Wolf Shadow (38 page)

Teressa looked at him, a teasing smile curving her lips.
“And why do we need a bigger tub? This one looks plenty big enough to me.”

“Big enough for you, maybe. But not for the two of us.”

“The two of us?”

He pointed at her, then at himself. “You. Me. Two.”

She gave him a little push. “Ladies first.”

“Can I watch?”

She looked at him in mock horror. “No!”

“I’ll wash your back,” he murmured suggestively.

“I remember the first time you offered to do that,” she
said.

He put his hand on her shoulder, let it slide slowly down
her arm. “And do you remember what else I said?”

She felt her cheeks flush. “You said ‘One of these days,
I’ll ask you to bathe with me and you won’t refuse.’ But the tub is still too
small. Besides, we did bathe together.”

“That was in a river. Come on, the water’s getting cold.”

She wouldn’t have believed they could both fit in the tub,
which just proved how wrong she could be, and how stubborn he could be.

He got in first and she settled herself between his thighs,
her knees bent, her back to his chest. Picking up the soap, Wolf washed her
back and her shoulders, then reached around to wash her belly. She was tingling
with anticipation as his hands moved upward, shivered with pleasure as his
soapy hands slid over her body.

Growing up, she had never dreamed that falling in love would
be like this, that a man, any man, could become such an intimate and important
part of her life.

With a great deal of effort and splashing, she managed to
turn around in the tub so they were face to face.

“My turn,” she said, and taking the soap from his hand, she
washed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. It was amazingly erotic to run
her hands over his soapy body, to hear the growl of pleasure that rumbled in
his throat, to know that her touch aroused him so quickly.

The water was growing cold when Chance lifted her from the
tub, quickly dried them both, and carried her to bed.

It was a long time later when they went downstairs for
supper.

They boarded the stagecoach a little after noon the next
day. The window shades, meant to keep out dust, sun, and rain, were up. Teressa
sighed as she glanced out the window. The journey to San Francisco was still
fresh in her mind and she wasn’t looking forward to spending another four days
bouncing around inside a dusty coach. It was not the most comfortable way to
travel. The stage to San Francisco had stopped every twenty miles or so to
change horses, and stopped twice a day so the passengers could rest and get
something to eat. The food along the way had usually consisted of boiled beans,
salted meat, hardtack, and coffee, and cost a dollar a plate. The worst part
was that the passengers had been given only seven minutes to eat. Sometimes
dinner had consisted of tough beefsteak, boiled potatoes, stewed beans, and
dried apple pie. She didn’t know which menu was worse.

But she wasn’t complaining. She was with Wolf and that was
all that mattered. She glanced at the other passengers in the coach. A
florid-faced man sat on Wolf’s left side. A minister in collar and frock coat
sat across from her. A young couple sat beside him. Somewhat shyly, they
introduced themselves as Joseph and Emily Thompson. They had been married a
month earlier and were returning home from their honeymoon. She was glad no one
was sitting on the narrow bench in the center of the coach.

A short time later she felt the coach sway as the driver and
guard took their places topside. A sharp crack split the air as the driver
snapped the whip and the horses leaned into the traces.

Teressa looked at Wolf, smiled as he took her hand and gave
it a squeeze.

She smiled back, excitement fluttering in her stomach. Soon,
they would be back at Wolf’s ranch; soon, she would be his wife. “Do you think
we can go visit the Lakota next summer?”

“Sure, sweetheart, if that’s what you want.”

“Lakota?” the florid-faced man exclaimed. “You want to visit
Indians? Haven’t you heard? They attacked the last stage that went out. Killed
three people.”

Teressa looked at Wolf, waiting to see what he would say.

“We have family there,” Chance said, his unblinking gaze
focused on the other man’s face. “You got a problem with that?”

The florid-faced man swallowed hard. “I…uh…no, sir.”

Chance’s gaze flicked over the faces of the other
passengers. “Anybody else?”

There were murmured denials and suddenly everyone in the
coach was looking everywhere and anywhere except at Chance.

Teressa thought he looked a trifle self-satisfied as he
leaned back in his seat and slid his arm around her shoulders.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rosalia Bryant entered her husband���s study, her eyes filled
with worry. “Where can she be, Eduardo? It will be dark soon and she is not yet
home.”

Edward Bryant shook his head. “I don’t know where she is,
but I have a pretty good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

Rising, he drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. “I
think she’s run off.”

Rosalia’s eyes widened. “Run off? You mean eloped? With
McCloud?”

“That is exactly what I mean. Damn the man! I had him but he
got away. He’s as slippery as an eel.”

Sitting in the chair in front of her husband’s desk, Rosalia
folded her hands in her lap. “What are you not telling me?”

Muttering an oath, Edward dropped back in his chair. “I
think he was at the masquerade. I happened to see the two of them together the
next day when Tessa was supposed to be visiting with Cynthia. They went to the
Royal Arms that afternoon and didn’t leave until hours later. You can imagine
what they were doing there.”

Rosalia shook her head. “No, not Teressa.”

Edward grunted softly. “I thought I had the problem solved,
but the bastard managed to escape. He didn’t go back to his hotel. I don’t know
where he holed up, or where he is now.”

Rising, he rounded the desk and began to pace the floor. “I
don’t think he’s gone far,” he said, thinking aloud. “His horse is still at the
livery, but wherever he is, you can be sure Teressa is with him.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to see Cynthia Witherspoon. I think she knows
where they are, and I, by damn, intend to find out.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chance and Teressa were about an hour away from Buffalo
Springs when the coach came to a halt.

“What is it? What’s happening?”

The question came from Emily Thompson. Her husband shook his
head. “I don’t know, dear.”

“It’s a holdup,” Chance said, peering out the window. “Just
do what they say. Give them whatever they ask for.”

“Now see here…” the florid-faced man sputtered.

“I doubt if anything you own is worth your life,” Chance
said curtly.

“Joseph, I’m scared.”

Joseph Thompson put his arm around his wife and held her
close, though he looked just as frightened as she did.

The minister closed his eyes. Teressa assumed he was praying
for deliverance.

Outside, one of the robbers hollered for the driver to throw
down the strong box. A shot was fired, someone yelped in pain, something heavy
hit the ground with a sharp thud. She hoped it was the money box and not the
driver.

More voices, and then a man wearing a kerchief over the
lower half of his face opened the door and ordered the passengers outside.

Chance was the last one out of the coach. There were three
men, all masked. Chance raised his hands over his head as ordered, stood mute
as one of the bandits relieved him of his Colt and carelessly tossed it aside.
A second outlaw stood a little apart from the other two, covering the
passengers with a rifle while his companions moved among the passengers, taking
cash and jewelry and whatever else caught their fancy.

“No!” Emily cried. “Please, don’t take my wedding ring!”

“Give it to him,” Joseph said. “I’ll buy you another one.”

“But I want this one!”

The bandit grabbed Emily’s hand, intent on taking the ring.
She jerked her hand away from him. Angry now, the bandit slapped her. She
reeled back, the man’s handprint already showing as a dark bruise against her
pale skin.

“There’s no call for that,” Chance said, taking a step
forward.

The outlaw turned his gun on Chance. “Mind your own
business!”

Chance stared at the man, the muscles in his back twitching.
He’d been sixteen the last time he heard that voice. “Finch.”

The bandit’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know me?”

“I know you’re a cold-blooded murderer.”

“I never murdered anybody who didn’t have it coming.” Finch
took a step forward. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And how the hell do
you know who I am?” He stared at Chance for several moments, his brow furrowed.

Chance could almost see the man’s mind turning, trying to
place him. He knew the exact moment when Finch realized who he was.

Finch’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No, it can’t be!”

“Remember me now, do you?”

“I remember your mother,” Finch said with a leer. “How is
she?”

“She died after what you did to her.”

Finch swore. “I should have known. It was you, wasn’t it? You’re
the one who killed Weston and the others?”

Chance nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “And I aim
to take you out the same way.”

“I don’t think so.”

Chance tensed as Finch’s finger curled around the trigger. He
was about to tackle Finch in a last desperate play when Teressa shouted “No!”

Before Chance could react, she threw herself in front of him
as Jack Finch squeezed the trigger.

Her harsh cry was swallowed up in the sharp report of Finch’s
pistol.

The next few minutes seemed to pass in slow motion.

A bright crimson stain spread over the front of Teressa’s
bodice.

Lowering his gun hand, Finch stared at Teressa as her knees
gave way and she dropped to the ground.

The other two bandits both stopped what they were doing and
turned in the direction of the gunshot.

Chance dove for his Colt. He rolled to the right as his hand
closed over the walnut grips of the gun.

Finch was the first of the outlaws to move. He pivoted on
his heel, his gun tracking Chance’s movements. Chance quickly rolled to the
left and fired. The two men fired within seconds of each other. Chance’s bullet
found its mark but Finch’s shot went wild.

The remaining outlaws were moving, too, but it was too late.
Chance rolled to the right again. Sprawled on his stomach, he fired at the two
bandits.

There was a sudden silence, punctuated by Emily Thompson’s
high-pitched wail.

After making sure all three outlaws were dead, Chance
hurried to Teressa’s side. Her bodice was soaked with blood, her face was pale.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Emily wailed.

“No!” She couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t let her be dead. He
lifted her carefully so he could check her back, relieved to see that the
bullet had gone through, relieved that the wound was in her shoulder and not in
her chest, as he had feared at first.

He looked up at Emily Thompson, who was hovering nearby, her
face streaked with tears. “Tear off a strip of your petticoat,” he said
brusquely.

She stared at him a moment, then quickly tore off the bottom
ruffle and thrust it into his hand.

Chance ripped the material into thirds. He made two thick
pads, which he placed over the wounds, front and back, then used the third
strip to hold the bandages in place.

“Teressa? Teressa!”

Whimpering softly, she opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“You damn fool, I’m fine. What were you thinking, to jump in
front of a bullet like that?”

“I couldn’t let him shoot you.”

He gathered her gently into his arms. “Dammit, Tessa, don’t
you ever do anything like that again.”

“Is he dead?”

Chance glanced at Finch’s body. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

So was the shotgun guard. Thompson and the drummer wrapped
his body in one of the lap robes and tied him onto the roof of the coach.

“What about the others?” the minister asked. “Shouldn’t we
bury them?”

“Let the coyotes have ‘em,” the stagecoach driver said.

“It’s our Christian duty,” the minister said.

“I’m not feeling very Christian right now,” the driver
retorted. “They killed a friend of mine.” He spat a stream of tobacco in the
dirt. “As far as I’m concerned, they can rot.”

“If you have a shovel…”

“Parson, this stage is leaving in about two minutes,” the
driver said. “With you or without you.”

“At least give me time to pray for them.”

“Make it short.”

* * * * *

They reached Buffalo Springs just over three hours later. Under
other circumstances, they would have covered the distance in far less time,
but, mindful of his wounded passenger, the driver kept the horses at a walk.

As soon as they reached town, Chance carried Teressa to the
doctor’s office. The doctor cleaned the wounds, applied disinfectant and clean
bandages, then put her arm in a sling, and advised her to stay in bed for the
next ten days to get her strength back.

“She’s lost some blood, so give her plenty of liquids,” the
doctor told Chance. “Make sure she gets lots of rest. The bullet went clean
through. She’ll be good as new in no time.”

Chance thanked the doctor, then lifted Teressa into his arms
and carried her out of the office and across the street.

“Where are we going?”

“To the hotel.”

“I can walk,” she protested, aware of the curious stares of
passersby, but Chance ignored her. “And why are we going to the hotel?”

“You’ve been bounced around enough for one day. I want you
to rest, like the doctor said. We’ll head out to the ranch tomorrow or the next
day.”