Like a hide stretched on the barn wall, she was well and truly pinned. With his hand at her neck and his knee pushed between her legs, pressing painfully against her, she couldn't move. He was still talking, but the rushing in her ears prevented her from hearing what he said. The fire in her lungs exploded into her eyes in bright flashes of light.
A shadow, darker than the night, filled the space behind her attacker and the hand at her neck, along with the body it was attached to, was suddenly gone. Rachel slid down the post, her legs no longer having the strength to support her. Her body melted into the puddle formed by her skirt and petticoats, next to the pile of wet and now muddied tablecloths.
Gulping for breath and holding her hand to her throat, it was the sight of those cloths that erased her fear and replaced it with anger. As she gasped to replenish the air in her lungs, something inside her began to boil. Those cloths would have to be rewashed and hung, taking the one hour a day that was hers and hers alone. She was sick of it! Sick of the cooking and the cleaning, sick of being treated like a child, sick of men who did as they pleased with impunity.
She grabbed the handle of her wicker laundry basket as she rose and swung it with all her anger behind it. It wasn't until she heard and felt the satisfying smack of basket on head that she realized she'd hit the wrong man. Her unexpected blow caused the man to stagger a bit, which was enough to turn the upper hand over to her attacker, who quickly began to pummel the newcomer with flying fists.
"No!" she shouted in dismay at what she'd done.
The newcomer, who'd just regained his footing and was once again holding his own, stopped and looked at her, thinking her shout was an order. His reward for obedience was an uppercut to his jaw that lifted him off his feet and sent him stumbling back. Rachel now recognized him as the hotel's guest and, according to Eustace, the town's new sheriff. His dog, hackles raised and watching the scuffle intently, seemed to second her shout with a sharp bark.
"No!" she cried again, this time to her attacker who'd raised his massive fist for a finishing blow. She didn't know what possessed her. She'd never done anything like it before in her life.
Rachel leapt at the raised arm, grabbed fist and forearm, and as her weight and surprise brought it down, she bit him. She sank her teeth into the flesh of his wrist. He howled in pain and snarled as he swung his arm, with Rachel attached, outward, slamming her against the wall of the house.
McCall was on his feet and charging, but not in time to save the wind from being knocked from her again. He roared his outrage as his shoulder plowed into his opponent, driving him into the wall next to Rachel. McCall grabbed the man's shirt at the shoulders and slammed him again and again, so hard she was sure the pictures on the inside walls were rattling.
"Like it?" he asked his victim in a snarling voice. He gave the heavier man no time to recover, but lifted him off his feet and tossed him to the ground. Wrapping his fingers about the downed man's throat, he pressed downward. His knee was pressed into the man's chest, forcing the air out. "How does it feel, asswipe?"
Now it was her attacker's eyes that bulged. It was her attacker who couldn't breathe. It was her attacker whose heels drummed against the dirt. Rachel's satisfaction was fleeting when she thought McCall was going to kill him.
"Stop! Stop!" she cried, but when she moved forward, the dog was there, lip curled and warning her back.
When she stopped, the dog returned its attention to its master, who had raised his arm as if she might hit him with something again.
"Do you mean it this time?" he asked, not taking his hand from his opponent's throat.
"Yes, yes, I mean it. I don't want any trouble," she told him a little breathlessly. Her heart was still pounding and her insides roiling.
"Seems to me, he's the one got trouble, not you," McCall said, rising to his feet, but keeping his eyes on the man coughing and sputtering on the ground. "Seems to me, there's laws against assaulting a female."
"Yes, but…"
"You ain't no lawman yet, McCall, and if I have my say, you won't be. You'll pay for this." The downed man struggled to his feet and Rachel cringed when McCall laughed derisively.
"You need a new script writer, jackass. Who are you supposed to be, anyway, the big, bad cattle rancher driving the poor beleaguered farmers off their land? 'Cause listen up, asshole. This ain't no movie western on late night TV and even if it were, I'd be the guy in the white hat."
"Mr. McCall," Rachel whispered, frightened now for him and not for the other man who was rising to his full height, "You don't understand. This is…"
Power swelled in the tiny enclosed yard. The dog whined, but held its place between her and the men, never taking its eyes off of McCall. Rachel was not so brave. She lowered her eyes and dropped her shoulders and head, unable to look at the wolver wielding it. She didn't want to, but she was a wolver and when a powerful alpha exerted his dominance, she had no choice. Standing next to her, Challenger McCall acted as if nothing was happening. His body was relaxed and, glancing up at him, she saw he was staring straight into the other's eyes.
"That all you got?" he sked casually.
"You have no idea who I am."
"You got that right, asshat, and I don't much care."
"I'm the Second of this pack."
In any pack, the Second was the Alpha's most trusted pack member and strongest ally. He wasn't always the strongest physically and he wasn't necessarily the heir to the leadership of the pack, but more often than not, he was both.
"Which only proves there's no accounting for taste. I'm not a member of this pack, which makes you jack shit to me." McCall turned toward Rachel. "Let's get you inside."
As he put a hand to her back to steer her toward the door, the Second grabbed his shoulder. Power flared from McCall, so strong and wild, Rachel stumbled. Then as quickly as it came, the surge was gone.
The Second hesitated, too, removing his hand and that evidence of caution only increased his anger.
"You're done in this town," he snarled, but made no other move toward McCall. "Pack your bags and get out. I'm the Second, and in this pack, that means my word is law. You can forget the job."
"Fine. Keep the job," Mr. McCall told him. He shrugged and the face he made showed his indifference. "But before I go, I'll Challenge and you won't live to enjoy your petty victory."
Challenger McCall said it as calmly as saying it looks like it's going to rain. Rachel's eyes widened at the stupidity of the remark and the man who made it. Had he no wolf sense at all? Didn't he hear what the Second said about his word being law? Did he not understand? Did he have a death wish?
Challenges were issued for position in the pack. To challenge the Second was to Challenge the authority of the Alpha himself.
"He didn't mean it, Mr. Holt" she said quickly, "He's new. He doesn’t understand." She made sure she kept her eyes cast down in deference to his position. This wasn't about his aggressive courtship. His position in the pack gave him no right to force her to mate. This was about McCall.
"I understand he's an ass. That alone should be worthy of a challenge, but I don't need to look for a reason," McCall said to her, but his eyes never left Holt's.
Holt was breathing hard. Rachel could feel the tension as he strained to control his power. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, her body taut as a fiddle string as she waited for the explosion she knew would come. Her head snapped up when Holt spoke.
"You can't Challenge for Second. You're not a member of this pack and you never will be." He spat the words as if McCall wasn't worthy of membership, but Rachel recognized it for what it was. Holt was backing down.
The fool wolver laughed again. "I never said I'd Challenge for Second. I couldn't if I want to, which I don't. The Second's position is earned, not won, or have you forgotten that?" He shook his head at the implied stupidity. "The Challenge would be personal, over your assault of a female and just in case you've forgotten that, too, any male from any pack has the right
to do that under Primal Law. You have heard of Primal Law, haven't you?"
He would Challenge Barnabas Holt on her behalf? Head still lowered, Rachel's eyes slid to the newcomer. The churning inside her settled into something warm, but unfamiliar.
"Your word against mine, McCall. No witnesses," Holt sneered.
Rachel knew both men were looking at her, but she couldn't look up. Instead, she looked at her tablecloths strewn in the dirt at her feet. The warmth inside her coalesced into a burning ball that uncoiled into the wolf she thought had died. Her hands started to shake as the long absent sensation of her inner wolf made its presence known. Its growl was almost a whisper, directed not at the situation, but at her complacency. She toed the filthy linen and that's when it hit her.
Holt was counting on her to refuse to air her 'dirty linen' in public. He was counting on her keeping the shameful secret to herself.
Insides quaking, she was surprised how steady her voice sounded as she quietly said, "There is a witness, Mr. Holt. You seem to have forgotten. I was there, too."
"Well, there you have it. What's it to be, Holt? How long would you last as Second once it's known you've assaulted one of the fair and gentle females of Gold Gulch? Hmm?" Mr. McCall turned away and then turned back. "Oh, and about that job I'm never going to get? You're too fucking late to the party on that one, too." McCall pulled the badge from the pocket of his jeans. "Your Mayor already hired me."
Chapter 7
Mr. McCall led her through the door to the kitchen and held the chair for her as he sat her at the table. She was still shaking, but whether it was from fear, or anger, or the fact that her wolf had awakened after all these years, she wasn't sure.
She wasn't sure about a lot of things lately and the inner turmoil was driving her mad. Look what she'd done to Jack Coogan in the restaurant. Good heavens! What had possessed her to lose her temper with that silly fool? He'd been a thorn in her side since he sat behind her in school and regularly trapped her pigtail between his desk and her seat so she made a fool of herself every time she was called upon to rise. She hadn't lost her temper like that with Jack since she was twelve.
And now this. She'd not only bitten the Second of her pack, Bitten! She'd threatened to testify against him. The shaking worsened and she lowered her head to her hands. She felt a warm hand at her upper back.
"You got anything other than ice tea around here?" Mr. McCall asked.
"Um, lemonade, I think. No. Eustace had that with his supper." Her brain wasn't functioning very well. It was difficult to think. Um, coffee?" she said. Yes, coffee was a drink and she was pretty sure they had some. She looked up into eyes dancing with humor. He was laughing at her.
"I was thinking of something a little stronger," he said, his mouth steady and straight despite his dancing eyes.
"Oh." She frowned, not understanding his meaning and then she did. "Oh! What a fool you must think me, Mr. McCall. Of course. Papa keeps a bottle in his office. I'll go get it."
He'd rescued her, for heaven's sake, and she hadn't thanked him or offered him any hospitality. She started to rise, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"You're shaken, but no fool, Miss Kincaid," he answered gently, but firmly. "You sit. Tell me where he keeps it and I'll go get it."
Well, she couldn't very well tell him that, now could she? Her father kept his liquor in the safe and as chivalrous as McCall's actions were, she couldn't very well give him, a stranger, the combination. Hospitality, her call of duty, quickly cleared the cobwebs befuddling her mind.
"I'm quite all right, Mr. McCall," she told him, sounding more prim than she meant it to. "I'll fetch it. The gentleman's lounge might be more comfortable for you. You're welcome to take your refreshment in there or I can bring a tray up to your room."
"No, Miss Kincaid, the kitchen will be fine. I shall await your return with baited breath."
He was mocking her, but what else could she expect. He'd only seen her at her very worst; with Jack Coogan, her father, and now Barnabas Holt. She nodded and hurried from the room in search of whatever strong refreshment her father might have locked away.
When she returned, bottle in hand, he was coming through the back door with her laundry basket filled with the dirtied cloths. He looked at her and grinned.
"If you use a tub and a washboard, you're on your own, but if you have an honest-to-God electric washer, point me to it and I'll throw these in for you. Better get them washed before the dirt dries."
"Oh, no, Mr. McCall, you mustn't. It wouldn't be right. Please, sit down. Have your drink with my blessings. I'm exceedingly grateful for your…"
He glanced to his left. "Never mind, I see it. Stay," he said to the dog who had followed him in. The dog sat.
"No! Mr. McCall, I cannot allow you to…" The bottle tilted dangerously as she placed it on the table and she bobbled it back and forth with her still shaking hands.
"Damnit, woman, get off your fucking high horse and sit your ass down. I didn't ask your permission and I know how to use a goddamned washing machine." When she didn't move, he pointed to the chair and said, "Sit!" and then, quite sharply to the dog, "Guard."
The dog stood and stared at Rachel. Since it had already shown her its teeth once tonight, she thought it best to do as she was told and sit. Mr. McCall could not, however, stop her from thinking. No one had ever used such words to her before. She'd heard them, of course. Visitors and tourists, wolver and human, used them regularly, but they were outsiders, not pack.
She was offended by them and would have told him so if not for the fact that he'd done her a great service. She would, instead, patiently explain to him that no gentleman would use such language in front of the ladies of the pack. If he was to live among them, Mr. McCall would have to learn the rules. She folded her hands and awaited his return.
Her wolf, silent for so long, suddenly decided to voice an opinion. It yipped and spun inside her, laughing at her timidity in the face of a mere dog. It snorted with wolfish glee.
"You? Bite McCall?" it laughed at Rachel's intended reprimand of the newcomer. "He'll bite back!"
"Go back to sleep," Rachel muttered, remembering why she'd banished her wolf in the first place.
"Did you say something?" McCall asked, entering the kitchen with the washer chug-chugging in the room behind him.
"Mr. McCall! Where are your shoes?" His feet were long and broad like his hands and she wondered curiously if his whole form would match the structure of those hands and feet or did the drape of his clothes hide skinny…. She blushed at where the thought took her.
Fortunately, McCall missed her blush. He looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. "Guess I didn't think I needed them."
"You really should be wearing shoes, Mr. McCall."
"I'll try to remember that the next time I rescue you. Do you require a jacket and tie, too?"
"I didn't mean it that way," she said and she didn’t, but something about it bothered her. "I'm sorry. I must be over tired and, as you say, shaken."
"Probably, but you won't be able to sleep if you don't relax. Glasses?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll get them." Rachel started to rise and the dog issued a low growl. She pointed to the cupboard beside the sink as she sat back down.
McCall set two glasses on the table. "Down," he said to the dog and the dog immediately lay at Rachel's feet, inching forward until it could lay its nose on her shoe. McCall laughed and told her, "He likes you."
"Does he always snarl at people he likes?" she asked and tried to shift her foot away from the dog. It did no good. For every inch her foot moved, the dog moved two until its head covered her shoe.
"You mean outside?" he asked as he poured a little of the amber liquid into each glass. "That was a first. I didn't tell him to do it. Maybe he thought you needed protecting or maybe he thought he was protecting me. You swing a mean basket, you know." He pushed one of the glasses toward her. "Drink up."
"I am sorry about tha
t, too," she said of the basket and raised her palm to the offered glass. "No, thank you. I should have said something. I don't drink. Well, a little sherry, now and again, and Bertie fixed me a hot toddy once with lots of sugar and lemon when I had a cold." It was nervous chatter and so unlike her, she clamped her mouth shut.
He smiled. "Purely medicinal, then. Sip it. It will help you relax."
Rachel looked at the glass and then at McCall, who nodded.
"I really shouldn't," she said, but she'd always wondered what her father's attraction was to whiskey.
The first sip was like swallowing fire, but at McCall's laughing insistence, she took another. That one went down much easier and the third tasted quite nice.
He lifted the towel covering the extra plate of food. "You saving this for someone?"
"It was supposed to be yours. You get two meals a day with your board, but it's been sitting out a while. Let me get you something else."
He sniffed at the plate. "It's fine. Stay where you are," he said and began to eat. "It's good. Dog and me get a little tired of my cooking and fast food gets… well, it's fast food." He shrugged as if she knew what he meant and went back to eating.
"I've never had fast food," she told him.
"You're not missing much." He winked, but it was friendly and not at all like Mr. Coogan's. "Nice place you've got here. I feel like I'm living in the lap of luxury compared to my last place."
"It's hardly luxurious, Mr. McCall." Rachel took another sip and if it hadn't been for her corset holding her firmly upright, she would have slumped back in her chair.
"Eyes of the beholder, Miss Kincaid. I'm happy with clean sheets and a pillow that doesn't smell like dead things have been living in it. Up there I've got a mattress with no lumps, curtains on the window and a cushy rug on the floor, a shower that works and a toilet that flushes. Oh, yeah, and that fancy bed cover to top it all off." He nodded his head. "Lap of luxury. Sure as hell beats living in a tent."
Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) Page 6