Susan Krinard - To Tame a Wolf

“Did he speak?”

Sim knew he couldn’t give her anything but the truth, at least about her brother’s condition. “There’s not too much blood or deep wounds that I could see, but he’s unconscious. Looks like he fell and hit his head. Could have been lying there a couple of days.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s in one piece. Nothing got at him.”

Tally scraped her palms across her face. “You left him alone.”

He bristled, as if her accusation had the power to wound him. She couldn’t know that he’d tracked most of the way as a wolf, hiding his clothes in a crevice until he was ready to return. The rain had made his hunt much more difficult. Even in wolf form, he’d been lucky to find André at all.

“I didn’t want to risk carrying him,” Sim said gruffly, “so I came for Diablo.” He sniffed the air. “It won’t rain anymore tonight. There’s a pool on the other side of that low ridge. Find some dry wood, if you can, and get a fire going.”

Her dazed eyes looked through him. “André needs me.”

“You can help him best when I bring him back.” He pulled a large empty can from one saddlebag and pressed it into her hands. “You can use this to heat some water.”

She took the can and stood. “Go. I’ll have everything ready.”

He untied Diablo and left at once. The stallion was sure-footed and willing to follow where Sim led. Full night had fallen by the time man and beast stood on the ledge overlooking the deep but narrow gorge where André lay.

Sim scrambled down the rocky face to the bottom and crouched beside the fallen man. André hadn’t moved since Sim left; he still breathed, and his heartbeat was steady, but his sandy hair was caked with dirt and blood, and one of his arms was broken inside.

The other hand grasped a torn fragment of paper, nearly disintegrated by the rain. Enough of it remained for Sim to recognize what he’d been searching for. Someone had been here with André—someone who’d taken the rest of the map and had made a clean getaway with the mules and gear.

Sim’s first thought was that Caleb had done it, but Caleb was behind bars in Amarillo. That was why he’d sent Sim. All telltale tracks of the intruder and the mules had been washed away in the storm. André’s clothing was too saturated to hold any scent but his own. Not even a wolf had much hope of hunting down the thief.

Sim crouched beside André and scooped the soggy scrap of paper out of the young man’s hand. If it weren’t for Tal, he would be off looking for the map no matter what his chances of finding it. But she was waiting, and he’d promised to find her brother.

“I found you,” he said in disgust. “Not that you were worth the trouble. I’d as soon leave you here for the buzzards.”

André didn’t answer. The rise and fall of his chest was the only outward sign that he was alive. There was some risk in moving him, but André’s odds of survival were nonexistent if he didn’t get out of the mountains.

With a scowl, Sim gathered the young man’s sprawled limbs and lifted him, trying not to move the broken arm more than necessary. He shifted André over his shoulder, made sure of his balance, and climbed back up the cliff face.

Diablo snorted and flared his nostrils, snuffling at André with frank disapproval. Sim quieted the horse, lifted André onto his back and secured the unwelcome burden with rope from the saddlebags. André was as limp as a sack of grain.

Darkness made for a treacherous descent, but Sim’s keen vision picked out the easiest path. Firelight marked his destination for the last quarter mile. When they arrived, Tally ran up to Diablo and stopped to stare at her brother’s pale face. She murmured French words in a voice broken with horror.

Sim fought the urge to dump André on his head and end his troublemaking ways for good. “Your brother’s still alive, and at least he ain’t bleeding,” he said as he untied the ropes. Tally helped Sim ease André to the ground, cradling the injured man’s head in her hands. She’d made a bed of blankets and laid out scraps of cloth to bind any wounds, but Sim was pretty sure that the worst of André’s injuries were inside, where she couldn’t reach them.

Tal cut away her brother’s shredded clothes, covered him with blankets and continued to speak to him in her melodious French, alternately scolding and pleading. The scolding was all an act to hold the tears at bay, but it seemed to work.

Sim gathered sturdy sticks to make a splint for André’s arm, while Tally cleaned André’s cuts and bathed his face and hairline with warm water, revealing the huge raised bump and ugly gash where he’d hit his head in the fall. Tal sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

“He could have bled to death,” Sim said awkwardly. “Head wounds are like that. He was lucky.”

“Lucky.” She shivered. “How did this happen?”

“Looks like he missed his footing,” Sim said, which wasn’t really a lie. “Easy to do up here.”

“Mon pauvre.” She rinsed the cloth in the can of hot water and dabbed at the wound. “You never saw the mules?”

“The rain washed away their tracks. They must have escaped when André fell. Could be on the other side of the mountains by now, if a panther didn’t get them.”

“No sign of Elijah?”

“He probably never picked up your brother’s trail.”

“He may even be back at the ranch by now.” She brushed at the damp tangles of André’s hair. “The important thing is that we saved André. He’ll explain what happened when he…” She bit hard on her lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. Men who hit their heads and don’t wake up—”

She was still fighting tears, and Sim couldn’t bear it.

“Some recover,” he said.

“Some,” she echoed. She bent to kiss André’s brow. “There isn’t much more I can do for him here, but the Brysons must have a wagon we can borrow to carry him home.”

“You should leave him with them until you can get a doctor.”

“No. I want him home, where I—” She shook her head. “It will take days to a get a doctor, no matter where we are.” She rose and searched her saddlebags. Coins jingled in a small leather pouch. She picked out three silver dollars and offered them on her open palm. “You’ve more than earned your fee, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll pay you the same again if you’ll ride to Tombstone and send a doctor to Cold Creek.”

Sim stared at the coins with sudden and overwhelming distaste. “What about getting your brother home?”

“It’s less than forty miles from the mouth of Castillo Canyon. I can manage with a wagon.”

Anger tightened Sim’s chest until he could barely breathe. “Why should I bother to earn the money when I could take it from you right now?”

She closed her fist around the coins. “You could have done so at any time, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sim got up and stalked out of the firelight, turned on his heel and faced her again. “No one ever calls me mister.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“Sim. Just Sim.”

“I usually go by Tally at home.”

“When you’re not a boy.”

She nodded, staring into the fire. “I was christened Chantal.”

Sim felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come. “Simeon,” he muttered.

“It’s a nice name.”

“There’s nothing nice about me. But I’ll ride to Tombstone, and you don’t need to pay me a cent.”

“I thought you needed the money.”

“I’ll take two dollars.”

Solemnly she passed him the coins, and he shoved them in his pocket. “Now you get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll watch.”

“No more arguments? You permit me to trust you after all?”