Night of the Wolves (11 page)

And somehow she knew that he watched her until she shut the door and he couldn’t see her anymore.

T
HAT NIGHT
, Sheriff Cole Granger and Deputy Dave Hinton joined them for supper. Alex noticed that Cole was having a hard time meeting her eyes, but she attributed it to the stress everyone was under and turned her own attention to Beulah’s delicious cooking.

It was interesting, Alex had to admit. Men had a tendency to band together based on their vocations: ranchers with ranchers, farmers with farmers. And they customarily maintained a certain ego-based distance, as well. Most men, whether in small towns or big cities, liked to swagger. Unless they were shy and made every effort to blend into the background.

And those men, she thought, could sometimes be far more dangerous than the swaggering kind.

Maybe it was the fact that all four men were joined together by their pursuit of Milo and his bloodthirsty gang—she almost smiled at her own choice of words—but they seemed to have formed an easy camaraderie, which she had to admit was nice. As they ate, Cole asked Cody about his past, which he ran through in an oddly cut-and-dried manner. His folks had owned land out this way, he said, but his father had been killed many years ago, and his mother had returned to her home in New Orleans. He’d
grown up there, then gone on to Harvard. He’d found work in the capital and then in Northern Virginia, until war had broken out and he’d joined up with a Louisiana unit. Wounded and discharged, he’d been practicing medicine in New Orleans before he’d come west.

Brendan Vincent sat forward. “I actually went to New Orleans to find Cody. I’d heard word that he’d faced a killer like Milo before, and I needed his help out here.”

“And how did you know there was trouble in Victory?” Cole Granger asked.

“I had family once in Hollow Tree,” Brendan said. “A while back, they wrote to me about strange goings-on out this way. Then I met a soldier in New Orleans who had been through these parts, and he told me Victory was the only town still hanging on, that Brigsby and Hollow Tree were ghost towns.”

Alex hesitated, then asked, “Trouble? Did other people tell you about the vampires?” she asked.

Cody looked at her. “No one believes in vampires—until they become one, or are killed by one and there’s no coming back.”

“Enough of this,” Dave said suddenly. “We’ve still got to live like civilized people, and in my book that means no talking about murder at the dinner table, all right?” When no one challenged him, he went on. “Miss Alex, you’ve got to play for these folks. You never heard anything like her,” he added to Cody and Brendan.

Alex laughed. “If we’re being civilized, you gentlemen are supposed to move into my father’s library for brandy and cigars.”

“We’d rather hear you play,” Cole told her.

“Perhaps Mr. Vincent or Mr. Fox would like a brandy
and a cigar, and then I could help Beulah clean up after dinner,” Alex suggested, suddenly feeling self-conscious and trying to get out of playing.

“A cigar over the company of a beautiful young woman?” Brendan asked, smiling. He reminded her of her father, though he was younger, maybe because he’d been regarding her sympathetically all evening. He was dignity made flesh, his voice gentle and kind. She knew he had been an officer, and she imagined he had commanded the respect of his men.

“You folks go on,” Beulah said. “Bert and I can get this place picked up neat as a pin faster without none of you trying to help.”

“So you play the piano?” Cody asked Alex.

“A bit,” she admitted reluctantly.

As they moved to the parlor, she finally remembered to ask Cole, “Is John Snow all right?”

The sheriff nodded grimly. “He was missing livestock, and his oldest son—who has children of his own now—was worried about
his
eldest son. But the boy seemed fine when I was there. Thing is, now we have to get word to him, let him know what’s happening. I should have had someone on that today, but things in town were—well, let’s just say the day was full. It’s important that we be prepared here first, then we can help others.”

“Brendan and I will go first thing in the morning,” Cody said.

“Enough of that kind of talk. Play something for us, Alex,” Dave said.

“What would you like to hear?” she asked, wondering why Dave kept trying so hard to force the conversation away from their situation.

“Anything but a funeral dirge,” he said.

She sat at the piano and played a Chopin prelude, followed by a reel.

“We ought to be dancing,” Dave said.

“Hard to dance when the only woman in the room is at the piano,” Cole pointed out.

To Alex’s surprise, Cody suddenly smiled broadly and said, “That’s because you never served under the right commander during a long campaign. Brigadier General Vincent, sir, may I have this dance?”

“Indeed, soldier. At ease,” Vincent replied, grinning back. Then the two men began to whirl around the room, much to the delight of Dave and Cole. Beulah slipped her head in to see what was going on, and before she could retreat, Cole had pulled her into his arms for a dance.

Dave suddenly slipped onto the bench next to Alex. “Go rescue one of the men, Miss Alex. My playing isn’t as good as yours, but I can still manage a reel.”

She allowed him to take her place and rescued Brendan Vincent. She danced with him for a bit, swapped with Beulah and danced with Cole, and then found herself with Cody.

She was both exhilarated and afraid.

It was just dancing, she told herself. But there was something different about dancing with Cody.

He held her the same way Brendan and Cole had held her, but she could
feel
the way Cody held her, and when she looked into his eyes, something about the golden fire she saw there seemed to steal her breath away far more effectively than the speed of the reel.

At last Brendan cried, “Mercy!”

Dave stopped playing. “Thank God you caved in first,
sir. My fingers couldn’t have gone on much longer. I’m not much of a musician, as you could probably tell.”

“Why, Deputy,” Brendan protested. “That was absolutely fine, and deeply appreciated. Though Cody may do as a partner in a pinch, Beulah and Miss Alex made far finer companions on the floor—no offense, Cody.”

“None taken,” Cody assured him.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was quite enough exercise for this old gent,” Brendan said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. Cody?”

“I’ll be seeing to the house,” Cody assured him.

Brendan nodded and went upstairs, and Cole and Dave announced that it was time they headed out.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs?” Cody suggested to Alex. “I’ll see them out and lock up.”

“Thank you,” she said. A few minutes later, as she stood in the privacy of her room, she could hear him walking around below, checking the windows and doors.

She slid into her nightgown and brushed out her hair, all too aware of his footsteps as he climbed the stairs and of the opening and closing of his door. A moment later there was a tap at the connecting door, and she froze. She’d never felt so torn. She wanted him to come in and do something as ridiculously dramatic as sweep her into his arms. And yet she was also afraid that he would do exactly that. She wasn’t afraid on moral grounds, but because she thought she could so easily lose her heart and soul to this man. There was something about Cody. He was restless, not the type to stay in any one place for long. He came from Louisiana. If he had a home, that was it. No matter what happened between them, he wasn’t the sort to stay around. Touching him, she was
certain, would make her long for more. And that way lay heartbreak.

The tapping came again.

“Come in,” she breathed, wondering if he could even hear her.

He could.

“I’m going to check your doors,” he told her as he opened the door.

“I locked them,” she told him.

“I’ll just double check. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

She realized that she was sitting frozen at her dressing table, her brush still in her hand and raised halfway to her hair.

Cody checked the windows and French doors, then returned to the connecting doorway and paused. She heard the ticking of a clock, and then, when it speeded up, she realized she was listening to the beating of her own heart.

“Good night, Alex,” he said at last.

And then he left, closing the door between them.

T
HE DREAM CAME SOMETIME
in the very early hours of the morning.

Once again she knew it was a dream, that it wasn’t real, but perhaps it
was
a vision of what might be….

She had ridden out to the plain. She knew there was danger, but something was driving her to go. She had no choice.

She rode hard, and Cheyenne, her mare, was swift, seeming to fly over the ground.

As she rode, she became aware of a silhouette in the distance. A man was standing there, facing away from
her, and he was wearing a railroad duster and a hat, common attire out on the plain. But he stood tall and straight, and she knew him, though she couldn’t see his face.

She reached the place at last.

The place where her father had died.

She dismounted. The man’s back was still to her as she started to walk toward him. She had no choice; she was once again compelled. She had to see his face, though she knew in her heart who he was.

He turned to her, and her heart seemed to flip in her chest.

It was her father.

He stared at her, and his face twisted in agony, tears filling his eyes.

“Alex,” he whispered.

He reached out to her, and she went to him.

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered as he embraced her.

“Alex, I know you love me. And I love
you
, my dearest child. You have to know, you have to believe me when I say…it isn’t me.”

His arms were solid and real, and she felt the power of his love, but she drew away from him slightly and reached out, trying to smooth the lines of pain from his face.

“What’s not you, Dad?” she asked, confused.

He paused, and she realized he was listening for something. And then she heard it, felt it, herself: the trembling of the ground that meant that riders were near.

“We have to go,” he said. “Quickly. We have to go!”

“I have Cheyenne,” she said, and he nodded, leaping up on the horse behind her. They started to race, but when they reached the base of the cliffs and stopped, he dismounted, pulling her down after him. He gave Cheyenne
a firm slap on the rump, sending her home, and he grasped Alex’s hand, drawing her forward along the towering stones.

They passed the burial caves of the Apache and kept running, until he finally drew her into a dark cavern.

She started to speak, but he lifted a finger to his lips to silence her.

She heard movement, laughter, and then she heard Milo call out orders to his men. “Search the place, and be thorough. She won’t get away from me. I
will
have her, do you understand?”

Alex inhaled sharply. Did he mean
her?

Footsteps came near, hurried footsteps, as Milo’s men searched intently for her. Her father pressed her behind him, warning her again to silence.

“Wait!” Milo cried out. “I know where they’ve gone. He’s taken her to Hollow Tree. Come on. Let’s ride.”

Alex waited for the footsteps to recede. “He’s gone,” she told her father. “Dad, we’re safe. Oh, my God, they told me you were dead, but I knew it couldn’t be true.”

“Shh,” he said again.

She didn’t hear anything. Not a footfall, not a breath of air. But she froze, anyway, at her father’s command.

“You have to let her be.” It was the deep, calm voice of Cody Fox.

“She is my daughter,” her father said, his voice strained.

“And Milo is using you,” Cody said.

“I would never hurt my daughter,” her father insisted.

“Cody, this is my
father
,” Alex said, trying to make him understand.

But Cody didn’t pay any attention to her; he was
looking at her father, and the men were exchanging a look full of meaning that she couldn’t begin to fathom.

“You have to believe me. I’m hiding. I am not a part of the horror,” her father told Cody.

“Then send her back to me. She can’t be part of this. Milo has a connection, and every minute she’s with you, she’s in danger.”

Her father inhaled and exhaled deeply, then looked down at Alex. “Go with him. You have to.”

“No! I’ve just found you again. I won’t leave you,” Alex protested.

“You must. I’m begging you, Alex, go with Cody.”

Her father pushed her away and started to turn toward the deep darkness at the back of the cave.

“No!” she cried, then sat up in bed, trembling, and realized she’d cried out in truth, not just in the dream.

She blinked and told herself that was all it had been: a dream. Not a vision of a future she might prevent, because her father was dead and she would never see him again in this world.