Bride of the Wolf by Susan Krinard

long time. Don’t seem right to leave.”
    Charlie’s words only confirmed what Heath had suspected. “All the men went to Blackwater?”
    “Yessir.”
    “Ain’t you gettin’ better pay there?”
    “That don’t matter to me, Mr. Renshaw. I don’t much trust Sean. He’s got sneakin’ ways about him, ’n he’s aliar. He told the Blackwells that he chose to leave Dog Creek, not that you threw him out.”
    “Too bad you didn’t think of stayin’ earlier. Maybe we don’t need you no more.”
    Charlie removed his hat and turned it around in his hands. “I know I made a mistake, Mr. Renshaw. I really want to come back.”
    Heath grunted. If he didn’t take Charlie back, Joey would try to do all the rest of the early-summer work himself. He was just that way.
    “You can stay, Charlie,” he said. “Long as you prove your worth.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Renshaw.” Charlie saluted and ambled toward the corral, leading his piebald gelding. Heath frowned. Charlie had been with Jed a long time, but he’d never struck Heath as the kind who would give up good pay for loyalty.
    Shrugging off his speculation, Heath looked after his mount, then fetched the account books from his room in the house—glad that Rachel was in Jed’s room—and went over the figures in the foreman’s cabin. Dog Creek was still solvent, but without Jed’s money, Sean wouldn’t have nearly as much as he wanted once the ranch was sold. As soon as Heath was finished, he headed for the cookhouse to talk to Maurice, who had come back with a wagonload of supplies from Javelina.
    He knew he was only putting off going back into the house to clear out his things. Rachel wouldn’t always be hidden away in Jed’s room. He’d have to talk to her again sooner or later, if only to see how the kid was doing.
    Rachel must have heard him thinking about her, because she came out of the house a moment later,wearing a different but still plain dress and carrying a worn-looking parasol. Her gaze went straight to the horizon, as if she was expecting Jed any minute. The shadow of her parasol made her eyes hard to read.
    What did she see when she looked out over the Pecos? She couldn’t love this country, not the way Jed did. How could she, coming from the green, settled land of the East? This territory was good for hunters and cattle, not for women. Not even the Blackwell females, who were rich and had the leisure to stay inside and keep their pretty hands clean.
    According to Joey and Maurice, Rachel had only been out of the house a few times while Heath was gone fetching Lucia, once to walk along the bank of the creek, once to study the ground near the house, and once to talk to Maurice about the supplies she needed. Maurice had told him that she’d asked only for things a woman required for cooking and cleaning and such, nothing for herself. No pretty dresses or perfume or lace or the kinds of fripperies “real” ladies were supposed to want.
    She’d also insisted on taking on some of the washing. Heath had seen the shirts hung out on a line she’d stretched between the house and the old pecan tree. She’d been touching things men had worn close to their skin. Things he had worn.
    Heath shoved those thoughts far back inside his mind the way he’d shoved Rachel’s letters into the saddlebags, and turned to walk away. But she had seen him. Her body went stiff as a fence post.
    Damn if he would let her run him off now. He went to join her.
    “How’s the kid, Mrs. McCarrick?” he asked.
    “The child is still improving, Mr. Renshaw,” she said. “As you would know if you had come to see him.”
    She was right. He needed to know just when the boy was healthy enough to travel, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
    “I just saw him yesterday,” he said. “Or was it me you wanted to see?”
    Damn him for a fool, taunting her with what he wanted to forget. But Rachel didn’t take his bait.
    “I know you are a very busy man,” she said in her most formal