Wolf's Tender
Atlantic Bridge
www.atlanticbridge.net
Copyright ©2009 by Gem Sivad
First published in 2009
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CONTENTS
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Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2009, Gem Sivad. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb
Rough and tough bounty hunter Charlie Wolf McCallister knows he needs to get laid when even a skinny, old-maid teacher with a sharp tongue starts looking good to him. But, cad that he is, he operates on the philosophy that a bird in hand is better than no bird at all. And so he offers to trade service for—servicing.
When Naomi Parker's students are snatched from their school by marauding Comancheros, she can't believe that she hid like a coward and let it happen. The only way to ease her conscience, and get the girls home safely, is to hire the half-Kiowa bounty hunter. Charlie Wolf's price seems a bit steep to prim and proper Naomi, who must choose between her virtue and her students’ lives.
When one almost dried-up spinster tenders her body to one cynical sometimes-savage, the unexpected bounty is love.
Prologue: The Bounty Hunters
The three riders were halflings, too young in years to be men, but too weathered by hard times to be boys. The dark one, dressed like a Kiowa warrior, led the other two as they belly-crawled to the edge of the rise and peered down at the Apache camp below.
Lozen, Victorio's sister—the Apache woman warrior who was said to be a witch, a healer, and spiritual guide for her people—was in the center of the encampment, surrounded by the men of three Indian nations. Chief Nana leaned close to hear her words, and the McCallisters teetered precariously above, listening too.
They didn't hear the Arapaho braves who stole up from behind and took them prisoner, shoving them back to the camp where the Apache priestess waited.
The fire was just a fire, but later, all three agreed that her image had been unclear, sometimes almost transparent. She'd stared at them silently, studying them in a moment of utter stillness as the night and sounds receded and left only them, the fire, and the Indian woman—
reading their souls
.
"Why do you come here?” Her question was directed at Charlie Wolf, as it should be. He'd come and his cousins had followed.
"I've come to barter for a woman.” It wasn't a lie. At seventeen, Charlie Wolf McCallister did want a woman. And that was more explainable than the need to see Lozen, the woman of magic, who had sensed their presence when the Apache sentries had not.
She laughed at Charlie Wolf's answer. It was a rich, husky sound that floated through the night, inviting the men of three tribes to laugh too.
She pointed at Robert, the tall, red-haired McCallister, already bigger than most men, white or Indian. “And you, do you seek an Apache woman too?"
Robert had been sparking Annie Ross, and his honesty wouldn't stand for a lie. “No, ma'am. Reckon I just followed Charlie Wolf to make sure he'd keep his hair while he was bartering for a bride."
Lozen held his gaze, studying his face a long time.
Then her smile widened as her eyes met those of the third youth. “And you? Did you come for a woman, or do you protect your friend too?"
Younger than the other two, the third McCallister flashed an easy grin that suggested great mischief lurking behind the handsome face. But his light gray eyes were the silver of a moonlit lake, no smile reflected in their depth.
"Heard you were magic,” he answered her laconically. “Thought you might be able to make me smart as the wolf—” He motioned his head toward Charlie. “—or pure of spirit.” His nod indicated his brother Robert.
Black Hawk, the Arapaho young blood who'd followed the seer's orders to capture them, claimed the honor of killing them. Chief Nana stayed his hand, looking at Lozen for direction. The three McCallisters watched her too.
She rose from her place by the fire and filled three bowls, carrying one to each McCallister in turn. When they all stood holding the noxious smelling liquid, she spoke. “Drink and know your dreams."
Charlie studied her, Robert hesitated, sniffing the contents suspiciously, but Samuel downed his in one gulp, laughing. “Come on, boys, the party's just begun."
As Charlie and Robert drank theirs, Samuel's legs buckled and he went to his knees. He was barely out and lying flat on the ground before Charlie's will was robbed from him, and he collapsed too.
Robert, being the biggest, resisted the brew the longest. “So you've killed us?” he had time to ask the Apache priestess before he succumbed. Her words echoed in his mind as he went down.
"I've given you your futures. What you make of them is yet to be seen."
When the three woke the next day, the campfire was dead, the ground was cold, and there was no sign that over a hundred Indians from three different nations had been there the night before.
Charlie told the two white boys later, “Lozen took us spirit-walking in the otherworld to find the threads of who we will be."
No one volunteered to share his vision. It was an incident buried, but not forgotten as the three McCallister men grew to manhood.
Chapter One
Charlie Wolf McCallister was the best tracker in the territory, bar none, which was why he and his cousins were crouched in the sand and dust looking down at the Indian encampment. Rumors abounded about a meeting of Arapaho, Kiowa, and Apache tribes, but the location of the powwow had been elusive.
The half Kiowa McCallister cousin knew where to look. Unlike the white army scouts who tried to find Indians in their hiding places, Charlie, who had traveled with the Kiowa on and off during his first seventeen years, knew the locations of both their winter camps and summer hideaways tucked among the myriad canyons and caves in West Texas.
"Looks like they're primed and ready for trouble.” A hard elbow to the ribs and a warning glance from his brother had Samuel McCallister clamping his mouth shut. A whisper of noise not in accord with nature and the Indians below would be all over them. Charlie Wolf might survive, but from the looks of the war preparations going on, Deacon and Samuel McCallister wouldn't.
All three men were on their bellies, part of the landscape. Charlie Wolf nodded toward the camp as he eased himself backward an inch at a time, moving away from the overlook.
Deacon and Sam followed until they reached their mounts. Like his namesake, the gray wolf, Charlie was already gone. Not a drift of dust stirred to indicate that he had ridden away moments before.
"Jeezus,” Sam swore quietly. “Hope this works or our horses are faster than their Indian ponies. They say Mangas Colorado is set to go to war. I hope to hell Charlie doesn't lose his hair while he's down there."
His words sounded hesitant, but his body vibrated with excitement. White teeth flashed in another grin. “Hell, Deak, you always said God takes care of poor dumb creatures. Watch and see, Charlie'll ride out without a scratch on him, even if this is a rabbity idea."
"Charlie will deal with the devil himself to get a chance at catchin’ Jericho.” Deacon scratched his rough, red beard, thinking aloud, “...Won't mind cashing that tender in. There's a bounty of $10,000 on the renegade, dead or alive."
It was an unheard of reward, put up by The Texas Cattlemen's Association, an assortment of New Mexico, Colorado, and Texas ranchers, and banks from all three areas. They'd banded together, publishing the reward in state and territory newspapers guaranteeing the bounty. Then they'd posted the Wanted signs in all the local, county, state, and territory law offices.
"For that kind of money, one of the coyotes he rides with might plug him before we get the chance.” Sam's eyes were cold when he muttered, “Hell, that's what I'd do."
Deacon shrugged and answered his brother grimly. “Then we follow the smell of a rotten corpse and take the body in for the reward. If there's a price on the other guy's head, all the better; we'll cash him in too."
The three McCallister bounty hunters were not the only men chasing Jericho Jones and his band of Comancheros. If the rumors were true, there already numbered a couple of good men who had found the outlaw but hadn't survived the experience.
"Damn, you know it's not the money he's after. Reckon he wants to kill Jericho more than he wants anything else in life.” All the McCallisters knew the story that Sam referred to.
Jericho had been instrumental in the massacre of Kiowa women and children at a place named Sand Creek, in Colorado Territory.
Charlie had ridden with his Kiowa father and Chief Black Kettle that day, invited to a peace powwow with the army's representative. Instead, Jericho had led the army to the camp at the river where, unprotected, the women and children waited. It was a slaughter.
"If it's not about the money, then, when we help Charlie catch the bastard, he can have the pleasure of the kill, and we'll cash in the tender,” Deak offered dryly.
Sam flashed his brother a grin. “Well, yea, maybe it's about the money too. He's got it in his head to buy some land. I told him Aunt Rachel's share of the MC3 Ranch was his, but he said—” Sam paused and added, “Well, hell, you know what he said."
Charlie Wolf had returned his mother to her white family, as his father had instructed upon his death. Rachel had been warmly welcomed. Charlie had not.
Charles McCallister, Rachel's brother, had two sons, already proclaimed hellions. Robert and Samuel had claimed Charlie, and during the short time he'd lived on the McCallister Ranch, the three boys ran together like a pack of wolves. Over the years, Charlie relied on his cousins for word of his mother's well-being.
The McCallister boys grew up and embraced respectability until Robert McCallister's wife was murdered in the young preacher's home. The minister set his Bible aside that day, and went hunting for the killers. Sam joined him. Charlie was already on the trail.
After they'd executed the men, the three drifted on together, picking up handbills and catching outlaws for pay. Robert McCallister became The Deacon, one of the most feared gun-fighters in the territory.
Sam was better known as Snake McCallister. He did his best work silently, usually before his prey even knew he was present. The knife was his weapon of choice, but he was as proficient with a gun.
The two white men were dangerous predators, only a piece of paper away from being like the men they hunted. Their half-breed cousin, Charlie McCallister, was a dark menace riding at their side. Outlaws trembled when they learned that the Wolf was on their trail.
"Word is, Jericho's got a cozy spot across the river and is making one last sweep to feather his Mexican nest."
"I know Charlie wants him dead before he can get to the other side of the border. Since Jericho and his raiders cut a swath through Colorado and New Mexico territories, they've gone to ground, and no one's saying where they're hid."
Rumors of nighthawks running cattle under cover of darkness had recently reached Charlie. He was sure it was Jericho, headed through Texas, on his way back to Mexico.
"Last time Charlie went after the son of a bitch, he damn near bought the farm.” Sam shifted the tobacco in his cheek and spat experimentally at a cactus. “Bet I can hit it in one shot,” he invited his brother to compete, while contemplating the time his cousin had been left for dead.