To Tame a Wolf

“It’s no trouble, Eli. We’ll all eat in the bunkhouse so that André can rest undisturbed.” She turned to Kavanagh. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Kavanagh?”

Eli looked with bemusement from Tally to the tracker. Kavanagh had scarcely moved since Tally had appeared, but his hard face bore the addled expression of an outlaw bronc who’d been saddled and ridden around the corral before he could even think of putting up a fight. Tally had done that to him with a few quiet words.

“I can see you’re done in,” Kavanagh said after a long hesitation. He fiddled with the brim of his hat and pulled it low over his brow. “I’ll go see to Diablo.”

“I’ll ask Pablo to give him and the doctor’s horse an extra ration of oats. Good night.” She smiled at Kavanagh and returned to the house. Kavanagh didn’t try to follow.

“Do you think you can find your way to the barn?” Eli asked pointedly.

“I found Tally’s brother,” Kavanagh said. “Don’t you ever get yourself lost, Patterson.”

“I won’t, Mr. Kavanagh.” Eli waited until Kavanagh turned on his boot heel and strode toward the barn. Miriam came to stand beside Eli, following his stare into the darkness.

“He did what he promised,” she said.

“That may be. But he’s no good, Miriam. When I was in the army…we hunted men like him. I know a killer when I see one.”

“Then why didn’t he hurt Tally when he had the chance?”

Hurt. Miriam had been “hurt” more than once, and no one had less reason to forgive than she did.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know why Tally trusted him in the first place. But that man is not in this for a few dollars. He’s got too much interest in Miss Tally. Or something else at Cold Creek.”

Miriam rested her cheek against Eli’s arm, and his heart gave a painful thump. “You don’t have enough faith, Elijah. There’s good in every man. And there’s a reason this one was sent to Miss Tally.”

Eli covered her hand with his. He couldn’t deny Miriam the comfort of her faith. He, too, believed in certain supernatural powers that could neither be seen nor touched. “I’ll be watching him until he leaves Cold Creek.”

“Don’t you ever stop being a soldier?”

“A man doesn’t have to be a soldier to protect the folk he cares about.”

They were silent for a time. Coyotes yipped in the hills, and voices whispered in the back of the house.

“Come and help me get supper to the bunkhouse,” Miriam said at last. “I’ve got to make Miss Tally take some food and get a good rest tonight, or she’ll fall apart.”

“She won’t leave André’s side.”

“I’ll sit up with Mr. André so she can sleep.”

Eli bowed to Miriam’s superior will and helped her fill several plates with chicken and biscuits, a special meal she hoped would tempt Tally to eat before the long night was over. He spoke to Federico and Bart about what had happened, left them to their meals and took a lantern to the barn to look in on Kavanagh.

The tracker had laid out his bedroll in the box stall with his stallion, apparently unconcerned that the high-strung animal might trample him in his sleep. His eyes reflected red in the lantern light like those of a night-hunting animal.

“Are you comfortable, Mr. Kavanagh?” Eli asked.

“Very comfortable.” Kavanagh stretched, cracking the joints of his knuckles. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Foreman.”

He knew as well as Eli that no one at Cold Creek was likely to get much sleep. And that Eli’s nights would be troubled for a long time to come.

SIM COULD HAVE GONE to Tally any time he chose. No one would hear him slip in the door to the main house or crawl through a window—no, not even Elijah Patterson, with his soldier’s air and suspicious eyes.

But he had no reason to see her until morning. This peculiar need was like a small cholla spine lodged in the palm of his hand, barely more than annoying for one used to frequent discomfort. Yet he’d been gone only two days, and during those two days Tally had been a constant presence in his thoughts no matter how much he tried to be rid of her.

“Miss Tally.” The way the black man spoke of her, a stranger might think she was some kind of princess from the other side of the world instead of a plainspoken, relatively sensible female who wore men’s britches and a battered slouch hat.

“Ha,” Sim muttered, and rolled a cigarette. He didn’t smoke them anymore, but he still liked to roll them. The habit was hard to break, and it gave his fingers something to do. The taste of tobacco hadn’t set well with him ever since he started Changing and running as a wolf.

Diablo dropped his head and nibbled at Sim’s hair. Sim gently pushed the big head away. “You’re a little frisky after such a long ride,” Sim said. “You smell mare, do you?”

Diablo blew sharply through his nose.

“I knew I should have had you gelded,” Sim said. Diablo shook his head. “You think I should be, too? It don’t work that way, pard.” He kicked off his boots and lay back on his bedroll, the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. “The only cure I need is for André to wake up and talk about the treas—”

The faint crunch of feet on gravel silenced him instantly, and he sat up with his hand on his gun before he recognized the tread. He let go of the ivory grip and stood up to meet her.

Tally entered the barn slowly, as if she were afraid she might be intruding. Sim struck a match and held it near his face.

“I’m awake,” he said.

“Elijah told me you refused his offer of a bunk with the other men,” she said.

He blew out the match, leaving the barn in darkness. Sim didn’t need the extra light. He saw her well enough, and what he saw made his voice rough with surprise.

“What else did Elijah tell you?” he asked.

Tally hopped up on the partition of the stall and sat there, perfectly balanced. “He told me he didn’t trust you…but I think you know that already.”

“He’s quick to decide what he doesn’t like.”

“So am I. But when it comes to Cold Creek, I follow my own judgment.”

Sim stared at her bare feet braced on the partition—strong feet, not in the least delicate but strangely fascinating. She still wore britches, but a woman’s unbound breasts pushed against the cloth of her plain farmer’s shirt. And she’d done something to her hair. He’d seen it loose before, as she wore it now, yet he hadn’t imagined it could look so clean and shining, like a field of ripe wheat rippling in the wind. And her face… He didn’t know what she’d changed, but no man in his right mind would ever mistake her for a boy.

Sim bit down so hard on the cigarette that he got a mouthful of tobacco. He spat it out and jammed a piece of straw in his mouth instead. “How’s your brother?”

“The doctor examined him and put on fresh bandages, but there wasn’t much more he could do. André…may or may not recover. He needs rest and quiet…and time.”

Her matter-of-fact tone was meant to hide the grief she must be feeling, just as Sim disguised his own disappointment. Disappointment, hell—this was disaster, if the doc’s worst prediction was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said, amazed at how sincere the words sounded in the mouth of a man who’d seldom had occasion to use them.

“I believe you are.”

He knelt and pretended to examine Diablo’s near foreleg. “You’ll be running the ranch yourself now,” he said. “You’ll be short-handed.”

“Elijah’s a very good range boss—not that we’ve ever had enough men to need one. We’re not a big outfit. Not yet.” Tally brushed her hair out of her face with a casually graceful gesture that pushed Sim’s heart into his throat. “What are your plans after this, Sim? Where are you going? To Esperanza?”

The mention of the name hit Sim like a clenched fist. He hadn’t forgotten about Esperanza. Not for a second. But she seemed very far away in that little town in Sonora, not even knowing he would be coming for her.

When? When are you finally going to do it?

He’d learned long ago that it was better to tell part of the truth than a packful of lies. “I ain’t exactly a rich man,” he said. “I planned on going to Esperanza when I had a little more money saved up, so we could get married.”

“That’s quite understandable. Where is she?”

“Mexico.”

Sim watched Tally out of the corner of his eye, engrossed by the way she bit her lower lip. He remembered the feel of those lips under his. He’d kissed Esperanza only twice, and he had difficulty picturing those distant moments in his mind.

Kissing Tally was supposed to be a cure, an end to the temptation of straying from his dream. Tally must have seen it for what it was. Of course she had.

“I have a proposal for you, Sim,” she said.

Sim snapped the straw in two. “And what would that be?”

“I’d like you to stay here and work for me. Considering the trouble we had with rustlers last winter, I can use a man to take André’s place until he’s well again. I can’t promise you good pay—you could get better almost anywhere else—”

“This time of year?” Sim leaned against the opposite wall of the stall and chose a fresh bit of straw. “Even the big spreads lay off men in summer.”

“That may be, but we scrape by at the best of times. Elijah’s here by choice. So is Miriam. Federico lost his wife two years ago, and Miriam looks after his little girl while he’s riding. Bart has a crippled hand that makes it more difficult for him to find work where the owners and foremen can afford to be more fussy about who they hire.”

“And you can’t.”

“I’ve been very lucky.”

“What makes you think an army tracker would make a tolerable cowhand?”

“You’re good with horses. My guess is that you’ve worked cattle in your day, and done just about everything else that’s required on a small place like ours.”

“Just about everything else” was right. He’d even tried a few excruciating stretches of legitimate labor, but blacksmithing and bronc-busting hadn’t panned out when he’d needed real money to begin a straight life with Esperanza. The kind of cattle working Sim knew best wouldn’t meet with Tally’s approval.

But here she was, offering him a way to stay near André and keep looking for the thief who’d taken the map. If her brother hadn’t recovered by the end of the summer, he probably never would. A steady job at Cold Creek would give Sim food and shelter and time to think through what he would do if the map…or, worst case, the treasure…was gone for good.

He’d seen enough of Cold Creek to know that Tally wasn’t being modest about either its size or prosperity. The land itself was promising, with a spring and a creek that flowed the better part of the year, but she couldn’t lay legal claim to any of it until this part of Arizona was officially surveyed. The main adobe house was serviceable, as were the barn and the few other outbuildings, but they weren’t the work of someone with lofty ambitions for wealth and status. Tally had admitted she’d lost cattle to rustlers, and she probably hadn’t owned many to begin with.

Those very disadvantages made her stubborn courage all the more remarkable. She knew what she had and planned to make the best of it, no matter the odds against her. There was no doubt in Sim’s mind that she’d always been the boss at Cold Creek.

Ay, muy loco. He was crazy to seriously consider staying anywhere near a woman who interested him the way Tally did. No good telling himself that he could look at Tally and not feel…not feel something that even Esperanza, with all her purity and goodness…

Damnation. Tally and Esperanza weren’t alike. Not anything alike. As long as he remembered that, he was safe. As long as he remembered that he had to earn Esperanza the way a man earns his way into heaven.

If he began to feel trapped, the wolf gave him a way out.

“Patterson won’t like it,” he said.

“He’ll accept my decision.” Tally slid down from the partition. “Do you want the job?”

“I’ll take it, at least through the summer.”

She hesitated, then offered her hand. He took it, feeling the calluses on her palms and the steadfast strength of her grip.

“There’s only one other thing,” she said, holding his gaze as firmly as his hand. “Everyone at Cold Creek keeps my secret away from the ranch or around outsiders like the doctor. I’m Tal, André’s brother. That’s the way I started out here, and how I intend to continue.”

He released her hand, flexing his fingers to relieve the tingle in them. “Call yourself whatever you choose. I’ve got no reason to care one way or another.”

“I didn’t think so.” She smiled at him the same way she smiled at Elijah and Miriam and probably at everyone who worked for her. “I’ll inform Elijah. Tomorrow night you can sleep in a bunk.”

Sim nodded and stepped back out of range of her scent and her touch. “Are you going to get some sleep now, boss?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think I will.”

She walked out of the barn. Sim leaned against Diablo and breathed in the familiar smell of horseflesh until the stallion’s head drooped and Sim gave himself up to the merciless reckoning of dreams.

CHAPTER SIX

DOCTOR JOHANSEN LEFT Cold Creek early the next day. He offered no more hope for André than he had given when he arrived, but at least he admitted to Tally that recovery was possible.

She paid Johansen out of her very limited stock of cash and devised a schedule so that either she or Miriam remained with André at all times. He continued to lie quietly, sometimes opening his eyes without seeing, at others moaning disjointed syllables that made no sense. Miriam made up a thin gruel that he was able to eat much as a baby would, but Tally worried that his health would fail even more quickly on such a diet.

The everyday work of running the ranch kept Tally sane after she’d spent several hours at her brother’s bedside. Elijah was well able to manage the spread without her help, but Tally couldn’t have borne day after day inside the house the way Miriam did. She went back to riding the range, working with Federico and Bart as they branded stray and orphaned calves, doctored sickly cattle, and mucked out tanks and water holes.

Elijah had another task. He hadn’t been pleased when Tally had told him about Sim, but it was his job to show a new hand the ropes. The two men had to accept each other sooner or later, and Tally intended that it be sooner.

Tally saw little of Sim or Eli for several days. On the third evening both of them appeared in time for supper and assumed their places without ceremony, Elijah in André’s chair and Sim in the foreman’s seat, next to Bart.

Federico, halfway between scolding his children for bad table manners and describing a recent encounter with a cantankerous cow, fell silent when Sim sat down at the table. Bart grabbed a biscuit and bit into it, risking Miriam’s wrath for eating before grace had been said. Pablito and Dolores, seated at their own miniature table, stared with wide, fascinated eyes at the stranger.

Miriam behaved as if this were just another ordinary meal. She served up the frijoles, ham and potatoes, and took her chair at Tally’s other side. Her dark eyes met those of every man and woman at the table, coming last to Sim.

“We will pray,” she said.

Heads bent and eyes closed, but Sim stared at Tally. She stared back. Miriam said grace, perhaps a bit more loudly than usual. She had an unerring sense for detecting lost souls.

Tally wasn’t surprised that Sim didn’t pray. She also wasn’t surprised to find that she’d missed him over the past few days, even his sarcasm and double-edged remarks. The night he’d come with the doctor, she’d felt herself driven to speak with him in the barn, and for no good reason except her own loneliness. She’d taken strange comfort from his stolid inability or unwillingness to offer the usual pretty words meant to ease her grief. When he did speak, he meant what he said.

Here, among the spare comforts of her own home, he looked just as out of place as he had at the Brysons’. His eyes seemed more vivid, his features sharper and somehow feral in the lamplight. She couldn’t begin to read what lay behind his stare or guess what he saw in hers.

But she knew she hadn’t made a mistake in offering him the job. Elijah had brought him to the table; that was as close a sign of acceptance as Sim was ever likely to get from the former soldier. At least they hadn’t come to blows….

“Amen,” Miriam said.

“Amen,” the others echoed. Miriam gave Tally a reproachful glance. Elijah scooped up a spoonful of frijoles. Pablito and Dolores set to their own meals with enthusiasm.

Tally cleared her throat. “You have all noticed by now that we have a new hand at Cold Creek.” She smiled, trying to ease the unmistakable air of discomfort that hung so thick in the room. “Of course we’ve never been much for formality here, so we won’t start now. I would like you to meet Simeon Kavanagh. He’ll be working with us for the summer, until André is on his feet again.”

Heavy silence followed her last remark. She folded her hands on the table and took a deep breath.

“It may seem as if everything has changed overnight. No one could have…expected my brother to get lost and hurt, but if it weren’t for Mr. Kavanagh, I never would have found him. I won’t give up hope, and I ask you all to do your best to keep things going the way they always have. It’s what André would want.”

Federico looked up from his plate. “Como tú digas, Señorita Tally. We must go on as before.” He nodded to Sim. “Bienvenido, Señor Kavanagh. I am Federico Rodriguez, and these are my children, Pablo and Dolores.” He glanced with mock severity from son to daughter. “How do you greet the gentleman, mis hijos?”

“Bienvenido,” Pablo said obediently, and grinned past a mouthful of beans. Dolores stuck her finger in her nose. Sim’s mouth twitched, but it was obvious to Tally that he didn’t know how to speak to children.

Bart shifted nervously in his chair. “Bart Stanfield,” the gray-haired cowman said to Sim, offering his hand. Sim met his gaze, and Bart withdrew his hand, rubbing his palm on the side of his pants.

Tally frowned at Sim. “Bart has been in the Territory longer than almost anyone. He’s fought Apaches and lived to talk about it.”

Bart ducked his head. “Everyone had to in those days,” he said.

Sim leaned back in his chair until it creaked dangerously and balanced on two legs. “Stanfield,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of you.”

The older man’s faded blue eyes peered up at Sim, bright with hope. He returned to his food with gusto.

“You’ve met Miriam,” Tally said. “She runs the house and manages our food stores. Don’t cross her unless you want a little too much chili in your frijoles.”

Sim gave a startling smile, all white teeth and an edge of dark humor. “I like my chuck hot.”

“I imagine Miriam could lay her hands on a little rat bait if she set her mind to it,” Elijah said.

Bart choked on his biscuit. Miriam clapped a hand over her mouth, and Federico sighed. Pablito burst into giggles. Sim continued to smile.

“You know a rat ’round here needs killing?” he asked Elijah.

Eli smiled back at him. “Even rats can be useful from time to time.”

Sim’s chair crashed back to all four legs. “Elijah and me had a nice tour of your spread, Miss Tally,” he said. “He’s a mighty fine range boss, Mr. Patterson is.”

“And you’re satisfied with Mr. Kavanagh’s work?” Tally asked Elijah.

She knew Eli well enough to expect him to tell the truth, even if it embarrassed both her and Sim. Eli took his time about answering. He slathered butter on a biscuit and ate it almost daintily.

“He’ll do,” he said at last. “Until Mr. Bernard is well again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Tally took a slice of ham. She would have to speak to Miriam about such lavish expenditures for everyday meals, even though she knew her friend was doing it for her sake. God knew she hadn’t had much of an appetite. “Since we are speaking of rats, has there been any sign of the rustlers since I left for Tombstone?”

“None,” Eli said. “They must figure we don’t have much left worth stealing.”

“We have a new crop of calves,” Bart said. “Once they’re weaned…”

“They won’t succeed again,” Eli said grimly. “We’ll be ready for them.”

“You have a strategy in mind, mi amigo?” Federico asked. He turned to Sim. “Señor Patterson fought with the Buffalo Soldiers, the Tenth Cavalry. I understand that you also served in the army, Señor Kavanagh.”

Sim shrugged. Eli pinned Federico with an eloquent stare. He hated to talk about his past with the army. Tally knew only scraps of his history. Like her, he couldn’t entirely escape the influence of his former profession. Discipline and skill were evidence of his training, just as his educated upbringing showed in his speech and manner.

“I’m more interested in Mr. Kavanagh’s suggestions on how to deal with cattle thieves,” Elijah said.

Sim regarded the other man through half-lidded eyes. “I didn’t know you were interested in any opinion of mine.”

“I gather you two didn’t do much talking in the last few days,” Tally said dryly. “Do you have a suggestion, Sim?”

A hunter’s spark lit his eyes. “Do you know who they are? I’ve heard the name McLaury in this part of the Territory.”

“We never got a good look at ’em,” Bart offered. “But the McLaurys are said to be among the worst of the cowboys in the Valley.”

“I like to know the name of my enemy,” Sim said. He held Tally’s gaze. “You don’t need to worry about those cowboys, Miss Tally. They won’t bother you again.”

Elijah leaned over the table. “That’s pretty big talk, Kavanagh. It makes me wonder if you know these kinds of men a little better than you’ve let on.”

Tally stood up. All the men but Sim jumped to their feet out of habitual courtesy.

“Please sit down,” she said firmly. “Elijah, I’d prefer that you don’t make accusations without proof. I’m satisfied as to Mr. Kavanagh’s background and abilities. At times like these, we can’t afford to turn against each other.”

Eli sat down, but his muscles were taut with strain. “If I owe you an apology, Mr. Kavanagh, you have it.”

“If I ever need one,” Sim said, “I’ll take it.”

Tally banged her hand on the table. “Gentlemen,” she said, deliberately implying that they didn’t deserve the name, “I think that’s enough of this discussion for tonight. Sim, are you set up in the bunkhouse?”

Sim nodded, but Tally could see that his thoughts were elsewhere. Miriam got up to clear the dishes, effectively ending the meal. Federico took his children away to wash up before bed, and Bart left so quietly that no one seemed to notice he was gone. Elijah spoke briefly to Miriam and walked out the front door.

Sim scraped back his chair and rose with an extravagant stretch. He stalked around the table, intercepting Miriam with her armful of dirty plates.

“Mighty good cooking,” he said, taking the plates from her hands. He winked at Tally. “Better than Mrs. Bryson’s, I’d say.”

Miriam stared at him, openmouthed, and took a step back. “Why…thank you, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“No one calls me that,” he said. He set the plates down beside the washbasin. “It’s Sim.”

Miriam exchanged startled glances with Tally. “Sim,” she repeated. “Simeon.”

“No one calls me that, either,” he said. Somehow he insinuated himself next to Tally without seeming to have moved across the room. He drew her out the door and onto the porch. A breeze had risen to drive away the day’s heat, and Tally turned her face into the wind’s caress.

Sim pulled a rolled cigarette from his waistcoat pocket and contemplated it as if it were a rival to be defeated. “I meant what I said in there,” he said.

“About the rustlers? I never doubted it.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “No questions? No suspicions?”

She leaned against the house’s cool adobe wall. “Elijah may be right. I’m not ignorant, Sim. I never dismissed the possibility that you’ve walked on both sides of the law.”