smile. “I promise you’ll sell more papers than you ever thought possible.”
She was still smiling and Barnes still grumbling when she left the office.
Wolf eyed the flock of grackles that took to the sky with harsh, raucous cries. Something or someone was nearby. The rabbit he hoped to nab for supper knew it too. It froze momentarily, its ears pointing straight up, before quickly popping into a hole.
Saved by a hair. Or was that hare? Grinning at the unintentional pun that came to mind, Wolf crouched down low, straining his ears.
Nothing.
For once, it wasn’t a certain blue-eyed beauty that intruded. Unless, of course, she had tracked him down and now stood waiting in the early morning shadows with that infernal camera of hers. However much she complicated his life, he didn’t find the thought all that unpleasant.
Spotting a broken branch, he picked it up and examined it. The distinct straight grain and open pores told him it was ash. A cabinetmaker by trade, he enjoyed checking out the wide variety of trees in these woods. He could hardly wait to finish his business and return to his craft and the job waiting for him back in the Panhandle.
In the short time he’d been in Rocky Creek, he’d spotted oak, ash, mesquite, cherry, even mahogany. It was like finding a gold mine. Around the mission where he was staying he’d even found some trees not native to the area but probably planted there years ago by missionaries.
A rustling sound like dry leaves in the wind made him tense. He strained his ears but all was quiet again. Around him the trees stood like sentinels. Not even the call of a bird broke the early morning silence; not a breath of air stirred the boughs.
Convinced it had only been a foraging animal, he tossed away the tree branch, placed two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for his horse. He then stepped through the edge of the woods to the meadow where he’d left Shadow to graze.
Momentarily blinded by the rising sun, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. Three men faced him, two with their guns drawn.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands up,” one of the men called. Noting that the man wore a sheriff’s badge, Wolf slid his rifle holster down his arm to the ground, along with his knife. He then raised his hands shoulder high.
The lawman walked toward him with a languid stride. “Name’s Slacker. Sheriff Abe Slacker.”
“It’s not against the law to scavenge for wood,” Wolf said.
The sheriff stepped in front of him and kicked Wolf’s knife into the bushes. “Since you’re such an expert in the law, then you must know that we don’t tolerate people who go around terrorizing other folks.”
“Terrorizing?”
“You near scared the Trotter boy to death.”
“I chased him away from my belongings.”
The sheriff continued as if Wolf’s explanation was of no consequence. “And then you terrorized Miss Fairbanks.”
“Miss—” Wolf sputtered. He doubted if anything could terrorize that brash woman. “I can assure you I had no intention of causing Miss Fairbanks any . . . discomfort.”
“The Gazette referred to you as only Wolf. What’s your full name?” the sheriff asked.
“David Wolf.” He was in the newspaper? Drat!
The sheriff pursed his lips. “Are you from Indian Territory?”
“I’m not a member of any Indian tribe, if that’s what you’re asking.” Not Indian, not white. He lived in no-man’s-land. “And no, I’ve never been to Indian Territory.”
The sheriff scrutinized him. “What brings a half-breed like you to these parts?”
Wolf glanced at the two deputies who continued to hold him at gunpoint. One deputy was flabby, his stomach swollen like a flour sack over his gun belt. The other deputy was so young and inexperienced he kept looking at the sheriff for direction.
“I reckon that’s my business,” Wolf said, turning his attention back to the sheriff. The man struck him as all bluster and little action. No doubt he
She was still smiling and Barnes still grumbling when she left the office.
Wolf eyed the flock of grackles that took to the sky with harsh, raucous cries. Something or someone was nearby. The rabbit he hoped to nab for supper knew it too. It froze momentarily, its ears pointing straight up, before quickly popping into a hole.
Saved by a hair. Or was that hare? Grinning at the unintentional pun that came to mind, Wolf crouched down low, straining his ears.
Nothing.
For once, it wasn’t a certain blue-eyed beauty that intruded. Unless, of course, she had tracked him down and now stood waiting in the early morning shadows with that infernal camera of hers. However much she complicated his life, he didn’t find the thought all that unpleasant.
Spotting a broken branch, he picked it up and examined it. The distinct straight grain and open pores told him it was ash. A cabinetmaker by trade, he enjoyed checking out the wide variety of trees in these woods. He could hardly wait to finish his business and return to his craft and the job waiting for him back in the Panhandle.
In the short time he’d been in Rocky Creek, he’d spotted oak, ash, mesquite, cherry, even mahogany. It was like finding a gold mine. Around the mission where he was staying he’d even found some trees not native to the area but probably planted there years ago by missionaries.
A rustling sound like dry leaves in the wind made him tense. He strained his ears but all was quiet again. Around him the trees stood like sentinels. Not even the call of a bird broke the early morning silence; not a breath of air stirred the boughs.
Convinced it had only been a foraging animal, he tossed away the tree branch, placed two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for his horse. He then stepped through the edge of the woods to the meadow where he’d left Shadow to graze.
Momentarily blinded by the rising sun, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. Three men faced him, two with their guns drawn.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands up,” one of the men called. Noting that the man wore a sheriff’s badge, Wolf slid his rifle holster down his arm to the ground, along with his knife. He then raised his hands shoulder high.
The lawman walked toward him with a languid stride. “Name’s Slacker. Sheriff Abe Slacker.”
“It’s not against the law to scavenge for wood,” Wolf said.
The sheriff stepped in front of him and kicked Wolf’s knife into the bushes. “Since you’re such an expert in the law, then you must know that we don’t tolerate people who go around terrorizing other folks.”
“Terrorizing?”
“You near scared the Trotter boy to death.”
“I chased him away from my belongings.”
The sheriff continued as if Wolf’s explanation was of no consequence. “And then you terrorized Miss Fairbanks.”
“Miss—” Wolf sputtered. He doubted if anything could terrorize that brash woman. “I can assure you I had no intention of causing Miss Fairbanks any . . . discomfort.”
“The Gazette referred to you as only Wolf. What’s your full name?” the sheriff asked.
“David Wolf.” He was in the newspaper? Drat!
The sheriff pursed his lips. “Are you from Indian Territory?”
“I’m not a member of any Indian tribe, if that’s what you’re asking.” Not Indian, not white. He lived in no-man’s-land. “And no, I’ve never been to Indian Territory.”
The sheriff scrutinized him. “What brings a half-breed like you to these parts?”
Wolf glanced at the two deputies who continued to hold him at gunpoint. One deputy was flabby, his stomach swollen like a flour sack over his gun belt. The other deputy was so young and inexperienced he kept looking at the sheriff for direction.
“I reckon that’s my business,” Wolf said, turning his attention back to the sheriff. The man struck him as all bluster and little action. No doubt he
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