Brides of the West (17 page)

Evangeline reached up and touched his cheek,
then trailed a lazy finger along his jaw line and downward over his
Adam’s apple. She lingered on the scar at his throat.

"Why are you looking at me like that,
Wolf?"

He shrugged. “I still have difficulty
believing this is real, that we’re married and have a son.”

She sat up and inched closer to him, her
hands cradling his face. “If I could change the past I would. I’ve
searched my heart a million times and know that if I had yesterday
to do all over again, I might have done many things
differently.”

He saw the sincerity in her eyes, heard it in
her voice. Still, guilt gnawed at him. “I shouldn’t have believed
your father’s lies. Once I’d recovered from his attack, I should
have searched for you. I should have believed in the love we
shared. Then none of this would have happened. Garrick Payne would
never have harmed you or Mac.”

Tears sprang into her eyes. “It’s of no use
to look to the past. We have one another and Mac and a bright new
future ahead of us. That’s all that matters now.”

He caressed her face, thumbed away a warm
tear that inched down her face. “If I’d known Payne had abused you,
I’d have been gentler in my eager approach our first time together
as husband and wife.”

She smiled softly. “I enjoy your
eager
approach
just as it is.”

“The thought of him hurting you makes me
murderous.”

She lowered her eyes. “He didn’t make many
demands of me.”

Wolf didn’t want to imagine what she’d been
forced to do, but tonight, if it were in his power, he would make
her forget.

She swallowed hard. “It might surprise you to
know that Garrick visited my bed precisely three times during our
seven-year marriage.”

Wolf lifted a brow.

“It’s true. The few times he came to me, he
slipped in quietly in total darkness. The first time was brutal—one
month after we were married. Unannounced, he came in the night and
took me forcibly. Thankfully his subsequent visits never lasted
long. At first I believed he avoided me because I’d born an
illegitimate child, that he felt I was tainted. Years later I
learned exactly why he didn’t come to my bed. He rather enjoyed the
company of young men…boys if they were available, as evidenced by
the vile act he tried to commit on Mac.”

Now it made sense why she’d flinched when
he’d taken her that first time in the wagon. He squeezed his eyes
shut a moment and swallowed down bitter bile that rose in his
throat. If only he’d known the abuses she’d suffered, he’d have
been gentler.

As if she sensed his discomfort over the
subject, she propped herself on one elbow beside him and smoothed
her palm over his shoulder. “I received no pleasure from Garrick,
Wolf. Although he took his release with me those occasions, I’m
certain he was abhorred by the fact he’d lain with a woman. He
wouldn’t look at me for several days afterward.”

He drew her hand to his lips to kiss it. “You
don’t have to tell me.”

“But I do. During those empty years I held
onto the memories you and I shared, the passionate moments we spent
alone, the way you kissed me, the way you caressed my body and made
love to me. That was what helped me get through the lonely
nights.”

“If you were lonely, why didn’t you take a
lover?”

She sighed. “I didn’t want a lover. Certainly
I had opportunities for male companionship, but I wanted
you,
and if I couldn’t have you, I wanted no other man.” She
smiled, her fingertip circling his dark nipple. “What about you?
Have
you
taken a lover in my absence?”

Ignoring her question, he rose over her and
moved between her thighs. He’d known many women, before he met
Evangeline and during her ten years away, but he’d never loved any
of them.

“Wolf, you didn’t answer my question.”

He positioned himself as he gazed down into
her eyes. “You are the only woman I’ve ever loved, Evangeline.
Therefore, you are the only
lover
I’ve ever known.”

He silenced her with a swift thrust.

***

A knock on the door jolted Evangeline from
sleep. Pale beams of yellow light filtered through the cracks of
the window shutters signaling morning. Wolf rose from the bed and
reached for his trousers.

He opened one of the windows. “Mac and John
are back early.” He pulled on a shirt. Evangeline gathered her
clothing.

“Give us a moment,” Wolf called toward the
door.

Once they were dressed, he unbolted the latch
and swung the door wide open. Mac skidded across the floor with a
terrapin in his grip.

“Ma! Look what John did. He caught me a
turtle on our way back from town. Can I keep him in a box? Please?
I got a name all picked out—Horatio. Don’t you think he looks like
a Horatio?”

Evangeline turned her face away, not because
she disliked turtles, but out of embarrassment. In her haste to
dress she’d failed to draw the quilt over the rumpled bedclothes.
She was certain John had noticed.

“Y-yes, of course, Mac.” She dared a sidelong
glance at the creature. “He’s awfully big to keep in the house,
though.”

“Looks like we’re having turtle soup
tonight,” Wolf joked. “Guess I’ll have to sharpen my fork and knife
for the occasion.”

Mac hollered. “No way! You can’t eat Horatio.
He’s my pet.” The child clomped to the door in a pair of oversized
boots. “I’m gonna build him a box right now where he’ll be safe
from your dinner fork, Pa. Then I’ll try to find him a friend so he
won’t be lonely.”

Once Mac raced outside, she proffered her
hand to Wolf’s hired man, John. Since her arrival he’d stayed in
his own quarters behind the barn, keeping to himself. He looked
vaguely familiar and she recalled Wolf saying he’d once worked for
her father. “Thank you for taking such good care of Mac, Mr.
Patterson. He appears to have enjoyed his trip to town.”

“Call me John, ma’am.” He lightly clasped her
hand.

John looked older than Wolf, but not by many
years. His hair was like sun-bleached straw, dry and pale in stark
contrast against his dark, leathery skin. He was a handsome,
rugged-looking man with clear blue eyes and deep wrinkles at the
corners of his eyes.

“I believe you worked for my father, Elijah
Braddock?” she inquired.

He nodded. “That I did, ma’am...one summer
about ten years ago. Same as Wolf here.”

Wolf stood silently and she knew he was
remembering the night her father and his ranch hands attacked him.
She wanted to thank John for saving Wolf’s life, yet she sensed
Wolf didn’t want her to bring up the topic.

John cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I picked up
a slab of salt pork in town. Would you like me to bring potatoes up
from the root cellar for your supper?”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she
supposed she should begin planning their evening meal after
breakfast. “Yes, thank you. The salt pork will be nice. I found
dried hominy in a crock on the counter yesterday and some fresh
green onions and peppers in the garden. We’ll have a spicy stew
tonight. Oh, and John, you’ll dine with us.”

***

There had been no sign of Mac for hours, not
since he’d set out that morning to look for a friend for
Horatio.

Evangeline paced the floor of the cabin as
long as she could while John and Wolf left at dusk to search for
the child again. The stew she’d cooked for their supper had grown
cold in the pot and she’d thrown the hours-old corn fritters to the
dogs. She told herself Mac was simply lost, that he’d wandered too
far in his search for a turtle and he’d find his way home before
dark. At least that’s what she wanted to believe. For all she knew
Mac had been bitten by a rattlesnake, or had fallen into the swift
moving waters of the nearby creek and drowned.

Night was coming fast, closing in around the
hills. Mac was terrified of the dark. Unable to stand the silence
of the lonely cabin any longer, she donned a thick shawl, pulled on
heavy boots, then lit a lantern and went to check the barn again.
Wolf had searched it, had pulled almost every timber and hay bale
out of place until it looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone.
Still, perhaps he’d overlooked a clue.

She pulled open the creaking double doors and
slipped inside. Eerie shadows grew long on the walls as she crept
through. The night wind whispered between the cracks in the roof. A
small, white owl perched high in the rafters hooted, and she shook
off a chill that skittered up her spine.

“Mac? It’s Mama. Are you here?”

Silence answered. He’d done this once
before—hidden for two days after Garrick’s death. He’d been ashamed
and confused, although she couldn’t imagine what could have
happened to cause a repeat behavior. “Please come out if you’re in
here.” Pleading, she bit down on her lip to keep from bawling.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

Still no response. She slumped into an empty
stall as tears overtook her. What if they never found him or
worse—found him dead. Something was wrong. She felt it deep in her
soul. Mac hadn’t wandered away, nor had an accident befallen
him.

Someone had taken him, someone with a grudge
against her.

The author of the threatening notes.

***

Wolf pulled hard on the black’s reins as he
rode into the night. He and John had split up two miles back.
John’s orders were to return to the house and check on Evangeline,
then follow the south trail and meet him at the fork where the San
Marcos and Guadalupe rivers merged. Mac hadn’t wandered away and
become lost. Nor had he fallen into the rushing river and drowned.
He knew it, felt it in his gut.

The horse pulled up short, screamed and
reared. Wolf fought for control, talking softly to his mount. The
horse had never behaved this way, not even during the fiercest
storms. Then he felt the burning in his side, reached down and felt
the warm wetness with his fingertips and realized he’d been
shot.

He heard another pop, felt the searing hot
pain rip through his right thigh. The horse bucked him off and he
hit the hard ground face down. His mount galloped away into the
night and Wolf rolled onto his back, drew his pistol. It was too
dark to see his assailant. He dragged himself into the brush for
concealment. Another shot grazed his upper arm and the gun slipped
from his hand.

A booted foot kicked it from reach.

He looked up to see a dark form standing over
him.

“Well if it isn’t Gray Wolf McKinnon—or
perhaps I should say
Adam Smith
. Allow me to introduce
myself. The name is Garrick Payne. I believe you know my wife,
Evangeline, quite well.”

Garrick Payne? The man was dead. Was this
some sort of sick joke? On second thought, perhaps the man wasn’t
dead after all. In fact, it all became clear now—the threatening
notes to Evangeline before she left Savannah. Had Payne faked his
own death, been stalking her all along? Had he taken their son?
Fear sliced through him.

“What the hell have you done with my
boy?”

The man laughed. “I always suspected the
dark-skinned little bastard was sired by a breed. He looks exactly
like you.”

Payne’s boot struck Wolf on the side of the
head and pain splintered through his skull. His stomach roiled.

Payne squatted, pressed the cold barrel of
his gun to Wolf’s temple. “With you out of the way, Evangeline will
be my wife again. Everything she owns—your home and land—will be
mine.” He leaned closer. “I cannot wait to see the look on her face
when she learns I’m alive and you’re dead. I’m certain she’ll need
special comforting.”

Wolf started to roll onto his back, but heard
the click of the gun’s hammer and froze.

Payne chuckled. “Now, now. I will take very
good care of Evangeline and the boy. Actually, I am quite fond of
young Mac...quite fond.”

If Wolf could have gotten to his feet, he’d
have ripped the son-of-a-bitch’s head off his shoulders and shoved
it up his ass. “You touch my wife or my child and I’ll kill you,
Payne. By God, I’ll tear every limb from your perverted body and
feed them to my hogs.”

“Don’t worry yourself, McKinnon. You’ll be
long gone by the time I reach your ranch and your dear little
family.”

“Where’s my son?” Wolf fought the darkness
that threatened to swallow him, no longer hearing the man’s
words.

***

The door to the barn creaked open. Evangeline
sprang to her feet, held her breath. She expected to see Wolf or
John—or even Mac silhouetted in blue moonlight. Instead, it was
Garrick
. It couldn’t be. Oh, dear God, it couldn’t be!
Garrick was dead!

He stepped closer. “Hello, Evangeline.”

“Garrick.” His name tumbled out in a rush of
breath as her knees buckled. Her mind went into a dizzying whirl.
“You’re dead.”

He laughed. “No. You only wish I were.” He
drew his gloves from his hands and tossed them aside. “And when I
finish with you tonight, darling, you’ll wish
you
were dead,
too.”

Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. His
closed-casket funeral. The hasty departure of the undertaker from
Savannah before the funeral. Now she knew the man hadn’t left town
on urgent family business. Garrick must have killed the undertaker,
put his body in the casket and switched places.

Her hand flew to her mouth to quell a sob
slowly rising in her throat. Garrick had survived the blow Nell
delivered to his forehead as well as the fall down the stairs. Now
he’d returned to silence her for threatening to expose his dark
deeds. Then another thought slowly coalesced in her mind. Mac. He’d
taken Mac.

“Where is my son? What have you done with
Mac?”

He shook his head as he uncuffed his
shirtsleeves. “Always doting over that boy, aren’t you. Do not
worry. I’ve not harmed him.”