Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)

by Rhoades, Jacqueline

  She didn’t see him for several days, but the dog showed up in her back yard every night to keep her company while she hung her table cloths. She couldn’t fathom how McCall knew, but within minutes of setting the last peg in place, she’d hear a short, sharp whistle, and the dog would go to the gate to await his release. She tried feeding it with scraps from the supper table, but it refused to eat.

  “Won’t take nothin’ from nobody’s hand but Challenger’s,” Eustace informed her. “Best trained animal I ever seen. Why, this afternoon when I pointed out that feller pickin’ pockets, Challenger had that dog run him down like a rabbit. If he weren’t a thief, I would have felt sorry for the feller, wettin’ his drawers like that. Crowd loved it, though. Sheriff marched him right up the middle of the street, straight to the Hoosegow. Feller was human, so we kept him in a cell for the rest of the day and let him go when the gates closed, ‘cause we don’t want no dealings with the County. Pretty sure he won’t be back, though. Got back three wallets and a change purse. Returned the wallets. Nobody claimed the purse.”

  Eustace was proud of his new role as the sheriff’s sidekick, but he hadn’t forgotten his role as spy.

  “After the gates closed, we stopped in to wet our whistles at the saloon, Billy has this pretty pink apron like they wear over at the Sweet Shop, setting on the counter.”

  “Oh, dear,” Rachel sighed with worry. “Was it bad?”

  “Billy tossed the apron to the Sheriff and said ‘Thought you might need this, since I hear you like doing women’s work.’” Billy laughed at his joke and some of the men around the bar laughed, too.

  “McCall laughed with them and said, ‘Pretty funny coming from a man who wears one all day long. Need any help washing those glasses?’

  “Everybody but Billy started laughing because the joke was now on him. He eyed McCall for a moment and then shook his head, poured two beers from the tap and set them on the bar in front of the Sheriff and me.

  “You’re all right, McCall.”

  “Thank heavens,” Rachel breathed. The new sheriff didn’t need more trouble.

  “Yep, everything was fine and dandy,” Eustace agreed, “until the Sheriff had to tell Billy that his cub was being brought before the Mayor’s Court. Right along with young Randall Hoffman.”

  The Alpha held Court twice a month, at the full moon and again at the new, to arbitrate disagreements between members of the pack and pass judgment on violations of the law.

  Rachel stopped ironing the Luncheon napkins. Bertie stopped washing dishes and Liddy stopped polishing the silverware. Eustace kept right on sweeping the kitchen as if he hadn’t said anything important.

  “Well? Don’t just leave us hanging. What happened?” Bertie said impatiently. “Didn’t you tell him he can’t do that to the Alpha’s son?”

  “I did, but by that time, he weren’t listening. Achilles Marbank over at the livery saw the whole thing and said so. Hey did I tell you McCall’s thinking about getting himself a horse. Marbank’s got a big son-of-a-gun…”

  “Eustace!”

  He grinned, knowing full well he was driving the ladies crazy. “Well, we’re walking by the Sweet Shop window and there’s young Billy and Randall helping themselves to a fistful of candy and stuffing their pockets while they thought no one was watching. Sheriff waits till they leave the store, and then he stops ‘em.”

  “You fellas forget to do something?” he asks real pleasant like, but eyeing their pockets just the same.

  Young Billy was looking mighty nervous, but Randall speaks right up, bold as brass.

  “Why, I don’t think so, Sheriff. We haven’t done anything wrong.” Eustace’s voice became high and supercilious as he mimicked the cub.

  “I believe you have. Why don’t you fellas empty your pockets just to be sure?” The Sheriff waited with hands on hips until the boys did as told. Seeing the unpaid for candy, he said, “Now here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to wait until the store is empty of customers and then you’re going in there and confess. As punishment, you’re going to sweep out the store and porch and the jailhouse, too.”

  “I will not. Do you know who I am? I’m Randall Hoffman, the Mayor’s son.”

  “Then you should set a better example. Now get your butt in there and do what’s right.”

  “That little devil has been stealing from us for years,” Liddy added, forgetting for a moment the store was no longer hers.

  “Well,” Eustace continued after giving her a look that said he didn’t like having his story interrupted, “Along comes the Second to ask what’s going on.”

  “Randall’s not going to sweep anybody’s porch,” he said to the Sheriff. “You have no authority to impose punishment on the Mayor’s son. If there’s any sweeping to be done, Billy can do it. He’s seen his father do it often enough.”

  McCall shook his head. “You’re right. It’s not my job to set the punishment, but it’s not yours, either, and I won’t see one punished and not the other. Let the Alpha pass sentence. Sorry boys, but I’m going to have to cite you for theft and summon you before the Mayor’s Court.”

  “You can’t do that. The Mayor won’t allow it.”

  “Just following the Mayor’s directions and doing my job. The Mayor can do as he pleases in Court, but he’ll have to do it with the pack watching.”

  “Achilles Marbank was at the bar and he stood for McCall.”

  “I’m sorry it was your cub, Billy,” he says, “but Sheriff McCall did the only thing he could do. Nobody’s going to think young Billy’s a bad cub. Hell, you and I have taken our share of whuppings for doing the same thing and we turned out all right, but he’s a cub and he’s got to learn. Seems to me, McCall here had the right idea.”

  “I would have done the same. Made the cubs own up to what they done,” another man spoke up. “It was the Second who forced the Sheriff’s hand. It’s about time somebody stood up to Barnabas Holt.”

  "Aw, shut your big bazoo," said another. “He should have just let the cubs go. No sense kicking a hornet’s nest over a fistful of candy.”

  “We’ll have to trust the Alpha to do right,” Billy said and then he turned to McCall. “I’m ashamed for my cub’s sake, and I don’t hold what you did against you and I can guarantee he’ll be punished.”

  McCall nodded his thanks. “Don’t be too hard on him, though. He didn’t lie and he didn’t argue. Like the man said, I’ve been there a time or two, myself.”

  “Guess I’ll be stopping by Court to see how it works out,” said the first man.

  “I’ll be right there with you,” said a second.

  “It’d be a fine thing to see Barnabas Holt brought down a peg or two. I doubt it’ll happen, but I’ll be there just in case.”

  “Guess the menfolk aren’t as happy as you thought they were,” Bertie said to Rachel. “Seems to me, Gold Gulch is full to overflowing with unhappy folks.”

  Chapter 11

  "Bertie, I can't," Rachel protested in a last effort to avoid the Lantern Show. "We don't close for another two hours and we have rooms to clean." Four of the rooms had been rented for the weekend, two of them to visitors here to see Mr. Slocum at the bank.

  "That’s two hours me and Eustace can handle and those rooms can wait until tomorrow. Them visitors," Bertie said in a way that made it clear what she thought of them, "will be cozying up to Mr. Slocum and enjoying their dinner down to Golden Palace. It's a slow evenin' and it's getting' slower. Always does this time of year. We need you, we know where to find you."

  Initially, she’d been enthusiastic enough about her plans to argue past her father’s objections and insist it was her turn to spend the evening out. But after a few days, her doubts returned and now she was sorry she’d won.

  Rachel stared at her reflection in the glass door of the cupboard. "Bertie? How old would you think I am?"

  "What kind of fool question is that? I was there when you were born, remember?"

  "I mean if you d
idn't know me. How old would you think I was?" Rachel squirmed a little when she asked it, because her wolf was wiggling like a pup, which was nonsense.

  Bertie stopped washing dishes and turned to Rachel. "What brought all this on?" she asked as she dried her hands.

  "Oh, nothing," Rachel sighed, "It was just that I saw the Mate out walking earlier. She's not much older than me and she looks like a girl."

  "Hmph. The Mate's never done a lick of work a day in her life. She's got someone to clean and someone to cook and Maudie Cove gets paid extra to do the ironing on all those fancy clothes. All she's got to do with her days is powder, primp and parade." Bertie began stacking dishes for Rachel to load back onto the shelves.

  "Bertie Mullins, that tongue of yours could strip the hide from a buffalo." Eustace dumped his load in the sink with a clatter of dishes and silverware. "I feel sorry for her, myself, sittin' up in that house all alone, her man up at Daisy's or down to the saloon. That cub of hers ain't much comfort, neither. It'd make for a long day with nothin' to do but powder, primp, and parade."

  "I ain't saying I don't feel for her sorrow, but what she's done ain't helped her none and it ain't helped us, neither. Things were hard before. Now they're worse and none of us can keep going like we are. Something's got to change." She turned and looked Rachel up and down and then nodded as if coming to a decision. "And that something is starting right now. You go on in there and do some powdering and primping of your own. You put on that pretty blue dress and your Mama's brooch and that fancy new hat with the white feathers.”

  The two continued to chatter after Rachel left the room, but upon hearing her name, she paused to listen once she turned the corner.

  "What was that all about?" Eustace asked, keeping his voice low.

  "The Mate walked by on her afternoon stroll and it set Rachel to thinking. She's afraid she's losing her looks. I'm thinking the prospect of being Gold Gulch's first and only spinster is losing its appeal."

  "The Mate walks by almost every day. Why'd it set her off today?"

  "I'm thinking it wasn't the Mate walking by that set her off so much as who she was walking with."

  It had nothing to do with Challenger McCall, Rachel thought indignantly. Just because he hadn’t stopped by to say hello and just because she happened to look out the dining room window once or twice, or maybe several times more than that, and see him laughing and smiling at the Mate, with her hanging on his arm like he was her new beau.

  Rachel knew that wasn’t the case. It couldn’t be. The bond between Alpha and Mate was so strong, neither could turn to another for connubial comfort. The Mayor might spend his time visiting with his cronies up at Daisy’s Bouquet, but he would have to remain faithful to the Mate. The love between them could die, but the bond could not. Only the death of one or the other could break the bond that held them together for the good of the pack.

  She was so busy thinking about Mr. McCall spending time with the petite and beautiful Mate, she’d missed part of the conversation.

  "She's a grown woman, Eustace."

  "But that's just it, Bertie. She is and she ain't. She may have lived thirty-two years, but her heart's still seventeen."

  Rachel's wolf was rolling on its back, kicking its feet in the air. The she-wolf liked being seventeen.

  Rachel hadn't liked it at all. At seventeen, the yearnings that had come upon her were so strong, they were painful. Her wolf was so powerful in those days, so eager to hunt, it was hard to push it down.

  But by then, her mother had been gone for three years and Rachel already knew what her future held. She'd quit school at sixteen to take over the restaurant and hotel, because in two short years, her father had driven it into the ground with his drinking and gambling and neglect. If he lost the hotel, he'd lose his standing in the pack. Papa went downhill fast when Mama passed and his standing was all he had left. Rachel was secretly afraid she'd lose the only family she had left. Someone had to take charge and the only someone available was Rachel.

  She fought her wolf's instincts and drove off any male that came sniffing around. She cooked and waited tables and cleaned the rooms. She learned how to keep the books and took care of her father. Her days were so full, she had little time to think and, after a while, she didn't think at all. She just did what needed to be done… until Barnabas Holt showed up in her backyard and a stranger came to her aid and her wolf woke up.

  It wasn't the drink that kept her awake that night, long after Challenger McCall had left her and gone to his bed. No, it wasn't the drink, it was her wolf and the animal's thoughts of Challenger McCall in that bed that kept Rachel awake.

  "Don't get your hopes up," she whispered to her wolf who was dancing a waltz inside her. "I still have no plans to mate."

  The animal in her whined and lay down, head on paws.

  Rachel tightened her corset as best she could over her chemise and drawers, donned her petticoat and corset cover, added the pannier that served as her bustle and wiggled her underskirt into place. So far, so good.

  As she brushed her long tresses out, she said her daily prayer of thanks that the Alpha allowed the ladies the luxury of modern shampoo, which was unheard of in the era in which they lived. Folks said a woman's hair was her crowning glory and Rachel agreed. In spite of the teasing she'd endured as a child, she'd always loved her red hair. It had darkened over the years, but was still thick and full and she gathered it at the crown of her head and let the soft curls fall past her shoulders. The high tail of curls made a fine perch for her little blue hat.

  To her surprise and delight, the bodice and overskirt fit like a glove. She'd never been able to cinch her waist as tight as some of the other women of her rank. She did too much bending and lifting and she needed to be able to breathe. She'd never minded before and would have gladly done without her corset, but fashion dictated that a corset be worn. Even the girls at the saloon were laced and tied.

  There was a lacy fichu that draped around her neck and tucked into the front of her dress, modestly covering the skin exposed by the deep cut of the neck. Rachel studied it for a moment and then shoved it back into the drawer. She found a pair of black lace gloves to cover her work-worn hands, but had yet to fit them over her rough fingers when there was a knock at the door leading to the backyard.

  No one ever came to that door at this time of day except, occasionally, Bertie's mate, Victor, and that's who she thought it must be. When no one answered and the knock came again, Rachel laid her gloves aside.

  Challenger McCall stood on the kitchen doorstep with a narrow tie in one hand and a shirt collar in the other. He wore a dark blue suit that was tailored perfectly to fit his large frame and his shirt was crisply starched. He'd combed his hair back, but an unruly lock fell forward and his sheepish grin made Rachel smile. He held out the collar and tie.

  "Can you…?" he began and then, mouth still forming the word, his eyes slowly slid down her body and up again.

  "Holy shit," he breathed and his appreciative eyes slid back to her face. "Wow."

  "If that was a compliment, Mr. McCall, I'll gladly accept it, though you might consider expressing your appreciation in a more, um, gentlemanly manner. We spoke about this. Remember?" Rachel chided.

  "What if I changed it to 'Hot damn!'?" he asked. “No, huh?” he nodded sharply. “Then you're a tease, Miss Kincaid, because seeing you in that dress would make any red blooded wolver forget all about being a gentleman."

  His grin had turned from sheepish to something else and that something else made Rachel's insides flutter. She tried to wipe the smile from her face, but the effort only brought more color to her cheeks. Her wolf was stamping its feet and chortling.

  "You are incorrigible, Mr. McCall," she told him, shaking her head at his refusal to learn the rules.

  "Why, thank you, Miss Kincaid. I try," he laughed and held out his collar and tie. "I've also tried to figure this out, but I'm apparently a fashion failure. Can you help? I need you to make me respectable.
"

  "I am neither a tease nor a miracle worker, Mr. McCall," she said, taking the collar from him. "But come in. I'll do what I can." She held her hand, palm up, over her shoulder as she walked into the storage room. "Stud?" she asked, wiggling her fingers.

  "Damn, who knew that nickname would reach all the way to Gold Gulch?" McCall snickered behind her.

  "Jokes do tend to travel quickly, Mr. McCall," Rachel murmured softly to herself and then regretted it immediately when the silent pause behind her told her he'd heard it.

  It was broken by a loud laugh. "See, Dog? Like I said; a sense of humor. Dog likes a woman with a sense of humor," he said to Rachel's back.

  Rachel sighed and turned with her palm up and waiting. "The little buttons to your collar, Mr. McCall."

  "Oh, is that what they're called?" He already had the three little studs ready. "I thought you were referring to…"

  "I know what you thought," she said, taking the collar and threading the narrow tie through it. Now, remove your coat and turn around."

  As she reached to connect the collar, Rachel could feel the heat emanating from his body and her head was suddenly filled with a vision of her hands skimming over the warm flesh beneath his shirt. She closed her eyes and imagined what the ripple of muscle would feel like beneath her kneading fingers as they worked their way to his shoulders and then travelled down his chest. His scent filled her nostrils as, in her fantasy, she pressed her naked breasts against him.

  Her eyes snapped open when she dropped the stud.

  "Clumsy me," she said hastily, hoping he mistook her breathless voice as one of ineptitude. She popped another stud through the holes.

  McCall bent and retrieved the fallen stud before turning to face her. He held the stud out, between thumb and forefinger. When she took it from him, and before she could move away, he grasped her two trembling fingers now holding the studs. His eyes locked with hers.