White Wolf (26 page)

After the stampede and the emotional scene with Jessie, Wolf longed to ride away and find some peace and quiet, but after he had refused Birk the use of a horse to go after the buffalo, the man had been trying to cause unrest among the travelers. Wolf feared an outright fight between the men if he left. Dropping his bedroll, he gave each man a hard stare, silently commanding them to ignore Birk Macauley and go about their business. While waiting for tempers to settle, he decided to get one last distasteful chore out of the way. Rook had informed him of the Nortons’ refusal to follow orders. It was something no wagon master could afford to tolerate. The very life of each man, woman and child depended on everyone’s following orders.

Long, angry strides brought him to where the couple and their driver sat hunched around a fire. He towered over them, fisted hands on hips. “Ignore my orders again and you’ll find yourself out on your own. Survival out here depends on everyone pulling together.” His voice deepened with cold contempt.

“I suppose that brat squealed,” Rosalyn said with a sneer.

Wolf was taken aback by the rage in her dark eyes. He vowed to watch her. It was obvious Jessie had made herself another enemy with her whip.

He held Rosalyn’s gaze until she looked into the fire. “
Rook
informed me that the three of you refused to follow orders. Do it again and you’re out.” He stalked away, silently cursing. How was it he’d ended up with so many problems in one small wagon train?

The aroma of coffee drew him to the fire. He poured a cup, suspecting it was going to be a long night. His weary gaze sought Jessie. She and Rook had started the meal preparations. Beside her, Coralie was kneading dough. She’d taken to helping Jessie and Rook whenever Jordan was on guard duty. He allowed himself an amused smile. Now, there was a woman who’d gone through a dramatic change since the first day he’d seen her sitting in the wagon, dressed in her finery.

Shifting slightly, he leaned against the wagon and watched Rook. His friend was in his element as boss, mentor and father figure as he tested the bread dough, checked the firepits that Elliot had dug, then helped Jessie carry a large kettle of water over to the smoking fires. The foursome worked well together, and it was clear his friend had taken Elliot and his sister under his protective wing along with Jessie.

Wolf was happy to see his old friend content. After years of grieving and feeling guilty, Rook had found peace and a replacement for the family he’d lost. No one deserved it more, and he was glad now that he’d agreed to the trip. Good
had
come of it. But with the good had come the unexpected.

He turned his brooding attention to Jessie. In the pale light of dusk, her hair hung in wet ringlets. It was longer now, though when the strands dried they’d curl and frame her face, lending her a soft, feminine look that trousers and shirts couldn’t hide, especially now that she didn’t have to conceal the fact that she was a woman. Her shirts weren’t so baggy, and she wore her trousers cinched at the waist, revealing her slim figure and slightly flared hips.

He ran his hands through his own dust-coated hair, eager to go wash and change, yet he didn’t want to leave. He could have stood there forever, watching her, loving the way her face glowed as she talked or used her hands so expressively. The gentle sway of her hips when she moved left him trembling. His gut tightened. What was he going to do about her? What were his own feelings? He felt ill. He tossed the coffee aside, mounted and rode off, giving Lady Sarah her head.

But thoughts of Jessie stayed with him. Not many women would have sat so quietly, so patiently and fearlessly, while experiencing such an awe-inspiring event as a buffalo stampede. But then Jessie wasn’t most women. What other female would ride into the path of stampeding cattle or come to a man’s aid when he was set upon by a strumpet?

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Jessica Jones was a study in contradictions. Bold and brash—full of confidence, ready to protect and defend those around her one moment—then young and naive, lacking self-confidence in her desirability as a woman the next. He never knew what to expect—and that was part of her charm. He loved her whatever her mood.

He came to a halt when the unwanted truth hit. He loved her. Though he’d tried to shield himself, she’d pierced his armor and stolen his heart; she was a true warrior worthy of his love. Wolf closed his eyes and drew in deep, even breaths to calm the racing of his heart.

She was right. They
were
well suited. More than just suited. They fit, like a knife to its sheath. She was his other half, and with her he felt complete. And earlier, while watching the buffalo, she’d understood his reverence toward the animals and shared it. Longing for love and a need to belong skimmed the surface of his heart, refusing to be buried. Yet because of his people, he was destined to walk alone.

Wolf silently cursed his supposed gift: knowledge. Sure, he had lots of knowledge, had even been sent to a fancy college, but what good was his education? How was he supposed to use it? His grandmother had known, but when he’d asked how and what he’d do for their tribe, she’d only shaken her head, telling him to be patient, that the spirits would reveal the truth when the time came. That had been fifteen years ago.

He was no closer to the truth now, which left him stewing like a kettle of fish. Until he knew what was expected of him, he had nothing to truly offer Jessie. What if he had to go off for months on end and couldn’t take her with him? His stomach clenched when he remembered returning to Rook’s cabin to find his friend’s family had been murdered. How could he go off and leave Jessie to fend for herself in a place where there were no neighbors, only the occasional trapper or contingent of soldiers?

His lips compressed grimly. Too many of them were little more than criminals or layabouts. They thought nothing of raping women, Indian or white. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. No, he could not promise something he might not be able to finish. Until he knew his future, he was destined to walk his path alone.

After a late supper, Jessie headed for her wagon, first stopping at the canvas latrine. The landscape had no trees for cover, so Rook and Wolf had fashioned a tent to be placed over a hole in the ground as they traveled over barren prairie. By the time she reached her own wagon, her head ached from built-up tension. She was tired and depressed. The evening had been a disaster.

Birk had returned from a walk with a flask of whiskey. With each sip he’d grown more vocal, ranting and raving about everything under the moon. While everyone tried to ignore his bad mood, it was nearly impossible to ignore his meanness directed at his family. Even now, she heard him still shouting at Ian to shut up. His yelling only made matters worse, for the baby cried louder.

Jessie leaned her forehead against the wagon’s canvas side. Why didn’t someone do something? How could everyone just let it go on? Her features tightened. When she reached her wagon, she heard muffled crying. Looking inside, she saw little Alison Macauley. Swearing beneath her breath, she hoisted herself into the wagon. “Alison? Honey, what are you doing in here?” Scooting on her knees down the narrow aisle, she reached out and pulled the trembling child to her.

Alison threw her thin arms around Jessie’s neck. “I don’t want to go back! Pa’s angry. I want to stay here with you.” The little girl sobbed.

Jessie patted the four-year-old’s back and tried to soothe her. She wished she could keep Alison for the night, but she knew Birk would never allow it. “Listen, sweetie, your mama must be worried over you. How about if I take you back and tuck you into bed?”

Alison’s grip tightened, making it hard for Jessie to breathe. “No!”

Jessie’s heart ached at the stark fear in that one word. She vowed that for this night, she’d find a way to keep Alison from her father’s rage. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll go talk to your mother.”

Pulling the girl’s arms from around her, she unrolled the blankets and tucked her in, running the backs of her fingers down the child’s windburned cheeks, wiping away the tears. Leaving the wagon, she fastened her whip to her belt and headed for Eirica’s tent. When she arrived, Birk was drinking from a flask held in one hand. In his other beefy hand, he held his screaming two-year-old son.

Eirica was crying. “Birk, please. Give him to me. He’s sick. Let me put him to bed. I’ll quiet him, I promise.” She reached out and tried to grab Ian.

Birk shoved her away with his foot. “Shut up, woman. I’ll deal with him. You’s spoiling the brat.” He tossed down his flask and shook his son hard.

“I said shut up, boy!” Ian continued to scream hysterically. In an effort to get away, he let his small body go limp, but Birk hauled him back up and shook him again. “Shut up, I said!”

This time Eirica grabbed her son. “Stop it, Birk. You’re going to hurt him.”

Birk slapped her with enough force to knock her to the ground. Enraged, he dropped Ian and raised a fist. Eirica crawled over and covered her baby’s body with her own.

“Git the hell away from him, woman. I ain’t gonna have a crying, sniveling brat for a son. He’ll listen to his pa or else.”

Horrified, Jessie stepped forward. That was it. She couldn’t stand any more. A quick glance around confirmed that the others were also on the verge of interfering. “Leave them alone, Macauley!” she shouted.

Birk glared at her. His pale, bloodshot eyes turned to hard beads of hatred. “Go ’way, girlie. Mind yer own business. My family’s my business, not nobody else’s,” he said with a snarl.

His expression turned defiant as others flanked Jessie. To make his point, he kicked Eirica hard in the ribs. “Git up, woman, and git yourself to the tent. I’ll deal with you later.”

Eirica lifted her head, her eyes wide and pleading. Tears streamed down her face. “Please, Birk you’ve been drinking. Leave us alone.” Another kick to her side silenced her.

Lars, Elliot and Jordan stepped forward. “Leave off her,” Jordan ordered.

In a blind rage, Birk reached down to grab a handful of Eirica’s hair. He yanked her to her feet and raised his hand to strike.

Jessie snapped her whip and sent it darting forward. It wound around Birk’s wrist, preventing him from hitting his wife. “You’re not going to hit her anymore,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “We’ve had enough of your bullying.”

Birk grabbed the rawhide still wrapped around his arm. He flung Eirica from him, then yanked the whip from Jessie’s hand. “You’ll be sorry, girl.”

Suddenly she found herself on the other end of the rawhide as Birk sent it snapping toward her. He was drunk, and his aim was off. She jumped to one side. Behind her, she heard the others shouting. Just as Birk drew his arm back, someone snagged her around the waist and hauled her out of the whip’s stinging reach.

“Why does it not surprise me to find you smack in the middle of this?”

Startled, Jessie glanced over her shoulder. She cringed at the sharp crack of the whip, but Wolf’s body shielded hers. He raised an arm to protect his face as Birk sent the whip forward again. The rawhide caught him on the arm.

Silence fell. Jessie held her breath. Never had she seen such deadly violence in a person’s eyes. Wolf set her aside and stepped forward, feet planted apart, arms hanging loose and fisted at his side. His voice dripped with promised violence.

“You want to fight, Birk, fight me.”

Birk threw down the whip, lowered his head and charged forward with a roar of fury.

Wolf measured Birk’s rage-filled charge, then stepped neatly to one side, sticking out one booted foot. Birk flew through the air and landed hard on the dusty ground. Crouched, Wolf waited. His blood boiled, and he shook with rage. The drunk bastard would pay for attacking the woman he loved. His fists clenched and unclenched. Birk stumbled unsteadily to his feet.

“Come on, you bastard. Afraid of taking on a real man? Or can you only lift those hands of yours to helpless women and children?” Wolf goaded. Birk came at him.

“You dirty half-breed.” He charged, swinging his fists at Wolf.

With his knees slightly bent and his body attuned to the drunken man’s every move, Wolf feinted to the right and avoided one meaty fist while slamming his own into Birk’s soft belly. The two men converged. While Birk had a weight advantage, Wolf’s finely honed body moved with lightning quickness. A blow to his midsection bent him over. But despite the pain, he welcomed the chance to expend his anger, his frustrations, in this physical fashion. Pent-up desire also found release in a well-aimed punch to Birk’s nose. With a grunt of satisfaction, he watched the blood spurt. “That’s for beating on your woman and son.” A kick to Birk’s belly sent the man skidding across the ground and into a wagon, and Wolf advanced. “That’s for messing with Jessie.”

Birk tackled him around the knees. The two men rolled across the ground, fists slamming into flesh, forcing the onlookers to jump out of the way. Grunts, groans and curses mingled with cheers and shouts of encouragement from the male emigrants and the cries of the women. One of Birk’s fists clipped Wolf on the jaw, snapping his head back. Birk took advantage of Wolf’s dazed condition and slammed his paunchy body down onto him. Wolf’s lungs emptied with a whoosh. Forcing his eyes to focus, he saw Birk’s fist poised for another punishing blow. Ignoring the pain in his jaw, he surged upward, plowing his own fist into Birk’s belly.

Birk doubled over. Wolf added a quick right-handed jab to the man’s bloody face and sent him sailing backward. Wolf rolled to his feet, rubbing his jaw, his breath coming in short, harsh, gasping swallows. He rested his hands on his knees and waited for Birk to move, but he was out cold. Wolf lifted his head. A hushed silence fell over the group, broken only by the hysterical crying of children. “It’s over. You can all go about your business.” After a moment, everyone moved away.

Wolf staggered over to Eirica and hunched down in front of her. She sat, white-faced, clutching her sobbing son tightly to her breast. Jessie stood beside her, holding Lara. Alison clung to her leg. “Are you all right?”

Eirica ran the back of her hand over her eyes and wiped the tears away. She nodded but didn’t meet his gaze.

Wolf glanced at Ian. “What about the boy?”

Anne answered, sparing Eirica the effort. “He’s bruised and scraped. It looks like he also has an earache. I’ve got some powders to help ease his pain.”

Wolf nodded, then turned back to Eirica. She reached out and clutched his sleeve. Her voice shook with despair. “I can’t take any more. He’s going to kill the children or my baby.”

“You can leave him,” Wolf suggested gently.

Fresh tears appeared. “He won’t let me go.”

“Do you want to stay with him, Mrs. Macauley?”

Eirica took a deep breath and shook her head. “N-no, I-I have t-to think of my babies. But how? He’ll never let me leave.” Her lashes lifted, her gaze beseeching him to help her.

He couldn’t refuse. “I can offer you and your children protection until we reach Oregon. Once there, though, you’ll have to decide what you want to do. I told Birk to lay off the beatings. Now he must face the consequences of ignoring my orders. As of tonight, he’s out.” A hush fell over the group.

James stepped forward. “Eirica and her children are welcome to share our wagons and supplies. We have plenty.”

Jessie handed Lara to her brother and went down on her knees. “Please, Eirica, say yes. We’re all your friends, and we can help you make a new start.”

Eirica stared at Jessie, then at James, then scanned the concerned faces around her. Wolf waited. If she refused to leave her husband, he’d have no choice but to abandon her to Birk’s cruelty. Birk was out. The man was too violent and unpredictable.

Finally, Eirica nodded. “Thank you, Jessie,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I got my pride, but nothing matters more to me than my babies. For them, I accept.” She stood. Alison and Lara ran to their mother. “But I will repay you for your kindness.”

Both James and Jessie acknowledged her statement with a nod. Wolf suggested they help her fetch whatever she wanted from her wagon before Birk regained consciousness.

Early the next morning, Jessie left the wagon circle, hoping a brisk walk would clear her mind of last night’s events, which had haunted her dreams. But no matter how fast she went, she couldn’t outrun the images of Birk slamming his meaty fist into Wolfs face. She’d seen countless fights, had indulged in her share with the kids in school and even with her own brothers, but she’d never witnessed one involving the man she loved. Unlike the common street brawls in Westport that drew crowds of cheering bystanders, the fight between Wolf and Birk hadn’t been exciting. It left her feeling weak-kneed and sick. She never wanted to witness anything like it again, even though she was grateful for the outcome.

By the time Birk had come to, his wagon and tent had been moved apart from the others and he’d been placed under guard. Birk had been furious, and his shouts and threats had kept them up most of the night. Jessie stopped short of a small rise in the terrain and stared up at the pale blue sky. “What’s done is done. I just hope he stays away,” she muttered, knowing full well he wouldn’t. And what of Wolf? Was he all right? Had Birk seriously injured him? By the time she’d gotten Eirica and the children settled in one of their tents and gone looking for him, he’d left the camp.

Perhaps she should head back and find him. Already the heat was stifling. It was going to be another unbearably hot day. Using her hat as a fan, she waved it in front of her face. A cloud of black birds circling a short distance away drew her attention. Curious, Jessie jammed her hat back on and ran toward them, kicking small rocks and pebbles out of her path. When she topped the rise, the stench of rotting flesh slammed into her.

Her head snapped up. She stared, horrified at the sight before her. Spread out as far as the eye could see, hundreds of dead buffalo lay beneath the relentless sun. Some were skinned and gutted; the majority were not. Birds of prey moved among them, picking at the ample amounts of flesh left by the nighttime scavengers. She covered her mouth with her hand. Nausea threatened to choke her. Recalling the serenade of howling wolves during the night, Jessie now understood why there seemed to have been more than normal. They’d come from miles around to feast on the spoils of wasteful hunters. It also explained why Rook had ordered Sadie tied up for the night.

Gagging, she turned away, unable to bear the rotten stench or sickening sight. She stumbled a few feet, then bent at the waist, fighting the roiling of her stomach.

A shadow fell across her, and strong fingers shoved her to the ground, forcing her head between her knees. “Breathe slow and deep, Jessica.”

Wolf. Jessie groaned in mortification, embarrassed to have him see her like this. “Go ’way.” She moaned.

“Hush. Breathe. Slow and deep.”

He stroked her hair until her stomach calmed. Lifting her head slowly, she glanced at him through watery eyes, grateful she hadn’t humiliated herself by being sick. “What a waste,” she cried. “All that for sport?” She pressed a fist into her unsettled stomach. She moaned as another wave of nausea swept over her, brought on by the smell of carrion.

Wolf pulled her to her feet, picked up her hat, which had fallen off, and led her away. When they were out of range, he stopped, keeping her encircled by his arms. “No matter how many years I spend living the white man’s life, I cannot understand this senseless killing. Killing driven by fun, not necessity. The amount of meat back there would last my people the whole winter, not to mention the warmth the furs would have provided.”

Hearing the sadness in his voice, Jessie lifted her head. She gasped when she got her first good look at him. “Oh, Lord, look at your face,” she whispered, reaching up to run her fingers tenderly over his swollen jaw and the discolored area covering one cheek. Her gaze roamed and lingered on a cut over one eye, and his split lip. This was her fault. “Oh, Wolf. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered. James told me not to, but I couldn’t help it—”

Wolf silenced her with a finger across her lips. “Not another word, Jessie. You did what you had to do. I did the same.”

Though Jessie agreed, and felt a warm glow at his praise, the sight of his swollen face pained her. “But your face…”

“My face will heal. Now, if you’re feeling better, we’d best get back.”

Standing on tiptoe, Jessie tenderly pressed her lips to a small cut at the corner of his mouth. “All right. I’ve got some salve that will help.”

Wolf waved her concern away. “There’s no time. I want to get under way before Macauley wakes and causes more trouble.”

Determination narrowed Jessie’s eyes when he refused to look at her. He was trying to put distance—both physical and emotional—between them. She jammed her hands onto her hips. She’d have none of it. Somehow, some way, she’d prove to him that they were meant to be.

“Fine. We’ll leave as soon as I’ve tended to your injuries.” Walking off, she didn’t turn to see if he followed.

The signal to roll came by whispered words instead of the usual piercing whistle. Jessie followed the wagons, leading Shilo, with Alison and Lara in the saddle. Lara, sitting in the front, reached down to pluck nervously at Shilo’s black mane. Neither child spoke. Normally mornings were a time of laughter and good cheer, as all were rested and eager to continue, but not today. The mood enveloping the party was one of solemn dread. Voices were hushed, and nervous glances were directed toward the lone wagon sitting off to one side.

No one wanted Birk to awaken. None wanted to witness the rage he’d surely display when faced with the realization that he was being left behind with only his wagon, supplies and oxen. Jessie kept a wary eye on the white-topped wagon as, one by one, they rolled forward.

Quiet commands replaced the customary crack of whips as drivers urged the oxen onward. Gunner and Leroy, both big, brawny men with crooked noses and thick, beefy arms, remained behind to allow the emigrants a head start before Birk followed.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief when they made it with no sign of trouble, Jessie turned her attention to the trail before her. In front of her, Rickard swatted the rump of her oxen. Male pride had made him reclaim his duties. When he glanced back, she waved. He grinned at her, then drew his arm back, sending his whip zinging over the heads of the oxen. Jessie smothered a laugh at his showing off. But when she noticed that he was still limping, she furrowed her brow. However, experience with her brothers kept her silent. She knew any show of concern on her part would be met with a careless shrug.

Coralie hurried to her side, her blue eyes shadowed with worry. Jessie marveled over the changes in her sister-in-law. Though she still acted the spoiled rich girl on occasion, each day brought on a new maturity. Overnight it seemed, she’d become a loving and caring woman. Just a few short months ago Coralie would have worried only over herself and her fancy dresses. Now she fussed like a mother hen.

“What’s wrong, Corie?”

“Oh, Jessie, Eirica’s hurting bad. Pale as a ghost and just looks awful. You don’t suppose it’s the baby, do you?”

Jessie glanced over her shoulder. Her sister-in-law was right. Eirica looked on the verge of collapse and was favoring her right side. “Not the babe. Cracked ribs, I’ll bet.” She stopped. Eirica limped up to them, and Jessie and Coralie silently took their places, one on either side of her.

After the cattle were under way, James left Jordan in charge and rode out to check on Eirica and her children. His lips tightened as he fought off an almost uncontrollable urge to go back to her bastard of a husband and make sure the man was in no condition to follow for many days, but he didn’t. Justice would be served, but not by his hands. When he reached the squeaking and creaking caravan of wagons, he slowed. They were spread out side by side so no one would have to suffer walking through great clouds of dust. Passing the Svenssons, he tipped his hat and nodded at Elliot. When he spotted Eirica, he spurred his horse forward.

Coming up behind the three women, he heard Ian crying. Jessie was carrying him, patting and rubbing the youngster’s back in a soothing manner. The sight suddenly struck him as being so right, so natural: her cuddling a toddler in her arms. It dawned on him how good she was with young children. Why had he never seen that motherly side? In that moment, James finally admitted that Wolf had been right. He’d never seen his sister as a grown woman.

Sighing deeply, James vowed to talk to Jessie soon and apologize for not admitting she’d grown up. He drew up alongside the women, worried when he noticed that Ian was fighting Jessie, leaning toward his mother. A quick glance at Eirica confirmed that she was in no condition to walk, let alone carry her son. Dismounting, he took the baby from Jessie’s arms and handed her the reins. Ian immediately settled, his bright blue eyes wide as he stared up at him. “How’s he doing?” James asked.

“Cranky, but no sign of fever today,” Jessie answered, moving away to make room for him. His pulse jumped. That put him right next to Eirica.

“And you, Eirica?” he asked, noting the pale, pinched look to her face.

Eirica’s startled gaze flew to his. Her cheeks turned pink at his free use of her given name. James hid his grin. She was so proper, he’d done so purposely, hoping to put some color back into her face. She opened her mouth, then shrugged.

“I’m doing well, Mr. Jones. I’ll take Ian. You must have other duties that require your attention.” She pressed a hand to her side, her breathing shallow.