Three Men and a Bounty (7 page)

Gigi Moore

down. Not that he’d have to do too much work. Didn’t take a genius to guess where the kid would go. He frowned at the thought of Troy and Chris together and the idea of the other man benefitting from James’ bad behavior. He was jealous at the thought of anyone touching Chris except him, then deliberated on the situation some more. If Chris had to be with another man, James couldn’t think of a better choice than Troy. In fact, the idea of the three of them together was powerful appealing. James’ britches got might snug between the legs at the idea, and his critter grew by painful leaps and bounds.

He envisioned Troy and his intense silver-gray eyes, the exotic shape and color reminding him of something else.

James intensified his gaze and took in the wolf staring at him as if he knew what James thought. Maybe he did and had been sent to James as a sign.

The thought should have spooked him more than it intrigued him, and he probably owed this to his spending so much time among the Indians.

Most tribes were powerful spiritual and believed that if man put his ear to the ground, he could hear Mother Earth’s heartbeat. Animal totems in particular were acutely aware of this heartbeat and, in fact, were said to walk in time with the beat of the Earth’s heart.

The more James thought about the wolf and some of the things its totem symbolized—cunning, high intellect, and loyalty among them—the more he began to believe that this wolf had been sent to him as some kind of message.

White men would have called his thoughts just plain superstitious, but he knew the Choctaw he had come to think of as his family and many other tribes would not.

James reached for the leather strap around his neck, caressing the small wood carving that hung from it. The carving portrayed a wolf with head tilted back like his new friend’s had been, as if howling at the moon. The carving had been given to him by Miakoda, the tribal healer of the clan James had been living with at the time. A
hoobuk
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and kindred spirit, he had given James the tribal name Nayati—he who wrestles.

At the time, James hadn’t understood the significance of the title.

Since he’d left his adoptive family and rejoined
civilization,
daily straddling the lines between Indian, black, and white cultures and customs, however, he’d begun to understand the meaning of his tribal name more and more. He wrestled with the repercussions of his race and his proclivities every day.

The wolf howled, seizing James’ attention as if he sensed him drifting too far into his past and wanted to prevent him from wallowing in self-pity.

James’ breath hitched in his chest when he noticed the animal’s proximity, how close the animal had managed to come to him without making a sound. Then he saw the animal’s furry tail eagerly wagging behind him, as if he wanted to play with James. He’d just like to think that the wolf’s playing didn’t involve ripping out a human’s throat.

Cautiously, he reached out a hand to touch the wolf’s snout, his fingers coming away cool and moist. James chuckled as the wolf moved closer and pushed his head against James’ palm, insistently begging for more attention.

He was a right friendly critter, friendly and smart as a whip.

James still wasn’t so sure what he was facing, making nice with the animal. He was a wild animal, after all, but for the moment, James felt unthreatened.

He petted the top of the wolf’s head, sinking his fingers into the dense gray fur of the animal’s neck and enjoying the sensation of the soft pelt against his skin.

Suddenly, the wolf got up on his hind legs, planting his powerful front paws in James’ chest and tumbling him back onto the dirt.

James lay on his back, two-hundred pounds of predator on his chest. He chastised himself for letting his guard down and allowing the wolf to lull him into a feeling of safety.

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The wolf lowered his muzzle, sniffing James before bending his head farther to lap at his throat like stick candy.

James closed his eyes and shuddered more from the alien rasp of the animal’s wet tongue against his throat than from any fear, though there was a mite measure of that deep down. Right behind the animal’s harmless tongue stood a row of razor-sharp teeth that could sink into his jugular at any time.

His hand hovered over the butt of his gun. He had automatically moved his hand toward his gun when the wolf first made his move, but James hesitated in drawing and opened his eyes.

The wolf stood over him, panting. Hurting James seemed to be the furthest thing from the animal’s mind.

“So are you going to rip out my throat or not, critter?”

The wolf barked twice and continued panting.

“Then let me up, beast.”

The wolf barked once then leapt off of James’ chest, bouncing back and forth, waiting for James to get to his feet. He seemed enthusiastic to show James something.

James dusted off his britches with his Stetson once he got up.

“Guess I’m going to have to come up with a name for you if we’re going to be spending time together, huh?”

The wolf barked once.

“All right, then…” He clapped and rubbed his hands together as he stared into the wolf’s silver-gray gaze and that familiarity struck him again. “You remind me of someone, critter. Think I’ll name you…Troy Junior. I’ll call you T.J. for short. How’s that?”

The wolf tilted back his head and howled as if with approval, his response sending pleasant spikes of awareness scudding through James—so much so the critter in his britches started doing a jig.

What in the Sam Hill!

T.J. caught a piece of James’ pant leg and jerked hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough to rip the material. Thank the Lord for durable wool.

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“Okay, okay, T.J. What’s got your fur in a knot?”

The wolf pulled on his pant leg again, directing him toward the nearby lake.

James glanced out at the peaceful green water, and it had never looked more refreshing and inviting as it did right then with the idea of sharing it with this new
friend
.

“You want to go for a dip? Is that it, boy?”

The wolf barked once, then darted to the water’s edge before turning back to howl at James as if impatient with the man’s slowness.

“Hold your britches, boy. I’ll be there directly.”

T.J. barked like this would hurry James along, and in a sense, it did as James sat down on the ground and began to pull off his boots.

Once done, he hurriedly stood to shuck off the rest of his clothes in short order, the animal’s anxiety transferring to him.

James stripped down to his long johns before he actually paused to think about how reckless he was being, how out of character he behaved, and that he didn’t care.

T.J. watched him from the water as he paddled close to shore. He seemed to be waiting for James to make up his mind, seemed to sense a momentous decision.

James squinted at the animal in the waning light, then reached for the waistband of his long johns and slowly slid them down over his hips and his legs. He shuddered from the bracing spring breeze, admiring the sun setting over the horizon as he stepped out of the last of his clothing and left it folded on the neat pile of britches and shirt he’d already shucked.

He slowly approached the shoreline, trying to connect with the much talked about heartbeat of Mother Earth’s. He’d only heard whispers of it before tonight but nothing that had touched him as much as the wolf.

James picked up a stray branch and walked out into the stream until he was waist-deep. He flung the stick out into the water and
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watched the wolf go after it before he took a deep breath and dove under himself. He swam a bit before coming up for air and finding the wolf a few feet away from him with the stick in his mouth and peering at James again as if waiting for his next move.

“You are a strange one, aren’t you?”

The wolf paddled closer and offered James the stick before barking once when James took it. It didn’t even surprise James anymore. He expected an answer now when he asked the animal a question. It might not have been the communication that he was used to, but it was communication nonetheless.

James turned on his back to float a while, enjoying the enveloping coolness of the water, enjoying the calmness as he drifted.

He must have lost track of time for when he next heard the wolf’s bark it came from a little distance. He opened his eyes to see that T.J.

had returned to shore and was busy shaking his thick coat dry.

Deciding it time to return to reality, James swam back to shore, tossing the stick as soon as he had gained his footing and laughing as the wolf took off into the woods beyond the cove to retrieve it. T.J.

returned within a minute, dropping the stick at James’ feet as James finished sliding on his long johns.

He’d thought retrieving the stick would take the wolf a little more time, at least time enough for him to get back into his clothes. He felt strangely bashful and vulnerable around the animal now when he hadn’t been so in the water with nary a stitch on. Now, on land and back down to earth, his priorities re-emerged.

He needed to get back to Chris, wanted to, and hoped the wolf wouldn’t try and stop him now that they’d had their little romp in the water.

The animal sat back on his haunches now, panting as his tongue lolled out of his mouth while he watched James dress. Once James finished, the wolf barked and ran back into the direction of the burgeoning woods.

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If he wanted to make a getaway now would probably be the best time to do it.

James went to Midnight and quickly mounted the horse, kicking him into a gallop back toward town and away from his mysterious friend. He had a feeling he hadn’t seen or heard the last of T.J.

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Shuddering at what almost happened between the man and that
animal, frolicking out in the open, in the water together like…like
lovers.

No more than a heathen and degenerate. What could anyone
expect from someone with his ancestors—no account slaves and
barbarians.

More and more the way was set and becoming obvious what
needed to be done to avenge the two men rotting in jail because of
that black marshal.

Months ago, when he’d first appeared on the scene, he’d been a
minor annoyance along with the rest of the colored men Judge Parker
and his marshal James Fagan had deputized. Now, after several
famous arrests and captures, Connor McClary and his brother Court
included, Hayden had garnered legendary status. He had become a
hero, even in the eyes of some of the white people in Wolf Creek and
some of the other surrounding towns. They liked the order that
Hayden and men like him brought to this untamed territory, said it
made them feel safe knowing that men so capable and strong looked
out for their welfare.

Capable and strong. Ha! More like uncivilized as the red savages
that taught and bore the mixed-breeds. And now Hayden and his ilk
lorded over the territory with more authority than some white men
and had a weapon to back him up.

Gritted teeth punctuated the silence.

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It frustrated a body to know that friends and neighbors held the
enemy in such high regard. T’wasn’t right, no way, no how. And it
had to stop.

It would stop, if it was the last thing ever done.

* * * *

He’d almost swallowed his tongue when James called him Troy, Jr., automatically second-guessing his wisdom of appearing to the marshal in his wolf form.

Troy hadn’t been able to help himself, though, fear and confusion riding him when he initially followed James out of town after he’d gotten wind of the incident at Nellie’s. Once he’d shifted on the outskirts of town and began following James and his prisoner, fear and confusion had finally been replaced with a healthy dose of plain old-fashioned hankering.

He still hadn’t recovered from that adventure, adrenaline spiking through him at the thought of losing the two men he wanted before he even got to know them.

Troy still hadn’t gotten to know either man as well as he wanted, but watching Chris sleep last night and swimming with James in the lake this evening made him feel a lot closer to each than he had been before.

He told himself he had something to build on, but what, really?

How could a relationship between him and either man ever work? As if he didn’t have enough trouble starting a relationship with one man, here he thought about forging a relationship with two?

Troy’s life had always been about impossibilities, his very existence the essence of impossibility. Yet here he existed, both man and animal in one body, able to shift between worlds and accepted by neither.

Maybe those Indians had had it right and he should have died in that fire. He refused to believe, however, that he hadn’t been brought
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into this world for a purpose. He just hadn’t figured out what that purpose was yet.

And you think Chris and James can show it to you?

Still wet and naked, Troy slid down to sit at the base of a lush, towering oak. Sighing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. The evening air felt invigorating against his damp skin, just enough to keep him alert.

He’d sensed another in the surrounding area but had been too busy trying to corrupt the marshal to home in on the individual’s exact location. Now he wondered who or what was stalking him as he had stalked James.

It wasn’t like him to be so all-fired foolish. He’d learned the hard way that he needed to always be on his guard. His enemies had taught him that over the years.