Spirit of the Wolf (34 page)

“
They are a puzzle,
”
Chance
said, “
ain't they?"

"So," Henry said, "you lookin' to settle down in these parts?"

"Could be."
Chance
shrugged. "For now, at least. That is...if you know of somebody who could use a hard-working hand...."

The wiry man scratched his chin. "
H
eard-tell the Widow Parker was looking for a man to run her spread."

"When cows climb trees!" the biggest said. "All Beula's lookin' for is a man to keep her warm at night."

The laughter following this joke doubled the last in volume and duration. When it waned,
Chance
said, "Didn't think old women liked
such things
."

"Old?
Beulah
might be a bit used up, but she ain't old," Henry explained. He wiggled his eyebrows. "She was a hurdy-gurdy girl up New York way." And in a louder voice, "Tell him, Archer."

"That's right. 'Bout a year ago, that
ceiling expert
opened up her own house
of ill repute
, right here in good old Gettysburg!"

Chance
frowned. He couldn't imagine what work a woman like that would have for him.... "Well, maybe you've heard-tell of a farmer in these parts who's lookin' to hire a
—“

"What's the matter, boy?" Chuckling, Archer dropped a hearty slap on
Chance
's back. "Y'ain't bashful, are ya?"

Chance
reconsidered his options. He doubted the born-and-bred Texans on his heels could survive a cold, Pennsylvania winter. The minute Yonker and Carter could see their own breath, they'd likely turn-tail and head home, with a plan to take up the hunt again
come s
pring.
If they did s
tick with the hunt, what better place to hide out
than Beula’s place
!

"So tell me, boys," he said, smirking as he rubbed his palms together, "which way to Beula's?"

***

In the barn, along with six beautiful Palominos,
Chance
found everything he would need to groom Mamie. He hung her saddle over the stall wall, hooked her bridle and bit over the saddle horn. All her gear was in need of a good cleaning.

But first things first.

Gently,
Chance
cooled and massaged her tired legs with a good, wet brushing. The coarse-bristled brush rid her coat of the dirt and sweat of the trail, and the softer hair-brush cleaned her mane and tail. Last, he used the hoof pick to scratch dirt and grit from her hooves. He spent a good hour massaging her big body with the tools, with his hands, speaking softly to her has he worked. Then he backed her into an empty stall and forked a mound of fresh hay onto the floor. After hanging a bucket of mixed grain from a peg in the wall, he latched the stall door.

Chance
was about to head on over to Calico House when he realized he'd ridden the same trails Mamie had.
No tellin' what
you smell like
, he thought, frowning as he dug through his pack for a change of clothes and a bar of soap. "You're a lucky bunch," he said to the horses. "Old Beula
h
's even put a pump in the barn for y'all!"

He worked the handle until a coarse stream of water issued from the spout and filled the gray metal tub beneath it. Tossing his soiled outfit in a heap near Mamie's saddle blanket, he washed up and changed into the dungarees and flannel shirt Bess had
laundered
for him. He'd go on up to the house in a bit, have himself something to eat.
F
or now, all he wanted was a couple minutes of shuteye in a place where he didn't have to worry about a cougar...or a bounty hunter...rousting him out....

Old
Beulah
had given him a stack of linens, and he hurriedly made up the cot in the back of the barn, then lay atop the black-and-red plaid wool blanket. In minutes, he was fast asleep, and dreaming of Bess.

***

"You have a kitchen in this place?" he asked in response to her invitation to join her for supper, grinning as
Beulah
hung his hat on a rack near the door.

"Sweet thing, anything you can dream is possible in this place."
Beulah
squinted around the smoke of a hand-rolled cigarette. "So tell me, honey, what's the law want with a handsome cuss like you?"

His heartbeat doubled as he seated himself on the
edge of the
chaise opposite hers.

"Oh, now don't get your neck hairs a-bristlin', sugar. Seems kinda funny
—in
a coincidental kind of way
—that
not two da
ys ago, big ugly fella stopped by
here askin' if I ever met a man name of...." She narrowed
one
eye and tapped a stubby fingertip against her chin. "W.C. Atwood, I believe
was the name
he said."

Beulah
took a long pull from the cigarette. "And the day before that, a good-lookin' fella wearin' a six-star badge come struttin' up my steps, askin' the same question." She exhaled, watched the wispy grey-white smoke curl toward the ceiling, then fixed that icy stare on him a
gain. "They say you killed a man. B
roke his neck to get his watch."
Beulah
raised a brow, but not her voice. "Is that true?"

Chance
shook his head. "No. It
ain’t
."

"Why
did
you kill him, then?"

By now, Mamie would have eaten her fill of the oats and barley in the stall. She'd been watered and brushed, had rested for over an hour. There was no reason he couldn't saddle up and head for parts farther north
. Pity he’d miss whatever was cooking in this calico queen's kitchen.

Chance
had three choices, as he saw it: Lie outright
,
come clean and hope she'd let him leave here with a full belly
,
or come clean and appeal to her mercies...and
hope she’d tell him which way Carter and Yonker had gone
.

"Look, Miss
Beulah
," he began, resting
both
elbows on his knees, "I won't insult your intelligence by feedin' you a row of manure." He linked his fingers together. "You've likely heard every lie in the book, so I'm gonna tell it to you straight:

"More'n ten years ago, a fella got himself killed in Lubbock, Texas. That much is true." He lifted both shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. "The evidence pointed straight at me."

Ice blue eyes met ice blue eyes as
Chance
continued. "Now, I ain't sayin' I'm guilty, and I ain't sayin' I ain't. I'll just say this much: No self-respecting Texan would do a man in for his pocket watch."

She broke the intense eye contact to study the glowing tip of her cigarette before the cold blue stare fixed on his face. "So the question
of the hour is…
are you a self-respecting Texan?"

Chance
let the slight narrowing of his eyes
serve as his
answer.

"Been on the run, all this time?"

He took a deep breath
and let her draw her own conclusions
.

Beulah
smiled. "Then we have something in common."

His left brow rose high on his forehead. "And what'd that be?"

"Well," she said, casually inspecting the fingertips of her free hand, "you don't stay one step ahead of the U.S. Marshals for ten long years if you're stupid...."

When next their eyes met, hers no longer gleamed with aloof, businesslike detachment. "You know how long it's been since I've had me a man with brains?"

I ain't even gonna hazard a guess
.
He'd made a promise to be true to Bess, no matter how long it took to clear his name, and he aimed to keep it.

Beula's red
-painted
lips parted
as two of
her girls entered the room.
One
carried
a huge
silver tray,
the other
held a matching swan-necked coffee pot.
The girl with flaming
red hair
poured steaming coffee into a delicate china teacup. "One lump or two?" she asked, holding silver tongs above the sugar bowl.

Smiling, he held up a hand. "Straight up
, thanks.
"

A blond lifted the lid from a golden charger plate and slid it under his nose. "I hope you like steak and eggs
, handsome, ‘cause
we're all out of chicken."

His stomach growled and his mouth watered. "This'll do just fine
.
"

Next, a
brunette stepped up and held out the salt and pepper shakers. "Say when," she sing-songed, sprinkling seasoning over his food.

"Whoa," he said, chuckling, "you'll have us all sneezin'."

The girls giggled as
Beulah
nodded as
a
nother
blond filled a cut crystal goblet with wine and placed it beside
Chance
's plate.
Before he could utter a polite 'thank you', a second brunette draped a white linen napkin over his thigh.
"
Um,
thanks," he managed to say.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"
Beulah
asked. "
Eat up
!"

The steak knife weighed nearly as much as his six-shooter. He carved off a slice of steak and popped it into his mouth.
Chance
closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, savoring that first bite.

"What's wrong?"
Beulah
demanded. "Don't you like it?"

He opened his eyes to find her sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning forward slightly.

"We'll fix something else. Corn fritters. Mashed potatoes." Waving her hands in the air, she said, "Anything. Just name it, it's yours."

"Ma'am...I mean
Beulah
...there ain't a blessed thing wrong with this meal. In fact, it's downright delightful." He stuck another hunk of meat into his mouth. "It's the first
r
eal food I've eaten in over a month," he said around the bite. "I'm just tryin' to give it its due, is all."

The girls and
Beulah
exchanged puzzled glances. "You haven't had a meal in more than a month?
Then…
what have you been eating?" the boss-lady wanted to know.

"Nuts. Berries. Wild fruit."
Chance
shrugged. "You know...trail food."

Beulah
settled back on the chaise and repositioned her pose. "No, I wouldn't know."

Something in her attitude told him that, while she hadn't eaten on the run, she knew what it meant to be hungry. And something in those glittering azure eyes said she'd gone without
more
than food.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as she draped the feathered robe over her shapely calves
, and knew she’d done it for
his benefit. He buttered a biscuit
, thinking,
You're a good-lookin' woman,
Beulah
,
but you
’re no
t my Bess.

"What are you doing here?"

The skinny old man leaned on the grimy handle of his broom and aimed a fiery glare at Lubbock's only in-residence minister. "You ain't got claim to this alley." Narrowing his watery blue eyes, Purdy added, "Question is...what're
you
doing here?" One brow high on his forehead, the town drunk rubbed arthritic fingers over his beard-bristled jaw and smirked. "Seems to me the folks who pay your wages would be as interested as I am in what their preacher is doin' in the alley behind the saloon at three o'clock in the mornin'...."

Josh Atwood's arm shot out as if fired from a gun. "I've had about enough of your sass," he growled, grabbing Purdy's collar. "You've been a burr under my saddle for as long as I've known you."

Though half Atwood's height and weight, Purdy stood his ground. His voice was calm and quiet, his watery eyes strangely sober when he said, "That's 'cause I'm the only one 'round here
with the gumption to
tell you to your face what you really are."

Lip curled with disgust, he tightened his grip on the shirt. "
Ha.
And what would that be?"

"A bully what's been impersonatin' a holy man for ten long years, that's what."