Native Wolf (31 page)

"Claire...Claire Parker."

Her reply startled him from his mental ramblings. "Hmm?"

"My name is Claire Parker."

Something about that name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

"And I’m not Campbell’s woman," she added.

"Oh."

"I’m...I’m..."

"Yeah?" Ordinarily, he could coax honey from a bee, but tonight he had no patience. "Look, ma’am, I’m in no mood for—”

"I’m Chase Wolf’s woman," she blurted. "At least—”

"What?" he boomed, forgetting where they were and what time of night it was.

"That is, I was. We...he..."

"Now just hold your horses," Drew told her, groping the night table for matches. He’d get to the bottom of this, but to do it, he needed to see the woman’s face, so he could tell when she was lying. He found a match, struck it, and lit the wick of the room’s lamp. A split second later, he remembered he was wearing nothing but his drawers.

Her second gasp, however, had nothing to do with his lack of clothing.

"You look so..." she choked, her big green eyes moist, "...so much like him."

"Naw, Chase is the pretty one." The line was a jest between the two brothers. He’d said it so many times that he did so now out of habit.

Most people giggled at the joke. But the forlorn woman looked like she’d succumb to tears any minute. And he couldn’t have that. If there was anything Drew couldn’t handle, it was a woman’s tears.

Against his better judgment, he set the poker beside the hearth and draped a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulders. Instead of helping, it made her begin shaking with soft weeping.

"Oh, there, there, ma’am," he said, patting her back, letting her sniffle against his chest. "Don’t you go workin’ yourself up into a tizzy now." Her tears melted his common sense like whiskey dissolving a lemon drop. It wasn’t long before he was saying things he shouldn’t, making pledges he wasn’t sure he could keep. "Don’t you worry. We’ll sort this all out."

She turned her hopeful face up toward him. She was sort of pretty, in a pale, delicate way, like a dogwood flower. "We will?"

"You bet." He had no idea what he was promising, but he’d promise a woman just about anything to get her to smile.

"Then you’ll break into the jail?"

That woke him right up. "Whoa!" The explosion was less potent this time, but he knew if he kept making outbursts like that, he’d wake up the whole town. "What?" he hissed, grasping her by the shoulders.

Her face was frozen in an expression of hope mingled with fear, and, like a bolt from the blue, he finally remembered where he’d heard her name before. Samuel Parker. The rancher. He’d been looking for his little girl.

He perused her once from head to toe. Claire Parker might be little, but she was no girl. Her shawl had slipped askew, and he could see the slight curve of her bosom where she’d skipped the buttons on her dress.

Hell. He smelled trouble. For both of them.

She shouldn’t be here. Not with a stranger. Not with a half-breed. And especially not with a gambler who had just won a haul of cash off of a local lawman.

"Look," he said, pressing her down until she perched on the edge of his bed. "We’re gonna sit here, and you’re gonna tell me everything, beginnin’ to end."

It took a quarter of an hour, but she did, and try as he might to spot the holes in her story, there weren’t any, aside from the careful omission of what sort of mischief she and his brother had been caught at by her father. And that was pretty obvious. As unlikely as it seemed, his brother had fallen for the woman he’d kidnapped for revenge. And gotten himself into a nasty predicament for it.

Now he knew why their father had insisted the brothers travel together. He’d thought it was so Chase could keep him out of trouble. Never had he considered it would be the other way around.

Of course, he’d have to help his brother escape. He wouldn’t let Chase take a bullet for him. Besides, he wasn’t about to trust the justice system of this town, not when its lawmen got so drunk they couldn’t tell a pair of Kings from a pair of Jacks. He’d have to bust Chase out of jail—now, tonight—before Campbell had a chance to try him. It was risky as hell, but what choice did he have?

He retrieved his trousers from the bed and stepped into them, then yanked his shirt from the bedpost.

"Then you’ll help?" the lady asked breathlessly.

"Course I’ll help," he said, flashing her a reassuring smile.

He trusted it wouldn’t take too long. He wanted to be back before dawn. After all, there was a beautiful woman waiting for him here, and he didn’t want her filling up her dance card with anyone else.

After he was dressed, he absently reached for his gun belt and suddenly remembered where his Colt was. He’d left it in her room.

He didn’t dare go for it. Even if she didn’t shoot him with it when he walked into her room, he’d have to explain where he was going and what he was doing and why he was in the company of a sweet little blonde in the middle of the night.

He sighed and threw on his duster. He hoped he could manage without the Colt.

Claire’s heart raced. She felt lightheaded and elated, as if she’d drunk too much Madeira, as they wordlessly crossed the dusty road. She'd done it. She'd found Chase’s brother. And he was going to help her.

It hadn’t been easy finding him. She’d asked at all the hotels. It finally occurred to her to look for him at the Parlor.

It had offended her sensibilities to set foot in such an establishment. It had further offended her when the woman who ran the place gave her a thorough looking-over as if she were applying for a position there.

Once Claire explained that she had to speak to Drew Hawk about an urgent
family
matter, the woman glanced down at her belly and shook her head. Muttering something about a gambler’s true colors, she led her up the stairs and pointed out Drew’s room.

To be honest, Claire had been surprised he was alone. Chase had painted Drew as a philanderer, a wild firebrand as handy with the ladies as he was with a weapon. His facility with a fireplace poker she’d quickly discovered, but she wasn’t sure about his charm, which was why she’d needed to turn on the tears a bit to convince him to help her.

Now that she had a notorious gunslinger by her side, all they had to do was figure out how to get inside the jailhouse.

"I’m sure there’s just one guard," Claire volunteered. "You could probably get him with a single shot, right?"

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"I mean," she amended, "if the light’s good and...and..."

He looked at her with a mixture of wonder and disgust, then walked on.

She followed, tugging on his arm to halt him again. "Chase told me you were a dead-eye."

He narrowed his eyes and drawled, "You been readin’ dime novels, ma’am?"

Her cheeks flamed like a Christmas hearth. "Dime no-...wh-...bu-"

"I’m not gonna shoot anyone."

He stalked off without her, muttering something else she couldn’t make out. Too mortified for words, she scurried silently after him.

"You wait here," he said when they got close to the back of the block building. He pointed to a blind of manzanitas.

She crouched beside the brush and watched him. He moved with the grace of a cat for all his size, slipping close to the edge of the wall and circling the structure. She waited for several minutes while he stole around the front of the building. Finally he crept back to where she waited.

She tried to hide her disappointment. She’d half expected him to bring Chase with him.

"There’s one door, no windows," he whispered. "There’s a horse tethered outside. I could hear the guard inside, playin’ solitaire."

Claire frowned. She wondered how he knew it was solitaire he was playing.

He shrugged, guessing her question. "Rhythm of the cards."

"So you’ll have to break down the door?"

He actually winced. "No."

"Then how will you..."

He rubbed his palm thoughtfully over his jaw. "We’ll need a little time. And a distraction."

He grew silent for a long while after that, and she bit her lip in frustration. Finally she could stand it no more.

"But he’s just on the other side of that wall," she whispered, fighting to keep the irritation from her voice. "Can’t you just charge in, shoot the guard, fire a couple of times at the lock until it busts open, steal the guard’s horse, and ride off into the night?"

She wished she hadn’t said anything. He gave her such a look of amusement that she blushed all over again.

"And was that Dashing Dick who did that or Buckskin Bill?"

Humiliated, she verbally lashed out at him. "Chase would do it for
you
."

He grew instantly somber. "No. Even my bull-necked brother would use his brains, not his brawn.” He scratched at his cheek. “What’s he wearin’? Is he dressed anything like me?”

She shook her head. Chase was wearing blue jeans and a blue shirt. Drew sported a fancy white shirt and brown trousers.

“All right then,” Drew said with a sigh. “Here’s what we’re gonna do."

After he told her his plan, Claire decided Drew was a good brother after all. He was noble, brave, and selfless. And if his crazy scheme worked, she would owe Drew much more than she could ever repay.

While Claire stood guard, Drew shuffled out of his clothing. When he’d stripped down to his drawers, he asked her, “There. How do I look?"

She turned cautiously. "Good," she said with a nervous nod. "You look good."

One corner of his mouth curled up, reminding her painfully of Chase. "You know, most ladies say that with a little more enthusiasm." He winked at her. “You remember what you’re supposed to do?"

She nodded, swallowing hard.

He gave her arm a squeeze. "Tell Chase I’m headin’ south." Just before he slipped away, he winked. "And don’t you go shootin’ anybody, Calamity."

Claire’s heart raced like a runaway train while she waited.

Everything seemed to go according to plans. She heard the jailer’s horse snorting and whinnying under Drew’s pestering, drawing the jailer from his game of solitaire. She held her breath as a widening swath of light indicated the jailer had opened the door to see what was up. Drew’s plan was to hesitate long enough to let the man see his face.

"What in the holy hell?"

Then Drew took off like a streak. Only then did Claire realize the gunslinger was unarmed.

Muttering another curse, the jailer drew his gun and scrambled after him on foot, leaving the door wide open.

Trembling, Claire counted slowly to five. Then she ran into the jailhouse.

All night, Chase had been tossing and turning on the jail cot. He couldn't quiet the raging thoughts inside his head.

He had to protect his brother. Those charges against him were false. He knew Drew. Drew would never cheat at cards. He didn’t have to.

But what if Drew couldn't be found? What if Chase had to defend himself against the charges? He didn’t have Drew’s charm or his silver tongue. By morning, Chase could very well find himself with a rope around his neck.

Yet how could he die? Chase didn’t feel like his journey was finished. He was meant to mend Yoema’s broken circle. What sense would it make for him to pass from this world before wedding Yoema’s spirit daughter, before healing the past, and without leaving children to bring honor to his ancestors?

He sat up on the cot, bowed his head over his knees, and closed his eyes, praying to Yiman-tiwinyay for a vision. But the only thing he saw were visions of Claire...her face luminous with adoration, her eyes dancing with laughter as he caught the trout, her naked tears at her grief over Yoema, the softness of her smile by the firelight, the ecstasy in her gaze when he entered her and they became one.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to erase the bittersweet images, but he couldn't. It was as if the joining of their bodies had also welded their spirits together. And now, separating from her was impossible to imagine, like removing the copper from bronze.