Night of the Wolves by Heather Graham Page A

her hands into the cool water and scrub the dirt and sweat off her face. She didn’t have time to change, much less for what she wanted—needed—which was a bath. A long, hot bath. Maybe after the town meeting.
    She hurried back to rejoin the others. Just as she left her room, Cody Fox emerged from his. He stiffened at the sight of her.
    She stiffened in turn.
    They stood that way for a split second, then he held out an arm politely. “After you, Miss Gordon.”
    She nodded in acknowledgment of the courtesy and swept by him, but she felt him behind her every step of the way to the dining room.
    Brendan had apparently washed up with Cole and Dave in the pantry, because all three men were already seated at the table. They rose quickly at the sight of Alex, who murmured a thank-you and took her place as Cole pulled out her chair for her. When he set his hands on her shoulders for a moment, she reached up and gave them a squeeze. He took the chair to her left, and Dave slid into the seat to her right. Cody and Brendan took the chairs across from them.
    Beulah, Tess and Jewell served, hurrying back and forth with bowls and platters. Beulah had outdone herself, concocting a creamed chicken dish with tiny peas and onions, fresh sautéed greens, and a mound of mashed potatoes. Bert brought in water and wine.
    Civilized.
    Yes, it was an amazingly civilized dinner. Alex might have been dining in a fine mansion in Washington. They might have been planning to discuss the races, the weather, or even politics, in a measured and courteous manner.
    In fact, at first they were quite courteous.
    “Beulah, this is amazing,” Dave said as the cook hovered nearby, like a mother hen protecting her chicks.
    “Thank you, Dave,” she said.
    “This is truly a fine meal,” Cody told her. “Thank you.”
    The words were perfectly innocuous, Alex thought. So why did she want to hit him?
    “Ditto,” Brendan said.
    “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, Beulah,” Dave said.
    “Cooking took my mind off worrying about you,” Beulah told them.
    “Miss Gordon,” Cody said, “would you kindly pass the peas?”
    “I’d be delighted, Mr. Fox,” she assured him, fighting to keep herself from throwing the bowl across the table at him.
    After that they ate in silence for a while, until Cody—of course it would be Cody, she thought—brought reality crashing back in.
    “Pardon me for asking, Cole,” he said, staring intently across the table at the sheriff, “but just what do you intend to say at the meeting tonight?”
    Cole set his fork down, seeming a bit startled. “Well, I’m going to point out that these outlaws are now making a play for Victory. We didn’t see what was happening when they went in and destroyed Brigsby and Hollow Tree. God knows what they’ve done to all the people, if they’ve fled, or if they’ve been—” He broke off and hesitated, looking around, clearly uncomfortable. Alex knew that Cole had been raised to believe that certain conversation was indelicate and not for the company of women.
    “Cole,” Alex said quietly, “is ‘slaughtered,’ or maybe ‘massacred,’ the word you’re looking for?”
    He looked down, sighing. “All right, Alex, I guess I do have to speak plainly. Slaughtered,” he said, then turned back to Cody. “And what scares me most is that I wasn’t here when they attacked Victory, and this whole town might have been lost if you and Brendan hadn’t been here. Tonight I’m going to tell people that they can’t be cowards. We have to fight together, we have to look out for one another.”
    Cody nodded. “It’s a good start, but it isn’t going to be enough.”
    Alex felt another surge of irritation rise. Was it because he had no right to lecture Cole, who had lived here all his life? Or because, dream or no, she was fascinated by him—and afraid at the same time…?
    “Mr. Fox, as I’ve said, we’re all extremely grateful to you and Mr. Vincent. But Cole is an