Susan Krinard - Code of the Wolf

“Obliged, Miss Maguire,” he said, inclining his head. Serenity could have sworn that Bonnie blushed—and there wasn’t much in the world that could make her blush.

Could it be that she admired Constantine? Perhaps even found him attractive?

“I hope Miss Liu and Miss Saunders are well?” he asked.

Serenity had no intention of telling the man just how unwell Frances was.

“They’re busy,” she said, and looked Constantine up and down with the deliberate detachment of a buyer assessing the merits of a beef bound for the stockyards. “Your clothes are ruined, and we have nothing here that will fit you.”

“I’m sure Helene can sew something up for him,” Bonnie said.

“Mr. Constantine is leaving tomorrow,” Serenity reminded her.

“But we can’t send him out like this!”

She was right, as much as it pained Serenity to admit it. “Mrs. Tompkins will take your measurements when you go inside,” she said to Constantine. She thought of asking him to put on his boots, but there wasn’t much point, when Helene would only want them off again.

Helene hadn’t been to the barn to see Constantine. What would she make of him, considering how badly her fiance and family had treated her?

“You’re very kind, ma’am,” Constantine said, holding her gaze.

“Imprudente,” Caridad muttered. “Kindness will get you killed.”

Serenity pretended she hadn’t heard. Not waiting to see if he would follow, she returned to the house.

Constantine caught up with her.

“Most of your hands are out on the range?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

She kept her pace steady in spite of his uncomfortable nearness, and her uneasy awareness of his physique and masculine scent. Was he trying to find out how many women lived at Avalon?

“Everyone is occupied with chores,” she said. “Including watching for those outlaws of yours.”

He didn’t take any visible offense at her tart reply. He glanced up at the sun rising over the vast Tularosa Valley. “You must be about ready to start branding,” he said.

“Yes,” she said shortly, as they stepped up onto the porch.

Nothing more passed between them until they had gone into the kitchen, where Helene was sitting at the table mending the hem of a well-worn skirt. She bolted from her seat when she saw Constantine. He stopped where he was, tucking his hands behind his back. Serenity moved closer to the other woman.

“Mrs. Tompkins,” she said, “this is Jacob Constantine. Mr. Constantine, Mrs. Tompkins.”

“Ma’am,” Constantine said. His eyes barely flickered down to Helene’s distended belly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Helene sank back down into her chair. “Good morning, Mr. Constantine,” she murmured, regaining her composure.

“Bonnie tells me there’s soup and bread,” Serenity said, as if everything were perfectly normal.

“I’ll get it.”

Before Serenity could stop her, Helene began to rise, lost her balance and tilted sideways. Constantine was there in an instant, supporting her arm.

“You should rest, ma’am,” he said. “You’ve got someone else to think of now.”

Helene stared up into his face with something like wonder. For a moment Serenity saw what the other woman did: simple kindness and concern.

“Th-thank you,” Helene whispered. “I think I will lie down for a while.”

With an unreadable glance at Serenity, she waddled out of the dining room.

“I will thank you not to offer advice to my friends,” Serenity said stiffly.

He leaned against the wall, muscles bunching and relaxing as he folded his arms across his chest. “Seems the Missus hasn’t been getting very good advice so far.”

Heat washed into Serenity’s face. “You know nothing about us and our ways,” she said. “You think of women as weak vessels suitable only for…for—” She broke off and began again. “Helene…Mrs. Tompkins is far stronger than she looks. Too much bed rest will do her no good at all.”

His eyes were so clear, so knowing, but they did not mock. “You’re right,” he said. “I know nothing about you and your ways. Why don’t you tell me how a place like this came to be and how it manages to keep going?”

He seemed to know every single thing to say that would make her angry. “Because it’s run by women? You wonder how we can do work usually done by men?”

A lock of dark hair fell across his eyes, and he pushed it aside. “It had occurred to me,” he said.

Oh, the arrogance. So completely typical. “This ranch has been operating for three years,” she said. “We have fifteen hundred head of cattle. And we own this land outright.”

“We?”

“All of us together.”

“That is impressive, ma’am,” he said softly. “Especially in this rugged country. How did you come to be here without any men?”

“We have our reasons.”

“They must be pretty strong ones.”

She had had enough. “Do you know who keeps the farms and ranches of the West from sinking into barbarity and filth? Who brings learning and civilization to the cattle towns? Who does the washing and cooking and raising of children, and all the other things most men would never—”

Constantine raised a hand. “You’ve made your point, ma’am. But everything you’ve said is about women working in the home, where they are protected.”

Protected? As she had been? “And you, a complete stranger, are so deeply concerned for our welfare,” she said.

“Any decent man would be.”

“Are you offering to be our ‘protector,’ Mr. Constantine?”

His lids dropped over his eyes, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. Serenity turned her back on him, took a bowl from the cupboard, ladled soup from the cast-iron pot on the stove, and set the bowl down hard on the table. She returned to the worktable, uncovered the bread, sawed off a chunk and tossed it on a plate. She plunked it down beside the soup, along with a spoon.

Constantine continued to stand. After a moment she realized that he was expecting her to sit first. She wanted to storm out, but that would be giving in. And she would not give in.

She took the chair farthest from him and sat very still, staring at the table while he ate.

“My compliments to the cook, ma’am,” he said. His voice sounded almost hollow. Had she actually said something that had shaken his seemingly unflappable calm?

What kind of man was he, really? It had been a very long time since she’d bothered to consider what “type” any man was. They had all become the same to her, and she never attempted to look beyond her assumptions. She didn’t even want to try.

Why, then, did she look at this man and feel that somehow she had been wrong in her first judgment of him?

“I would like to ask you a question, Mr. Constantine,” she said. “How does a man come to be a bounty hunter?”

His face became a perfect blank. “Most do it for the money,” he said.

“But not you?”

“I reckon my reasons are my own, just like yours.”

“And do you consider yourself to work on the right side of the law?”

Every one of his muscles seemed to contract at once, and he set the spoon down with exaggerated care. “Yes, Miss Campbell,” he said, matching her ice for ice. “I do. If you’ll pardon me, I’ll be going back to the barn.”

She had offended him. Truly offended him. And she felt no satisfaction at all.

“Wait,” she said. “Helene didn’t take your measurements.”

“It isn’t necessary,” he said brusquely, heading for the door.

“Bonnie won’t be happy if I let you leave tomorrow half-dressed.”

He hesitated, looking back at her, searching her face. Her heart turned over. She knew where the sewing things were; she’d done plenty of mending herself. It would only take a moment to get the measuring tape.