Susan Krinard - Bride of the Wolf

As much as Heath hated to admit it, Lucia was as close to a truly decent woman as he’d ever met. She had made him welcome, insisting he stay overnight in their tiny casa so that she and Heath could start fresh in the morning. And she hadn’t complained once during the ride. She was so quiet he barely knew she was there at all.

Just the opposite of Rachel Lyndon.

Hell. He needed a drink. “We’ll go in for a spell,” he said, giving Bess a command to stay put. “The saloon has a dining room that caters to the stage trade. They’ll have somethin’ for you there.”

Lucia smiled at him. “ Gracias, señor .”

He didn’t like being thanked any more than he liked being beholden. He gestured for her to precede him, and they walked through the side door that led into the dining room with its two small tables. It was empty except for two of the three women who lived in Javelina. Neither one of them offered a greeting as Heath showed Lucia to the other table.

“You wait here,” Heath told Lucia. He walked into the saloon and leaned on the bar, catching the bartender’s eye.

“One lemonade,” he said. “And a whiskey. Straight.”

Riley gave him a startled, curious look and went after the drinks. The handful of men at the bar and tables—drifters and unemployed cowhands, mostly—looked up at Heath and went straight back to their drinks. Heath ignored them and picked up the whiskey Riley brought him. The stuff almost always made him feel a little sick; the smell and taste were too strong for his loup-garou senses. He drank it anyway.

The bartender plunked the lemonade on the bar and set him up for another drink. “Heard Jed’s still not back from Kansas,” he said, wiping a glass with a stained towel.

Heath downed the second drink without answering.

“Heard about Jed’s missus,” Riley said.

Heath ordered a third whiskey and nursed it, turning the glass around in his hands.

“They say you found a baby, too,” Riley persisted.

“That’s right.”

It was obvious that Riley wanted to hear a lot more, but he didn’t ask. Heath finished his drink, threw down his money and returned to the dining room with the lemonade. He gave it to Lucia and walked over to the store.

Sonntag greeted him with his merchant’s smile, hovering expectantly. “You found the lady?” he asked.

Heath nodded briefly. Sonntag was one of the few folk in the county who never seemed wary of him. He picked up a roll of cheap cotton and a few other things he thought Mrs. McCarrick might need before Maurice came to town with the wagon. Sonntag called his attention to a fancy painted cradle he claimed he’d just gotten in from San Antonio.

“The best money can buy,” the storekeeper said in his thick German accent. “Where did you find the baby, Herr Renshaw?”

Heath straightened from his inspection and gave Sonntag a steady look. “Be best if people kept more to themselves and worried less about other people’s business.”

Sonntag stood his ground. “You have done a good thing, Mr. Renshaw.”

Heath nudged the cradle with the toe of his boot. “Ain’t got much call for somethin’ like this in Javelina.”

The storekeeper’s eyes gleamed. “For you, Herr Renshaw, and for the new bride, I would offer an excellent bargain.” He pushed up his spectacles. “How is Mrs. McCarrick?”

“Fine,” Heath said through gritted teeth. He strode to the counter and removed a few coins from his money pouch. “You get any more of that jam in?”

“One jar.” Sonntag cocked his head. “No cradle today, Herr Renshaw?”

“I’ll think about it.” Except he wouldn’t be thinking about it at all, because he wouldn’t be making any more personal stops in Javelina if he could help it. Sonntag hadn’t had any ideas about helping Joey find work somewhere else, and Heath didn’t figure anything new would crop up in the next few days. He went out for his saddlebags, dropped them on the counter and left Sonntag to pack his purchases while he looked over the patch of wall the town used for announcements and the rare advertisement.

When he saw the poster, it was like looking in a cracked mirror. The face in the drawing was almost completely covered with a full black beard, mustache and long, unkempt hair. The eyes were the same, but the artist had the nose wrong. The scar across the wanted man’s neck was knotted and ugly. Heath Renier, accused of murder, rustling and armed robbery, had last been seen near Dallas four years ago.

“Quite a villain,” Sonntag said, coming up behind him. “I would not wish to meet him in a dark place.”

Heath let out his breath very slowly. “When did this come in?”

“From San Antonio, with my new goods yesterday. It is a great deal of money, nicht wahr? Ach , what I could do with such money!” Sonntag shrugged. “But men like that are not easily found. His appearance may be nothing like this picture after so many years.”

Heath returned to the counter and grabbed the saddlebags. “Maurice will be along for more later.”

“Very well, Herr Renshaw.” Heath could feel Sonntag’s stare as he left the store, weighing him, wondering. He touched the neckerchief around his throat.

If Sonntag or anyone else had recognized Holden Renshaw as Heath Renier, he would have been arrested by now. But it was a bad sign that they were putting out posters this far south and west. It meant the law was still on his trail and getting closer.

The kid had to get well soon, though Heath would be safe a while longer if he was careful. Coming into Javelina all normal-like, after everything that had happened, probably even worked in his favor.

Just as he put Lucia up on the mule, he heard hoofbeats behind him, coming fast.

He turned around. Amy Blackwell’s bay mare pulled up hard, raising dust hip high.

“Holden Renshaw,” she said, her pretty face twisted with anger. “I hope they hang you for what you’ve done.”

Heath’s heart slammed a dozen times before he got it under control. He touched the brim of his hat.

“Afternoon, Miss Blackwell,” he said. “Reckon they have some hangin’ rope at Sonntag’s. You mind tellin’ me what I’ve done first?”

“You know perfectly well,” she said, tossing back the blond hair she always wore loose around her shoulders. “Sean came to us as soon as you ran him off.”

The tension went out of Heath’s body. He’d never doubted that that was where Sean would have headed first. He’d been in good with the Blackwells for some time, playing up his education at some fancy school back East and the highfalutin manners Jed had paid so much for. Sean had hankered after Amy, too.

Looked like he was getting her.

“Sean tell you why?” he asked. “Or did he just howl like a burnt coyote?”

Her gloved hands tightened on the reins as she shifted on her sidesaddle. “Must there be a reason when a gentleman is run off his own ranch by a jealous cowhand?”

Heath let her see the edges of his teeth. “It ain’t his ranch yet, Miss Blackwell. If he promised to sell you Dog Creek, he’s layin’ you a false scent.”

Amy edged her mount a few steps back and flung up her head like a rebellious filly. “You may be interested to know that we intend to employ Mr. McCarrick at Blackwater. He is not without friends.”

“You want Sean for a friend, Miss Blackwell, that’s your lookout. But he’ll use you, just like he uses anyone he thinks he can string along.”

Amy swung her arm up, and for a split second it looked as if she might try to hit him with her quirt. She didn’t. She just stared at him, hate and confusion in her eyes.

“When Sean’s uncle returns, he will hear about this,” she snapped.