Wolf's Tender (11 page)

Naomi played that over in her mind once and then again. “When did you start chasing Jericho,” she asked Sam, keeping her voice light as though making light conversation.

"We've been dogging his heels all summer,” Sam admitted. “And I'll be for damn sure glad when he's dead and we can quit."

"He has a large reward?"

"The biggest ever,” Sam stopped, aware of the silence behind him. “What?” He turned, asking the question of Charlie, who glared in his direction.

"You talk too much."

"What is the plan?” she asked the brothers, since she knew that she would get no answer from Charlie Wolf.

"The plan is for you to wait here, while we go in, rescue your students and bring them back to you, and we take the bad men to jail.” Charlie explained her role as
just-stay-put
.

The men left and she waited. It occurred to her that they might get killed. She was afraid that she was too far away from the outlaws’ camp to know if something went wrong. She did wait ... for a while. And then she climbed on the already saddled buckskin mare and rode toward the Comanchero camp.

The mare's head came up and she broke into a trot, alerting Naomi that they were near. Had night sounds not carried so clearly, she might have blundered into the camp and become a captive too.

A horse ahead of them nickered a greeting. She pulled up fast, and slid to the ground, covering the buckskin's nostrils. Now what? Charlie was going to be really angry with her. That was the one sure thing she knew.

Other than that, she was somewhere unknown with a gun she didn't know how to use. Pa Lancaster had spent plenty of time teaching her how to snare, clean, and cook a rabbit, but shooting hadn't been among her lessons.

Looming to the right of where she stood were shadowed boulders that had tumbled down from the cliffs above. Naomi led the mare to the first dark area. The boulder was tall and bigger across than her one-room shack in Alabama.

In the sheltered niche, there was just room for the horse to turn around. It was almost a perfect hiding place; but she hesitated, holding the reins and looking at the big slab of granite, until the buckskin fidgeted, reminding her to move. She didn't know what else to do with the horse.

If she turned it loose, it would go straight into the camp. She looked around for something to fasten the reins to, but couldn't see a thing. Finally, she just let the reins trail on the ground, hoping the animal had been taught to ground-tie. She thought about riding back the direction from which she'd come, but the laws of probability told her that all of her night blundering on horseback would get her in trouble.

Now that she had caught up to the outlaws, Naomi admitted that she didn't know how to rescue her students. She had hoped that Charlie Wolf would tell her his plan, but wasn't surprised when he didn't.

It appeared the payment of her body she had tendered in advance for Charlie Wolf's bounty hunter expertise was a sham, giving him reason to seduce her. He'd been going to capture Jericho anyway.

She wasn't sure how that knowledge affected her. She felt like a fool and admitted that her self esteem that had blossomed under Charlie Wolf's attention now wilted under the knowledge that he'd falsely let her hire him, tendering her body as payment.

She shrugged off the loss, at least temporarily, and assembled the little she knew. Multiple outlaws were camped not too far inside the canyon, and Harvey Collins was with them—she could hear his agitated tones sporadically, even though she couldn't understand individual words.

A deeper voiced male was yelling, and it sounded like it was aimed at Harvey. Good, the miscreants are arguing among themselves.
I need to get inside that camp while they are looking at each other.

The time of day was on her side. It was half dawn, and mist drifted in undefined swirls, appearing in random spots over the dew-covered ground. A slight breeze carried camp sounds and smells toward her.

She needed to know how many men were inside, where the girls were located, what armaments were on display, and how to sneak the girls past the Comancheros without being seen. Naomi crept around the boulder and dropped to the ground.

She was reminded of early morning trips through the woods with Pa Lancaster. He'd fixed her up in baggy trousers, pretending, she'd thought then, that she was a son. He'd taught her to walk lightly, crawl carefully, and slither smoothly. She could almost hear his voice as she obeyed old teachings.

Crawling on her knees, Naomi was thankful for Mr. Wolf's deerskin pants. As she approached the clearing, where ground cover became sparser, she carefully lowered herself flat to the ground. It wasn't that easy, moving only inches in as many minutes, but the buckskins that she wore blended with the underbrush, allowing her to creep closer and closer to the camp.

She was unfamiliar with the Texas night life, but in Alabama, the snakes would have been a threat. Hoping her path was free of creatures, she belly-crawled toward the sound of the argument, until she lay behind a scrub bush not ten feet from the two men arguing.

Around them, Naomi counted six men—three squatted by the fire, a fourth stretched flat, leaning his head on his saddle, while two still remained asleep, although Naomi had no idea how that could be with all the shouting going on.

"Old man, I brought these girls to you for a price. Deliver or get out. I can find a different use for the women."

Harvey talked fast. “I figured you'd not have need of an old man once you got your shipment. I stashed the guns close to where I picked up the girls."

The man named Jericho slapped Harvey across the face and made as though to cut him with his knife. “The baby chicks will remain ours, right, Comancheros?” The three squatting at the fire looked with interest at the wagon, and Naomi knew that was where she'd find her students.

"Not so young as all that, boss, couple of those girls look ripe for the pickin’ to me.” It was the man lying on his saddle, hands behind his head, who spoke. He grinned suggestively at the wagon.

Naomi could see that Harvey Collins had gotten himself in a predicament, and now he wasn't sure
he'd
make it out with skin intact. She listened to the leader harangue Harvey in a mix of languages, shifting angry words back and forth from English to utterances Naomi didn't recognize. Harvey Collins seemed desperate to soothe the Comancheros but determined to keep the girls for his own scheme.

"Don't be foolish, Jericho.” Harvey was adamantly protecting the kidnapped students. “I can't ransom those girls back to their families if you've ruined them. Hell, there's thousands of dollars riding in that wagon. We made a deal. You get me the girls, I bring you a shipment."

The Comanchero leader lowered the knife and put it back in its sheath. “Until I receive payment, the girls belong to me. If that's later than sooner—” He shrugged and nodded toward the other men. “—then the girls’ futures may be different than you planned."

She held her breath and tried to think clearly. Harvey's Wagon of Interesting Items was pulled up next to the only scrub pine in the small clearing, but she couldn't catch sight of any of the girls. She inched sideways, flat against the ground, watching, gaze steadily scanning the terrain, but not touching those she surveyed.

Suddenly, the smell of coffee hit her, and her stomach growled loudly. Had the volume of the argument not increased, they might have heard it.

"I'm telling you boys, use that one you've ruined already, but leave the rest of the healthy ones alone. I can't get nothin’ out of ‘em if you've poked em to death first."

"Sheeet,” he drew the expletive out incongruously. Naomi froze as he spat in her direction. “You boys have any idea how much these females are worth? I've got the children of the territory's wealthiest in that wagon. The mighty will pay through the nose to get their flesh and blood back. I'll be rich as a king.” He smacked his lips over broken teeth and cackled at the thought.

Use the one you've ruined already. Dear God, what had they done?
Naomi slithered on her belly, crawling toward the wagon, desperate to reach the girls before the outlaw camp came fully awake. A mounded bundle by the side of the back cart wheel was enough to send her in that direction.

It was Justine. Naomi shinnied under the wagon and slipped as close to the injured child as she could, scrunching into the shadows to study the girl. Justine breathed shallowly, dried blood streaked through her hair and across her face.

"Justine,” Naomi whispered the name with little hope of a response, so she was shocked when the eye nearest her popped open, and then closed in a distinct wink.
Well, that surely makes a difference.
Suddenly, Naomi didn't feel so hopeless.

Then Justine's finger twitched the slightest bit and seemed to be pointing above Naomi.
Save your strength,
Naomi wanted to warn her
. I know the girls are in the wagon.
She nodded reassuringly and began her retreat, planning to crawl around to the unguarded side, climb inside the wagon, and free the other students.

She heard nothing, but as she eased backward through the wet morning dew, a hand came over her mouth.

At the same time a hard body sprawled on top of her, pinning her to the ground. Naomi bucked upward trying to free herself. “Naomi."

It was a feather-like stroke of air that settled her fight, before he took his hand away. As soon as he freed her, she rolled over and stared into the face of Charlie Wolf. He crawled backward beside her, shinnying quicker than she could keep up. When they were on the outside of the camp, he pulled her to her feet and motioned her to follow him.

They remained silent, until reaching two horses, his and the one Naomi had ridden in on. His stallion's reins trailed the ground; the mare's leathers were looped over his pommel. When she would have spoken, he shook his head and handed her the reins, boosting her into her saddle.

She followed where he led, wondering if she would have to return his gun before she had her show-down with Harvey Collins, because sin or not, she intended to kill the old man.

As soon as they were far enough from the camp to talk, he slid down from his horse, and lifted her down, without waiting for her to use the stirrups. “Teacher, did I not tell you to stay put?"

Shocking both of them, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged.

"Mr. Wolf, I am so glad you're here. Justine is playing hurt, and the other girls are tied up in the wagon. I so hoped you would come.” Her words tumbled out as he held her, squeezing her to him until she thought her ribs might crack.

She didn't care. He could hug her as tightly to him as he wanted. She squeezed him right back, liking the feel of his power in her arms.

The girls were alive, Justine wasn't as badly hurt as Naomi had feared, and Charlie Wolf had arrived in time to help her with the rescue. She leaned her head against his chest for just a moment, drawing upon his strength, and then she stepped away, dropping her arms. “I have a plan,” she said briskly.

His eyebrows beetled into a frown, and impulsively she touched his arm again. “I came to help. The girl who's on the ground beside the wagon is playing possum. She's not nearly as hurt as they think.” She drew a deep breath and then whispered softly.

"I heard the Comanchero leader arguing with Harvey Collins. For once in his no-good life, Harvey Collins did something right, even if for the wrong reasons. At least till now he's kept the other girls unharmed."

"How do you know this man, Harvey Collins?” Charlie's feral gaze looked more wolf than man as he listened.

Her fingers clenched around the reins. “Years ago, he was run out of my home county in Alabama for misdeeds—he says he's a peddler of small household necessaries, but it's more commonly thought that he's a merchant of sin and evil. Young girls had a way of turning up missing when Harvey was in the area."

Charlie didn't exact details, just nodded at her assessment as if he understood. There were flesh-peddlers who roamed the territory, run out of most decent places, but always ready to do business with the outcasts from society, who always found them.

"Now that you're here, it will be easier. I'm going back into that camp and crawl up on the wagon seat and drive the wagon out. They've left the mule hitched up, and they won't be expecting trouble. You can climb onto that shelf above the canyon and use your rifle.” She paused for breath and then asked, “You can shoot, can't you?"

Charlie Wolf stood listening to her with arms folded across his chest and no expression on his face.

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Chapter Eight

There were six outlaws representing varying degrees of evil in the camp. Seven, if he counted Harvey Collins. After listening to the fat windbag, Charlie had no trouble adding him to the potential body count at the end of the forthcoming shoot-out.

Deacon had circled around to the other side of the ravine, so he had a clear shot from above, into the clearing. Sam was busy cutting loose the remuda of horses the gang used for travel.

Waiting for the call of a mourning dove, Sam's signal, Charlie gave Naomi her directions. He wanted nothing more than to turn her over his knee and wale the daylights out of her.

She'd belly-crawled like an Indian right up to the camp. Part of him swelled with pride—he'd chosen well—another part of him long dormant trembled from aftershocks at seeing her so close to death. For thirty-two years he'd waited for a woman to claim his interest. Miss Naomi Parker had his full attention, and he didn't plan on losing her to her own stupidity.

"Stay here.” When she started to shake her head, he asked, “You still have my .45?” When she fumbled it out of her pocket, he frowned. It had a hair-trigger and it was loaded. “You know how to use this?” Without waiting for a reply, he took it out of her hand, checked to make sure that the cylinder was fully loaded, including the chamber that was usually kept empty for the hammer to rest on, and handed it back.

"Anyone besides Sam, Deak, or me comes running this way, pull the hammer until it cocks, and shoot ‘em.” Then he left her standing behind a boulder, holding the reins of the horses in one hand and his Colt .45 in the other.