The Spirit of the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  Her father had said she should be grateful he had arranged the union. After all, at nineteen, Tess appeared destined for spinsterhood, but not because men found her unattractive. Actually, she had always been too busy for suitors, as running the household for her widowed father and caring for her younger brother, Perry, took up all her time, and potential swains had turned their attention to young ladies without family responsibilities.

  The last four years had been particularly burdensome due to her father having gone away, like most able-bodied men in Pennsylvania, to fight for the Union in the Civil War. But she had managed, looking forward to the day when the war would end and things would settle down to normal.

  Normalcy, however, was not to be, for when her father did return, he was nursing a serious wound, his health declining.

  Fearing he might not live long, Jasper Partridge had wanted to make sure his family would be taken care of after he was gone, and Tess was horrified when he announced that he had made arrangements for her marriage. But he assured her that Saul Beckwith, a man he had met during the war, would make her a fine husband. Saul needed a young, healthy wife to bear the many children he wanted, as well as share his life in Arizona prospecting for silver. He was a widower, having gone west before the war, and his sickly wife had been unable to withstand the hardships there and died.

  Tess had begged her father to change his mind, but one night when he had been drinking to try to quell the pain of his wounds, he admitted Saul had paid him. And money, he’d said, was what he desperately needed, for he now also had the burden of providing for his sister, Elmina, who had been widowed in the war. Therefore, Tess getting married was the ideal solution. Elmina could take over the house and the rearing of Perry, and Tess would not be an old maid after all.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the painful memory of the night her brother had crept into her room to kneel beside her bed and cry unashamedly in his misery over both their fates. Aunt Elmina had no children of her own and no patience with anyone else’s. She was mean-spirited, bad-tempered, and they both knew his life with her would be unbearable.

  “I’ll send for you,” Tess had vowed, gathering him in her arms as they wept together. “I’ll find a way just as soon as I can. I swear it.”

  Tess liked to think that as the time for her to leave for Arizona had crept ever closer, she would have been able to persuade her father to renege on his agreement, for he actually seemed to be having second thoughts. But all hope ended the night he died in his sleep, and her aunt could not send Tess on her way fast enough.

  But maybe, she told herself—and not for the first time—it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe Saul Beckwith really was a kind man and they would have a nice life together, even though she had not been able to stretch her optimism to think she might ever love him. And she fully intended to do her best to be a good wife from the very start so he would yield to her request to send for Perry as soon as possible.

  She wondered when the wedding would take place. She had sent Mr. Beckwith a wire two days earlier from the territorial capitol of Prescott, just as he had instructed in his letter when he had enclosed her tickets. No doubt he was planning on having the ceremony right away. After all, it was a matter of propriety after having traveled so far all by herself. Decorum demanded that he make her his wife as soon as possible after her arrival.

  The stage hit another hole, and this time Tess was almost thrown to the floor. She dared to lean out to protest again, and that was when she saw what looked like a town just ahead.

  “Is that it?” she called, but without enthusiasm. She had no excitement at all, for every beat of her heart was another stroke of dread.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Sam confirmed in his loud, robust voice as he popped the reins over the horses’ rumps to set them into a wild, frenzied gallop.

  Beside him, Rooney took off his hat to wave as he shouted, “Yah-hoo! Devil’s Eye, Arizona. Wildest women and best whiskey in the West, and here I come to get me a bait of both.”

  Tess drew back inside with a shudder but only momentarily, for she was anxious to see her new home.

  Sam slowed the horses to a walk as they began to pass the jerry-built false-front buildings of unpainted pine that lined the street on both sides.

  People stopped to stare, most unable to remember the last time they had seen a stagecoach in Devil’s Eye.

  Tess knew she was about to be an object of curiosity and hoped Mr. Beckwith was there to quickly whisk her away.

  She looked at her traveling suit—a soft blue velvet gown with matching cape. All the women she could see were wearing plain muslin dresses and wide-brimmed bonnets that hid most of their faces. None of the outfits she had brought were as ordinary, but maybe Mr. Beckwith would buy new ones for her so she would not feel so out of place.

  “Whoa, now,” Sam called to the horses with a final yank of the reins. “We’re here. And Lordy, I can hear the beer calling.”

  He jumped down and opened the door for Tess.

  She took his hand, though she would have preferred not to, as she glanced about in hopes that one of the staring men would claim her. But, after seeing how rough and dirty they looked, she found herself hoping none of them would.

  Sam had stopped the stage in front of a saloon. Rooney had already disappeared inside, and Tess could hear the men’s voices and women’s laughter over the sound of a tinny piano.

  Sam made a clamor taking her trunk down, and when he set it on the boardwalk next to her, she whispered, “Did you have to stop here? Couldn’t you have gone to the way station?”

  He spat another wad of tobacco juice. “Nope. ’Cause there ain’t one.”

  He stared past her, and she caught his arm. “But where can I go to wait for the gentleman I’m to meet?”

  Sam shrugged her hand away. “It’s a small town. He’ll get wind you’re here and show up directly.”

  “But—” She felt so helpless.

  “I done my job,” he said testily. “Now you’re on your own, missy.”

  He pushed through the saloon’s swinging doors, to be swallowed up in a cloud of smoke and shadows.

  The crowd that had gathered was starting to move away. There was no mail delivery, which some had been hoping for, just a city slicker who piqued their curiosity, but not enough to take up any more of their time.

  The lie that saves her life could destroy their love.

  The Prospect

  © 2014 Beth Williamson

  The Malloy Family, Book 10

  Josephine Chastain never thought a case of typhoid would force her Oregon-bound family to leave her behind in Fort Laramie—in the care of the last man she trusts. Others in the wagon train may have accepted Declan Calhoun’s motives for kidnapping her sister Frankie, but not Jo.

  When she wakes up from the three-week fever, though, she finds some things have changed. Declan is her husband. And their cabin is too small to contain the growing desire between them.

  While Jo fights for her life, Declan finds himself falling for the bookish Chastain sister. A woman with a spine of steel and a seemingly bottomless well of smarts. In other words, everything he can never be.

  Yet now is not the time to confess the little white lie that has thus far kept her safe. Not when he must figure out how to escape a quarantine that’s turned into extortion. And resist Jo’s determination to seduce him before she learns the truth. Before the unforgiving wilderness between them and safety claims their lives.

  Warning: Be ready for a learned but stubborn woman, a man with a dark past who needs redeeming, and an adventure that will light your hair and your panties on fire.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Prospect:

  Outside Fort John

  July 1848

  Josephine Chastain wanted to kick the big Irishman until he begged for mercy, crying like a little girl. She clenched her fists hard enough that her nails dug into her palms, but she kept her face impassive, never letting Declan Callahan see ho
w much he affected her. How much she wanted to punch him. It damn sure didn’t help that her stomach had been off for the last two days on top of this stress. She didn’t need or want any of it.

  He was infuriating and condescending. A man who had no business speaking to her as though she were a three-year-old child or someone who had been dropped on her head as a baby.

  “Do ya see what I’m saying, darlin’? This part goes through the hole here.” He pulled the cinch tight on the oxen’s belly. She’d learned to do it months ago in Missouri before they even left for Oregon. Now this great lummox was showing her for the sixth time in two weeks. She had nodded her head and stayed mute, letting him feel useful.

  Yet he’d pushed her too far this time. He called her darling. Her. Plain old Jo Chastain, book lover, a quiet, thoughtful nineteen-year-old with brown hair and brown eyes. Nobody in his right mind would call her darling and mean it, to which she concluded he was making fun of her. The big, handsome, black-haired man with the easy smile was a cruel bully with his words. She hadn’t remotely forgotten he had kidnapped her sister, regardless of the penance he’d served by helping the wagon train and her family.

  “I know perfectly well how to secure the oxen, Mr. Callahan. This lesson is completely irrelevant and highly annoying. I thank you to stop trying to instruct me in tasks I can already perform.” She pointed at him, surprised to see her finger wasn’t trembling. “You can return to your other duties as soon as possible.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You can talk.” He shook his head. “The entire time I’ve worked this wagon train I ain’t heard you breathe a word.”

  “Of course I can speak. I’m not mute or deaf.” She scowled at him. “I am also not an idiot.”

  “You talk fancy too.” He grinned, white teeth shining from behind the thick black beard.

  She hadn’t seen him smile before, not even once. The experience knocked her a little sideways and she had to blink to clear the image that burned into her vision. “I speak like a learned person.” She fluttered her hand in the general direction of the rest of the wagon train. “I’m sure someone does need your assistance. You do not need to spend any additional time with me.”

  His brows went up. “Are you asking me to leave you alone, lass?”

  Lass? She didn’t know whether to take umbrage with the moniker or be pleased he called her lass when she was nearly on the shelf. Perhaps it was an insult and she didn’t know it. The man confused her, muddled her thoughts until she couldn’t tell up from down.

  “My name is Miss Chastain. I’ll also answer to Mademoiselle Chastain.” She kept her shoulders straight and chin up, even if she was twisting every which way inside.

  “Medemezel? I can’t make my tongue form such a word. I’m an Irishman, lass, not a Frenchie.” His expression was entirely unapologetic.

  “Regardless, I am sure you have something better to do than stand here and explain a procedure to me. I clearly know what I’m doing.” She wanted him to leave. The man set her on edge, with his intimidating size, his hairy face and the fact he had been responsible for kidnapping her sister. She didn’t care that he’d been under order or that Francesca had forgiven him. Josephine didn’t know why, since she wouldn’t have pardoned him so easily.

  Declan made her anxious and off-kilter. Deep inside, she held a secret as to why, but that particular fact would never see the light of day. Oh no, she would have to be on her deathbed to confess, and even then, she might take her private thoughts with her.

  “Lass, are you still there?” He waved his hand back and forth, its callused, blunt-tipped fingers so different from hers.

  “You do see me standing here, do you not?” Her cheeks felt hot. Lord, her entire body felt warm. Damn the man.

  “I’ve been talking to you and you were far away. Don’t know where, but you for certain weren’t here.” He stared at her too intently, peering at her as though he could see the secret she kept hidden.

  “That is ridiculous. I have been right here, listening.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, medemezel, but you were woolgathering right then.” He secured the last ox before he wiped his hands on his trousers and patted the beasts on their rumps. Perhaps he was finally leaving.

  She couldn’t stand another moment with him or she might explode into a million pieces. Possibly more. While they lived in New York, she taught children at their homes, privileged children who could afford a private tutor. Out here on the trail, she was nobody, the daughter of a wood craftsman and a nurse, with two younger sisters and one older. A wisp on the wind of life.

  Declan made her feel as though she were more than a wisp. By talking to her when she obviously didn’t want to speak to him, he forced her out of the shadow she lived in. Jo needed to get back into that comfortable place before she did or said something she would regret. If only he would cease to acknowledge her or offer to help. She didn’t need a thing from him.

  Except perhaps a kiss.

  Her secret bubbled up and bit her on the backside so fast, she actually gasped. His head snapped up from where he was crouched and that deep blue gaze kept her in place. For one wild moment, she wondered if she’d voiced her secret aloud.

  “Did something bite you?”

  “Pardon me?” She resisted the urge to unbutton the top of her shirt. Heat crept down her neck.

  “You yelped as though something bit you on your a—person.” He got to his feet and rubbed his hands together then put them on his hips, cocking his head to the side. “You’re a strange one, Josephine.”

  She started at the sound of her name from his mouth. His Irish lilt made the “o” long and musical. Josephine needed to ignore her silly reaction and remember his shady past. The man was a thug from New York, ones she had seen on occasion in Brooklyn. He meant less than nothing to her, a hired hand on the wagon train. Someone who barely had the right to be there.

  “I did not grant you permission to use my given name. Now if you will be on your way, we can all leave with the wagon train.” To her surprise, he tipped his hat and walked away. She expected him to continue speaking to her, at which point she might have shown how nervous she was. A disaster she hadn’t wanted to happen, of course. As she watched, his long-legged gait took him to Miss Edith’s wagon in moments. The old lady insisted on being carried in and out of the wagon each day. Declan had taken over that duty when John Malloy left to marry Jo’s sister and start a ranch in the Wyoming territory.

  Jo told herself not to watch, but she found her gaze straying back to Declan. He gently picked up the older woman and set her in the wagon. She noted he didn’t smile or flirt with her as John had done. No, Declan was quiet with other people, not unfriendly, but reserved. He didn’t act the same way with her.

  And she didn’t know why.

  The Spirit of the Wolf

  Karen Kay

  The end of a curse hides behind a riddle—and the final clue in the heart of a woman.

  The Lost Clan, Book 2

  Grey Coyote stands on the knife edge of desperation. An ancient curse dooms his people to a half-life in the mists, neither living nor dead—unless he can solve a deceptively simple riddle. As time runs short, he’s sure the answer lies in beating a white trapper in a game of chance.

  Among the trapper’s possessions, though, is a prize he never expected. A golden-haired woman as beautiful, delicate and stubborn as a prairie rose.

  One moment Marietta Welsford is wondering how long it will take her hired guide to finish his game so she can hurry home to Rosemead, the English estate to which she hopes to lay claim. The next, she is abandoned with a man whose magnetism tugs at her body and soul, and makes her heart out-thunder the storm.

  With so little time to lift the enchantment, Grey Coyote at first views Marietta as a trickster-sent distraction. But as sure as the star that guides him, it soon becomes clear she is the clue that could ultimately free his people…and capture his heart.

  This book has been previously published.<
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  Warning: Sensuous love scenes and unsolvable riddles might cause sleepless nights filled with unbridled passion.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  The Spirit of the Wolf

  Copyright © 2014 by Karen Kay

  ISBN: 978-1-61922-099-7

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Angela Waters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Original Copyright: 2006

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2014

  www.samhainpublishing.com