Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)

by Rhoades, Jacqueline

  Chapter 17

  “I thought you said you didn’t drink,” McCall laughed when he saw her burden.

  The Mate was right. This wolver was good at pretending. Rachel kept waiting for him to catch her alone to talk about what happened the night before. He never did. The way he acted, the flash and fight might never have happened. Rachel decided to play along mainly because she still didn’t know what to make of what she saw or who, if anyone, she should tell.

  “I didn’t,” she laughed back, “until I met a man who tempted me with his bad habits.”

  Paint spattered, McCall and Washington sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating the dainty finger sandwiches as fast as Bertie set them on the plate. Rachel nodded at the plate. “Those finger sandwiches are for Tea.”

  Washington, who’d managed to snatch Bertie’s most recent creation, stuck his finger between the two tiny slices of bread and pretended to bite it. McCall laughed. Bertie and Liddy smiled with maternal indulgence. Rachel rolled her eyes.

  They were six year-olds hiding in grown men’s bodies.

  “The sandwiches for Tea are already in the icebox. This is leftover.” Bertie passed the next tidbit to the sheriff. “What are the bottles for?”

  In keeping with her new attitude toward keeping secrets, Rachel told them about young Billy’s delivery. “I thought I’d set a couple of bottles aside, just in case,” she said, but neglected to add, “Just in case Mr. McCall showed up for another evening chat.” She raised the bottle of sherry and gave a slight bow to the ladies. “And this is to celebrate finding enough money to pay Mrs. Hornmeyer’s wages. Would you gentlemen care to join us?”

  “Thank you, but no,” The schoolmaster said politely.

  The sheriff shivered and wrinkled his nose. “Cough syrup. Wouldn’t mind a sip of the other, though.”

  “If you’re offering,” The schoolmaster added.

  Bertie fetched the glasses while Rachel poured. Liddy was the only one who wasn’t smiling.

  “Do you think I’ll lose my Pittance?” she asked, worriedly.

  “Oh dear, I didn’t think. I don’t know how it works, what the rules are.” It was something else to be added to her list of things she didn’t know about her pack. Rachel looked to the men to see if they knew the answer.

  “Don’t look at me,” McCall shrugged, “I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s a small pension given to widows and orphans to keep them from dying in the street and scarin’ away the tourists.”

  “Bertie!”

  “It’s true! Men may talk about being reduced to getting a Pittance, but I never heard of one who was. Why do you think Maudie went off her rocker the other morning? She’s been pushed to her limit trying to pay her rent and feed those cubs. What she gets from the pack barely covers what those cubs eat and she’s got no one to stand for her when someone decides not to pay what she charges if she’s late or a shirt isn’t ironed to their liking. And those that can most afford it are the ones who pay the least and she usually has to beg for it.” She turned to Rachel. “Victor and me bring her something now and again and Eustace adds his to it.”

  “Why didn’t you say something, Bertie? I’d help.”

  “I know you would, but your father wouldn’t,” Bertie told her and then grinned, “Anyway, you’ve been contributing pretty regular. Even Eustace can’t eat that much pie.”

  “Doesn’t your family own the Sweet Shop?” McCall asked. “Shouldn’t they…?”

  “They should, but they don’t,” Bertie answered for her. “Worked all her life and ends up with nothing. It ain’t right.”

  McCall and Washington exchanged glances and Washington nodded.

  “Why don’t I check into this for you, Mrs. Hornmeyer? I won’t mention any names,” Mr. Washington assured Liddy. “As a newcomer, I’ll be curious, that’s all. We’ll figure out how best to take care of you. You deserve it.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  The way Liddy looked at the schoolmaster as she said it, with that gentle smile on her face and dreamy eyes, Rachel thought Mrs. Hornmeyer might be falling in love and Rachel could easily see why.

  John Washington was a handsome man and clearly charismatic. When he spoke, you wanted to listen. He was as comfortable speaking with Bertie and Liddy as he was with the Mate. The two women knew him no better than Rachel did and yet they were talking to him as they would to no other man. Maybe it was his rolled up sleeves and paint spattered shirt that made them forget who he was, but Rachel didn’t think so.

  The she-wolf felt it, too. Her reaction was now quite different from her earlier non-response. Tail wagging, but curled beneath her rump, she watched from a low crouch. When Washington looked Rachel’s way, her wolf did not lower her head or avert her eyes, but watched this new male with avid, curious eyes. There was deference in her stance, but no fear. The she-wolf liked him and so did Rachel.

  “I’ll stand for you, Mrs. Hornmeyer,” he was saying now. “If I’m to become a member of this pack, I must stand for you all. I must stand for my pack.” He was referring to the pledge each wolver took when they became members of a pack.

  His simple words struck Rachel so forcefully, she blinked. He said them as if he meant them.

  She’d never heard those words before outside of the one pack gathering a year when new members, or those who’d reached their maturity, were welcomed in. The new member said the words. The Alpha said the words. The other members repeated them. Everyone clapped and life went on.

  It was much like saying ‘How are you?’ in greeting someone. It was a meaningless phrase because the person asking seldom wanted to hear any answer but ‘Fine, thank you, and you?’.

  Those words were at the core of a wolver’s existence and without them, most wolver’s would become lost in a sea of anonymity. They would lose a part of their soul. I stand for my pack. My pack stands for me. Pack was more than a group of wolvers who lived and worked in the same place. In Gold Gulch…

  “There is no pack,” she whispered to herself.

  The room was silent. Liddy and Bertie were staring at her with mouths slightly open as if the words they wanted to speak, couldn’t be spoken. McCall and Washington shared a glance in which something was exchanged between them, but Rachel couldn’t tell what it meant. She expected a rebuke for her disloyal sounding comment. She lowered her eyes and turned her head slightly to the side and down, ready to receive it.

  McCall slapped both hands lightly on the table. “We’d better get that furniture back in place,” he said as he arose. “I’m sure the schoolteacher here has some Readin’, Writin’, and ‘Rithmatic thing he’s got to do and I’ve got to go make sure no one’s spitting on the sidewalk.”

  “Or robbing a bank,” Bertie said, almost too quickly. “You’re supposed to shoot Victor at six.”

  “There you go. The exciting life of the Sheriff of Gold Gulch.” He looked up at Rachel and winked in a way only she could see. “Come on, Red, show us where you want this stuff and then get out of the way. I’m sure you have your own fish to fry. Can I leave Dog here while I make my rounds?”

  “Oh, um, yes, um, certainly, Mr. McCall,” she said. She was so relieved the men had chosen to ignore her foolish and disloyal remark, she forgot to rebuke McCall for his familiarity or her wolf for liking the nickname.

  Josephus Kincaid made his appearance right before supper. Laying his hat and walking stick in their usual place in the hall, he took his place at the head of the table. He must have thought his daughter sufficiently punished by his absence, since he smiled warmly when Rachel entered with the tureen of soup to begin their evening meal.

  “You’re looking quite lovely this evening, dear,” he told her when she took her seat and began to ladle the soup while Bertie placed the bowls.

  It was nice of him to notice. She’d worn one of her nicer shirtwaists with full sleeves and pleated front. A jade pin that had been her mother’s was fastened at the high neck. She’d bee
n justifiably angry with him earlier, and things did have to change, but he was still her father and she loved him in spite of his aggravating ways. If this was his way of making peace between them, Rachel would gladly accept it. She would not make mention of his absence.

  “Thank you, Papa. Did you have a good day?”

  “I did,” he replied and offered nothing more.

  While Rachel had confined her comments to the kitchen, all the borders had witnessed the transfer of her father’s things to the upstairs room. Hearing the pair’s stilted conversation assured them something was amiss and they studiously bowed their heads to their soup. Rachel, as was her duty as hostess, attempted to start several conversations, but all felt awkward and fell flat.

  She was rescued by the late arrival of John Washington who, after apologies and introductions, regaled the diners with stories of his student’s antics. When they were all smiling and relaxed, it was he who brought up what they hesitated to.

  “Mr. Kincaid, may I commend your decision to take the room upstairs.”

  The surprised look that flashed across her father’s face told Rachel he’d had no idea she’d followed through on her decision. He quickly covered the look with a smile.

  “To make the sacrifice of relinquishing your own room for your daughter’s comfort is admirable,” Washington went on with a wink. “We gentleman tend to look out for our own comfort. I’m sure Miss Kincaid will enjoy her new retreat. The colors she’s chosen are delightful.”

  Her father, who’d begun to puff up a little with the compliment, deflated and frowned. “You’ve seen them, Mr. Washington?”

  “Mr. Washington and Sheriff McCall graciously rescued me from my attempts to paint,” Rachel chimed in, grateful the schoolmaster had found a way for her father to save face. “They are lovely and I can’t wait for you to see them. I’ve brought down draperies from the attic which will be aired and cleaned tomorrow and Mama’s chair. It looks so lovely with the little table by the window and I know I shall enjoy reading Mr. Washington’s book assignments there. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Your happiness is foremost in my thoughts,” her father said to her, and then to Washington, “I would have hired the labor had I known of her plan to execute the refurbishment so quickly. I sometimes forget how impetuous young ladies can be.”

  How often had she heard words like impetuous, impulsive, hasty, and irrational to describe women and only now realized what it meant. They were euphemisms for disobedient women who made decisions without consulting wiser heads, namely men! She felt her wolf’s soft growl. She and her inner beast were finally becoming one. It made her smile, which headed off another burst of ‘irrational’ anger.

  Awkwardness gone, dinner proceeded with smiles and enjoyable conversation. John Washington led the way and masterfully steering the discussions, elicited more information about their guests than Rachel had learned in six months. Maybe it was his training as a teacher, but looking around at the attentive faces, Rachel thought it was something else.

  This man was genuinely interested in the people around him. He cared about what they thought and how they felt. Even stuffy Mr. McKinley, who spent most days alone in his room, relaxed a bit and offered his opinion, harking back to times gone by.

  “It used to be a man would need an hour to make his way from one end of the street to the other, there were so many friends to greet along the way. This younger generation has no sense of community. They bow their heads and go about their business. In the old days, no one was ignored.”

  “When we were young and our cubs were little, Mr. Hornmeyer would insist we take an evening stroll to visit and see what was happening about the town. There weren’t as many tourists back then, but there was still a lot of work to do, building our homes and businesses. I’d fuss and he’d shush me,” she laughed in remembrance. “Friends and family are more important than brick and wood and the dirty dishes can wait.” She lowered her eyes, and shyly admitted, “I was always so afraid someone would see those dirty dishes and think me slovenly.”

  “Goodness! What you must think of me, then.” Rachel laughed, but knew exactly what the woman meant. The housekeeping standard in Gold Gulch was perfection, a standard that could never be met.

  “I think you’re a good friend and a good woman and some young man would be lucky to have you, dirty dishes and all,” Liddy said boldly and looked directly at the schoolmaster.

  Rachel was sure her face was as red as the turkey carpet beneath her feet. Mr. Washington, however, only smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “I’m sure he would, Mrs. Hornmeyer, should Miss Kincaid find some gentleman to her liking.”

  Rachel’s father smiled and looked as if he were about to speak, but kind Mr. Doughman chimed in, taking the focus away from Rachel and back to the subject at hand.

  “I miss those days,” he said wistfully. “Where did they go? What happened?”

  “Things change.” Liddy stated the obvious.

  “But that was why we rebuilt Gold Gulch, so things wouldn’t change,” Mr. McKinley grumbled, back to his taciturn self. “When the old Alpha was alive,” he began, but didn’t finish. “The apple cobbler, as always, was delicious, Miss Kincaid,” he said instead.

  “I’ll pass your compliment on to the cook. Bertie does love making cobblers and pies,” she said and thought of Maudie and her children.

  The conversation went on through a second round of coffee, an unusual occurrence, but Rachel’s thoughts stayed with Mr. McKinley’s unfinished comment. She wondered how many of the others made the same connection and continued to think of it as she and Liddy cleared the table while the men retired to the Gentleman’s Lounge for an after dinner drink, another first and more evidence of Mr. Washington’s congeniality.

  She told Bertie of the table conversation as they washed up the dishes and then repeated Mr. Doughman’s question.

  “What happened?”

  She thought it would be the more outspoken Bertie who would answer, but it was Liddy.

  “I think it began when the old Alpha stepped down and his son stepped up. Sterling was mature and capable and everyone thought he would walk in his father’s footsteps. The Mate he chose was kind and generous with her time. And if she was a little forthright in her opinions, what of it? She was the Mate and we loved her.”

  “I liked her, too, but I’ve wondered on and off just who wore the pants in that family,” Bertie opined. “Not that I’d mind wearing trousers, mind you. I think they be a lot easier to get around in than these skirts.”

  “I don’t remember her wearing trousers,” Liddy huffed, clearly offended on the late Mate’s behalf.

  “I don’t mean for real. I mean running the show. Things changed a bit, but didn’t get bad until after the old Alpha died and the Mate passed away.”

  Rachel was too young to remember much, but she was old enough to remember when the old Alpha died and was followed two years after by Sterling’s Mate.

  “What happened?” she asked again.

  Liddy shrugged, unable or unwilling to pass judgment on their Alpha. “Sterling wasn’t his father. Sons often aren’t,” she added sadly.

  Bertie wasn’t so reticent. “Barnabas Holt happened. That’s what.”

  Once again, Rachel was struck by how little she knew about how a pack worked and what her role should be. It was easy enough to blame it on the men, but part of the fault was hers. First Bertie, and now Liddy were willing to share, but Rachel had never bothered to ask. She might grumble about the unfairness of her life, but it was she who turned this hotel into a cocoon to protect herself from the life outside it.

  She continued thinking long after Bertie went home to Victor with most of the soup and all of the leftover cobbler. Liddy, bless her, seemed to understand.

  “Waking up is painful, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why we all tried so hard to remain asleep,” she whispered before kissing Rachel’s cheek and going up to her room.

  “This is your fau
lt. I never used to think about these things,” Rachel told her wolf.

  The she-wolf yipped happily at the accusation.

  Barnabas Holt became the Second after the Mate’s death. If Jack Coogan’s opinion could be trusted, the man had plans to become the next Alpha. Could he do it? Rachel wasn’t sure there was anyone within the pack strong enough to Challenge him. And what was a Challenge? What did it entail?

  What about someone outside the pack? Rachel thought about the flash of light that had changed her from woman to wolf. Was that Challenger McCall’s purpose here? Was he an Alpha looking for a pack? Could he do it?

  The idea of McCall’s possible takeover of the pack brought no concern for her loyalty to her Alpha or her pack. It did, however, engender another thought, the pain of which nearly brought her to her knees.

  “An Alpha needs a human woman to fulfill the role of Mate,” Rachel whispered. The pain was physical, like a knife piercing her stomach. She reached for a chair as her body buckled with it and started to weep.

  Her wolf, with angry conviction, began to howl.

  Chapter 18

  John Washington found her at the kitchen table, weeping into her palms.

  “Is there something I can do?” he asked.

  Rachel straightened and rubbed the tears away with the heels of her hands. With the handkerchief she kept tucked up her sleeve, she wiped her sniffling nose.

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to smile. “I’m not used to so much traffic through my kitchen.” The room was beginning to feel like a highway. She was used to being alone once Bertie left.

  “I should be the one apologizing. I should have knocked. I volunteered to bring the glasses back to wash. I didn’t think.” He placed the glasses he was carrying in the sink.

  She was embarrassed on her father’s behalf, that he should allow a new guest to clear away the dirty glasses, but she thought she knew why. Papa thought he’d found a new and better prospect for her to mate. She consoled herself with this tiny bit of proof that he cared.