Waking Up Dead (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) (11 page)

The chunks of potatoes and precious
cubes of dried meat tasted so good, Ty’d tipped back his head and
drained the broth from the bottom of the metal plate. Sonja would
have scolded him for his table manners. The thoughts of her came
without warning these days. Shoving the plate in the cook’s
direction, Ty asked curtly, “You got any more?”

Spooning up more stew, Smitty glanced
at his friend with a quizzical cock to one brow. “Guess you went
through the change out there, huh?”

Ty nodded between spoonfuls of meat
and broth. “Yeah, got in some training from the wolf-god.” He wiped
his mouth on his sleeve.

Smitty clutched at the Christopher
again. “He gives me the creeps.”

Ty nodded. “That was my first reaction
too. He’s a God. They can act pretty much any way they want, I
guess.”

Smitty nodded thoughtfully. “He has a
heart, you know.” The Irishman paused as Ty flicked him a
glance.

“
Yeah, I hope so.” Ty
didn’t follow but waited because he was sure Smitty would
explain.

“
There’s nothing but hard
times ahead for us.” Smitty’s frown puzzled Ty. What was his friend
getting at?

“
That’s a truth we
understand. Why bring it up now, Smitty?” Ty cleaned another plate
and handed it back to the Irishman.

“
The werewolf-god has
compassion.” He paused as if he couldn’t get the words to come. “He
watches over all of us like the sainted Christopher watched over
the church. He’s different. The wariness ebbs when you get to know
him. You could do worse to lead you through this time, Ty.” Smitty
peered intently at his friend before shrugging and settling the
stew plate in a rinse bucket.

“
I know what you mean. It’s
as if he’s able to calm the fears of everyone with his mere
presence. I get the same feeling when he’s around in the man
form.”

Smitty nodded and stuffed another
piece of soda bread in his mouth before finishing with a grunt in
agreement. Leaning back against the side supports of the wagon,
Smitty rubbed his full belly. “Ah, that was tasty, if I do say so
me self.”

He wagged his finger at Ty. “Now, your
woman’s a sassy little thing.” Smitty spooned up another potato
surrounded by the thick broth for Ty as he made the observation.
“Thinks she’s bigger than she is.” Gesturing with his spoon, he
leaned forward. With their faces only a foot apart in the confines
of the wagon, he wagged a finger. “Going to get her in trouble,
that’s for certain.”

Ty flicked a glance at Smitty and only
nodded. The needling concern he’d harbored since beginning this
journey, surfaced again with Smitty’s reminder. He fixed his
attention on his plate instead, focusing on cleaning the metal with
the soda bread in his big hand. “How’s she managing?” His tone grew
intrepid as he eyed Smitty from under the brim of his
hat.

Smitty cleaned the last of the broth
from his plate before smacking his lips and belching for good
measure. “She thinks she’s ramrod over this outfit with you gone
out scouting.”

Before continuing, Ty wagged his own
spoon at his companion. “You’d be right of course. What has she
done now? Wore Smoltz down with all her badgering?”

“
No, she wants him to take
better care of the stock or she’s gonna set them free. I swear, Ty,
she’s gonna run the wagon master you hired off if she keeps it
up.”

“
Set them free?” Ty’s tone
took on disbelief and a huff of laugh escaped despite his attempt
to control his amazement. “What good does she think that will do?”
he asked. When Smitty simply grunted and rubbed his belly, Ty
understood Smitty wasn’t far from falling asleep.

A strong gust of wind sent the wagon’s
leather flap sailing into the back of the wagon. Droplets of water
rained down dampening the pair’s clothes as well as the
quilt.

Flicking a glance at his friend, Ty
resigned himself to getting nothing more out of Smitty until the
morrow. Already, his companion’s eyes grew heavy. In all the years
they’d known each other, Ty had never seen anyone who could fall
asleep faster than Smitty McCready after a meal. Even with gunfire
blazing all around them during a Yankee attack and nothing but
hardtack in his belly, Smitty could sleep the sleep of the
dead.

Giving the Irishman a nudge with his
sock foot, Ty ordered quietly, “Lay your lazy ass down before you
pass out where you sit. I ain’t gonna listen to how it was my fault
you got the croup from the night air without a blanket.” When
Smitty didn’t respond, Ty reached out and shook his friend’s leg,
“Go on. Get in that bed.”

Smitty mumbled something
unintelligible and lowered himself to the cot’s surface. Curling
his legs, he rolled toward the outer boarding of their rolling home
and almost immediately started to snore.

It made Ty smile. Throwing a blanket
over the big bear of a fellow who couldn’t hurt a trail mite, Ty
tucked the cover over Smitty’s feet and covered his head with the
well-worn Confederate cap Smitty preferred to a regular cowboy’s
Stetson. Ty hoped it would muffle the sound of his friend’s
snoring. “Worthless,” Ty muttered good-naturedly to himself before
picking up Smitty’s plate along with his own and slipping them both
over a nail protruding from the outside of the wagon. No need to
worry about washing dishes tonight, he mused.

Settling back on his cot, Ty stretched
out to quiet his mind. As the rain pelted the coated canvas cover,
Ty ticked off in his mind the things he needed to do the next
morning. He’d see Earl Smoltz, the wagon master they’d hired, first
thing and report on what he’d found on the trail up ahead. He
figured Smoltz would want to get around the downed bridge and to
the next layover as soon as possible. Of course, Smoltz meant he’d
want Ty to ride point and keep an eye out for trouble.

With his own lids growing heavy, Ty
threw the blanket over his legs, checked his revolver, and
re-holstering it before laying the belt under the bed, and covered
his face with his Stetson.

Dark bottomless pools of Topaz peered
defiantly down at him from a face of creamy ivory. A lush, full
mouth of dewy pink formed a thin line of irritation. Slender hands
fisted on trim hips and a generous bosom heaved in exaggerated
frustration. “I can do it myself!” Ty had no doubt she could. Still
he would have a talk with Sonja about her ideas for the wagon train
in his absence.

The upturned nose of defiance, the
swell of a proud bosom, the sway of comely hips all came together
with determination to give him a proud picture of his woman. Like
an errant siren, her voice came to him.“Tyler, I want you. You’re
the only man I’ve ever loved.” The soft twang of southern
Pennsylvania dripped liquid smooth and articulate over each word
uttered from her lovely mouth. The mere sound of her voice did
something to him. Shifting irritated on the cot, he punched the
pillow. He couldn’t even enjoy her body spooned close to his
tonight. She’d made the decision for proprietary reasons, they’d
best keep their distance from each other while traveling with the
train. Besides, Briann and the boys needed protecting.

“
Yes, ma’am.” Ty readjusted
his swollen hardness straining behind his pants. Thinking of her
always brought about the same result. He didn’t think he’d spoken
the words aloud, but neither could he be certain he hadn’t. At the
moment it didn’t matter. He tried to relax again as his attention
wandered to the lit movement of a flouncing skirt, which sent
droplets of water flying in a smooth fan. Light bounced off those
water droplets and landed at his feet like tiny jewels before
disappearing into the torrent of rushing water. The woman’s
steadfast determination wrapped him in a gentle swaying dance and
her hypnotic spell tugged at him. Never one to waste an
opportunity, Ty’s mouth creased in a smile as Sonja’s face filled
the darkness.

***

Morning broke clear with only a few
whisper-thin clouds to offer testament to the fact last night’s
storm had dumped a sizeable amount of water on the wagon
train.

Sonja dropped the corner of the flap
she’d raised and stretched like a cat. Smiling to herself, she
rubbed her arms in the chill lingering in the early light of dawn.
The nights could be long and cold, she mused. Her decision to keep
her distance from Ty until they could be away from the people on
the wagon train needled her desire. When he returned, they’d have a
talk. Hoping for some time alone with him, Sonja rubbed harder at
the chill in her blood. When he was gone a part of her was
missing.

Sonja sat up, stretching her arms one
more time before finding her cotton slippers and rushing to get her
dress from the makeshift closet set up in the corner of her little
home-away-from-home, as she liked to think of the wagon
transporting her sister along with Briann’s boys to
Texas.

In the twinkle of an eye, she glanced
at the back of the wagon. There stood her late husband as she
remembered him. She glanced at the sleeping form of her sister and
the children. Still asleep. Turning back to the opening where there
was nothing but empty space, Sonja sighed.

Forcing a smile on her face for the
looking glass, Sonja shook her head and her curls fell about her
face before she shoved them back and wrapped a leather thong about
the mass of thick honey gold hair she’d inherited from her mother.
She gathered her mane in a twist and wrapped the long length of it
in a bun at the nape of her neck. Covering it finally in a lace
clutch, she tied off the ends of the string gathering the delicate
material around the bun and checked her appearance in the tiny oval
looking glass. A pang of longing assailed her as she was reminded
of her Ty and how he’d bartered for the looking glass with a
traveling salesman. They needed so much more, yet he’d wanted her
to have the lovely glass. She missed him so. The ruse was working.
Simple refugees from the war headed to Texas and a new
start.

Purposely shoving the sensation aside,
she slipped the glass back in its silk and down-filled pouch before
nestling the pouch in between a petticoat and the only other dress
she owned in the wooden box beneath her cot. She had to remember
what her goal was and continue striving for that end.

But the battle of wills between her
longing and her determination raged despite her efforts to vanquish
the enemy. Sighing heavily, she sat down on the cot and closed her
eyes. Praying to a God these days seemed strange. Her new gift
probably went against everything the Church stood for, yet Sonja
hoped if God heard her, he’d understood she needed his help. She
rose and tiptoed to the back of the wagon so as not to wake Briann
and the boys.

She must be tired. The phenomenon of
seeing Robert had occurred several times since they’d left
Pennsylvania and again this morning. A weak smile crooked one
corner of her mouth at the memory of Robert and how quickly he’d
died. Nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her because she
was so tired. She wouldn’t mention such nonsense to anybody else.
She stepped to the back and turned to go down the ladder. Daylight
was burning.

While one booted foot still rested on
the wagon stoop, Sonja froze and stared at the dark haired figure
of the man bending over her fire pit. He wore a black felt Stetson,
a chambray shirt under a leather vest and moccasins up to his knees
over his slim fitting pants. He was making coffee!

“
What are you doing?” Sonja
raised one slim brow. She didn’t wait for an answer, turning
instead and stepping nimbly down to the soft earth. Wheeling, she
came face to face with Ty. “I didn’t expect you’d be up this
morning.” Her hands rested on his chest momentarily before she
remembered they were never alone anymore. “Did everything go all
right?” She took a step back.

His eyes grew cool now and held a hint
of humor as he stood directly in front of her holding a cup of
steaming black coffee. “As well as can be expected. How did things
go here while I was gone?”

Sonja mentally shook herself. He stood
a good head taller than she did. His features held chiseled,
angular planes. Looking down the long column of his nose at her,
she swore his jaw hardened in defiance. Though she yearned to reach
out and wipe the strain from his face, she took another step in
retreat. “We’re all fine,” she offered as casually as she could
manage before stepping around him.

Taking a potholder, she made a point
of adjusting the pot over the fire as if she claimed her fire grate
and her coffee pot as her own once more. She examined each item
he’d set up over the fire from the grate to the coffee pot to the
tongs and the inventory made her feel marginally better. “You made
a fire.” Her voice held pleased surprise.

His eyebrow went up in mild sarcasm.
With a mocking bow, Ty bent and spoke low for her ears only. “It
was the least I could do.”

The sound of his voice rippled along
her skin like a velvet touch. Her nerve endings stretched taught
with the gentle barb. She fought the urge to reach up and grab him
by the shirtfront. Imagining a kiss to end all others, color rose
into her cheeks and she turned from his nearness. She had work to
do.

She did appreciate his help, though to
voice her gratitude seemed awkward. He’d cleared out the debris
from her fire grate after last night’s storm and started a dung
fire. She assumed he’d found her store of fat-lighter, because
everything else was still wet. Holding her hands over the
flickering flames, she noted the dung fire expertly started with a
slim piece of fat-lighter pine. Whether from her box or his friend,
Smitty’s, she couldn’t say. Mildly put off by his smirk and mocking
tone, she lifted her nose past the horizon.