Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) (8 page)

"He didn't mean it, Mr. Holt" she said quickly, "He's new. He doesn’t understand." She made sure she kept her eyes cast down in deference to his position. This wasn't about his aggressive courtship. His position in the pack gave him no right to force her to mate. This was about McCall.

"I understand he's an ass. That alone should be worthy of a challenge, but I don't need to look for a reason," McCall said to her, but his eyes never left Holt's.

Holt was breathing hard. Rachel could feel the tension as he strained to control his power. She swallowed
the lump of fear in her throat, her body taut as a fiddle string as she waited for the explosion she knew would come. Her head snapped up when Holt spoke.

"You can't Challenge for Second. You're not a member of this pack and you never will be." He spat the words as if McCall wasn't worthy of membership, but Rachel recognized it for what it was. Holt was backing down.

The fool wolver laughed again. "I never said I'd Challenge for Second. I couldn't if I want to, which I don't. The Second's position is earned, not won, or have you forgotten that?" He shook his head at the implied stupidity. "The Challenge would be personal, over your assault of a female and just in case you've forgotten that, too, any male from any pack has the right to do that under Primal Law. You have heard of Primal Law, haven't you?"

He would Challenge
Barnabas Holt on her behalf? Head still lowered, Rachel's eyes slid to the newcomer. The churning inside her settled into something warm, but unfamiliar.

"Your word against mine, McCall.
No witnesses," Holt sneered.

Rachel knew both men were looking at her, but she couldn't look up. Instead, she looked at her tablecloths strewn in the dirt at her feet. The warmth inside her coalesced into a burning ball that uncoiled into the wolf she thought had died. Her hands started to shake as the long absent sensation of her inner wolf made its presence known. Its growl was almost a whisper, directed not at the situation, but at her complac
ency. She toed the filthy linen and that's when it hit her.

Holt was
counting on her to refuse to air her 'dirty linen' in public. He was counting on her keeping the shameful secret to herself.

Insides quaking
, she was surprised how steady her voice sounded as she quietly said, "There is a witness, Mr. Holt. You seem to have forgotten. I was there, too."

"Well, there you have it. What's it to be, Holt? How long would you last as Second once it's known you've assaulted one of the fair and gentle females of Gold Gulch?
Hmm?" Mr. McCall turned away and then turned back. "Oh, and about that job I'm never going to get? You're too fucking late to the party on that one, too." McCall pulled the badge from the pocket of his jeans. "Your Mayor already hired me."

Chapter 7

Mr. McCall led her through the door to the kitchen and held the chair for her as he sat her at the table. She was still shaking, but whether it was from fear, or anger, or the fact that her wolf had awakened after all these years, she wasn't sure.

She wasn't sure about a lot of things lately and the inner turmoil was driving her mad. Look what she'd done to Jack Coogan in the restaurant. Good heavens! What had possessed her to lose her temper with that silly fool? He'd been a thorn in her side since he sat behind her in school and regularly trapped her pigtail between his desk and her seat so she made a fool of herself every time she was called upon to rise. She hadn't lost her temper like that with Jack since she was twelve.

And now this.
She'd not only bitten the Second of her pack, Bitten! She'd threatened to testify against him. The shaking worsened and she lowered her head to her hands. She felt a warm hand at her upper back.

"You got anything
other than ice tea around here?" Mr. McCall asked.

"Um, lemonade, I think. No. Eustace had that with his supper." Her brain wasn't functioning very well. It was difficult to think. Um, coffee?" she said. Yes, coffee was a drink and she was pretty sure they had some. She looked up into eyes dancing with humor. He was laughing at her.

"I was thinking of something a little stronger," he said, his mouth steady and straight despite his dancing eyes.

"Oh." She frowned, not understanding his meaning and then she did. "Oh! What a fool you must think me, Mr. McCall.
Of course. Papa keeps a bottle in his office. I'll go get it."

He'd rescued her, for heaven's sake, and she hadn't thanked him or offered him any hospitality. She started to rise, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"You're shaken, but no fool, Miss Kincaid," he answered gently, but firmly. "You sit. Tell me where he keeps it and I'll go get it."

Well, she couldn't very well tell him that, now could she? Her father kept his liquor in the safe and as chivalrous as McCall's actions were, she couldn't very well give him, a stranger,
the combination. Hospitality, her call of duty, quickly cleared the cobwebs befuddling her mind.

"I'm quite all right, Mr. McCall," she told him, sounding more prim than she meant it to. "I'll fetch it. The gentleman's lounge might be more comfortable for you. You're
welcome to take your refreshment in there or I can bring a tray up to your room."

"No, Miss Kincaid, the kitchen will be fine. I shall await your return with baited breath."

He was mocking her, but what else could she expect. He'd only seen her at her very worst; with Jack Coogan, her father, and now Barnabas Holt. She nodded and hurried from the room in search of whatever strong refreshment her father might have locked away.

When she returned, bottle in hand, he was coming through the back door with her laundry basket filled with the dirtied cloths. He looked at her and grinned.

"If you use a tub and a washboard, you're on your own, but if you have an honest-to-God electric washer, point me to it and I'll throw these in for you. Better get them washed before the dirt dries."

"Oh, no, Mr. McCall, you mustn't. It wouldn't be right. Please, sit down. Have your drink with my blessings. I'm exceedingly grateful for
your…"

He glanced to his left. "Never mind, I see it. Stay," he said to the dog
who had followed him in. The dog sat.

"No! Mr. McCall, I cannot allow you to…" The bottle tilted dangerously as she placed it on the table and she bobbled it back and forth with her still shaking hands.

"Damnit, woman, get off your fucking high horse and sit your ass down. I didn't ask your permission and I know how to use a goddamned washing machine." When she didn't move, he pointed to the chair and said, "Sit!" and then, quite sharply to the dog, "Guard."

The dog stood and stared at Rachel. Since it had already shown her its teeth once tonight, she thought it best to do as she was told and sit. Mr. McCall could not, however, stop her from thinking. No one had ever used such words to her before
. She'd heard them, of course. Visitors and tourists, wolver and human, used them regularly, but they were outsiders, not pack.

She was offended by them and would have told him so if not for the fact that he'd done her a great service. She would, instead, patiently explain to him that no gentleman would use such language in front of the ladies of the pack. If he was to live among them, Mr. McCall would have to learn the rules. She folded her hands and awaited his return.

Her wolf, silent for so long, suddenly decided to voice an opinion. It yipped and spun inside her, laughing at her timidity in the face of a mere dog. It snorted with wolfish glee.

"
You? Bite McCall
?" it laughed at Rachel's intended reprimand of the newcomer. "
He'll bite back!
"

"Go back to sleep," Rachel muttered, remembering why she'd banished her wolf in the first place.

"Did you say something?" McCall asked, entering the kitchen with the washer chug-chugging in the room behind him.

"Mr. McCall! Where are your shoes?"
His feet were long and broad like his hands and she wondered curiously if his whole form would match the structure of those hands and feet or did the drape of his clothes hide skinny…. She blushed at where the thought took her.

Fortunately, McCall missed her blush.
He looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. "Guess I didn't think I needed them."

"You really should be wearing shoes, Mr. McCall."

"I'll try to remember that the next time I rescue you. Do you require a jacket and tie, too?"

"I didn't mean it that way," she said and
she didn’t, but something about it bothered her. "I'm sorry. I must be over tired and, as you say, shaken."

"Probably, but you won't be able to sleep if you don't relax. Glasses?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll get them." Rachel started to rise and the dog issued a low growl. She pointed to the cupboard beside the sink as she sat back down.

McCall set two glasses on the table. "Down," he said to the dog and the dog immediately lay at Rachel's feet, inching forward until it could lay its nose on her shoe. McCall laughed and told her, "He likes you."

"Does he always snarl at people he likes?" she asked and tried to shift her foot away from the dog. It did no good. For every inch her foot moved, the dog moved two until its head covered her shoe.

"You mean outside?" he asked as he poured a little of the amber liquid into each glass. "That was a first. I didn't tell him to do it. Maybe he thought you needed protecting or maybe he thought he was protecting me. You swing a mean basket, you know." He pushed one of the glasses toward her. "Drink up."

"I am sorry about that, too," she said of the basket and raised her palm to the offered glass. "No, thank you. I should have said something. I don't drink. Well, a little sherry, now and again, and Bertie fixed me a hot toddy once with lots of sugar and lemon when I had a cold." It was nervous chatter and so unlike her, she clamped her mouth shut.

He smiled.
"Purely medicinal, then. Sip it. It will help you relax."

Rachel looked at the glass and then at McCall, who nodded.

"I really shouldn't," she said, but she'd always wondered what her father's attraction was to whiskey.

The first sip was like swallowing fire, but at McCall's laughing insistence, she took another. That one went down much easier and the third tasted quite nice.

He lifted the towel covering the extra plate of food. "You saving this for someone?"

"It was supposed to be yours. You get two meals a day with your board, but it's been sitting out a while. Let me get you something else."

He sniffed at the plate. "It's fine. Stay where you are," he said and began to eat. "It's good. Dog and me get a little tired of my cooking and fast food gets… well, it's fast food." He shrugged as if she knew what he meant and went back to eating.

"I've never had fast food," she told him.

"You're not missing much." He winked, but it was friendly and not at all like Mr. Coogan's. "Nice place you've got here. I feel like I'm living in the lap of luxury compared to my last place."

"It's hardly luxurious, Mr. McCall." Rachel took another sip and if it hadn't been for her corset holding her firmly upright, she would have slumped back in her chair.

"Eyes of the beholder, Miss Kincaid. I'm happy with clean sheets and a pillow that doesn't smell like dead things have been living in it. Up there I've got a mattress with no lumps, curtains on the window and a cushy rug on the floor, a shower that works and a toilet that flushes. Oh, yeah, and that fancy bed cover to top it all off." He nodded his head. "Lap of luxury. Sure as hell beats living in a tent."

Rachel winced at the profanity, but he continued talking before she could object.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked, taking a sip from his own glass.

"All my life.
I've never been outside the pack boundaries." She raised her brows when she saw his surprise. "We're an insular pack, Mr. McCall. We have all we need right here."

"What about mating?" he asked as he poured a little more into her glass.

His curiosity was evident and Rachel knew why. It wasn't Law, but most packs encouraged mating outside the pack to avoid the pitfalls of inbreeding. It brought in new blood and kept the pack healthy.

"We're a tourist attraction and some of our visitors are wolvers. Some of those visitors extend their stay if they find someone who attracts their interest. Some of the newly mated stay and some go." She didn't tell him it was mostly the women who wanted to leave, hoping to find an easier life in another pack. Men, however, liked Gold Gulch and were happy to stay, which was why they had an overabundance of them and Miss Daisy's Bouquet did such good business.

He asked her questions about the town and she answered, until he finally came around, as she knew he would, to Barnabas Holt.

"How often does that happen?" he asked.

"This is the first time he's become aggressive. Normally, he just pesters me."

"And you have no interest?"

Rachel frowned. She knew what he was thinking. It was every wolver female's priority to seek a mate, breed and bear a litter of pups just like Emily Newcomb's sow, and work herself into an early grave. She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye, daring him to contradict her oft repeated declaration.

"In
Barnabas Holt? Good gracious no, Mr. McCall, nor have I an interest in any other wolver. I intend to live my life just as I am, Gold Gulch's first and only spinster."

"I can see why, if the two yahoos I've seen sniffing around are any indication of what's available. Do you have any other suitors I should be aware of? Just in case. I mean, a woman who looks like you should have them lining up at the door."

She felt herself blush at the blatant flattery, but her voice was firm. "None, Mr. McCall, and they are not my suitors."

"Then what the hell would you call them?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I've never given them any indication of interest. As I said, I'm content as I am."

Unlike the members of her pack, he didn't argue with her or point out the unnaturalness of her decision. He merely nodded and raised the bottle, offering her
another drink, treating her like an equal.

Rachel liked his response and began to relax. She felt quite daring, sitting alone with a man, sipping whiskey. Her wolf's tail was thumping away and it was nice to feel that for once, she and her wolf were in accord. When Mr. McCall poured her another, she didn't say no.