To Tame a Wolf

“Do you know Castillo Canyon?” she asked.

“I know where it is,” he said. “It’s long and deep, cuts right into the high rocks. Hundreds of spires and pinnacles like towers on a castle. That’s what gave the canyon its name.”

Tal glanced at him with raised brows. “You have some poetry in you, Mr. Kavanagh.”

He almost gave in to the urge to spit. “The whore—the lady—in Turquoise was right. Ain’t no mining up there, at least not on the west slope. Anything else in the canyon that might interest your brother?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve heard there are settlers there—a family by the name of Bryson. I haven’t met them.”

“If your brother went that way, they might have seen him.”

She nodded, lost in her own thoughts. They left the dwindling trail and rode across washes and gullies, past occasional beeves grazing on the yellowing grama, threeawn and bunchgrass that thrived in the valley. The dry season was on Arizona Territory, but Sim sensed rain coming in the days ahead. With any luck, it wouldn’t fall until he had André Bernard right under his nose.

The shadows were growing long when they reached Squaretop Hills. Sim chose a campsite partially shielded by a thick growth of mesquite and unsaddled Diablo. Tal saw to her own horse while Sim sniffed out water running just under a dry creek bed.

He dug out a basin and let the horses drink. Once they’d been rubbed down and staked out for the night, Sim went hunting. He shot a brace of cottontails and brought them back to camp, where Tal had already gathered brush for a small fire. Once again he was grudgingly compelled to admire her practicality, no matter how schoolmarmish she could be when the notion struck her.

Damn all women. Most weren’t worth the confusion they inevitably brought with their presence. But as he began to skin the rabbits, he remembered why he’d looked forward to this night.

He tossed the bloodied animals to Tal. They flopped into the dirt beside the new-made fire, and she gave a little jump. Sim smothered a grin of satisfaction.

“I got our supper,” he said. “You cook ’em.”

She picked up one of the carcasses and examined it with a critical eye. “Not much, is it?” she said. “Well, I’m not very hungry, myself.”

Sim shot to his feet. “How many do you want?”

“I said I’m not hungry.” She drew a knife and set to work without the slightest sign of squeamishness.

He went to stand over her, hands on hips. “Never heard of any boy who wasn’t always hungry.”

She wrinkled her nose, sniffed and waved at the air as if she’d smelled something distasteful, and after a moment he realized that her broad gestures were aimed in his direction. “Some things can spoil even the healthiest appetite.”

“You ain’t exactly a nosegay yourself,” he snapped. “If you only knew how bad humans—” He broke off in consternation and quickly recovered. “Would you get your appetite back if I washed up, Bernard?” He yanked off his neckerchief, shed his buckskin jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “I found a little water that ain’t too muddy. You scrub my back, and I’ll scrub yours.”

The anticipated blush turned her face pink under its layer of dust. “That won’t be necessary.” She focused her attention on the rabbits. “You can make yourself useful by rigging a spit—that is, of course, if you have an appetite.”

“A man on the trail takes what he can get—even if it ain’t the sort of meat he prefers.”

Her knife slipped, and he wondered if she’d guessed that he had seen through her masquerade. Sim rigged the spit as requested, letting her do the rest. He leaned back on his elbows a little way from the fire and studied her as night fell over the valley. The moon and stars had the peculiar effect of softening Tal’s features, breaching her disguise more effectively than the brightest sunlight.

She knew he was watching her, but she pretended to be oblivious. “Your supper is ready,” she said, stepping back from the fire. “I’ll be with the horses.”

“You prefer their company to mine?”

She braced her hands on her hips and stared him down. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Kavanagh. Is that clear enough?”

Sim grinned, showing all his teeth. “Very clear, hombre.” He crouched by the fire and tore into the meat with gusto. When he’d finished one of the rabbits, he took a tin plate and seldom-used fork from his saddlebags, rinsed them in a freshly dug water hole, and sliced off steaming chunks of meat from the second carcass. He piled them on the plate and went in search of Tal.

She never heard him approach. She’d laid her bedding next to the mesquite where the horses were picketed and now sat cross-legged on the blankets, her hat beside her, raking her fingers through her mass of tangled flaxen hair. It wasn’t as short as Sim had imagined, for she wore it in tight braids that fit under the crown of her hat. She had a female’s natural vanity after all.

Sim crouched and breathed in the woman-smell of her body. He’d lied when he suggested that she needed a bath. There was nothing unpleasant about her scent. Damn near the opposite. She smelled like a natural female—real and warm, like Esperanza, but different….

The memory of Esperanza cleared his head in a hurry. He set down the plate where even a human would find it and retreated as silently as he’d come. He walked around to the side of the hill, shucked his clothes and Changed.

Even after so many times, he still marveled at the miraculous novelty of the transformation from man to wolf. It was good to run free—free in a way he’d never understood before he accepted his MacLean blood, free as no human could comprehend. Stronger than either man or ordinary wolf, containing the best of both in one agile and powerful body.

He shook his thick brown coat and twitched his large, mobile ears. He raced across the valley floor, rattling the dry grasses and leaping waxy-leaved creosote and saltbush. Wind sang in his fur. Mice scurried under his broad feet, and a startled cow with a young calf stoutly turned to face him as if she could drive him away with her lowered horns and snorts of alarm.

He left her alone. He wasn’t after prey this night, and when he hunted cattle it was for some gain other than the filling of his belly. Not that the wolf had ever brought him any profit but this…this shedding of human law, human conscience, human desire.

He opened his senses to their almost painful limits, heard the frantic heartbeats of quail in their nests and smelled the musk of an angry skunk. He sifted one scent from the next and found the place where André Bernard had made camp a few nights ago. The man’s trail joined the wagon road that ran parallel to the Chiricahua foothills.

Sim circled back to Squaretop Hills and resumed his human shape and coverings. He washed his face at the water hole and spread his blankets under the open sky.

He was still wide awake when Tal approached, heavy-footed like all humans but more graceful than most. He heard her crouch several feet away, felt her study him as he’d watched her before, with a bewilderment he sensed like a hum behind his eyes.

“You’re awake?” she asked.

He rolled over to face her, resting his chin on his folded arms. “I don’t sleep much.”

She nodded as if that fact were of little surprise to her. Her hat brim cast her face in shadow, but he could see the gleam of her eyes.

“You didn’t have to do it,” she said in a low voice. “The food, I mean. I can take care of myself.”

“Not if you’ll pass up a fresh meal on the trail,” he said. He sat up, scraping hair out of his face. “You ate it?”

“Yes.” She set his cleaned plate and fork in the grass, staying out of reach. “I just came…to thank you.”

Those words came hard to her, just about as hard as they did to him. He’d thanked maybe half a dozen people in his life, if that. Never for something so small.

“Go to bed,” he said. “I’ll watch.”

She retreated awkwardly. He heard her lie down and toss and turn on her blankets, trying to get comfortable. He didn’t think it was because she was too delicate for the unyielding ground. Something about her scent had changed, and he knew instinctively what it was.

Until now, she’d regarded him as a temporary employee and treated him like one. She’d been aware he was a man about the same way any female would be, sizing him up without even realizing it, cool and objective. But somewhere between his banter about the bathing and her accepting the food he brought, she’d started looking at him different. Not so objective. Not anywhere near so cool.

His body stirred in spite of itself, and he cursed softly. So what if she was interested? She would never admit it. She had some stake in playing the boy, and no reason whatsoever to act on her impulses, given that he was a stranger and she wanted to keep her respectability.

André Bernard had been something less than respectable in Texas. Tal must have known that their ranch in the Palo Duro was a haven for rustlers, but she didn’t seem the type to approve of such illegal activities. She made plenty of excuses for André Bernard, but she hadn’t been running the Texas spread.

Sim flung his hand over his eyes. Why was he making excuses for her? He didn’t give a damn one way or the other, and nothing would come of some fleeting attraction that was about as meaningful as a bull and heifer rutting in a field.

That was all it ever was to him—rutting. Drop your pants and thank you, ma’am. They were always whores, and he always hated himself when it was finished.

He’d only stop hating himself when he took Esperanza in proper marriage, touched that unsullied skin and knew she accepted him. Needed him. Loved him.

Tonight he would dream only of Esperanza. But as he slipped into that netherworld of shades and memories, he saw Esperanza dressed in a soiled dove’s garish plumage, turning from Sim with disgust in her eyes. It was Tal Bernard, in robes of virgin white, who held out her arms to welcome him home.

CHAPTER THREE

TALLY BRACED HERSELF on the saddle horn like a raw-faced tenderfoot, trying to stay awake. She’d slept miserably last night, and not because of the meal Kavanagh had foisted on her. It wasn’t the first time she’d eaten game roasted over an open fire, and once she’d decided to accept Kavanagh’s “gift,” she’d been glad for the hearty sustenance after a long day’s ride.

It would be more accurate to say that the man himself was the source of her sleeplessness. God knew she hadn’t expected him to go out of his way to feed her…and of course she’d wondered with every bite how much he’d seen when he’d left the plate at her bedside.

She sneaked a glance at him from under the brim of her hat. He hadn’t shown any new awareness last night or this morning. He still treated her with an offhand indifference that sometimes bordered on contempt, just as she would expect a man like him to behave toward someone he clearly regarded as an overeducated, untried boy.

She’d been careful to pin up every stray lock of hair and powder her face with a fresh coating of dust when they broke camp early that morning. Kavanagh, on the other hand, had washed his face and combed out his dark hair, almost as if he’d taken to heart her rude comments about unpleasant odors.

Ever since she’d met him, Tally had been on the defensive. He hadn’t threatened her in any way, but she felt the need to keep proving herself, striking before he struck. And that was absurd, especially when he scarcely bothered with conversation and seemed content to ignore her most of the time. He hadn’t spoken after breakfast except to confirm that André had followed the road running north from Turkey Creek to Castillo Canyon.

Yet she knew he was watching her. Maybe he’d guessed her secret and was only waiting for a chance to expose it. But if he could sneak up on her as easily as he had last night, why wait? Perhaps he was simply not interested in the truth, one way or the other.

Dieu du ciel, she should be down on her knees in gratitude that he was so indifferent.

A meadowlark called from the grassland to the east. Tally cleared her throat. Kavanagh glanced at her and away again, turning his head toward the Chiricahua foothills. The mountains seemed an impenetrable wall from the valley, but Tally knew they were riddled with arroyos and streams that shrank to trickles in the spring, drawing abundant wildlife to the shallow pools left behind. Birds of brilliant plumage flashed like jewels in the darkness of the forest. Wolves and pumas roamed the highlands as once the Apaches had done. Miners might dig and scour the earth for precious metals, but the few settlers who’d made homes in the canyons had so far done little to alter the pristine world the Indians had been forced to abandon.

André wouldn’t notice the beauty of this land. The promise he saw lay only in the profit to be had.

“Petit fou,” she muttered.

“That’s French, ain’t it?”

Tally welcomed the rough sound of his voice even when it drowned the lark’s melodious song. “It is a common enough language in Louisiana.”

“I hear it’s useful for swearing.”

She laughed in spite of herself. He cast her an unreadable look. She wondered if her voice had gone too high and quickly stifled her incongruous amusement.

“Teach me,” he said.

“What?”

“We got another ten miles’ ride to Castillo Creek,” he said. “I figure that ought to be good for a few cuss words.”

“I can’t imagine that a man like you needs that kind of instruction.”

“And what kind of instruction do I need, boy?” He snickered at her silence and flicked the ends of his reins across his muscular thighs. “You know, when we met in Tombstone, I thought maybe you had more experience than your looks suggested. But Ready Mary…like most whores, she has an eye for easy prey. You’ve never been with a woman, have you?”

He didn’t know. Tally swallowed a sigh of relief. “What business is that of yours?”

He shrugged. “Let me give you a bit of advice, hombre. Stay out of saloons and whorehouses. When you find your brother, stick to that little rancho of yours and never trust anyone who offers you a free ride.”

“Is that a warning drawn from personal experience?”

An ominous hush fell about him, like a calm before the storm. “Everything costs. You don’t get nothin’ without paying for it.”

“What makes you dislike women so much, Mr. Kavanagh?”

“I only ever met one female who could be trusted as far as a man can spit, and…” His voice softened almost to a whisper. “She’s more angel than woman.”

“What is her name?”

“Esperanza.”

Tally’s throat tightened at the awe and tenderness in his words. “Is she the one you love?”

He jerked back on the reins, and his stallion snorted in protest. Kavanagh muttered an apology to the horse and glared at Tally. “I don’t talk about her.”

“You just did.”

“Ya basta.”

“As you wish.” She rode a little ahead and felt his stare burn into her back like a red-hot brand. She could hardly believe that a man like Kavanagh could love anyone. But there had been no mistaking the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice. She wondered what kind of paragon could win such devotion…and how an angel could love him in return.

Tally knew there were no angels on earth, male or female. In her two years of marriage to Nathan Meeker, she had met ambitious society ladies who aspired to perfection. They had all fallen prey to their very human weaknesses. No one understood such weaknesses better than Chantal Bernard.

She wondered how long it would take Kavanagh to realize that his angel had feet of clay instead of wings.

They rode on to the wide mouth of Castillo Canyon, where Castillo Creek had carved a wedge out of the hillside and opened up a lovely side valley dotted with oaks. Cattle lifted their heads to note the intruders and returned to their placid grazing. Grama grass gave way to sedges and rushes in the wet meadow near the creek bed and spring. Kavanagh made for the ciénaga, and the two horses picked up their feet in anticipation of sweet fresh water.

The welcome shade of sycamore, ash, walnut and cottonwood spilled over Tally’s shoulders like a balm. Brightly colored birds flitted from tree to tree. Dragonflies skimmed across pools in the rocky bed.

Kavanagh dismounted, filled the canteens with the water bubbling up from the spring and briefly closed his eyes as if he felt the healing spirit of the place as much as Tally did. “Two mules stopped here in the past few days,” he said.

“Then we can’t be too far behind André,” Tally said, joining Sim beside the spring. “The Brysons’ cabin should be a little farther up the canyon.”

Sim tossed Tally her canteen and drank from his own. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

“We still have hours of daylight left.”

“Better to get a fresh start in the morning. It’s rough country up there, on horseback or afoot.”

Tally gazed up at the wooded peaks of the mountains. They were much more imposing at the northern end of the range than near Cold Creek. “If you’re worried about me, there is no need. I can keep up.”

“Maybe.” Kavanagh wet his neckerchief and scrubbed the sweat from his face. “You gonna take your bath now, or wait to see if these Brysons have a washtub?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll be sure to stay downwind of you.”

Without any warning, he dipped his hand in the pool, scooped water in his palm and sent it flying at Tally. She fell back on her rump with a cry of surprise, runnels of cool liquid sliding down the back of her collar and making mud of the dust on her face.

“There’s a start,” he said.

She recovered in an instant, ready to return fire. But he moved quick as a fox, jumping up from the bank and putting the pale trunk of a sycamore between him and her watery missiles.

Tally was too astonished to continue. Kavanagh was playing. It simply wasn’t possible. He was laughing at her the way a boy would, treating her like a companion. A friend. And that didn’t fit in any way with the Kavanagh she had begun to know.

As abruptly as he’d begun, Kavanagh ended the game. He stepped out from behind the sycamore, caught Diablo and swung into the saddle just as if the strange interlude had never happened. Tally knew that if she made anything of it, he would stare her down with that icy gaze and act as if she were the crazy one.

They left the magical sanctuary and rode on deeper into the canyon. The grassland oaks were dropping their leaves as they did every spring, conserving life for the hot days ahead. Mesquite trees on the hillsides hung heavy with yellow catkins. Turkey vultures circled lazily in a bright blue sky, portending death.

Tally shivered. André was not dead. She broke Muérdago into a trot and led the way between steeper slopes clothed with pines at their tops. The meadow narrowed, and soon Tally caught sight of a fence through the trees.

The Bryson cabin was small, built of logs hewn from the forest instead of the adobe often seen on the plain or nearer the border. A corral held a few calves, while a shedlike barn stood ready for weary horses. Chickens scratched beside a lopsided coop.

The first sign of human life was a slender girl of fifteen or sixteen hanging laundry to dry on a line. She gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the approaching riders, smoothed her calico skirt and raced inside the cabin. A few moments later a much older woman, stout and plain, came out the front door. The girl followed her.

Tally dismounted and led Muérdago the rest of the way, touching the brim of her hat in greeting. “Good afternoon,” she said. “You would be Mrs. Bryson?”

“That I am.” The woman shaded her eyes and looked toward Kavanagh. “Welcome. This is my daughter, Beth. Mr. Bryson is up in the canyon, but if you boys would care to take some refreshment…”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s most kind.” Tally heard the faint brush of Sim’s steps behind her and stood a little straighter. “My name is Bernard—Tal Bernard. This is Mr. Kavanagh. We’ve come from Tombstone, looking for my brother André. Have you by any chance seen a light-haired young man with two mules passing this way?”

“My goodness,” the woman said, gathering her apron between her hands. “We do see a few miners and lumbermen, though most are on the other side of the mountains. Tombstone, you say? We usually go to Willcox for supplies.”

“I saw him,” Beth said. “Mother was in the barn tending Daisy when he rode by. Father invited him to stay, but he was in a hurry, like someone was chasing him.” She regarded Tally and Sim with bright, curious blue eyes. “Why are you looking for him? Are you really his brother?”

“That’s enough of that,” Mrs. Bryson said. “Go inside, Beth, and make up a fresh pot of coffee. You boys will want to rest a bit and talk to Mr. Bryson. I expect him back any time now.”

Tally glanced at Kavanagh, whose face was devoid of expression. “We’re grateful, ma’am,” she said.

“Then see to your mounts and come on in. If you’ll excuse me, I have a pot on the stove.” She bobbed her head and bustled back through the door.

“It’s a good thing we ain’t outlaws,” Kavanagh muttered, passing Tally with Diablo in tow.

“Hospitality is the custom in the Territory,” Tally said. “Most people welcome visitors.”

“You better hope you don’t get more hospitality than you bargained for.”

He moved ahead before she could ask him what he meant. She followed him into the barn, empty of occupants save for a lone milk cow. Tally stripped Muérdago of his tack and treated him to a measure of oats from her saddlebags. Sim did the same with Diablo.

Beth arrived at the barn door, breathless and flushed. “Mother wanted me to tell you…supper’s almost ready. Father should be here any moment.” Her gaze darted from Tally to Kavanagh. “Mother also wanted…will you be…?” Her flush deepened. “We can heat water if you want to wash up.”

Kavanagh gave a bark of laughter. Tally imagined how nice it would be to have a mule’s hind leg for just long enough to give him a good swift kick in the posterior.

“That’s very generous of you, miss,” Tally said. “But we won’t impose. We’d planned to keep riding until—”

“Mother wouldn’t hear of it,” the girl said with some spirit. “Neither will Father. We have an extra room we keep for my brother, George. He’s in the army.” Her pretty face took on a wistful cast. “Will you tell me about Tombstone, Mr. Bernard?”

Tally’s stomach chose that moment to rumble like a steam engine. “Well, I…”

Beth turned toward the door and looked back expectantly.

Tally saw no way out. The Brysons clearly intended to make the most of their unexpected guests. They wouldn’t only insist on providing a meal and a clean bed, but they would also ask a hundred questions about the doings in Tombstone and throughout the Valley. Tally would have to maintain her disguise under the most trying of circumstances…and then there was the problem of Sim Kavanagh. Beth had mentioned only one extra room.

In her heart, Tally knew she couldn’t keep up the masquerade forever, nor could she continue to hide at Cold Creek, avoiding contact with the other homesteaders. Safety was an illusion. Sooner or later someone would discover that the younger Bernard brother was female. Maybe it was time to drop the pretense.

But not just yet. Not while she rode with Sim Kavanagh.

She followed Beth into the house, half listening for Kavanagh’s panther-soft tread. Her own boot heels clicked on the smooth puncheon floor. The scent of simmering meat and vegetables filled the cabin’s central room, which contained both the kitchen and a parlor with a fireplace. The parlor boasted an overstuffed sofa that must have been brought by train from the East, ruling grandly over the more humble homemade chairs and parlor table. A colorful quilt hung on one wall.

“I hope that venison stew suits you,” Mrs. Bryson said from the stove, pushing damp hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Please, sit down.”