Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) (10 page)

Rachel thought she nodded.

And then he did the strangest thing. He kissed the spot where he'd tucked in her curl, said goodbye, and he was gone.

Rachel wasn't sure if the sigh
that followed came from her own throat or her wolf's.

As it was, she had no reason to worry about what she should say or what she should do. Mr. McCall wasn't at breakfast.

"He informed me that Mr. Coogan has decided to take up residence els
ewhere," her father told her, "though why young Mr. Coogan would tell Mr. McCall rather than me, doesn't figure."

"Perhaps Mr. Coogan was in a hurry to get his things moved before he
needed to work," Liddy interrupted, "I was looking forward to meeting Mr. McCall. Is he going to be our new sheriff? He seems like such a nice man. So handsome. I think he'd make a wonderful sheriff. Has anyone heard from the Alpha?" she asked the men at the table.

Liddy was referring to an Alpha's
ability to communicate with the members of his pack. Rachel wasn't sure how it worked since their Alpha spoke only to the men, but she'd heard some visitors once say their Alpha spoke to them all.

"Of course, my dear Mrs. Hornmeyer.
The Alpha made his decision known last night. Someone should have told you." Mr. McKinley smiled sympathetically, "I'm sure your son would have told you when he had time."

Rachel felt her lip curl as her wolf snarled, but her words were forestalled by Liddy Hornmeyer's happily chirping voice.

"I'm sure he will, dear Mr. McKinley," she said in the same supercilious voice he'd used to her. "Sit down, dear, and eat your breakfast," she said to Rachel with a nod to go with her little smile of triumph.

Liddy had bravely said her piece and n
o one was talking about Jack Coogan.

Chapter 9

Rachel had forgotten how good it felt to be out and about on a fine autumn morning with no thoughts of business or work to worry about. Outfitted in her square overskirt and vested bodice, she nodded and smiled hello to everyone she met. It was early yet and the gates were closed. Shoppers at this hour were all wolvers and she slowly began to notice what Bertie already knew. There were very few genuine smiles from the women. There weren't many smiles from the men, either. They nodded politely as she passed or tipped their hats as gentlemen should, but the feeling she got from Main Street was rather glum. What was wrong with the pack?

It made her wolf restless, as if it sensed the wrongness of it, too. When her she-wolf was last awake, Gold Gulch was a happier place with friendly smiles and greetings. When had it changed? Had she been so caught up in her own confined life that she'd failed to notice?

The restless feeling inside her eased a little when she opened the door to the Ladies' Emporium where Cassie Nesbit's smile of greeting seemed real.
Cassie was a lovely young woman with rich, dark skin and sparkling brown eyes. As yet unmated, Cassie worked alongside her sister, Miriam, in the Emporium, which was owned by Miriam's mate.

"Haven't seen you in a while," she said, coming from behind the display counter where she was stacking jars of hand cream.

The shop was filled with a heady mixture of lavender and vanilla and other scents the sisters used in their sachets and handmade creams and lotions. They also sold gloves made from fine kid leather, silk, or lace, and ruffled silk parasols which were always a hit with the tourists. Lace trimmed handkerchiefs were another popular item which were sewn in public view on the treadle sewing machine in the corner of the store.

"I know. I've been so caught up in the work at the hotel that I never go out anymore. Bertie practically threw me out and I'm glad she did. It's a refreshing change to step into a shop that has nothing to do with sacks of flour or roasts of beef." Rachel picked up a sample jar and sniffed the contents. "Getting dressed to shop also made me take note of how ragged my hands and nails are looking. What do you recommend? Besides a good pair of gloves to hide the disaster," she added with a laugh. "I spend so much time keeping the hotel polished and pretty, I forget to do the same for myself."

Cassie took several sample jars and bottles from the table in the center of the shop and lined them up on the counter. "If my hands weren't in it all day, I'd be the same way."

They chatted for a few minutes before a deep male voice sounded from the back room.

"Cassie! Have you finished stocking? And where's your sister? The gates will be open soon and there's work to be done."

"Miriam's feeding the baby," she called back, "And I'm waiting on a customer. A paying one," she added ungraciously. She turned back to Rachel and whispered, "I swear, sometimes I think the Emancipation Proclamation was a work of fiction. I shouldn't complain, though. It's much harder on Mariam than me. She has her mate and children to care for
, too. I, on the other hand, have decided to take a page from your book, Miss Kincaid. I'm going to be a spinster like you."

Cassie was six or
seven years younger than Rachel and old enough to make her own decisions, but Rachel felt the young woman should be warned.

"There are drawbacks to that
as well, you know, It can be lonely at times."

"
It can sometimes be lonely living in a full house,” Cassie replied with a glance at the rear door. “That's one of the reasons I joined Mr. Washington's ladies’ book club and I don't even like to read. Miriam and I joined just to get out of the house and lo and behold, Mr. Grumpypuss is glad to be rid of us for a couple of hours. As long as he’s fed and watered and the pups are asleep,” she added as an aside. “It's sometimes fun and always interesting when Mr. Washington asks questions about the book we're reading. Except for Mr. Washington, it's all women, which is an added relief. You should come and see for yourself."

Rachel enjoyed reading when she was young and had time. "It sounds interesting, but wouldn't I be too far behind?" she asked as she turned over her selections to be purchased. She added a lavender sachet to the jars.

"We've just started a new one." Cassie pulled a copy of Charlotte Brontë's
Jane Eyre
from beneath the counter. "Here, take mine. Miriam and I can share. We take turns reading anyway when you-know-who isn't around to grumble about neglecting the shop. Please come." She told Rachel the day and time.

"I'll think about it," Rachel said, but she tucked the book in
to her bag. "Thank you for your help and the invitation."

She
had no intention to stop at Simon's Haberdashery and Millinery, but a cunning little navy blue hat with a sweeping white ostrich feather caught her eye. More popular with the tourists were the wide brimmed hats festooned with ribbons and flowers that were purchased as decorative pieces for their homes and commanded an exorbitant price. They were too flamboyant for Rachel’s taste and much too expensive for her pocket. With her hair pulled up in a tail of cascading curls, the hat, with its short dotted veil would perch jauntily forward on her head.

Rachel
debated for several minutes before entering the shop. She didn’t really need a new hat. Her plain black porkpie was still serviceable, but the little blue hat called to her and it had been years since she’d treated herself to a new one. In her current mood of restless rebellion, she decided she deserved it.

Mrs. Simon was busy over
in the Haberdashery, the men’s side of the store. Rachel could hear her high pitched voice cooing over a customer’s purchases, so Rachel helped herself to the hat in the window and tried it on in front of the three sided mirror meant for the purpose. She tilted her head from side to side, pleased by what she saw.

Miss Rachel Kincaid might not be considered a raving beauty by those who were supposed to know, but no one would call her ugly, with her fiery hair and creamy skin. Her lashes were naturally dark, touched with a burnished red when the light hit them just right. The bloom in her cheeks was natural, too, though enhanced with the flush of
embarrassment at her immodest conceit. To counter that conceit, she noted there were far too many freckles to be fashionable. Cooped up as she was indoors, her complexion should be flawless, but the slightest touch of sun and her freckles sprouted, most prominently across the bridge of her nose. There was nothing she could do about that. She couldn’t very well attend to the chickens with a parasol in one hand.

Her figure was still youthful with a high
, firm, bust that needed none of the lacy, padded flounces that attached to one’s corset cover to improve the drape of one’s bodice. She was proud of her waist, which remained narrow in spite of the fact that she kept the stays of her corset comfortably loose. Yes, she was still an attractive woman who only needed a bit of spit and polish to bring back the shine. The hat was a good beginning.

Her wolf must have thought so, too, because it began to wiggle and squirm with excitement. Rachel thought it silly, her wolf getting excited over a hat, and she
touched the bright feather curled by her cheek, smiling at the thought.

“There. The smile makes it perfect.
I’ve been hat shopping, too.”

Mr. Challenger McCall stood at her side, smiling down at her in a new hat of his own; a
burnished brown Stetson that must have cost him an arm and a leg.

“It suits you,” she told him, because it did.
“You look like you’ve been wearing one all of your life.”

And except for their crisp newness, the heavy cotton twill trousers and the navy bib front shirt looked like he’d worn them all his life, too.

“I’m going to wear my arm out tipping it to every lady I see. You’re the first.” He leaned down so his face was beside hers in the mirror and lifted his hat. Then settling it back, he took a moment to adjust it. “Takes too much time. Maybe I should only tip it to my favorites.” He winked and tipped his hat again. “You’d still be the first.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. McCall?” Rachel had never liked flirting; the eye winking,
as if at an intimate joke; the possible double entendres that she could never decipher. When she was young, she was always afraid of making a fool of herself by misinterpreting sly remarks. And then there were the Jack Coogans who could make the simplest remark sound licentious.

“
What if I were, Miss Kincaid?” he asked, watching her in the mirror.

She was about to tell him it made her uncomfortable when s
he felt a small pinch inside that made her jump. Her wolf had bit her!

“That hat becomes you, Miss Kincaid,” Mrs. Simon called and Mr. McCall
straightened.

“I was just telling her the same thing,” he said.

Mrs. Simon’s eyes slid from McCall to Rachel. “Were you now,” she said with a speculative glint in her eye. “Imagine that, a man who notices a lady’s hat.”

McCall, looking at Rachel and not Mrs. Simon, smiled with that same sly look in his eyes. “The curl of that feather accentuates her cheek and mouth
. Don’t you think? It’s quite…”

“I was telling Sheriff McCall that he needn’t lift the hat from his head,
” Rachel interrupted, signaling with her eyes that she didn’t think he was funny. “That he need merely tug the brim to signify tipping it. He was practicing in the mirror.” It was a fib, but Sadie Bess Simon was a terrible gossip and Rachel didn’t want her passing tales that weren’t true.

“The hat’s lovely,” she said to halt further
comment. She removed the hat from her head and handed it to Mrs. Simon. “I’ll take it.”

“Why don’t you wear it, dear? I’ll just put your porkpie in the bag when I ring you up.” She bustled off to the register.

“I thought this was a clothing store. Do they sell food too?” McCall asked and Rachel looked up at him, confused. “Pork pie? Is it good?”

Rachel laughed. “My hat,” she told him.

“A hat,” he said, shaking his head and looking quite serious. “I need a notebook.”

Again, confusion.
“Mr. McCall, you’re a very difficult man with whom to hold a conversation. Hats, food, notebook? And, by the way, they’re called copybooks. You can buy one at the General Store.”

“You see
? That’s exactly why I need one. Notebooks are copybooks. Hats are porkpies. Underwear are unmentionables…”

“Mr. McCall! They’re unmentionable for a reason,” she hissed and then realized his eyebrows were raised and his cheeks were sucked in to cover a s
mile. “You said that on purpose,” she accused.

He didn’t deny it. “You’re cute when you get all
prim and proper. Maybe I should get a copybook for that, too. Things that make Rachel Kincaid prim and proper.”

They were interrupted by Mrs. Simon calling her to the register.
“Are you going to the Lantern Show, Miss Kincaid?” she asked when the bill was settled.

McCall mouthed the word ‘copybook’, spread his hands, and grinned.

“Pictures shown on a screen,” Rachel explained and then to Mrs. Simon. “When is it? I haven’t heard.”

“Sunday evening after we close the gates.
It’s a potluck and you really should come. Mr. Washington will be speaking about his travels. He’s wonderful to listen to, so compelling. He’s quite handsome and quite, quite… Well, I don’t quite know what to say. You must meet him.”

“She looked like a groupie at a rock concert. Who the hell is Mr. Washington
?” McCall asked when they left the shop.

He snapped his fingers and the faithful Dog trotted from the corner of the building where he’d been sitting quietly awaiting McCall’s return.
He then reached for her packages.

“Language, Mr. McCall,” Rachel reminded, though she was pleased by the gentlemanly gesture.

“Hey, Sheriff! That your wolf? She’s pretty,” a small boy called while his mother tried to drag him away from the dog.

“She is pretty, isn’t she
, and yep, she’s mine.” He reached down and scratched the animal’s ears. “Dog, however, is a boy, a long-haired German Shepherd mix.”

“Does
he bite?” the boy asked, tugging against his mother’s hand while trying to get closer to the dog.

“Not unless I tell
him to.”

“You ever tell
him to?” The boy’s eyes were bright with interest.

“A few times,” McCall told him, perfectly straight faced, “Usually
only small boys who give their mothers a hard time. You’re not one of them, are you?”

The questioning look the boy gave his mother made Rachel
smile.

“No
t today,” the mother laughed.

“Why don
’t you give him a scratch, then?”

The boy scratched Dog between his ears and then looked up. “Hey. Didn’t you say
she’s
pretty? Is it a boy or a girl?”

McCall looked as surprised as Rachel felt, because he’d also said, “She’s mine.”