treat their mates."

  Rachel was seeing Victor in a whole new light, but that new light wasn't shining on her.

  "I'm happy for you, Bertie. I really am, but what does all this have to do with me and the other women who look like me."

  "I figure it'd be some comfort to know you're not alone. I'm thinking you're at a crossroads and you've got to figure out which way to turn. You've got to settle it in here." Bertie patted her stomach. "You've got to accept the life you're livin' or you've got to change it."

  "And how would I do that?"

  "Don't know, but I've known you since you were a wee pup and you've always been a smart one. You'll figure it out. Now, let's get this bed made and I'll take this trash…" She pointed to Coogan's bags. "…down to the front desk while you…" She pointed at Rachel and gave her 'the eye' which Rachel hadn't seen in years."…get your apologies over with. Go on now, own up to your faults and seek forgiveness."

  It was what Rachel's mother alw
ays said and between 'the eye' and the words, Rachel felt like she was six again when she knocked on Mrs. Hornmeyer's door. The feeling didn't leave her when, at the sniffled "Come in", she opened it to find Mrs. Hornmeyer sitting in her rocker, staring off into space, a sodden and crumpled hanky in her hand. Hands held tightly together in front of her to stop their wringing, Rachel looked down at her feet.

  "Mrs. Hornmeyer, I've come to say I'm sorry. I was upset about other things and I had no right to take my anger out on you and say such hateful things. I don't know why I said what I did. It was wrong and it was shameful and I hope you'll accept my apology and forgive me my rudeness."

  "I have never been so hurt and angry in my life," Mrs. Hornmeyer whispered and Rachel knew she deserved everything she was about to hear and steadied herself to hear it. And then the world tilted a little as Mrs. Hornmeyer continued.

  "As I was when my son's mate told me I had no place in her house. Her house! When I first came here as Mr. Hornmeyer's new mate, that place was more gap than board. We slept in the storeroom and I cooked our meals on a fire out back. We only saw tourists on the weekend back then and mighty few of them at that, but we believed we were a part of building something good; a safe place to earn our way and raise our cubs. We scraped. We saved. We paid our tithe to the Alpha and the pack. I hauled board and plaster alongside my mate and built that home above the store one room at a time. Sixty years of labor to build what we have and every week, Mr. Hornmeyer put a bit by with Mr. Slocum over at the bank, sometimes no more than a dollar. For our old age, he'd say, and then he up and died before we got there. And now I find out all those years were for nothing. That money we saved? It's my son's. The business, too." Mrs. Hornmeyer slammed her fist on the arm of her chair so hard, she winced and began to cry.

  "You only spoke the truth, Miss Kincaid, but you were wrong about the money. I never had any pocket money to save and my son doesn't pay me a penny. My Pittance comes from the pack. Mr. Slocum had me sign some papers and every month I collect my bit. He says it's the pack's duty to take care of those who can't take care of themselves." She dabbed at her eyes. "I'm so ashamed."