Spirit of the Wolf (25 page)

She
hugged the poster again and fought
the
bitter tears that stung her eyes. Much as she hated to admit it,
Chance
did have a hot temper. And he had behaved mighty mysteriously on occasion. The incident on the Baltimore docks, for example
.
The Texan’s wild accusation and the similarity between
Chance
and this man in the wanted poster couldn’t be chalked up to coincidence. Not when added to that
time she'd found him in her secret place, s
obbing
as he begged God to explain why
H
e'd doomed
Chance
to
a life spent
looking over his shoulder
.

Bess dried her eyes with the backs of her hands and all but leaped from the bed. Trembling with fear, she haphazardly folded the poster in half, in half again, and tucked into her apron pocket. Crossing the room in purposeful strides, she leaned close to the mirror above her dresser and pinched both journey-paled cheeks, then tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

"He can't be the man in the poster," she whispered to the miserable young woman in the looking glass, "can he?"
Could she really have been so wrong about him? Were all his kindnesses merely a ruse to hide his true identity?
If so,
she was
the biggest fool this side of the Mississippi
.

Suddenly, fury replaced self-pity. Bess stood straight, threw back her shoulders, and marched toward the door. "There's only one way to find out,"
she steamed, flinging it open.

Bess charged down the stairs and through the foyer, pr
opelled by a full head of steam.

"Bess Beckley, where are you off to in such an all-fired hurry?"

The deep, resonant voice startled her, and Bess stifled a s
queal
. "Pa," she said, clutching her throat. "I didn't see you sitting there." As her heartbeat returned to normal,
she
studied her father's handsome, grey-bearded face. "All right," she said, standing near his chair, one hand on his shoulder, "out with it. What's wrong?"

He smiled a bit. "Nothing. I'm right as rain," was his quiet reply.

"Don't give me that.
I’ve always been able to tell when t
here's something on your mind."

Micah only shook his head and stared across the lawn. "Remember the day your Mama planted those trees?" He nodded toward the clump of white birch just beyond the drive. "Everybody insisted they'd never grow in heavy soil, but Mary didn't believe them. Not for a minute."

Grinning, Bess knelt beside his rocker and lay her hands atop his. She, too, gazed at the clump of birches. "Ma always did have a mind of her own, didn't she?"

"'Deed she did." He faced his only daughter, took her hands in his. "I visited her grave this morning
.
"

"Oh, Pa," Bess interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me? I'd have gone with you. I know how upset it gets you to go there alone.
”

Gently pressing a calloused fingertip against her lips, he shushed her. "Do I look upset?"

She studied his face for the usual signs of distress...furrowed brow, trembling lips, tear-dampened eyes. It surprised her to see a smile playing at the corners of his mouth
, instead
. "
No, as a matter of fact, you look more
like the cat that swallowed the canary."

He laughed softly, then stared off into space again. Shortly, Micah leaned forward, slid
his arms around
Bess and drew her near. "How will I ever make it up to you, my sweet girl?"

Unfortunately, she knew exactly what he meant.

This wasn't the first time he'd apologized for years of emotional absence. Sometimes, she'd been tempted to
say
it was high time he realized what
all
his whining had put
the boys
through. But mostly, like now, Bess's love for her father made her want nothing but to see him smile. Bess rested her head on his shoulder. "There's nothing to make up for, Pa."

Micah kissed the top of her head. "Oh, but you're wrong. There's so much...." He inhaled deeply. "From the moment your mother left this world, you've been ma and pa to the boys. Been my lifeline, too. Wasn't fair of me, heaping all that on your shoulders. You were barely more than a child when
….” His voice trailed off. Then,
"I'm ashamed of myself. I ought to have been there for you."

He got to his feet, and Bess
rose, too,
she on the top step, Micah on the one below her.
F
or the first time in a decade, father and daughter saw eye to eye.
"I was happy to help out, Pa."

One hand on each of her shoulders, he gave her a gentle squeeze. "
I know that. And in all these years, you never complained
."
G
ray eyes mist
ing,
he gave Bess a little shake. "You're made of some mighty sturdy stuff, Bess m'girl. Why, I don't believe I ever saw you shed a tear."

She focused on birches that formed a giant white W beyond the drive, because if she allowed Micah to look into her eyes at that moment, he'd know in an instant that she
had
cried, thousands of tears, alone in her dark room during these ten, long years.
He was right.
It hadn't been easy
being mother and father to the twins, confidant and caretaker to Micah,
feeding
the farm hands
and balancing the
ledgers
while keeping up with housework and shopping and
laundry.
But she’d never tell him of the many nights she had
cried herself to sleep, wonder
ing
where she'd find the strength
to do it all again come morning, because
without fail,
her mother’s
voice, gentle and reassuring, whisper
ed
in her mind, promising that tomorrow would be a better, brighter day.
What
c
ould be gained
from
letting Micah know
w
hat his grief-induced weakness
had done to his children
? What possible good could come of admitting that his years of self-pity had robbed her of golden girlhood years?
That time was gone, and she’d never get it back. And in truth, Bess didn’t want them back, because they’d made her
a clear-minded woman
who wasn’t ruled
by childish dreams
. That, Bess hoped,
would help her cope with the truth
about
Chance
.

"I was happy to do it, Pa," she repeated, shaking a forefinger under his nose, "and I don't want to discuss it, ever again." With that, Bess smiled brightly. "I
see that someone has hidden s
ome lemons in the
kitchen
.
W
hy don
't you keep me company while I turn
them into
a pitcher of lemonade?"

Micah didn't respond to her invitation. Instead, he stood there, looking from her eyes to her hair, from her cheeks to her mouth, to her eyes again. And then he whispered, "Do you realize how much you look like your ma when you do that?"

His piercing gaze and intense tone surprised her, and Bess flinched almost as noticeably as when his voice startled her moments earlier. "When...when I do what?"

"When you throw back your shoulders and lift your chin that way
,
as if you're prepared to take on a mighty enemy, single-handedly." Gently, he stroked her hair. "I'd hate to be that enemy, Bess m'girl." Winking, he added, "because you look determined to win."

Grinning, she kissed his cheek. "Well,
like
Ma always said...."

"...'no sense doing anything half-way,'" they quoted in unison, laughing.

Micah held open the screen door. "We'll talk
about your trip over supper.
Right now, I'm more interested in hearing where you were headed in such an all-fired hurry a bit ago."

Bess stepped over the threshold and headed for the kitchen. She
’d tell him about her run-in at the bank, about her meeting with Shelby, but she
wouldn't tell
him—or
anyone else, for that matter
—what
she suspected about
Chance
. Because
if
everything
had
been a strange coincidence, and he wasn’t
W.C. Atwood, his life could be ruined forever. No, she
’
d confront him
in private
. And if her suspicions turned out to be facts
? Well,
she'd just cross that bridge when she came to it. "I was looking for
Chance
," she
said,
choosing her words carefully. "I wanted him to bring me up to date on...on the harvesting."

"Ah...." Nodding, Micah crossed both arms over his chest. "The harvesting. Yes. Of course."

"
W
hat does
that
mean?" she asked
, turning to face him
.

"It means
Chance
has been mooning around here like a sick calf ever since you left.
E
very other word out of his mouth is 'Bess
this
'
and ‘Bess that’
. And don't think I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other when you think nobody's paying attention." Micah snickered. "I could do worse, I suppose
, than to have—“

"Pa," she interrupted, "I haven't
the foggiest
idea what you're talking about."

"
—a man like
Chance
for
a son-in-law," he finished.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of it.
Son-in-law
. It had a magical, musical ring, because in order for
Chance
to be Micah's son-in-law, he'd have to be her husband
. If her mother were still alive, she’d read Bess’s heart in an eyeblink. Fortunately, her father had been too wrapped up in his own misery to
know
that his daughter
had
s
ecret
thoughts, let alone try to
decipher
them. "For your information," she began, "
Chance
has no romantic designs on me." It was a boldfaced, blatant lie, but necessary
—if
not
forgivable
—until
she forced a showdown about the wanted poster. "And I have no romantic notions about him, either." Bess turned on her heel and
walked into t
he kitchen.

"Mmm-hmm," her father said, pocketing both hands as he followed her. "And the sun doesn't rise ever
y blessed
morning...."

***

Long after she'd cleaned up their lemonade and cake snack, Bess thought about her father's pronouncement.
I wonder how eager he'd be to have
Chance
for a son-in-law if he'd seen that wanted poster!
She p
ut
washed-and-dried
tumblers back onto their doilied shelf in the hutch
, then
hung the tea towel over the wooden dowel beside the sink.

She had procrastinated long enough. One way or another, she would have an answer to her question
s about
Chance
. And she’d have them
by suppertime.

This time when she stepped into the bright sunshine, there was no head of steam propelling her, no righteous indignation urging her onward. Because
while she and her pa chatted over fresh-squeezed lemonade and honey biscuits, it occurred to her that
if
Chance
admitted to being W.C. Atwood, she'd be forced to make a choice:

Stand with him...

...or stand apart.

As she neared the red-sided building, Bess heard the
familiar
chit-schr-r-ring, chit-schr-r-ring
that told her someone was in the loft, forking hay into a stall below. Hoping it was
Chance
, Bess took a deep breath and grabbed the rusting iron door handle. The hinges squealed mercilessly as she pulled the heavy wooden door and slipped through the narrow opening.

A bright shard of sunlight sliced across the board floor, broadening as it slanted into the darkened interior of the barn, and in its center, Bess saw her silhouette. For an instant, she stared at it, mouth agape
, at her shadow
, for the daystar's gleam
gave
the illusion that
her dress
had
a long,
shadowy
train
, and
the poster wadded in her left hand looked like a bouquet of posies.
The breeze gave the door a gentle shove, and it creaked slowly shut, blotting out the sunlight...and the beautiful mirage
on the barn floor.
Swallowing, she shook her head.
“Thanks, Pa,” she muttered. If it hadn’t been for all his talk of sons-in-law…. S
he looked up, fully prepared to call
Chance
’s
name.