Code of the Wolf

IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Jacob woke.

He opened his eyes, instinctively flexing his muscles and stretching his body to its full length, testing every bone and muscle and sinew.

The worst pain was gone. His wounds weren’t completely healed, but that wasn’t a concern if he was strong enough to Change.

At least there wouldn’t be much risk in trying. He could already smell that no one was in the barn with him. He pricked his ears, listening for movement outside.

Someone was there, sure enough. The woman called Caridad, so eager with her guns. There was some chance that she might come in on him while he was still in wolf shape, but he was willing to take that chance.

He sat up, wincing at the pull of his scabs and the knitting flesh beneath. It took some effort even to cast off the blanket. He was grateful the healer had stripped him, if only because he didn’t have to remove his clothes. Modesty wasn’t much of a consideration at a time like this.

It was certainly possible to Change while sitting or even lying down, but Jacob had always preferred to stand. Pulling himself up with his hands braced against the side of the stall, he got to his feet. Nausea made it difficult to hold up his head, but somehow he managed it. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

The Change came stuttering like an ancient steam engine. For a moment he wavered between human and wolf, not quite able to make the transition. He clenched his fists and sucked in a deep, shaking breath.

At last his resisting body gave way, and he dropped to the straw on four broad paws. Every scent and sound became almost painfully sharp and distinct. The milk cows snorted and stirred in their stalls, spooked by the presence of a predator. Soon they would start lowing, sending an alarm that the woman outside couldn’t possibly miss.

But Jacob didn’t need much time. The Change had made him whole again, though he knew there might be some lingering weakness. The transformation itself took no small amount of strength.

It felt good to be in wolf shape again, but he couldn’t risk staying in it. There was too much of a chance that someone might walk in on him. One of the milk cows began to bawl, making his situation even more precarious. He braced himself and Changed again, finishing just in time. Caridad rushed into the barn, a gun in each hand.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Jacob leaning against the partition. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

Jacob raised his hands. “Nothing, señorita,” he said. “Only seeing if my legs will hold me up.”

“Sit down,” she said, jerking her guns in emphasis.

There was no point in deliberately antagonizing a trigger-happy female, and Jacob had done what he’d set out to do. He eased himself to the ground and pulled the blanket up to his waist, shivering for effect.

“You know where the rest of my clothes are, ma’am?” he asked.

“Do you think you are going somewhere, señor?”

“Not just yet.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, Caridad stalked past him to look in on the cows. She seemed satisfied, for she quickly returned, stopped to regale Jacob with another threatening stare, then left the barn.

With a sigh, he settled back on the straw. He would need a good sleep to let his body recover from the forced Change. By dawn he would be almost as good as new.

And then he would be fit for whatever his conscience decided he should do.

THERE WAS NOT the remotest chance of intimacy with the man in the barn.

Constantine, Serenity reminded herself. A strong name. The name of the first Christian Roman emperor.

Christian this man might be, but her opinion of him had not changed, at least not in its fundamentals.

She released the calf she’d been examining back to its anxious mother and crouched back on her heels. Her finger stung where she had pricked it through her glove on a cactus spine, all because of her carelessness. And that was because she’d been thinking about Constantine.

About the way he talked: soft, low and courteous, as if he actually had respect for her and the other women. He had expressed gratitude, and at no time had he offered any threat. He’d warned her about the outlaws, and he’d admitted that he’d permitted the outlaws to ambush him.

He had even complimented her.

That had surprised her, caught her off guard for a moment or two. But of course it wasn’t really a compliment to say she was a “good shot.” He was just surprised that a woman could be handy with a gun. Just as he’d been more than surprised to learn that a woman could be a ranch boss.

Of course, she hadn’t meant to admit that there were no men at Avalon; she still had no idea why she’d done it, except that his assumption that he would need to speak to her “menfolk” about the possible dangers posed by the Blake gang had made her reckless.

Foolish. The stupid mistake of a child.

Serenity got to her feet and looked across the range in the direction of the house, a quarter mile to the west at the foot of the rocky, yucca-clad hills that rose steeply to the base of the Organ Mountains. It was still early in the morning, but her feet already itched to get back to the barn.

Constantine had been sleeping—or at least pretending to be asleep—when she’d checked on him just after dawn. Caridad had been standing watch since midnight, at her own insistence, while Serenity snatched a few hours of sleep. Since sunrise, Zora, Nettie and Victoria had been out looking for any sign of intruders. Serenity was nagged by the constant worry that they might find what they were looking for.

She had her own chores to do, but she found she couldn’t concentrate. She trusted Caridad completely, but Constantine wasn’t Cari’s responsibility.

He was hers. And even after his warnings and compliments and admissions of mistakes, all his sincere looks and honorable words, she never doubted that he was still dangerous—and would become even more so when he recovered.

Whistling softly to Cleo, she mounted and started back for the house.

Bonnie came to meet her as she rode in.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Changying asked me to tell you that Judith and Frances are ill. She has confined them both to bed with…” She paused and then continued as if reciting lines she had been given to repeat. “‘Disturbance of the upper jiao, congestion of the lungs and nostrils, lethargy, shaking chills and a general imbalance of qi.”

Changying was not prone to exaggeration, and Serenity had heard enough of the Chinese woman’s odd medical terms to know the illness was not a mild one. She slid down from Cleo’s back, led the mare to the inner corral and quickly unsaddled her. The moment she was finished, she strode into the bunkhouse, where Changying was spooning one of her herbal teas into Frances’s mouth.

“How are they?” Serenity asked.

Frances turned bleary, bloodshot eyes in Serenity’s direction. “I’m all right,” she whispered. “Changying won’t let me get up, but I—”

“Do not attempt to speak,” Changying said, feeling Frances’s forehead.

Serenity glanced toward the other occupied bunk where Judith was shivering under several blankets.

“What is it?” she asked, worry clogging her throat. “How could this have happened so quickly?”

“It is one of the sweating sicknesses,” Changying said, rising. “I have seen it come on very quickly when many people are together in one place.”

And that would have been when Serenity, Frances and Judith had gone into Las Cruces a few days ago. Suddenly Serenity remembered Frances’s sniffles and complaints of a stuffy nose the day before, which Serenity had put down to the blowing dust and the excitement of the rescue.

“They will be all right?” she asked.

“With a week’s rest, yes. Perhaps two.”

Two weeks. Serenity was beyond grateful that the illness wasn’t as serious as it had sounded when Bonnie had spoken of it, but it could not have come at a worse time. Not with Constantine here, and the start of branding season only a few days away. Every woman at Avalon would need to be working from before dawn to after dusk for the next month, and there were hardly enough of them to do the job even then.

“Let me know if anything changes,” Serenity said, and left the bunkhouse with Bonnie right behind her.

“What are we going to do?” Bonnie asked. “Helene can’t ride in her condition, let alone work cattle. With only seven of us…”