by T. S. Joyce
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” Jeremiah said as he steered the thickly furred horses around a dip in the road. “What do you think about marrying me instead?” He slid a dark-eyed glance my way but it took me a minute to recover.
“I’m waiting for Luke.”
“I know you are. You’re a loyal woman, Kristina, but I don’t think he’s coming back. He’s left like my brother, Gable, and I can’t seem to track him down anywhere. He doesn’t want to be found.”
My world shifted under my feet. “Do you love me?”
“No,” he said shortly. “You’re like the sister Ma always prayed for.”
“Do you think you’ll ever love me?”
The breath he exhaled froze in front of him. “No.”
“Then why would you want to marry me?”
“We get along all right. We run the ranch well together. You know my secret.”
“And every two days or so, the animal half of you tries to kill me. I’m not your cure, Jeremiah. You need love to fix your wolf.”
“I want you taken care of. I’m so mad at Luke for the way he left, I can’t even see straight, but someone has to fix this.”
His duster jacket was cold and coarse against my cheek as I rested against it. “You’re a good man, Jeremiah, but you don’t have to tether yourself to me. We work well just as we are.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
I frowned, but nodded. “I will.”
I could see his loneliness growing. Anyone with eyes could see he needed a woman, but I didn’t soothe anything for him. He needed a woman he could love. A woman his wolf would see as a mate and attach himself to. He belonged with Anna like I belonged with Luke. Two spare parts wouldn’t work if they weren’t built to complement each other.
Jeremiah dropped me off in front of Trudy’s house before tying the team in front of the post office. I watched him go with a heavy heart. I didn’t want things to change between us, but we were on the cusp of destruction.
Trudy opened the door and hugged me harder than I’d been held in a while, and the tensed muscles in my shoulders relaxed. “Cherry pie,” I said with a knowing grin, and she lit up like the candles on a Christmas pine.
“Eat a slice with me,” she merrily demanded.
I pulled a fork out and handed it to her before checking her ginger jar. “You need more,” I noted, but she shook her head.
Around a bite of sugar coated crust she said, “I haven’t been nauseous for the better part of a week. I think it’s finally over.”
“Jeremiah asked me to marry him.” I said it with my back to her because I didn’t know if I wanted to see her reaction. She was as mad at Luke for leaving as his brother was.
The clink of the fork hitting the side of the pan was the only noise in the kitchen. I turned. “I told him no, but he’s asked me to think about it.”
“I think you should wait for Luke.”
I sat gratefully down beside her and took my own bite of pie. “Why do you say that?”
Trudy wiped her hands on the edge of her apron and leaned forward. “Luke is your Elias. It’s been clear from the start you’re in love with him, but you and Jeremiah?” She shook her head. “There is no spark there. I’m mad as a hornet at Luke for putting you through this, but I don’t think marrying his brother, no matter how logical it seems, is going to fix what’s been broken.”
“Maybe Jeremiah will get a response to his advertisement in the post today and forget all about his proposal,” I said hopefully.
Elias came through the door, stomping snow off his boots. “Hey, Kristina,” he greeted me with a kiss to my cheek.
“Elias, you’re freezing!” I said, rubbing my cheek to bring warmth back into it.
He laughed unapologetically and kissed his giggling wife.
“Saw Jeremiah at the post office and figured you two would be in here eating somethin’ good.”
Trudy spooned him a heaping bite of pie and he disappeared into the back room, mumbling compliments to me for my improved baking.
Turning back to Trudy, I said, “Listen, I don’t think you guys should be coming to our place anymore until the weather warms up. The roads are getting really bad and I don’t want you stuck out there in your condition.”
There was a slight pout to Trudy’s full lips. “Okay, but I won’t get to see you as much.”
“I’ll come into town as much as we can manage. It’s not so scary for us.” I winked. “I have a werewolf driver.”
“Mmm, speaking of, is he still trying to kill you?”
“Every change.” I rolled my eyes to the rafters.
“Men,” we said in unison and burst out laughing.
Elias came back in with a worried furrow to his brow. “You’re sleeping with a gun just in case, aren’t you?”
“Yep, my trusty old Derringer. Jeremiah made silver shot for it and everything.”
“Good. Anything you need, you come to us, you hear?” he asked.
“Loud and clear,” I said.
“Okay, ladies, I’m back to it. Gotta get back to the shop. You and Jeremiah staying for dinner?”
I licked cherry deliciousness from my fork. “No. Oh! That reminds me. Jeremiah said we’re about to get slammed with a big storm. Blizzard big, so visit the general store for anything you need before everyone buys them out. We’re heading back to our place before the weather rolls in.”
“Eee,” Elias said. “Okay, I’ll go to the store before I get back to work.”
Trudy rattled off a list of necessities as a knock sounded on the door. That would be Jeremiah. I squeezed her tightly and waved to Elias before I let myself out. The wind picked up and I held my skirts as I teetered over the icy wooden boards. The buggy was half full of Jeremiah’s latest order from the general store and the horses were antsy and pulling against the reins in anticipation of the long ride home.
“Did you have a good visit?” Jeremiah asked with a steadying hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, but it wasn’t nearly long enough.”
He hoisted me into the seat and I rearranged the buffalo skins to let him in.
“I’ve considered your offer, good sir,” I said grandly as we pulled out of town.
“That was fast. And what say you?” he played along.
“Luke is the one for me and besides, I like us the way we are.”
“Fine, I won’t mention it again.”
“I’ll make a pot roast for dinner to make up for rejecting your proposal.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s better then.”
And just like that, I’d managed to stop the winds of change.
Chapter Twenty-One
Luke
Kristina had been right about a lot of things, but this was the biggest. Evelynn French was nearly impossible to get to in Chicago. I’d been a very patient hunter in my pursuance of avenging my almost wife, but still my soul was clean and my hands empty of the gratification that would come with making her safe once and for all.
I’d acclimated to life in the city as I had to, and procured an entry level job in one of the many lumber yards the French family owned. Quickly, I’d moved up to foreman and was being eyed for a numbers job at a desk. Why? Simply put, because no human could do the amount of work I could in the same amount of time.
My big break came yesterday when I’d been invited to make an appointment with Mr. Barron French, the man who started it all. He was gathering under him a small group of professionals to break out on his own and open a lumber yard under his name, and rumor was he wanted me working for him, not his mother.
Dissention in the ranks only boded well for me.
So with the last of my cattle money, I’d purchased a dark suit and top hat and here I stood, eying the mansion of the man who’d seduced Kristina. It must be nice sitting up in his fancy tower while his spoils were hunted like dogs.
A butler answered the door and took my hat and coat before leading me to a parlor wher
e four men sat around a table playing cards, drinking fine scotch, and smoking giant, hideously fragrant cigars.
“McClinton, you’re the last one here,” said a man who stood to shake my hand. “Barron French.”
“Brian McClinton. Pleasure,” I said, shaking his offered palm firmly. I’d used that false name so much in the past months, it’d become natural for me to answer to it.
The man stood shorter than me with thick brown, wavy hair and dove gray eyes. I supposed he was a well-built man if you ignored his slight paunch and the stagnant smell of one who smokes too much. Maybe it was a new habit he’d formed after his fling with Kristina.
“Sit down and have a drink before we talk business, McClinton,” he said. “Refreshments are over there.” He pointed to a long table piled high with pastries and meat pies, exotic fruits and silver platters of sliced roasted meats.
His snack table was richer than the best Christmas dinner in all of Colorado Springs. Damn, I missed home.
I sat between two older gentlemen who were dealt into a game of poker. Introductions were made, but I didn’t catch their names. I was too busy trying to figure out what a seventeen year old Kristina had seen in such a pompous man.
Scotch would hamper any plans I had, so I sipped it slowly and tried not to gag on the smoke that stifled any chilly breeze that flew in through the open window. Chicago as a whole stunk mightily to a man with a sensitive nose, such as myself. Any city did. I didn’t know how Da managed to live in the city limits of Boston.
An hour into our conversation, the door behind Barron opened and the man who walked through it could’ve been the one to ruin everything. Matthew Streider closed the door gently behind him. I stood in a rush and turned for the refreshments table. Feigning interest in the wide assortment of colorful pastries, I strained my sensitive ears and listened attentively to the long haired man who whispered to Barron.
“Sir, she’s asking for you. The baby is keeping her very sick and—”
“What does she want me to do about it?” Barron interrupted in a furious whisper.
“Nothing, sir. She just wants you to come to her. She hasn’t seen you in days.”
“Surely you can quiet a fretting woman, Streider. If you can’t figure that out, then maybe you should go back to work for my mother.” A long and pregnant pause was filled with the unwitting laughter of the other guests. “Fine,” Barron hissed.
Streider’s boot steps retreated to the door.
“Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me,” Barron said in a put upon tone. “I have a wife who apparently needs me to tuck her in at night. Helpless little creatures, aren’t they?”
I stifled the growl that bubbled from my throat. Had he talked about Kristina in such an inconsiderate manner when they were together?
Stacking food upon my plate, I pretended not to hear their exit until I was sure Streider was out of the room and unable to identify me as the murderer of his former boss’ hit man. That would definitely complicate things.
Eventually, Barron returned and the evening dragged. I was unable to find an opportunity to talk with Barron in private, so I had to make my move at the end of the night, when the rest of the company said their goodbyes.
“What do you say to my proposal,” Barron asked. “It would pay a good amount more than you’re getting right now.”
“That’s the truth, Mr. French.” I smiled at the last two gentlemen as they headed for the door. “But I like to know what kind of people I’m working with. Now your momma, she’s an honorable woman.”
Barron snorted. “Not so much.”
“What I’d like to know is if you’re an honorable man.”
“Well enough. What exactly would ease your mind, Mr. McClinton?”
Steadying my pounding pulse I lowered my voice. “Now I’ve heard a disturbing rumor or two around town that says you kept a mistress a couple years back. A pretty little thing who was a housemaid to your mother.”
Barron’s face went pale and his eyes darted around like he was nervous. “That’s not appropriate talk for mixed company.”
I made a show of looking around. “Ain’t nobody here but me and you,” I said, letting the comfort of my natural drawl come out. “So how I heard it, you had quite the torrid affair and when your mother found out, she tortured the poor girl.”
“I wouldn’t say tortured her, but she sent her away, yes.”
“To a brothel, to work as a whore.”
“What? What’re you saying to me right now?” His voice shook with fear or shock or maybe a little of both.
“Evelynn French, your mother, sent your young mistress to work men, and every two weeks, she’d come and make sure she was still there. And if ever she stopped whoring, your momma would have her killed or her mother framed as a thief. Am I close?”
To the man’s credit, he looked completely taken aback. “Kristina?” he whispered.
I struck while he was still dazed. “Hers is a happy ending for now though. She escaped your mother’s spies and made her way south. And just when she thought she was safe from the ruin you’d clouded her life with, your momma sent men to torture her. They took her in the night, and beat her face until it was unrecognizable, and then they tied her to the back of their horses like some animal and dragged her through the mud, barefoot, for nearly six hours. You can ask your man Streider all about that. Ask him where he got that scar on his hand.”
Barron’s nostrils flared and his voice shook. His rapidly racing heart was the easiest thing to hear in the room. “I thought you said it was a happy ending.”
“It is,” I growled. “A man saved her, but your mother sent more and more men to hurt her because she had to ruin the life of the servant who almost ruined her family’s name. But now the girl’s disappeared into the world where no one can find her but your mother and her spies.”
Barron slumped into a great oak chair propped in the shadows of great tufts of priceless curtains that adorned a towering window. His green color said he needed a bucket.
“If you ever had a tender feeling for Kristina,” I growled, “you’ll find a way to call your mother off her trail and let her heal. Let her live a life you came so close to ripping away from an innocent because you couldn’t keep your pecker in your pants.”
Barron shook his head slowly back and forth. Back and forth. “I can’t call that woman off. She’d kill me, her only son, if she thought it would bring her a profit. I can’t help you.” His voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. “I can’t help her.”
“Then tell me how. How do I save the girl?”
A fine sheen of sweat dotted his brow and he dropped his voice even lower. “There is a way.”
****
The click of the lock on the door wasn’t the only noise on the abandoned street, but it was the loudest. The butler had handed me my top hat and jacket, and I stood here, staring at the closed door, pondering what possible reason Barron could have for throwing his mother to the wolves, so to speak.
It was likely a trap. Family didn’t give over family this easily, even in the cutthroat world of Chicago society.
I turned and made fresh footprints in the falling snow down the walkway to wait for one of the servants to bring my horse around front. Reaching out to catch an oversized snowflake on the tip of my finger, I leaned against a towering stone lantern post. I had no choice but to walk right into that trap, but I didn’t have to do it alone. The time had come to use the gifts the animal inside of me offered. If I couldn’t use them in a time such as this, there was no benefit to being a werewolf.
The McCall family was an impressively large pack of five brothers and their father. Why they’d decided to settle on the outskirts of a thriving city like Chicago had always been beyond me, but to each his own. Now, the McCall family was friendly with Da but they didn’t run things like the Dawsons did. They weren’t a careful breed and if I had to guess by the way they acted, I’d say their wolves ran their lives and pushed their human nature to the
smallest crevices of their mind they could manage to shove them.
I’d contacted Mr. McCall the moment I came into town. It was a common courtesy to let packs know if you were in their territory and why. I’d given him my reasons, and he’d all but salivated over the prospect of a hunt. Not an animal one, mind you. The McCalls, on occasion, were man-eaters—the monsters that generated legends and conjured nightmares.
I’d told them I’d have to see where my hunt led, but if there was need enough, I’d let them in on it. With a foot in the stirrup, I mounted a horse with a coat as dark as the moonless night, and thanked the servant.
If I was going to willingly walk into a trap set by the French family, a clever werewolf would invoke the help of a pack.
The ride home was a long one at our slow pace, but my longing for fresh air outweighed the chill. I’d been in the city way too long and changed only when the pain grew so great I couldn’t stand it anymore. Far out in the woods I’d run, giving my wolf a night before I locked him up again and caged us both in the big city. My soul longed for the mountains and the empty dirt roads and the endless woods that surrounded home.
It longed for the last place I’d been with her.
A penniless couple huddled together against the gate of some giant house. Through the windows a party could be seen with eating, drinking, dancing, and merriment. I stripped out of my jacket and hat and handed them to the man, who immediately gave the coat to the woman clutching his arm.
I told them, “Wear these tonight, but sell them first thing in the morning so no one accuses you of thievin’.”
“Thank you, sir.” The man’s voice and uncovered hands shook with the cold.
The woman leaned forward. “Won’t you get cold tonight?”
“Won’t need a jacket where I’m going,” I said with a wink. Hell was probably plenty warm. “Take your woman to an inn and get a room for the night. It’s only getting colder out here.” After I dropped the rest of the money from my pocket into his outstretched hand, I tipped an imaginary hat and nudged my horse toward the other side of town.