Spirit of the Wolf (14 page)

His heart swelled with relief and gratitude
,
a surprise in itself, under the circumstances. "Oh. That." He shrugged. "I just did what any man would have
.
"

She squeezed his forearm. "Tell me about it,
Chance
."

He didn't answer.

"
Chance
," she huffed. "What about what that
man
said!"

He might have done it, then and there, if only he'd known where to begin.

"So, did you?"

"Did I what?"

Another sigh. "Have anything to do with that murder in Lubbock!" She paused, then added, "Does he have you mixed up with some other Texan? Or...or...."

Her voice trailed off, and he thanked God for that small blessing.
Chance
tilted his face toward the sky and prayed for the strength to ask her to drop the subject, to simply trust him. Because her line of questioning made him feel like he was back in Texas on the witness stand, listening to the non-stop inquisition of the state's attorney. For the first time since he'd met her,
Chance
wished Bess was a mite dumber. Grinning and frowning at the same time, he said, "Well, now
, a
in't you just like a puppy to the root?"

"Land sakes,
Chance
! Don't try to
bewilder
me with one of your Texas witticisms. I put my reputation on the line
—Pa’s,
too, for that matter
—to
defend you back there. I believe I deserve an explanation." With that, she folded her arms over her chest and tapped one booted toe on the wagon's board floor. "'Puppy to the root,' indeed. Now, out with it!"

"Don't get your neck hairs bristlin'," he said, smiling
a bit.
"I only meant that once you get your mind set on something.... Well, you just ain't gonna let it be, no matter what." A crooked grin slanted his mouth. "Are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "So I'm stubborn. It's not a hanging offense, far as I know."

Her words left him cold.
Chance
knew she'd only been teasing, it was written all over her pretty face. Still, the words cut him like a skinning knife and left him raw. He'd developed a pretty thick hide these past ten years, or so he'd thought.... "Men can be
downright
rude sometimes," was all he said.

"And one in particular," she countered, one brow high on her forehead, "
seems to be
smart enough to evade an issue indefinitely, even if he has to pay himself an insult to do it."

She
’d sat at
his right side and, as she had on the trip into Baltimore,
l
eft a good foot of seat between them. Now, however, intense curiosity caused her to sidle closer. So close, in fact, that he could feel
the warmth of her skin ebbing through
her many-petticoated skirts
, cou
ld feel her breath against his cheek. He liked having her this near. Liked the way the toe of her tiny boot
lined up alongside
his big one
, and
the way her hand rested daintily, almost possessively, on his
knee
.

Not wanting to do anything that would cause her to move away,
Chance
shifted the reins from his right hand to his left.

Smart enough to evade an issue, even if it means paying himself an insult,
she'd said. Smart, indeed! If he
were
smart, he'd take her in his arms and....

"Bess,"
Chance
whispered hoarsely, "I'm not a smart man. You can bet your last dollar on that."

She leaned nearer still and said softly into his ear, "Lucky for you, I'm not a betting woman. My mama used to say that gambling is evil."

Sitting there, her face lit by the bright yellow light of the setting sun, he noticed tiny green and gold flecks in her brown eyes. And the lashes he'd believed to be black as coal were, instead, the color of mink. He wondered if the long ride or the intensity of their conversation had heightened the pink in her cheeks. Most of all, he wished she'd stop pursing those
pretty,
kissable lips....

"Penny-ante gambling ain't evil," he grated.
At least we're on a more pleasant subject than my date with the gallows....
"It's good clean fun, long as it doesn't get out of hand."

She shrugged. "Mama wasn't talking about the gambling that takes control of folks, of
course
that's wrong. She was talking about ordinary, everyday bets. 'Penny-ante' isn't evil you say? Well,
I
say it's wrong, because for one person to win, someone else has to lose; the winner's good fortune comes at the expense of a relative, a friend, a neighbor."

Chance
smiled, wondering,
W
ould you take a gamble on
me
, Bess?
So lost in her lively eyes and animated gestures was he that
Chance
forgot for a moment how the subject of gambling had come up in the first place. And when he remembered, she flashed him an enticing, mischievous grin, all but making him lose track of what he'd intended to say about the subject. "
If
I were a smart man, I'd hitch this team to that tree over there," he said, nodding toward a big maple beside the road. "I'd lift you down from this old wagon and set both your pretty little feet on the ground."

He turned on the bench, so that only their knees touched now. "I'd give you the biggest hug you've ever had," he added, his thumb pushing up the brim of his hat, "then I'd kiss you like you've never been kissed before." He could feel her soft breaths, could see by the gentle rise and fall of her
shoulders
that she was breathing a mite faster than she'd been before.
Chance
focused on her lips, then licked his own. "And I wouldn't stop until you agreed to be my girl."

He watched her dark eyes flutter as her eyes widened with shock and surprise. Smiling gently, he added, "But I'd never do any of those things, Bess. And do you know why?"

Her lips parted slightly as slowly, slowly, she shook her head.

He could have kissed her right then and there, if he had a mind to, for their noses were nearly touching. But this wasn't the right time for a thing like that.
Who was he fooling? It would never be the time.
Frowning, he said through
clenched
teeth, "I'll tell you why," he rasped. "'Cause I'm
not
a smart man, that's why."

Bess bl
inked once, twice, three times before taking
a deep breath. Squaring her shoulders, she said, "So the man on the dock mistook you for someone else?"

For a long moment, all he could do was stare, disbelieving, into her beautiful face. He'd just announced, in his clumsy way, that he loved her. And how had she responded
?
Puppy to the root!

Gathering the reins in both hands,
Chance
threw back his head and laughed, long and hard.

***

He is the
strangest
man!
she told herself. Hours earlier, she'd seen evidence that
Chance
might be capable of some dark deed. She'd pressed him to the wall for details about the Texan's accusation. If anything would have invited one of his sullen moods, the scene on the dock and her insistent questioning about it should have. Instead,
Chance
had sat laughing
like a hyena, shaking his head
and muttering some nonsense about puppies and roots!

She considered the idea that he might be given to drink
.
Mr. Cunningham had been a drinking man, and liquor had been the cause of
his
violent temper....
A
fter a moment of thought, Bess dismissed the possibility. She reminded herself of all the kindnesses
Chance
had performed since his arrival at Foggy Bottom.
He's nothing like Mr. Cunningham. I have absolutely no reason to be afraid of him
…

…
do I?

She sighed, and wondered for an instant if all this deep breathing she'd been doing since
Chance
had arrived at the farm was healthy. She
hoped it was at least
cleansing...in a breathy sort of way....

For several miles,
Chance
didn't speak. And Bess, determined to not give him more evidence to prove his 'puppy to the root' theory, wondered silently what might be going on inside that handsome head of his.
There's only one sure way to find out....
"What's on your mind,
Chance
?"

Several seconds ticked by before he said, "There are a whole lot of things you don't know about me, Bess, but I can promise you this...."

Again, he moved the reins to his left hand
, then
grabbed her wrist with the right. "I
give you my word,
I've never killed a man in my life."

His pale blue eyes bored into her brown ones, and Bess drank in
his stare the way
a refreshing rain is absorbed by rich dark earth. She had the distinct impression he was searching for proof that she trusted him
, that h
e seemed to need her to say she believed him, that she believed
in
him. His strong, lone spirit needed her approval, she realized, and that could only mean one thing:

He loves me!

Bess ignored her fluttering heart and squeezed the hand that held her wrist. "If you say the man on the dock was mistaken, I'll take you at your word."

A
soft smile gentl
ed
his rugged features. "You don't know how much it means to hear you say that."

But she did know. She saw such sadness in the depths of those crystal-blue eyes, and wanted, more than anything, to take it away, to make him forget whatever had put it there in the first place. Bess didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she reached out and pressed both palms against his cheeks. The summer sun had warmed them, and the hours had stubbled them with bristly whiskers. Her thumb traced the contour of his lower lip.

"Ahhh, Bess," he rasped, combing his fingers through her hair. "My sweet, sweet Bess...."

She'd always liked her name, but never more than at that moment.

How her father and brothers had managed to plan such a gathering without her knowledge flabbergasted Bess.

They'd decorated the yard with ribbons and bows, spit-roasted a steer and a turkey and several fat hens, too. They'd seen to it that some of the
church
ladies brought side dishes, and made sure Bernie
was there
with his flat top guitar
and
Bennie
brought his
fiddle to make the festive music that was always such a part of Freeland get-togethers.

After the
partiers
had eaten their fill, Micah invited everyone inside, and as they crowded into the parlor, he rested a beefy arm on a huge, sheet-covered box.

It looked
suspiciously
like the crate she and
Chance
had retrieved in Baltimore...the one Micah had insisted be stowed in the barn the moment the
y
arrived home with it. How long had it been here in the parlor, Bess wondered, and how had they managed to get it inside without her noticing?

"Like her mama," Micah said, interrupting her reverie, "my darlin' Bess was blessed with a musical soul. Why, sometimes, when she sings as she goes about her chores, I'm convinced she's an angel, on loan to us from Heaven...."

"Pa," Bess said, blushing, "please!"

Micah winked at their friends. "...an angel, 'til she goes and says something to prove how very much a human woman she is," he said, winking at her.
"As you all know,
she’s
been the heart and soul of this family for many years. Without her, we'd likely have lost the farm, and
if that had happened,
we
would have
starved to death."

"By the looks of your old man, you've done a fine job of keepin' the wolf from the door, Bess," hollered one of the hands.

Micah chuckled and patted his ample belly. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, Sammy, or I'll eat your share of the birthday cake!" he teased good-naturedly. "Why," he continued, "we'd have worn dirty, tattered rags. Would've been forced to kick our way through rubbish and debris just to get from one side of the house to the other!"

Again, the laughter of the Beckley's friends filled the cozy, people-crowded room.