Wild Card (9 page)

“Come here, Ginny.”

She couldn’t let him comfort her while he was bleeding. “Jack.”

“Ginny, please. Don’t make me come over there and drip blood on your floor.”

She avoided his gaze, keeping hers on his feet as she made her way back to the table. “I don’t care about the floor.”

His uninjured arm curled around her shoulders and tugged her against his chest. “I just need to know you’re okay,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

The rest of the world faded as she touched him. Her hands moved gingerly at first, and then clutched at his back. She breathed in his scent, nestled her face against his shoulder, and tried not to cry. “I’m okay, Jack. I’m not even hurt.”

The faintest sound of shoes on the wood floor heralded Hazel’s arrival. “The towels are on the table,” she whispered. “Is it okay if I go get some air?”

Jack answered before Ginny could. “Don’t go farther than the front porch before Lottie and Thomas get here, and if anyone else shows up, come back inside.”

“Okay.”

When she was gone Jack’s fingers tightened on Ginny’s lower back. “You’re not bad at dealing with things like this.” He laughed, the sound tired enough to make her chest ache. “I can barely manage Hazel on the best of days, and I doubt that’ll last much longer in any case.”

“Special circumstances.” She pulled away and picked up a towel. “Will you sit down, already? Let me look at you.”

He wrapped the second towel around his hips and sat without protest. “I promise I’m going to be okay.”

Ginny bent to look, and only the fact that he’d already stopped bleeding kept her from dissolving into tears. “Think I need to stitch it up?” she whispered, prodding gently at the wound. “It looks deep.”

Jack glanced at the wound and shook his head. “No, I heal fast. I just need a bath and some sleep, really. And some food.” He smiled at her. “And for Thomas to go get me some clothes, since I don’t think I’m squeezing my shoulders into anything you own.”

She kissed him, hard and fast, because she had to, and rested her forehead against his. “Bath. Do you need help, or can I go talk to Hazel?”

“I’ll be fine. Just… figure out how bad it is, would you? I know she’s on edge, but I can’t tell how close.”

“I will.” She didn’t tell him about the scene during the standoff, just straightened and nodded down the hall. “You know where it is.” The need to help him nearly overwhelmed her, but she forced herself to walk toward the front door. “Yell if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny found Hazel shivering on the front porch even in the warm early-morning sun, her arms wrapped tight around her legs as she stared at nothing.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Ginny whispered as she slid down to sit next to her. “I didn’t know Ollie would grab you like that. I don’t think he really planned on it.”

“I was being stupid.” Hazel’s voice sounded flat. “He didn’t mean anything by it. And I know it. I
know
it. But she wants him so much it scrambles my brains.”

“I know.” And she did. Even now, with Hazel’s physical well-being confirmed, the animal inside Ginny demanded that she go in search of Jack. “That’s the hell of it, sweetie. He probably feels the same, but we’re not
just
the wolves. And Ollie --” She broke off and scooted closer to Hazel. “Ollie’s been hurt inside. And I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”

Even scared and confused, Hazel had no problem seeing to the heart of the matter. “You talking about Oliver, or you?”

“Maybe both of us,” she admitted. “I know what it’s like to not be sure if you want to risk it.” She had to swallow past the lump in her throat, and her voice still sounded ragged. “It’s no secret my parents weren’t happy. My mother never got over the War and everything she lost, but my father… He loved her, Hazel. More than anything, he loved her. He always said she’d get better, but she never did. And when she died, he gave up.”

Memories assailed her, and Ginny closed her eyes and leaned back against the house, folding her hands in her lap to hide their shaking. “I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, really. Loving someone as much as he loved her, or -- or disappointing someone as much as Mom did him.”

Hazel leaned into her side. “It was the War, Gin. It fucked everyone up. Things may be harder now than they were before, but Thomas says they’re a lot simpler, too. And you know what else he says?”

She drew in a calming breath and glanced at Hazel. “No, what?”

“That werewolves aren’t meant to be alone, and trying to live that way is like trying to make water run uphill.”

“Thomas is a smart man.” Ginny wrapped her arm around Hazel’s shoulders. “I don’t think we were meant to be alone, either. But I think some of us
have
to be.”

“And I think you’re full of shit.” She could almost hear the smile in Hazel’s voice. “I still like you, though. I just can’t ever get within twenty feet of Oliver ever again, so you might need to help me with that.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Ginny heard Jack moving around inside, his soft footfalls climbing the stairs, and she knew he’d head straight for the bed. The kind of healing he’d done -- and still had to do -- required enormous reserves of energy, and he probably wouldn’t wake up until hunger drove him from the bed.

She and Hazel sat in silence until they heard hoof beats, and several riders appeared in the distance. Ginny recognized Oliver and Lottie, as well as Thomas, the tall beta who served as Jack’s second-in-command.

Hazel’s nervous energy returned, magnified a hundredfold as the girl’s gaze fixed on Oliver. A soft whimper escaped her throat and her fingers tightened painfully on Ginny’s arm. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ll send him out to Dawson’s place, sweetie. He won’t be around for long, all right?”

“Okay.”

The newcomers were still twenty yards out when Thomas held up his hand and said something too soft for Ginny to hear. Lottie nodded, and Oliver tugged off his hat and glanced toward the porch. They both pulled up their mounts and stayed put.

Thomas approached on his own, stopping just short of the porch. His booted feet hit the ground with a soft
thud
and he took the porch steps two at a time. “Ginny?” He spoke to her, but his worried gaze was fixed on Hazel. “What’s going on?”

She stroked one hand through Hazel’s hair. “Jack’s upstairs, and he’ll probably sleep all afternoon. Hazel? Can you go check out my cupboards and see what I can throw in a pot for dinner?”

“Okay.” Hazel rose to her feet and scurried inside without so much as a glance at Thomas, who watched her go with a distant, worried look.

When she was gone, he transferred that calm, measured gaze to Ginny. “Do you know how long she’s been fighting it for?”

“Too long.” Ginny rose and shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Today almost broke her, though. I’m trying to talk her past the waiting, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”

“Shit.” Thomas pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his short hair. “She’s young for it, so I hadn’t really noticed how bad it had gotten.” He hesitated, then glanced at Ginny and asked the last question she would have expected. “What do you need us to do?”

She wanted to protest, ask him why he was asking her, but her answer came automatically. “Take Ollie and head out to Dawson’s spread. Make sure anyone who has ideas about making trouble knows what happened, and tell them to come fetch their friends’ bodies before nightfall. Lottie can stay here and help me with Hazel. All things considered, I think it’d be smarter for you to escort them back to town instead of Ollie.”

Thomas studied her for just a moment too long, and she got the oddest feeling he’d been testing her. The corner of his mouth ticked up and he nodded to her. “Can’t argue with your logic, Ginny. You’ll look after Jack?”

Her own smile was rueful. “He’s in good hands. I hope Ollie told you he’d need something to wear.”

“Ah, yes.” Thomas hopped back off the porch without bothering with the steps and moved back to his horse to unbuckle a saddlebag. “I brought some things from my house. They may not be a perfect fit, but they’ll do.”

“Thanks.” She took the bag and waved to Oliver and Lottie, both of whom raised hands in greeting. “Send Lottie over. Maybe, together, we can talk some kind of sense into Hazel.”

Thomas snorted. “Good luck with that,” he murmured as he followed her gaze. “Can’t talk sense into a werewolf in love.”

Which meant Lottie was still skirting his courting with careful deliberation. “I suppose you can’t. Be careful, Thomas.”

“Mmm. You too, Ginny.” Thomas shot her a serious look. “Take care of the alpha.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

He smiled as if he found the comment amusing and swung back up onto his horse. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, you will.” She walked inside as he rode away.

Hazel was in the kitchen, making more noise than progress as she banged through the cupboards without focusing on anything long enough to even see it. “Is he gone?” she asked without turning around.

“Headed out with Thomas to take care of a few things.” Ginny opened her vegetable bin and gathered some potatoes. “Can you peel these for me? Lottie will be in any minute now.”

“Okay.” But she didn’t move toward the table, just kept pacing nervously until the door finally opened to reveal Lottie. Hazel jerked to a stop and turned. “Pick one,” she blurted.

Charlotte Daniel hardly ever looked nonplussed, but she blinked at Hazel. “Pick one what?”

“One of those boys,” Hazel replied, her tone agitated. “Just… pick one. And I’ll do it. And this can all be done with.”

Lottie shot Ginny a confused look. “What happened?”

She sighed. “Oliver Russell is apparently very hot in the middle of a gunfight.”

“Oh.” The shorter blonde woman blushed a little. “I, uh… suppose he would be.”

Hazel’s snarl tore through the room. “Oliver fucking Russell can go fuck himself, with his fucking hands and his fucking growling orders and all of his fucking hotness.” And with that completely incoherent statement out of the way, the girl burst into hysterical tears.

Chapter Six

Ginny’s bedroom was dark when Jack awoke for the second time that day. His boots stood beside her bed, but the neatly folded clothes on the chair belonged to Thomas.

He sat up and took slow, careful inventory of his aches and pains. He was sore and exhausted, but the wound on his arm had knit shut. The most persistent discomfort was hunger, but the smell wafting up from the kitchen would cure that.

Jack rose from the bed and pulled on the pants. He buttoned them as he moved toward the stairs, too hungry to bother with a shirt.
And too worried.
He’d half expected to wake up with Ginny curled around him, and her absence had been almost as uncomfortable as the rumbling of his stomach.

She was in the sitting room, a book in her lap. She looked up and marked her place when he stopped in the doorway. “You must be starving.”

His heart jumped, and he had to fight to keep his tone casual. “I am.”

“I made stew,” she murmured, rising, and she didn’t look at him as she brushed past and headed for the kitchen.

He followed her to the kitchen, refusing to acknowledge the dread uncurling in the pit of his stomach. “What happened after Thomas got here?”

Ginny ladled the hearty-looking stew into a bowl. “He and Oliver rode out to Dawson’s to make sure things were settled.” She set the bowl at the end of the table next to a platter of rolls. “And Lottie’s going to find a mate for Hazel.”