Night of the Wolves

“Honey, I’m alive and kicking and breathing. That makes for a good morning in my book. And not only that, but I see hope for the future.” Beulah grinned, pulling out a chair for Alex. “Come on, sit down, honey. You’re still tired from the journey out here, that’s what’s bothering you. Didn’t you sleep well?”

Despite herself, Alex was certain she was blushing again. It was absurd—she knew the strange events of the night before had been all in her mind. And yet … he’d been right there. The door between the rooms hadn’t even been locked.

But she knew the difference between a dream and reality, and she had been dreaming, as strange as it had been. Then again, what hadn’t been strange since she had arrived?

Until now, she’d never seen anything odd about unlocked doors.

This had always been a trusting household. Her father had liked people and possessed a natural ability to size them up. No thief had ever come in and stolen anything.

The thieves terrorizing their little piece of the West right now didn’t seem to be interested in the usual ill-gotten gains. They were after souls, it seemed.

Where on earth had that thought come from?

She dismissed it quickly, shuddering despite herself.

“I slept okay,” Alex answered at last. “Maybe coffee will make the world look brighter,” she added hopefully.

“Right here, honey,” Beulah said, setting a cup in front of her. Her father had chosen wisely. No delicate china here. Their dinnerware was attractive, but of a thicker mold. The cup she lifted was sturdy, and the coffee was delicious.

“Beulah, you perform wonders out here,” Alex said, the compliment heartfelt.

“Well, thank you, child. And what, may I ask, are you planning to get up to today?” Beulah asked, eyeing the tailored shirt, riding breeches and boots Alex had chosen.

She meant to see where her father had died, but she decided not to mention that fact to Beulah.

“Oh, I just want to do a bit of riding.”

“Riding,” Beulah said, disturbed. “Now, Miss Alex, you’ve seen what can happen around here.”

“I’m going to coerce Deputy Hinton into being my escort, and I’ll be careful,” Alex promised.

Beulah pointed a finger at her. “You promise me, you swear on the souls of your blessed parents, that you’ll be back before sunset.”

Outlaws could and did attack by daylight as well as in the dark, Alex thought, but she decided to humor Beulah. “Yes, ma’am.”

Beulah sat back, eyeing the compact Colt six-shooter, caliber .58, that Alex had strapped around her hip.

“You didn’t forget how to shoot while you were off in the big city, did you?” she asked.

“I swear I remember how to shoot, so you mustn’t worry,” Alex assured her.

Beulah poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table, smiling slowly. “Just so long as you’re careful. You’re all we’ve got now, and keeping you safe is mighty important to us. Your father was a wonderful man. He was always so wise and so clever—” her smile faded “—until Linda.”

“Where is my father’s widow, anyway? Did he really marry her? Legally, I mean. According to his letters, it was quite a whirlwind thing.”

Beulah let out a sniff. “First time I ever saw your father thinking with his pants.”

“Beulah!”

“I’m sorry for the indelicacy, but it’s true. No sooner had he met her than he stopped coming home—he’d be sleeping over at the saloon every night.”

“So she was … working there? What was she? A pianist? A hostess, or maybe a bartender?”

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