Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) (4 page)

Chapter 3

"Papa's not going to like this," Rachel said as she stripped the sheets from the bed of Room 3, formerly Mr. Jack Coogan's room. "He'll be so angry."

Mrs. Hornmeyer's head snapped between the two speakers as sharply as she snapped the new sheet into place
.

"No he won't," Bertie stated emphatically. She stuffed the last of Jack Coogan's
unmentionables into the suitcase. "Not once you tell him what that no-good weasel said."

"Oh, I couldn't tell Papa that." It was too personal. Like some of the other things he's said, it was too embarrassing to
reveal to her father or any other man.

She
knew Mrs. Hornmeyer was curious, but too polite to ask and Rachel couldn't bring herself to repeat what she'd already told Bertie. Saying it once was hard enough and that was to Bertie who knew everything about her, including how many diapers she wet through when she was two days old. That's how long Bertie had been with her.

"I could. Not that he'd listen to the likes of me,
" Bertie told her, snapping the case shut. "But somebody ought to show him up for what he is. I'd like to know how he got himself a seat at the big bug's table in the first place. His folks were no more 'n me and Victor, hard-working betas. And don't tell me he earned it. Murlene Davis' cub started over to the Bank long before Jack Coogan and he ain't livin' near so high off the hog."

Jack Coogan's ambition was another thing her father admired. Coogan had made the leap from beta to alpha
and Papa spoke of him as a wolver on the rise. Not unusual, yet in this case, Rachel failed to see how or why. While the man had some brawn to him and could no doubt handle himself physically in a Challenge, as far as she could see he was a coffee boiler, a lazy and shiftless wolver.

Rachel had no idea what
a Challenge entailed because females took no part in it, just as they took no part in any of the decisions made for the businesses of Gold Gulch. Their standing within the pack was based on their father's standing and eventually their mate's. They had no rights, but those their governing male gave them and those rights were few.

It was the way things had always been and up until a little over a year ago, Rachel had never thought much about it. With the exception of her refusal to mate, she'd accepted the role she was born to play. She'd been content. Nothing in her life
had changed, yet slowly her contentment began to fade and was replaced by a growing dissatisfaction with the hand she'd been dealt.

"What's wrong with me?"

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Mrs. Hornmeyer answered.

"Why, nothing's wrong with you, dear.
You're a lovely young woman with a fine face and figure. You have this fine hotel as an inheritance and you've plenty of time to bear young. I can think of a number of young wolvers who would consider themselves fortunate to have you. Once you're mated and have someone to take care of you, things will settle down."

In Rachel's present mood
, it was the wrong thing to say.

"
No! I don't have an inheritance," she snapped and Mrs. Hornmeyer jumped. "I've run this hotel for fifteen years, but it will never be mine. It makes no difference if I mate or not, a male will profit from my hard work and if that male decides to turn this place into a gambling hall, I will have no voice in that decision. What can a mate offer me that I don't already have? The privilege of making his meals? Keeping his house? Bearing pups who also need to be fed and cared for? And all in addition to the work I do here. And what will be my reward if I somehow manage to outlast the male in charge?"

"Rachel," Bertie warned, but Rachel wasn't listening.

"I'll end up renting a room from someone else because my house isn't mine any more, living on the trifle I've managed to save from what little pocket money I've been allowed or on the allowance my family pays me to stay away because it’s cheaper than feeding me themselves. So I ask you, what good does it do me to mate?"

Poor Mrs. Hornmeyer looked like she'd been slapped and
realizing how close to home she'd hit, Rachel was immediately contrite.

"Oh no, Mrs. Hornmeyer, I didn't mean… I only meant…"

"If you don't mind, dear, I think I'll go to my room. I'm not…" She sniffed and turned away. "Not feeling very well."

"You know that window God opened for us?" Bertie said when the door closed behind the
weeping woman, "I think you just closed it." She shook her head with a look of disgust. "Your poor mother would be ashamed of what you just did, cutting that poor woman down when she's already been pushed lower than she deserves. Do you know why she's here? Because that sorry excuse of a son of hers tossed her out.

"
I remember when Liddy Hornmeyer first came to Gold Gulch, her but a slip of a girl, newly mated and willing to do what she could to make a go of it. That was over fifty years ago, when this place still wasn't much of anything but loose boards and sagging roofs. Lucius Hornmeyer was a good man, a good wolver, and I don't believe for a minute he'd leave his wife thinking she'd have nowhere to go and nothing to go with. I expect he thought his son would do his duty by his Mama, just like Lucius done by his, but that son of his is cut from different cloth. He'd as soon she starved to death if it'd save him the few dollars he spares her every month.

"Then you come along and rub her nose in it. I never thought I'd say this, Rachel Kincaid, but I'm ashamed of you, too."

Rachel sat heavily on the partially made bed, beaten by the rebuke and horrified at her own cruelty. "If it's any consolation, I'm ashamed of myself. I'll apologize."

"Sorry don't fix what's broke," Bertie told her.

"I know," Rachel said sadly. Once words were said, they couldn’t be taken back. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were pleading. "What's wrong with me, Bertie? I'm so angry all the time. It's been building and building inside. I can't keep it down any more and I feel like I'm going to explode. And please don't tell me I need a man, because I don't. I don't."

Bertie stared at Rachel for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. "When was the last time you took a walk through this town and said howdy to your neighbor
ladies? I ain't talkin' going to the mercantile to place an order. I'm talkin' about socializin'."

"Bertie, I don't have time…"
Rachel began, but shut her mouth and closed her eyes when she felt the anger rising again.

"I ain't
passin' judgment, I’m askin'."

"I don't know.
Years."

"Why?" Bertie asked.

"You know why!" Rachel answered and felt her temper flare yet again. "I don't have time. By the time I get the hotel ready for bed, I'm ready for bed myself."

Bertie nodded.
"Then maybe you better make time and get out there and take a look around, because you're gonna find a whole passel of women out there who look like you. They smile at the tourists, but that smile don't reach their eyes. They're wore out. Not like me," she laughed suddenly and winked.

"What's the secret then, Bertie?
You work harder than anyone I know."

"I got Victor," Bertie laughed. "Now don't go lookin' all prissy at me. I ain't sayin' you need a man, unless, of course, you can find one like Victor.
"

Rachel stared at the woman. Victor Mullins wasn't any wolver woman's dream. He was small and wiry with a face like a mule. He had little ambition and the only reason he kept his beta position within the pack was because he showed up promptly three times a day to get shot while robbing the bank, cheating at cards or insulting a gambler's card playing. Folks said he was so good at dying because he liked lying down. When
he wasn't getting shot, he could be found doing town maintenance or sitting on someone's porch, playing checkers or tidily-winks with the tourists.

"I know what you're thinking," Bertie said with another laugh, "And I'm telling you, I got a better life than most. I like my job. I like the lady I work for." She winked. "'
Cept when she's being mean to poor widows. I come in, do my job and go home. You're the one working after hours, not me, and I'll tell you another little secret about that no-account Victor. When I go home to fix lunch for him? I'm lyin'. He's the one that makes it every day. Breakfast, too. He's not ashamed of woman's work and he does his share. I don't speak of it, because I don't want to shame him in front of the other men and I'd be ashamed to admit it, too, because it says I'm not a proper mate and housekeeper, but it's what works for us, so we keep our little secret. We're a team, me and Victor, and if you look close at Laura and Mary's eyes, you'll see them smilin', too, because Victor taught our boys how to treat their mates."

Rachel was seeing Victor in a whole new light, but that new light wasn't shining on her.

"I'm happy for you, Bertie. I really am, but what does all this have to do with me and the other women who look like me."

"I figure it'd be some comfort to know you're not alone. I'm thinking you're at a crossroads and you've got to figure out which way to turn. You've got
to settle it in here." Bertie patted her stomach. "You've got to accept the life you're livin' or you've got to change it."

"And how would I
do that?"

"Don't know, but I've know
n you since you were a wee pup and you've always been a smart one. You'll figure it out. Now, let's get this bed made and I'll take this trash…" She pointed to Coogan's bags. "…down to the front desk while you…" She pointed at Rachel and gave her 'the eye' which Rachel hadn't seen in years."…get your apologies over with. Go on now, own up to your faults and seek forgiveness."

It was what Rachel's mother always said and between 'the eye' and the words, Rachel felt like she was six again when she knocked on Mrs. Hornmeyer's door. The feeling didn't leave her when
, at the sniffled "Come in", she opened it to find Mrs. Hornmeyer sitting in her rocker, staring off into space, a sodden and crumpled hanky in her hand. Hands held tightly together in front of her to stop their wringing, Rachel looked down at her feet.

"Mrs. Hornmeyer, I've come to say I'm sorry. I was upset about other things and I had no right to take my anger out on you and say such hateful things.
I don't know why I said what I did. It was wrong and it was shameful and I hope you'll accept my apology and forgive me my rudeness."

"I have never been so hurt and angry in my life," Mrs. Hornmeyer whispered and Rachel knew she deserved everything she was about to hear
and steadied herself to hear it. And then the world tilted a little as Mrs. Hornmeyer continued.

"As I was when my son's mate told me I had no place in her house. Her house!
When I first came here as Mr. Hornmeyer's new mate, that place was more gap than board. We slept in the storeroom and I cooked our meals on a fire out back. We only saw tourists on the weekend back then and mighty few of them at that, but we believed we were a part of building something good; a safe place to earn our way and raise our cubs. We scraped. We saved. We paid our tithe to the Alpha and the pack. I hauled board and plaster alongside my mate and built that home above the store one room at a time. Sixty years of labor to build what we have and every week, Mr. Hornmeyer put a bit by with Mr. Slocum over at the bank, sometimes no more than a dollar. For our old age, he'd say, and then he up and died before we got there. And now I find out all those years were for nothing. That money we saved? It's my son's. The business, too." Mrs. Hornmeyer slammed her fist on the arm of her chair so hard, she winced and began to cry.

"You only spoke the truth, Miss Kincaid, but you were wrong about
the money. I never had any pocket money to save and my son doesn't pay me a penny. My Pittance comes from the pack. Mr. Slocum had me sign some papers and every month I collect my bit. He says it's the pack's duty to take care of those who can't take care of themselves." She dabbed at her eyes. "I'm so ashamed."

This was something Rachel had never heard of
, probably because, like Mrs. Hornmeyer, folks considered it too shameful to share; work all your life and end up a charity case. She wondered how many men lived off the pack's charity. It was one more thing that didn't seem fair.

"I shouldn't have
told you my secret," Mrs. Hornmeyer said. "It's not something that should be spoken of." In polite society, money was never mentioned. It was another secret that shouldn’t be shared.

"Yes, you should. A burden shared is a burden halved
." Rachel repeated more words her mother used to say, but she was thinking of things that shouldn't be spoken of.

Why shouldn't they? Wh
y shouldn't Bertie be able to tell the whole world about Victor? They'd done nothing wrong. Why should Mrs. Hornmeyer have to carry her burden alone? She'd done nothing wrong. Why should she, herself, be ashamed to tell others about the kind of men Barnabas Holt and Jack Coogan were?

It made her wonder how many other secrets were held in Gold Gulch simply because someone decided they were too shameful to be spoken of.

Bertie said she would have to live with her life as it was or change it.