Night of the Wolves. Heather Graham

      “They killed one of them and convinced the others to ride away,” Alex said.

      “The sheriff?” Bert asked.

      “Nowhere to be seen,” Alex admitted.

      Cody hunkered down by Bert’s side. “Looks like you took a hell of a wallop,” he said, his eyes sympathetic. “Do you think you have any broken bones?”

      Bert looked at him, still suspicious, but said, “I think I can get up.”

      Cody offered him an arm. Bert got to his feet slowly, wincing. He continued to study Cody, but he nodded in thanks as he said, “I’m all right.”

      “Still, you might want to sit for a spell,” Cody suggested.

      “The library,” Alex suggested, leading them toward the comfortable overstuffed sofa in her father’s—no, her—library.

      She got Bert settled, then backed straight into Beulah, who had come in like a whirlwind, followed closely by Jewell and Tess, and Brendan Vincent.

      “Oh, Bert, look at you!” Beulah said, taking his hand, along with a seat next to him.

      “I’ll get him a whiskey,” Jewell decided.

      “Maybe tea would be better,” Tess suggested.

      “Maybe we should put the whiskey in a cup of tea,” Jewell countered.

      “I’m sure that will be fine,” Beulah said.

      Jewell and Tess turned to leave the room, but not before sighing softly and looking with rapt eyes at Cody Fox. Alex looked at Bert, rolled her eyes and winked, then grew sober again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

      “Fine, just embarrassed that I couldn’t protect my own household,” Bert said. He looked past her to stare at Cody and Brendan. “How the hell did you get that man and his human refuse out of town?” he asked.

      “Just threatened him the way he threatens everyone else. Milo wasn’t about to lose his own life, and he knew I would take it,” Cody said, then cleared his throat. “Brendan and I are looking for accommodations, if they’re available?”

      “I just got back to town this afternoon, so to tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Alex said, and looked at Beulah, still at Bert’s side. “Do we have any vacancies?”

      Beulah let out a very unladylike snort, staring at her as if she had gone daft. “Do we have any vacancies? Child—we have nothing but vacancies. No one is coming out this way to stay anymore. No bankers, no railroad men. No new whores desperate to try out the place.”

      Alex smoothed her hand down her skirt. “Well then, gentlemen, you’re certainly welcome to stay.”

      “It will be right nice to have you here,” Beulah added with considerably more enthusiasm. “Breakfast is from seven to eight, and supper is served precisely at seven. If you’re here, you eat. If you’re not here, we assume you’ve made other arrangements. I’ll just see to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me?” She rose and started for the door, then suddenly stopped, a look of horror on her face.

      “Levy!” she said. “Oh, dear, where is Levy? I haven’t seen him since all this began.”

      Alex closed her eyes and groaned, hating herself. She’d forgotten the stable hand, as well.

      “I’ll check the basement,” Bert said, rising carefully.

      “I’ll run upstairs,” Beulah said.

      “I’ll take the stable,” Alex said.

      As soon as Beulah and Bert were out of the room, Cody Fox caught Alex’s arm. Like Milo, he had a grip of steel, though he wasn’t using it to hurt her. Still, she stared at him in indignation at being stopped so summarily.

      “We’re missing a member of the household. Please let go of me so I can go look for him.”

      “What does he look like? We can help,” he told her.

      “He’s our stable hand, medium height, curly brown hair, thin face, dark brown eyes,” Alex said, pulling her arm free.

      “I’ll head out to the street, see if the outlaws shot anyone we haven’t discovered yet,” Brendan Vincent said.

      “I’ll go out back to the stable with you,” Cody said. “I think they’re all long gone, but just in case …”

      Alex ignored him and raced down the hall to the back door. The town had stables and a livery, but they had their own small stable out back, along with a smokehouse.

      As she burst outside, the laying chickens began to squawk.

      “Levy!” she cried, sprinting past the flustered birds.

      Cody Fox ran by her toward the stables.

      The outer doors were open and he headed inside without pausing. Alex followed quickly, still calling for the stable hand.

      The stalls were to the left; Beau was in the first—kicking at the wall, which was uncharacteristic for the normally phlegmatic draft horse mix that pulled the work wagon. Cheyenne, Alex’s palomino, neighed excitedly, pacing the small confines of his stall, and even Harvey, Bert’s usually placid gelding, was putting up a ruckus.

      “Levy?” Alex cried again.

      She felt hay particles falling on her head and looked up to the loft.

      And there was Levy. She could just see his face as he peeked down at them.

      “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, and started for the ladder. Once again Cody Fox grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

      “Wait? Why?” she demanded, but he was already heading swiftly up to the loft.

      Alex followed. “Levy, are you all right?”

      When she reached the loft, Cody Fox was already standing over Levy, offering him a hand to help him to his feet.

      “Were you attacked?” Cody demanded. “Did those men hurt you … in any way?” he persisted intently.

      “No, no, no,” Levy said, rising and shaking his head emphatically. He looked at Alex with shame. “I knew they were here. I should have … I should have come out, but I came up here, up in the hay, and I just hid. The horses were going crazy. I … well, we’ve all heard about what happened over to Brigsby.” He took Alex’s hand. “Miss Alex, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

      “You were behaving sensibly and nothing more,” she said firmly. “There was nothing you could have done except maybe get yourself killed. I’m just grateful that you’re alive and well.”

      Despite her words, Levy hung his head. She reached out, lifting his chin. Levy was a real asset. He was strong, despite his slim physique, and intelligent; he loved books. The horses responded to his gentle ways, and when he was done with his work, he was a charming conversationalist. As a child, he’d come from Eastern Europe with his parents, who had been running from persecution, and now he was an integral part of the mix of ethnicities that made up Victory.

      “I was a coward,” he said softly.

      “No,” Cody said firmly, “you behaved rationally. You would have been able to go for help if Milo and his men had gone on a killing spree. One more body wouldn’t have done anyone any good.”

      Alex found herself grateful for his support, and Levy looked a little less as if he wanted to jump out of the loft.

      “Be that as it may, Alexandra, I won’t be letting you down again,” Levy said grimly.

      “Well, thank God we’re all fine and the danger is gone,” Alex said, smiling.

      Neither man offered a smile in return.

      “Shall we get down from the hayloft?” she suggested brightly,