Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)

by Rhoades, Jacqueline

  She couldn’t bear to think of another woman in his arms, another woman smiling at him as he came through the door each night, another woman bearing his pups. How could she bear to watch it every day without it tearing her heart out? How would it be for him? She knew he felt something for her beyond gratifying his body’s needs. He’d made that clear and his wolf’s reaction made it clearer still, but would he continue to feel that way or would the magic he’d hold as Alpha draw him to another?

  Rachel knew nothing of how the Alpha’s call worked in terms of finding a human Mate. She knew the woman would feel an immediate attraction to the Alpha when they touched and once mated, they would form a bond that could only be broken by death. Was that bond formed with love? Did the magic work both ways? She hoped it did. She wanted Challenger to be happy and she would do nothing to stand in the way of that happiness.

  Her wolf snarled so vehemently that Arthur sensed it and raised his head to look at her.

  “I know. I know,” she told the dog, who was lying in the middle of the floor where he could watch both her and the door through which McCall had left, “One night with him was all it took for me to see the truth of it. I thought I could hide it. I thought I could live with it, but I can’t, not here in Gold Gulch.”

  She was surprised by how easy the decision was. She’d never lived anywhere else. She’d never wanted to. This was her home and this was her pack and yet… This hadn’t been a home since her mother died and until last night, she’d felt no sense of belonging to anything greater than herself. She’d used the hotel to hide away from the world around her and she would do it no more.

  She was, therefore, calm and prepared when her father entered the kitchen as she was sliding the Cottage Pies into the oven for the lodgers’ supper.

  “Rachel, we must talk,” he said as he took a seat at the table. “You agreed to a mating and yet Mr. Coogan has informed me that there will not be one.”

  Apparently, her bite to his nose had done the work her words could not.

  “It would seem,” she said cheerily, “that Mr. Coogan and I have at last found mutual agreement.”

  “I take it, then, congratulations are in order. You have settled on Mr. Holt.”

  “No, Papa, I have not. There will be no happy couple to congratulate.” Rachel took a seat across from him and faced him squarely. “I never meant to deceive you. When I made that decision, I was angry and upset at the thought of being mated off against my wishes. At the time, I thought I had no choice, but I do have a choice, and I have made it.” Folding her hands, she took a breath and spoke as calmly as she could.

  “When Mama passed, I was too young to understand. All I wanted was to feel secure. This hotel was my world and you were the center of it. When things started to change, I did what I had to do to stop it, to keep things as they were.”

  “And you’ve done a fine job of filling your mother’s shoes. It’s given me great pleasure seeing you mature into the woman your mother was,” Josephus Kincaid approved, “That’s why it would be a shame to let it go. You’ve worked so hard.”

  She could argue. She could tell him that the responsibility to make things right should never have been hers, but he hadn’t seen it then and wouldn’t see it now. A wolver couldn’t change the color of his tail. Nevertheless, she had to try to make him understand.

  “I tried so hard to be everything you wanted me to be. I tried so hard to be everything Gold Gulch expected me to be.” Rachel shook her head sadly. “And I succeeded.”

  Oblivious to her unhappiness, her father nodded in agreement. “You have succeeded, admirably, which is why I cannot understand your recent behavior.”

  “Papa, you’re not listening. Mama’s shoes don’t fit. They never did. I’ve spent half my life trying to hold on to someone else’s past and I never once asked myself what I wanted. My recent behavior, as you call it, is me asking the question and finding part of the answer. I want my life to change.”

  “And a mating with Mr. Holt will do that, dearest. He has wealth. He has position. He will protect and care for you. I realize he’s a bit crass, but under your gentle guidance, he’ll soon see the error of his ways.”

  “Why?” she asked, repeating Mr. McCall’s question. “Why is he so interested in me now, after all these years? What recommends me to him?”

  “You are a lady of good family!” her father protested. “He has noted your fine qualities and is impressed by them.”

  “That is nonsense.” Mr. McCall would call it something else. “Bullshit.”

  “Rachel!”

  Rachel ignored him. “There are other, younger, prettier, and more fashionable ladies in this town with better dispositions than mine. And do not dare mention love, because we both know that sentiment does not enter into it. The hotel is the only thing we have of value and while Jack Coogan might think taking on the debt is worth it, a man like Barnabas Holt would not.” Remembering Jack Coogan’s words, she took the chance. “He wants my money, doesn’t he?”

  In his shock, her father sputtered, “That isn’t something to concern you.”

  “Shouldn’t concern me? Papa, this is my life we’re talking about. Where did it come from? How much is it? Can we put it toward the debt?”

  It would make her leaving so much easier if she knew her father had a fresh start, too. And then she realized how foolish that thought was. If her father could spend it, it would have already been spent.

  “It comes from your mother’s people. It was a gift to you on the occasion of your birth, to be held in trust until your mating and their approval of your choice. I have written to them repeatedly asking for the trust to be broken since you refused to mate, but they have refused my every entreaty. Your mother’s parents did not find me a suitable mate for their daughter. When she chose me over them, they cut off all financial support.”

  Rachel sat back in her chair, more stunned at this revelation than the money.

  “Mama had a choice,” she whispered to herself, “She came to the crossroads and chose the path she would take.”

  She’d often wondered, when the days and the work seemed endless, if her mother was happy and concluded that she couldn’t have been, solely because Rachel was so unhappy with the same life. Now, hearing this, she remembered what she’d long forgotten; the reason for her wanting things to remain the same. It was the security of a happy home.

  She remembered the two comfortable chairs in the corner of the kitchen where, after the hotel had been put to bed, her parents would sit and whisper and laugh while she did her schoolwork at the big kitchen table. Back then, Papa only visited the saloon when his Gold Gulch role required it. There was music then, too, from the old upright piano in the parlor which was now taken up by the Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Lounges. Papa donated the piano to the schoolhouse when there was no longer a place to keep it or, she thought now, no one to play it.

  “Papa, what happened to the chairs you and Mama used to sit in, the ones that were over there where Arthur has his bed?”

  Josephus Kincaid, his own mind wandering in the past, blinked and answered. “Up in the attic. They always took up too much room in here, but your mother said the parlor was too cold and formal for family and she preferred what she called our cozy corner in the kitchen.” He laughed a little. “It wasn’t so cozy when the weather was bad and we had to hang the tablecloths from ropes strung across the kitchen. That was before your mother insisted we get a dryer. Don’t you remember?”

  She’d forgotten that and more. “You used to hang the cloths with her. You called it your quiet time.”

  “When you were a little pup, you would pout because we would make you go to bed. We wouldn’t let you come with us,” he remembered fondly.

  “When I was older, I would peek around my bedroom curtain and spy on you. I could never figure out why it was so important you be alone. You only talked.” She understood it now. Her quiet talks with Mr. McCall were important, too.

  Her father laughe
d again and it struck Rachel that she hadn’t heard him laugh like that in a long time. Others would say he was a convivial, almost jovial man, but to her, his laughter always sounded false, as if he were playing his role. This laughter was what it should be; real.

  “Your mother talked. I listened. She had dreams. She had a plan for this place. She always saw what it could be and I, her faithful servant, would have done anything in my power to make those dreams come true.” He shrugged and the smile died.

  “Her parents were right about me. I was nothing without her, a sham. With her, I could be everything she dreamed I’d be.” The smile came back. “She dreamed of building a small theater behind the hotel where I could produce plays like those of the travelling troupes that performed here years ago. I think I should have liked that.”

  “Oh, Papa, you would have been wonderful. Why didn’t you do it?”

  “I’m only good at acting my part. Your mother was the director. Without her, there was no play.”

  The soup was bubbling on the stove and a glance at the clock told her the pies needed to come out of the oven. Their guests would be waiting for their supper.

  “Papa,” Rachel said quietly, “Mama had her dreams, but her dreams aren’t mine. It’s time I found my own.”

  Josephus Kincaid nodded in agreement. “It is, and your mother would approve. I shall make it clear to Mr. Holt that while I have my reservations, your position has not changed.”

  “It’s not…”

  The outer door crashed open and McCall came through, bringing the rain and wind with him. He seemed surprised to see Rachel’s father sitting at the table.

  “I stopped by to check on Dog,” he said.

  “Arthur,” Rachel corrected and the animal in question wagged his tail. “You see? He knows who he is. Don’t move!” she screeched when McCall removed his hat and took a step toward the room. “Stay on the rug. You’re dripping everywhere.”

  He motioned toward the door with his hat. “I can just…”

  “No!” She pulled the pies from the oven, muttering, “Where is Liddy?”

  She was always there to help with supper.

  “That’s the other reason I stopped by. Mrs. Hornmeyer is at her son’s and will probably be spending the night. She’s going to teach her grandsons how to pull taffy by hand which, according to her, is the perfect way to pass a dark and stormy night.”

  “It is if you’re eight and ten,” her father laughed. “Rachel, do you remember?”

  “I do, Papa, I do.” It was like a dam had burst, allowing the memories to flood her thoughts. Her wolf was wiggling with delight. She remembered them, too.

  “Will you be staying for supper, Sheriff?” her father asked.

  McCall shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but I’m wet and muddy and…”

  “Yes,” Rachel interrupted, pulling rags from under the sink to wipe the mud from his boots, “You’re wet and cold and you need to dry off and get something warm in your stomach. Give me your Fish. I’ll hang it over the tub. Papa, will you tell the others, supper will be out in a moment. Just let me get Mr. McCall settled.” She started to undo the brass buttons of his slicker when he grabbed her hand and held it still.

  “I can remove and hang my own coat, Miss Kincaid. My boots, on the other hand, are a lost cause that those few rags won’t fix. I don’t want to track mud through your house.”

  “Then take them off. Your socks are probably soaking, too. Give them to me and I’ll throw them in the dryer.”

  McCall lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “You’re asking me to bare my feet? For shame!”

  Rachel giggled. “Exceptions can be made, Mr. McCall.”

  A clatter at the stove had her turning her head. Her father was filling the tureen with hot soup. He smiled at her look of surprise.

  “I think I can handle serving three guests, if you’ll bring the pies and coffee. Sheriff McCall? Why don’t you wash up, then Rachel will serve your supper in here.” When the washroom door closed, he turned to his daughter. “It’s that sheriff isn’t it? I see how you look at him. Your mother used to look at me that way. She used to laugh like a girl, too.” He wiped up a dribble of soup with the cloth on the counter. “But the tables have turned and now I am in her father’s position. Sheriff McCall has nothing to offer you, Rachel; no money, no standing in this pack and, if what I hear is true, he never will. They are already looking for his replacement. His past is checkered and he does not fit the Gold Gulch standards. He has a reputation for preying on innocent women and I fear he will only bring you heartache. Don’t make the same mistake as your mother.”

  Rachel put her hand to her father’s cheek. “I am not so naïve as you think, Papa, and I am well aware of who he is and what he will be. I can assure you, Sheriff McCall has no place in my future.” As for heartache, it was already too late, but that was her secret to keep. “And Papa?” She smiled at him to let him know she understood him better now. “Mama didn’t make a mistake.”

  Chapter 24

  McCall kissed her again. He’d already pulled the pins from her hair, running his fingers through it to spread it over her shoulders. Now, he ran that same hand up the back of her neck and into her hair to grip it, not painfully, but decisively taking control. The kiss was deep, probing, and combined with his other hand pressing at her breast, under her unbuttoned shirtwaist, and his thigh pressing up between her legs, Rachel could think of little else.

  “Too many clothes,” he whispered as his mouth moved to her neck.

  She ran her hands up his gray cotton shirt, fingering the buttons. “I can take care of that.” Her laugh was deep and throaty.

  “I wasn’t talking about my clothes,” he laughed with her.

  “I can take care of that, too.”

  “And deny me the fun. I don’t think so, Red.”

  They were in her sitting room, which held only a wooden rocker and a small table, neither of which they needed. McCall had her pinned to the wall, next to a Charles Burton Barber print of a little redheaded girl with a giant Saint Bernard.

  The name of the print was ‘Trust’ and the little bit of her mind that still worked thought it appropriate for that word to be associated with Challenger McCall. She trusted him with her body, heart, and soul, and with her life.

  It was her turn to show him.

  He broke the kiss and she followed his lips, wanting more.

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  “Soon?”

  “No, but I will be back. Will you wait up?”

  “If I fall asleep, will you promise to wake me?”

  “Try and stop me, Red.”

  Coming from the private dining room with the last of the dishes to be cleared, Rachel almost ran into John Washington coming from the Gentleman’s Lounge. Unaware of her presence, he had a book to his nose, another under his arm, and a pencil clenched in his teeth. He would have run into her if she hadn’t called his name.

  “Good heavens, Rachel! Let me give you a hand with those.” He tucked the book under his arm and the pencil behind his ear.

  “Good story?” she asked, as he took the tray, leaving her with only the cloth and napkins to carry.

  “Essays, actually; a collection written by Thomas Wentworth Higgins called Common Sense About Women. I was thinking about having some of you read passages aloud at book club.” He fumbled with the tray and book, trying to free his hand to open the door.

  “Here, let me,” Rachel laughed, “Being a gentleman is one thing. Breaking my dishes is quite another. Do you think we need more common sense?” she asked when he set the tray down. She began sorting things to be washed from those to put away.

  “About, not for, but yes, I think some of the women of Gold Gulch might benefit from the readings.”

  “How so? I’ve hardly met a woman in Gold Gulch who wasn’t well endowed with common sense.”

  “Have you? Then what about their rights? Where is the common sense in not owning property? Where i
s the common sense in working hard and gaining nothing?”

  Rachel turned off the hot water and turned to him. Washington sat on the corner of the big wooden table, one leg cocked at the knee, one foot on the ground for balance. She wondered if he posed in such a way when he lectured his students.

  “You’re speaking of suffragists. The rules do not apply.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re wolvers. We’re pack. We obey the laws of the land only in so far as we must to keep ourselves from notice,” she repeated the words she’d been taught. “Our Alpha’s word is law.”

  “When, in the course of wolver events, it becomes necessary…”

  Rachel knew his paraphrase was meant to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t find it amusing. “Do not make a joke of this! Not with so much at risk. I know what you and Mr. McCall are planning, John, which I suppose, makes me a party to your conspiracy. I won’t betray you. I can’t. But this is not a revolution. This is never going to be a republic or a democracy. It can’t be. Nature has made us what we are. We are wolvers. We are pack. We bow to those above us in rank,” she repeated. “When the Alpha exerts his power, I lower my eyes and bow my head, as does every wolver in any pack and the only one who doesn’t bow to that authority is the one who Challenges him.”

  “You’ve thought about this,” he said, still sounding amused.

  “Of course I have,” she hissed, becoming angrier by the second. “The man I love may lose his life to this! You may lose your life to this. Eustace, Achilles, how many others may lose their lives or their property or their livelihoods if you fail? This is not a Challenge to the Alpha. It will be a Challenge to him and all who support him. They will not relinquish their power by popular vote.”

  “How many will fight for him?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. It’s not something that would be talked about freely, now is it. Of those who are close to the Second, maybe a dozen, maybe more, but they are the most brutal wolvers you will find in Gold Gulch. Why can’t you men leave it alone! You will not have enough to win. You will die.” Her voice faltered and she whispered. “He will die.”