Читать книгу Code of the Wolf - Susan Krinard - Страница 8

THE WOMAN DIDN’T answer at first, and that was just as well. Jacob was far from ready to get up, and talking at all was difficult. He was naked under the blanket someone had thrown over him, his gun and knives were gone, and he had no idea where he was.

But his wounds hurt less, his mouth had a little moisture in it, and he was finally able to get a good look at his savior. What he saw surprised him.

At first glance she didn’t look like the kind of woman who could face down a band of outlaws and outshoot them with exquisite precision. She was petite and fine-boned, with almost delicate features and dark blond hair pulled severely away from her face.

And she was pretty. By no means a great beauty, but then, a woman who carried a gun on her hip wasn’t likely to be overly concerned with her appearance. Her face was tanned and unpainted, her figure completely concealed by baggy boy’s trousers and a shirt, with only a telltale dip at the waist where her belt held her clothing closer to her body. He was willing to bet she wasn’t wearing a corset, either. Most men would have judged her appearance beyond the pale of anything proper for a female.

Once Jacob might have done the same. He wondered about her male kinfolk; few men worth their salt would let a wife or daughter or sister dress that way, or ride into the desert with only a couple of other females as an escort. It was a man’s place to protect his women, and there was no excuse for such a lapse. No excuse at all.

Yet for all her small size, nothing in the lady’s appearance or in her steady glare suggested weakness or dependence on anyone.

He remembered her name. Serenity. The woman who was anything but serene.

Without a word, she retrieved a pitcher standing on a stool against the wall to his left and sloshed water into a glass. Jacob remembered someone giving him water before, but he didn’t think it had been this woman. The hands had been gentle, the face—what he had been able to see of it in his delirium—entirely different.

Stiffly the woman bent over him, as if she hoped to put the glass to his lips without coming anywhere near him. After a moment she knelt, still keeping her distance, and put the glass down just long enough to push the sack of grain that served as his pillow higher under his shoulders.

“Drink,” she said, and set the rim of the glass to his lips. The water tasted like ambrosia as it coated his mouth and trickled down his throat. The moment he had had enough, the woman put the glass down, stood and resumed her place against the wall.

Jacob half closed his eyes. It was difficult to keep them open, but he had to know more about this woman and why she, though so obviously hostile, had helped him.

“Ma’am,” he tried again, “I’d be obliged if you would tell me where I am.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at some point behind his head as if she could burn a hole in the wall with her stare. “You’re at Avalon,” she said.

Avalon. He’d heard her speak the word before, but it also echoed in other memories. Somewhere, sometime long past, when he’d been only a boy, he’d heard the name. It meant nothing to him now.

“A ranch?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Her voice was no longer distorted by distance or his delirium, but it still didn’t match the delicacy of her face. It should have been soft and soothing, not harsh, as it was when she spoke to him. It should have been like Ruth’s.

But Ruth would never have put on a man’s clothes or carried a gun. The thought would never have entered her mind.

Whatever was in this woman’s mind, she wasn’t going to offer him any more information without real encouragement. He braced himself on his elbows and tried to sit up. She flinched, controlling the involuntary movement so quickly that he doubted an ordinary man would have noticed.

“I’m…obliged, ma’am,” he said. “For what you did out there.”

Her jaw tightened, and she finally met his gaze. “It’s strange,” she said, “how quickly you’ve come from nearly dying to acting as if you weren’t hurt at all.”

No pleasantries with this lady. Not that he was inclined to them himself. But there was considerable suspicion in her words, as if she believed he’d feigned his condition.

But why would such a thought even occur to her? That she didn’t trust him was clear, and she was smart not to, but she had no call to think he’d had any reason to pretend.

Unless she’d sensed something different about him. Some regular folk did. Jacob had made a mistake in letting her see just how fast a werewolf could recover from serious injuries once he had the resources to do it.

Still, he figured it wouldn’t do much good to assure her that he wasn’t a threat, sick or not. He sure as hell wasn’t ready to get up and dance a jig anytime soon.

“The water and shelter helped, ma’am,” he said honestly. “But if it’s all the same to you…” He glanced at the pitcher on the stool. There was no chance that he would beg for another glass of water, but at least the words were coming easier now. “I’d like to stay here a little while longer.”

Her hand hovered near the grip of her gun. “Who were those men?” she asked.

Her question told him that she’d had precious little idea of what had been going on when she and the other women had rescued him. “They were…part of Leroy Blake’s gang. I was taking Leroy to Las Cruces when his partners—”

He stopped, wondering why he should admit how stupid and careless he’d been to let the likes of Leroy’s men get the drop on him.

His throat was too raw for laughter. It caught in his chest like a cough. Hell, she’d already seen him at his weakest. Maybe it was contempt he saw in her face. It would be more than justified.

The idea stung in a way that bothered him considerably. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given a damn about another man’s opinion. Or any woman’s since Ruth had died.

“They set up an ambush,” he said.

There was as little feeling in her face as there was in his words. “You weren’t with them?”

So that explained it. She thought he might be one of them. It wasn’t as if outlaws didn’t turn on their own kind plenty often.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Like I said, I was taking Leroy to Las Cruces. Five of his men were waiting for us two miles south of San Augustin Pass.”

“There were only five men with you. There was another one?”

“Yes, ma’am, but he won’t be bothering anyone again.”

He could see the questions in her eyes, but he had concerns of his own that had to come first. “How many did you get?” he asked before she could speak again.

She touched the grip of her gun. It was a good one—a Colt single-action Peacemaker, well used but obviously well cared for, as well. “They got away,” she said, every word grudging. “I hit at least two of them, though, including the man who was trying to kill you.”

“Did you intend to kill him?”

“No,” she said shortly.

Jacob believed her. He could see the idea bothered her, which was something of a relief. She wasn’t quite as hardened as she obviously wanted him to think.

He lay back down again, suddenly winded. “You’re a good shot, ma’am.”

If she appreciated the compliment—the kind he very seldom gave to anyone—she didn’t show any sign of it. “Will they come looking for you?” she asked.

Smart of her to consider that possibility. It was the same one that had been on his mind since he’d woken up.

“I don’t think they have the stomach for it,” he said. “Especially since Leroy’s wounded, and you said you got one of the others. But—” He sucked in a breath as a wave of nausea reminded him that he wasn’t as strong as either he or the lady had believed. “I don’t plan to be here long, but I’ll be happy to tell your menfolk whatever they need to know.”

She gave him a look of bitter amusement. “It would be best if you told me,” she said.

Even the dim light from the lantern was beginning to hurt his eyes. He closed them and sighed.

“You’re a fine hand with a rifle, ma’am, and maybe with that gun, too. You’re braver than most men I’ve met. But your menfolk won’t want you risking your life again, and as long as there’s a chance—”

“So you would like to speak to the ranch boss?”

“Yes, ma’am. That would do fine.”

“In that case, you are speaking to her.”

It took about five seconds for him to realize what she’d said. He opened his eyes and stared at her. She was as dead serious as anyone he’d ever seen.

“Are you saying…you run this outfit, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

Now he understood that bitterness. She must think this was quite a joke on him. But it didn’t make one lick of sense.

The only possibility he could see was that she was a widow and had no other close male kin to take over the ranch when her husband died. Or maybe she was the only child of a father who’d died and left her with no choice but to manage on her own.

Either way, she couldn’t have been at it for long. The odds would be too stacked against her in this country, where any female boss, even if she proved strong enough to keep her hands and manage the finances and other business, would have to contend with constant challenges from men and nature no woman should have to face.

But she’d done a pretty damned good job of driving off Leroy’s gang, and what he could see of the barn didn’t suggest she was struggling to survive. It was well built and clean, the horses he’d seen were of good quality, and the woman herself hardly looked like someone living on the edge of ruin.

The fact was that he didn’t know a 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 Frances had been with her during the gunfight, even if he’d been only half-aware of their presence most of the time. But he still wondered why 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 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…”

“We will do whatever we have to,” Serenity said. “We have no choice.”

“We might hire a couple of boys from town, just for the branding.”

Serenity came to a sudden stop. “You know that isn’t possible,” she said.

“We could lose dozens of calves to the Coles. You know they’ll steal any unbranded beef they can get their hands on.”

That was true, but it couldn’t be helped. “We will do what we have to,” she repeated.

And the first thing to do was get rid of Constantine. She had a feeling he would be glad enough to leave as soon as he was capable of it. Of course, he didn’t have his own mount, but Serenity would be more than happy to give him one just to get him away from Avalon.

And she prayed he was telling the truth about being a bounty hunter, which put him at least marginally on the right side of the law.

She and Bonnie parted ways, and she started toward the barn. The door swung open, creaking on its hinges, and Jacob Constantine walked out, wearing his filthy, torn trousers, his bandages and little else. He was scanning the yard with intense curiosity, and when his gaze settled on her, his gray eyes seemed to stare right into her soul.