Bride of the Wolf

In brief, concise sentences, Rachel told him. “Who could want to do such a thing?” she asked, watching for any telltale slip in his demeanor.

There was none. He looked out across the desert plain, the muscles beneath his jaw flexing and relaxing. “I can think of only one man who would want you gone,” he said. “The foreman at Dog Creek. Holden Renshaw.”

“The foreman?”

“He’s had a favored place at the ranch he no doubt wouldn’t wish to surrender. My uncle has given him far too much trust and control, and as a result …” He hesitated. “To be frank, ma’am, he hates women. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he set a man to watch for your arrival and buy you off.”

Rachel could scarcely comprehend what he was saying. It seemed too fantastic to be believed. “Jedediah never mentioned this … this Renshaw.”

He shook his head. “Of course I can’t be certain he was behind it,” he murmured. “But I do advise you not to mention the incident to him.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry this has happened. You can see why it would be better for you to go back to town to wait. Once my uncle is home, he—”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. McCarrick, but that will not be necessary. I assure you that this Mr. Renshaw will not—cannot—deter me in any way.”

“But, ma’am—”

“I have every right to be there. You see, Jedediah and I were married in Ohio. I am Mrs. McCarrick.”

Chapter Two

HEATH DISMOUNTED, TAKING great care not to jar the baby. The kid had been so quiet those last ten miles that at times he had only known it was still alive by its breathing and slow heartbeat.

He lifted the edges of the blanket away from the baby’s face. Sick as it was, it was looking at him the way it always did, as if it could see right into his head.

You’ll be all right, he told his son for the hundredth time. I’ll find someone to look after you proper.

The baby made a soft noise and lifted its hand toward his face. As if it trusted him. As if it knew he wouldn’t let it die.

Heath looked around for the ranch hands. Sean wasn’t around, as usual. Most of the others were no doubt out on the range, but Maurice and Joey almost always stuck by the house, especially when Heath was away. Joey was a fast rider and could get to the Blackwell place in a few hours.

I should have gone straight there myself. But he hadn’t realized how sick the baby was going to get, and the idea of crawling to Artemus Blackwell for help made Heath’s hackles rise. Now he didn’t have any choice. Blackwell had a wife and daughter, and females knew about babies.

He was about to take the baby into the house when he heard the rattle of a wagon a mile or so up the track that ran west along the creek that gave the ranch its name. He tilted his head to listen. He knew the sound of every vehicle belonging to the ranch, and this wasn’t one of them.

The baby gave a thin, whimpering wail. Heath rocked it a little, the way he’d seen Polly doing. The kid went quiet again, and Heath tested the air for scent. The first thing he smelled was Sean on his palomino, Ulysses. The wagon behind him was a buckboard, and there were two people crowded onto the seat, one Heath recognized as Henry Sweet from Javelina. The other …

A woman.

Heath tensed. Strange females didn’t just show up at Dog Creek.

Unless Jed had asked them to come.

Cold certainty chilled the air in his lungs. It was her. Rachel Lyndon, Jed’s mail-order bride. The one Jed had never seen fit to tell him about.

Heath wanted to laugh, but the sound got stuck halfway up his throat. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she was coming, but he’d never thought he would lay eyes on her.

The rattle of the wagon grew louder. Sean and the buckboard came into view, and Heath caught his first glimpse of the woman.

She sat upright on the hard seat, clutching a carpetbag to her chest. Her hair was dark, her body slender, even thin, and her gaze was fixed on the house. There was unease in her scent and tension in the set of her shoulders.

Sean rode straight up to Heath. “Renshaw,” he said coolly. “I hope you’re prepared for guests.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Heath growled.

He didn’t really expect an answer, and there wasn’t one.

Sean glanced at the blanket, then looked away again without seeing what was inside it and reined Ulysses around to watch the wagon approach.

“She just got in on the stage, nice and ready to take over while Jed’s gone,” he said. “You’d better clean yourself up. The lady may not decide to keep you on if you don’t please her.”

Something in Sean’s tone told Heath that the son of a bitch was sitting on information that he couldn’t wait to let out. He wanted Heath to ask who she was, why some female he’d never seen had any idea of “taking over.” He thought Heath didn’t know the truth, and he wanted to savor the moment.

But Sean could never keep his mouth shut for long. He smiled, not quite meeting Heath’s gaze. “Do you know who she is, Renshaw? Did my uncle tell you before he left for Kansas?”

“I know who she is,” Heath said between his teeth. “Rachel Lyndon. Jed’s intended.”

Sean’s smile froze. “You’re half-right, Renshaw,” he said, recovering his balance. “Her name is Rachel, but it’s not Lyndon, and she’s not anyone’s intended.” He grinned and looked full into Heath’s face. “It’s McCarrick. Rachel McCarrick. She and Jed were married in Ohio.

“She’s Jed’s wife.”

JED’S WIFE.

At first Heath didn’t think he’d heard right. He’d read Jed’s unsigned will, and the letter from the woman. It had been clear that Jed hadn’t married her yet, that he planned to do it soon after she arrived.

Someone was lying. But who?

Heath didn’t have the chance to call Sean out. The female was taking Sweet’s arm and climbing down from the buckboard, almost stumbling as she stared at the house.

Sean dismounted, tossed Ulysses’s reins over the hitching post and went to meet her. Heath gave her a closer look. Her eyes were brown, a few shades lighter than her dark hair. She wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t ugly, either. She was somewhere around thirty years, not old, but there was a tightness around her mouth, a kind of tension that told him she wasn’t easy in her mind.

So this was the woman who’d written the letter that Jed had carried like something precious. The woman he’d cared enough about to woo and win and bring all the way to Texas.

She looked in his direction. Her shoulders lifted, and she started toward him, her plain brown skirts swishing with each firm step. He could feel her hostility through his skin and in his bones. She didn’t even glance at the bundle in his arms.

“Mrs. Rachel McCarrick,” Sean said, gliding up beside her. “Holden Renshaw, foreman of Dog Creek.”

At first Heath thought the woman was going to back away, but then he realized her hostility covered something else: fear. He could smell it sure as he could smell a skunk at ten paces.

“Ma’am,” he said coldly, briefly touching the brim of his hat. “Welcome to Dog Creek.”

She studied his face. “Am I welcome, Mr. Renshaw?” she asked.

He didn’t understand the question, and he didn’t much care. She wasn’t denying that she was Jed’s wife, and that meant she was lying. He hated that she was here, hated that she’d invaded this place and claimed it for herself, that a stranger held Jed’s loyalty just because she was human.

But she obviously didn’t know Jed was dead, and neither did Sean.

“So you’re Jed’s wife?” he said, making her feel a little of what he was.

She flinched, so slightly that he knew no human would have caught it. “I understand that Mr. Mc—my husband is away,” she said.