Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)
Read Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) Online
Authors: Jacqueline Rhoades
Finding gold where you least expect it…
Lone wolf and Special Investigator for the ubiquitous Eugene Begley, Challenger McCall is sent to the town of Gold Gulch to take care of a problem that might involve the exposure of the wolver community. For McCall, it’s like stepping back in time - a hundred and fifty years back in time.
Gold Gulch is a tourist attraction where the wolvers take their work so seriously, they continue their
Victorian lives long after the tourists have gone home. Much like their 19th century counterparts, the women are overworked and underpaid.
Rachel Kincaid is one such woman. Exercising the only power she holds, she has become a wolver oddity; a spinster who refuses to mate. Why would she, when she already has to take care of the
short-staffed hotel, its restaurant and her ne’er-do-well father? Angry and bitter, Rachel decides she deserves a better hand than the one she’s been dealt and finds herself drawn to the handsome new sheriff, Challenger McCall. Why shouldn’t she, for once in her life, enjoy the same freedom as the Soiled Doves on the hill?
Things get complicated when Rachel's wolf awakens after a long sleep and the town's women seem to awaken along with it. Papa's gamblin
g debts leave them on the brink; the pack is at risk; and the women rebel. Oh, and don't forget the murders. If ever a pack needed rescuing, Gold Gulch is it, but as the girls up at Daisy's Bouquet point out, - A smart woman needs to look after herself!
WOLVER'S GOLD
By
Jacqueline Rhoades
Kindle Edition
Copyrighted 2014 by Jacqueline Rhoades
Cover art: E-Covers by Georgi
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Author's Note
While this is a work of fantastical fiction, many of the references to late 19th century living are accurately portrayed. While Wyoming Territory gave the vote to its 1,000 women in 1869, other territories did not. Women definitely lived in a male dominated society and were legally considered chattel, right along with the family livestock. With few exceptions, marriage or spinsterhood were the only choices a woman had.
Life was hard for women back then and a 'good woman' was encouraged to believe the constant and backbreaking drudgery of keeping a spotless home, caring for husband and children, raising vegetables and meat for the table, and possibly working for the family business, while remaining pious and forthright, was their God-given purpose on earth. The work drove many women, quite literally, into an early grave. In many ways, life was harder in the American West where pioneer women also helped build homes and plow fields, sometimes acting as the ox!
Women began to rebel. Laws of inheritance and the right to own property changed, but it wasn't until the first part of the 20th century that women earned the right to vote.
For those women who chose the unconventional route, opportunity was greater in the West and some found employment traditionally held by men, yet many women, 'good' or otherwise, still found themselves stranded without means of support. How does a woman with no education and no marketable skills support herself (and her children) in a place where males vastly outnumber females? You've already guessed. She becomes a Soiled Dove, a common term in those days. Those that found placement in an official bordello were fortunate and through their line of work, some found husbands and were once again accepted as 'respectable'.
Many of the Madam's, the owners of these establishments, became wealthy in their own right, and it wasn't unusual for them to be seen riding through town in their finery. Many were financially contributing members of local society.
Oddly, those saloon girls, who became so popular in movie and television Westerns, were socially beneath the Soiled Doves, even though they weren't (necessarily) prostitutes, but were hired to dance with the patrons and sell drinks.
And
of course, unlike the heroines of my stories, the reality is that many of these women never found their Happily Ever After in the Old West.
Just thought you might like to know,
Jackie
My Thanks
Georgianna Simpson
None of this would have happened
If it hadn't been for you
Pushing, prodding, laughing, crying
If it hadn't happened
You'd still be my BFF
Love you
Snorting, yipping and growling loudly, the wolves ran, but not
full out as they usually did on a hunt. They kept their small group together, moving at an easy pace. Their prey was ahead, but they were in no hurry. Normally when on a hunt, they would keep their communication more circumspect so as not to alarm the prey into frightened flight, but tonight, there was no need for silence or speed. The prey remained easily within striking distance, and was aware of the danger, but could never hope to outdistance its hunters.
Th
at was part of the fun and these wolves enjoyed the play. The smell of the prey's fear excited them. They kept it running until it could run no more. Still, fear gave it impetus and it staggered on, searching for shelter it would not find, hoping the wolves would lose interest and move on, which they would not. This final burst of adrenalin did not last long, however, and dawn was not far off.
At a signal from the largest and most
dangerous wolf, the one that was their leader, the wolves quickened their pace, spreading out in a practiced hunting formation. Short and round, long and thin, the lesser wolves circled the prey, attacking from all sides. Lunge and retreat, lunge and retreat, jaws snapping and tearing until one of them brought it down. Only one wolf, the youngest and little more than a cub, hung back, horrified by the animal cruelty of his packmates.
The prey screamed as they attacked, screamed until the last breath left it and it lay dead at their feet, bleeding from a multiplicity of wounds. As the prey's lifeblood s
eeped out and stained the ground around it, the wolves circled, sniffed at the lifeless form and, elated with the smell of blood and victory in their nostrils, raised their snouts to the starlit sky, howling their triumph. That was the way of wolves.
But not of wolvers, those man-beasts that had come to the New World over three hundred years ago and moved westward
to form new packs as their numbers and the country grew. Only at the full moon did the wolver males turn from man to wolf without the aid of the power granted their Alpha. At any other time, it was the Alpha's magic that changed them. No wolver could make the change without him.
Light flashed and the dead man was suddenly surrounded by
four full grown men, the youngest little more than a boy. They were naked and smiling; all except the boy, who was angry and still carried the shadow of his wolf’s snarl on his face.
"You said we were going hunting
," he shouted at the leader. There was a little residual growl in his voice. He glared at the others.
Two of the wolvers glared back, the looks on their faces expressing exactly what they thought of upstart cubs questioning their elders. They left it to their leader to put the cub in his place.
"You're an adult. It's time you joined the ranks. You wanted to be a part of this and part of this is doing what needs to be done to protect the pack. Pack comes first. First Primal Law. You should know that."
"Don't lecture
me about Primal Law. You never got past First Law. What about five: wolf must not fight man, nor man wolf." The young wolver turned and started to walk away.
"
Pack comes first." The leader pointed to the man laying dead on the ground.
"You disgust me.
You’re twisting the Law to suit your own ends. This whole thing disgusts me," the young wolver called over his shoulder.
"Do
not walk away from this, Edmund."
The
lead wolver's power swelled to frightening proportions, but the young man was too angry or too unwise to be cowed by it.
He turned back to the group, but only to yell,
"This? This? At least have the courage to call it what it is. This is murder. Murder! Do you hear! And I want no part of it."
"You
're already a part of it. You started with us and you'll finish with us," the leader growled.
"I'd rather be dead."
The young wolver continued to walk away.
Two weeks
after the shop owner mysteriously disappeared, the young man was found hanged from a tree out in the hills. Some said he was despondent over the recent departure of his future mate, who'd left the town and him behind. Others wondered at that. The two were school friends, but they'd seen no sign it was anything more than friendship. Everyone agreed, however, that it was best to ask no questions. Their Alpha and Mate would seek the answers if any needed to be found.
*****
"Looks like we've got a case, McCall."
Challenger McCall flipped through the manila folder, skimming for pertinent information.
"Looks like we're a little late to the party," he said, noting the dates of the deaths.
"Some things take time.
Too much time in this case. You can add another name to that list. Paul Porter is dead."
McCall glanced at the note
s. “The sheriff?”
“And our contact.
Seems he had a bad fall from his horse. His injuries were pretty extensive, so it could have been natural.”
“But you don’t think so.”
The dapper little man shrugged. “At any rate, it works in our favor. He was planning to retire and already had you set up to take his place. All you have to do is make it happen.”
“Why me?”
“Why not? I think this is a case you need.”
“What I need is a shower and a bed.
Me and Dog have been living in a fucking shithole for the past six weeks. We’re beginning to smell like each other.”
"Gold Gulch is a small western
tourist town. Think of it as a vacation."
"That's what he said the last time,"
McCall said to the German Shepherd mix lying on the floor by his feet. The dog cocked his head curiously at McCall's voice and whined. "Yeah, exactly, and look where we ended up. Six weeks in a fucking tent. In Oregon. In the rain."
"Ah,"
his boss nodded his head sagely, "I’ll grant you that was probably a mistake, but only because you’ve been complaining lately about how much you have to travel. I thought you might like a break.”
McCall snorted a laugh.
A break? More like punishment for complaining. He'd been travelling almost constantly for twelve years, moving from place to place on behalf of the Convocation of Wolvers and his boss, Eugene Begley.
Eugene Begley
had a talent for finding mates, which earned him a reputation as a highly prized matchmaker. His specialty was Alpha’s Mates, those women who were needed to share the throne, so to speak, with the leader of a pack. This wasn't always easy since most Mates were human and only through mating with the Alpha did they become wolver and it wasn't like any human woman would do. A woman who had the potential to become an Alpha's Mate was special and rare, and Eugene Begley had a knack for finding them.
It also gave him an excuse to travel the country, visiting packs and sticking his nose into places where it normally wouldn't belong, which was where Challenger McCall entered the picture.
Every wolver pack had a hierarchy and every wolver, male or female, knew their place within it. It was embedded in their DNA, a part of the collective wolver soul, and those few that chose to go it alone, lost a part of their souls in the process. Even rogues, who were outcast from their packs, tended to join up into loosely bonded groups.
There were no Primal Laws defining rules for placement. Though physical prowess and cunning were always high on the list of alpha qualities, they usually weren't the only strengths that were considered valuable. Each pack Alpha defined the hierarchy of his pack.
Which could make for one big cluster fuck when the Alpha died unexpectedly without an agreed upon heir or was Challenged regularly from within the pack. The best of wolvers became agitated when the hierarchy was in flux. The worst became fucking rabid. Over half the 'troubles' McCall investigated involved a pack in transition.
The Convocation didn't give a shit what was written on it, as long as every member of the pack was on the same page. A disorganized pack was a threat to the wolver community as a whole, because the longer the chaos lasted, the more it posed a risk of
exposure to the outside, human world.
As far as he could tell from Begley’s notes,
Gold Gulch pack was not in transition, but too many unnatural deaths or disappearances could call outside attention to a pack, too. If the Alpha didn’t handle it, then it became McCall's job to investigate and rectify situations where the secret existence of the wolver community might be at risk. He was a troubleshooter, a fixer, and he worked for an organization that didn’t officially exist.
Begley nodded at the folder. “Look it over. Memorize your cover and references. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
, but if you must, at least enjoy it.”
The comment earned him another snort of laughter from McCall.
There was nothing Eugene Begley wouldn’t do to preserve the anonymous continuation of his species.
Sitting behind his desk with his hands folded on top of it, his boss was about as innocuous
looking as a wolver could get. Small for a wolver and sporting a slight paunch at his middle that hinted at a lack of exercise, he was nattily dressed in a double breasted blazer, snow white shirt, and red checked tie. McCall had no doubt that beneath the jacket were khaki trousers, professionally pressed with a razor sharp crease, over highly polished tasseled loafers, probably encasing argyle socks.
His
tidy and innocent looks belied the fact that Eugene Begley had more magic muscle than any Pack Alpha McCall had ever met. That's what Begley called the power all Pack Alpha's were endowed with, yet the little wolver never flexed his magic muscle where anyone would notice. He was known as a matchmaker, but he was so much more than that, and he'd taught the rebellious young Challenger to find that magic muscle within himself.
In what seemed like a lifetime ago, when McCall had been debating whether to chuck it all, go rogue, and become a packless vagabond, Eugene Begley snapped him up
, trained him, and put him to work. Released from the stifling confines of his home pack, he now had the freedom of a lone wolf without the isolation that came with going rogue. Begley had become his de facto Alpha, though nothing was ever officially said, and while he might grumble, McCall would do anything his Alpha asked. It was good to be able to run with the ragtag pack Begley controlled, but have none of the day to day bullshit belonging to a pack entailed. He answered to no one but his boss. He made no lasting relationships with anyone and that was fine by him.
“When do you want me to start?” Challe
nger McCall asked, rising from his seat and motioning the dog to follow.
“Yesterday
,” Begley answered with a smile.