Code of the Wolf. Susan Krinard
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none of her male hands had looked in on him, if only out of curiosity. If she was so suspicious of him, why hadn’t she sent one of them to stand watch over him?
“I told you I didn’t think Leroy’s men would follow me,” he said, his words beginning to slur, “but it would be a good idea for you to send some of your men to keep a lookout. Is your foreman—”
“We have no foreman,” she said, a flame of defiance dancing in her eyes. “There are no men here.”
No men. For the second time he had to think before he was sure he’d heard her right. No men? None at all?
No wonder she kept a hand on her Peacemaker, and looked at him as if he might jump up and throw himself on her like a savage. Jacob couldn’t think how a ranch run only by women could exist in the first place.
He wanted to ask her how such a thing was possible, how far they were from where they’d found him, what defenses they had against marauders…all the things he would consider if he had to arrange protection for people incapable of taking care of themselves. Not that he’d had to do anything like that for years, much less wanted to now.
But he’d lived by the Code almost from the day Ruth had died, when he’d realized that it was either that or become exactly what he hated. He had devoted himself to the cause of bringing criminals like Ruth’s killers to justice, but having a cause wasn’t enough. It was the Code that kept him within the bounds of civilization and decency—a code that prevented him from prolonging the bloody feud that had led to Ruth’s death, a code he’d never abandoned in all his years as a Texas Ranger and bounty hunter.
The Code said he couldn’t let a debt go unpaid. Not when he’d brought trouble on innocent folk who could suffer for his mistakes. Especially not when he owed his life to three females who had risked their own lives for a stranger, a stranger their leader had so clearly despised from the very beginning.
But there was an obvious way to pay the debt and finish his job at the same time. He could make sure that Leroy’s gang wouldn’t be making any more trouble for these women if he went after them while the trail was still hot.
If Serenity Campbell would let him leave.
At that point his thoughts lost their shape and puddled inside his skull like melted butter. His eyes wouldn’t stay open. It took a powerful concoction to affect a werewolf, but whatever Changying had given him was doing it. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it.
He was at Serenity’s mercy. And he had an idea that if it hadn’t been for the other women, she might shoot him right through the heart.
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