Code of the Wolf. Susan Krinard
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damned thing about this place or this woman who claimed to run it, let alone if she was telling the truth.
“I’ve been remiss in introducing myself, ma’am,” he said, instinctively reaching up to touch the brim of his missing hat. “My name is Jacob Constantine.”
He wasn’t particularly surprised when she failed to provide her name in return. “And why were you taking this man Leroy to Las Cruces, Mr. Constantine?” she asked.
Not everyone who heard his profession admired him for it. In fact, he would have to say most didn’t have a very high opinion of bounty hunters. But his only alternative was to lie, and he made it a habit to tell the truth. That was part of the Code he lived by. The Code that kept him sane.
“Leroy Blake is wanted in one state and three territories for murder, robbery and other crimes,” he said. “I was taking him in for the bounty.”
Her expression didn’t change. “He sounds like a very bad man,” she said. “Why didn’t you get the rest of his gang when you captured him?”
“They weren’t with him, ma’am.”
“Even if they had been, you couldn’t have taken all of them, could you?”
He might have been able to, given the right circumstances, but he couldn’t tell her why. “The chance didn’t present itself,” he said.
“And it never occurred to you that they might realize you had their boss and come after you?”
Her scorn was obvious, and Jacob felt his temper begin to rise. That was the worst stupidity of all. He had no call to be mad at her, and he’d learned a long time ago to control his passions. Especially where women were concerned. That was part of the Code, too. Rare were the times he’d ever been discourteous to a female, no matter what her stripe.
Even more rarely would he let himself get into a position where he had to apologize, explain himself, or become beholden to any man, woman or child.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I regret that you had to get tangled up in this. By tomorrow—”
His words were lost in a ruckus as the barn door burst open and a brown-haired girl ran in, closely followed by an older female with thick red hair and the Chinese woman who had tended him before. The girl dashed right up to Serenity and stopped, her skirt slapping around her legs.
“Oh!” she said, staring down at Jacob with wide brown eyes. “You’re awake!”
The redhead came to stand behind the girl while the Chinese woman set down the still-steaming teakettle she had been carrying, retrieved the pitcher and filled the glass with fresh water. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing soft trousers and a long tunic, the typical dress he’d seen in places where the Chinese were more common.
Jacob quickly examined the other two. The girl was probably no more than seventeen—pretty, coltish and clearly high-spirited. The redhead had a look about her Jacob had seen plenty of times before, in dance halls and saloons and less savory places where women sold their bodies for money and board.
But she didn’t seem beaten down by the work like most of them. There was a sparkle in her green eyes and a gentleness in the hand she laid on the girl’s shoulder, and she hadn’t yet lost the beauty that would have drawn men to her bed.
“Drink this,” the Chinese woman urged, offering him the glass.
He drank slowly, nodded his thanks and tried to sit up again.
The woman shook her head.
“You must lie still,” she said in her accented English.
“He looks so much better, Changying!” the young girl said. Her gaze sought Jacob’s. “Who are you? What were you doing out there with those men? Did you see—”
“Frances,” Serenity said in a firm, quiet voice that silenced the girl instantly. The way she spoke now had nothing in common with the way she’d talked to Jacob. It was all the difference between dealing with a friend and an enemy.
“I’m Jacob Constantine,” he repeated. “As I said to Miss…” He glanced up at Serenity. “I never caught your name, ma’am.”
“Serenity Campbell,” the redhead said, stepping around the girl. She wore a simple modest skirt and bodice more suitable for a hardworking farm wife than a dance-hall girl, and there was an open friendliness in her manner that gave the lie to the weary lines around her eyes and mouth.
“My name is Bonnie Maguire,” she said. “This is Frances Saunders.” Then she gestured toward the Chinese woman, who was measuring out a fine dark powder into a tiny spoon. “Liu Changying, our healer.”
Serenity Campbell seemed unperturbed by the older woman’s assumption of introductions, but her attitude toward Jacob didn’t thaw one bit. If anything, her glare seemed even more hostile.
“Changying?” she said.
“He appears much better,” the Chinese woman said, carefully pouring hot water from the teakettle into a plain brown mug. She emptied the contents of the tiny spoon into the water. “How is your pain, Mr. Constantine?” she asked, resting her cool hand on his forehead.
“Almost gone, ma’am,” he said, which wasn’t the whole truth but would be soon enough.
Changying eyed his bandages but didn’t look underneath them, which was a very good thing. “Your fever is slight, Mr. Constantine,” she said in her soft lilt. “Your skin is no longer burned. You have healed very quickly.”
“If I have, ma’am,” Jacob said, “it was your care that did it.”
She frowned a little, her dark eyes probing his. He could feel her curiosity and doubt, but she set them aside and reached for the mug.
“Please drink this,” she said.
Jacob took in a deep whiff of the stuff. It smelled like some kind of tea made with herbs, but he didn’t recognize the plant from which the powder had been ground.
He would have been a fool to drink it anywhere else. But he read people pretty well, and there was nothing about the Chinese woman—about any of them but Serenity—to suggest they wanted to do him any
harm. His body would tell him soon enough if the tea was bad.
So he drank it, and a deep, penetrating warmth spread throughout his body. The slightly bitter taste lingered on his tongue.
“It will help you sleep and cool your blood,” Changying said.
“But he just woke up!” Frances protested. She leaned toward Jacob as if she were standing on the edge of a mesa ready to throw herself off. “Where do you come from, Mr. Constantine? Why were those men trying to kill you?”
“He can answer those questions later,” Serenity said. “I think Changying would prefer we leave him to his rest.”
The Chinese woman rose and bowed toward Serenity. “It would be best, yes.”
With a little pout, Frances allowed Bonnie to lead her away.
Changying touched Serenity’s arm.
“Will you sleep?” she asked.
“Soon.” Serenity smiled—a full, warm, affectionate smile—and gave a little bow to Changying in return. “Thank you, Mei Mei.”
Changying returned a small smile and retreated. Serenity stared after her, the smile fading.
An odd sensation, as if he were floating on cotton and clouds, seeped through Jacob’s body. It made him feel almost peaceful.
“Those women…live here with you?” he asked Serenity.
“Those women,” she said, looking down at him, “are my friends and fellow workers here at Avalon.”
Well, he’d known Changying and