To Tame a Wolf. Susan Krinard

a coin from her wallet and tossed it in the air, catching it in one hand. “One dollar now, one after, and I go with you. Take it or leave it.”

      She expected Kavanagh to leave it. She could see in his eyes how little he liked being ordered about, and there was a quiet menace simmering under the calm, cool air he affected. She was a little afraid. If he found out she was a woman—and he very well might, with them traveling together…

      Zut. There wasn’t a thing he could do to her that hadn’t been done already. And she had her .44 hidden under her coat. She was prepared to shoot if any man touched her against her will, and the law would be on her side once they knew she was a woman. At least as long as they didn’t know what kind of woman.

      “You drive a tough bargain, kid,” Kavanagh said gruffly. “But I’m making one thing clear. If you can’t keep up with me, if you fall behind, you’re on your own, and I still get my money for delivering your brother.”

      Tally nodded. “I agree.” She waited to see if he would offer his hand, and when he didn’t, she bucked up her courage and offered hers. “My name’s Tal Bernard.”

      He hesitated, then clasped her hand hard enough to squeeze the bones. The feel of his rough skin didn’t repulse her as much as she expected. She pulled her hand away, flexing her fingers behind her back, and tossed him the coin. He caught it so fast that she didn’t even see the gesture.

      “We leave at dawn tomorrow,” he said. “You can tell me more while we’re riding.”

      “What about supplies?”

      “I have my own. You have a bedroll and rations?”

      “Enough for a few days.”

      “Don’t bring too much. It’ll weigh the horses down.”

      “I’ll meet you at the south end of town tomorrow, Mr. Kavanagh. I have business of my own tonight.”

      His lip curled in a way that suggested he knew what business she’d be about. “Don’t get too worn out, kid. I ride fast and hard.”

      “I’m overwhelmed by your concern,” she said.

      He leaned close, and she noted that his breath held not even the slightest taint of alcohol. “You talk mighty pretty, boy. Schooled nice and proper, I’ll bet. But all the fancy education in the world won’t help you out here.”

      You’re wrong, she thought. There are certain kinds of education that are invaluable in a place like this. “Dawn. Tomorrow,” she said, dismissing him. “Good night, Mr. Kavanagh.”

      He backed away, drawing his hat brim down over his eyes. A moment later he was gone. Tally let out her breath and met Miriam’s gaze.

      “What do you think?” she asked her friend.

      “Dangerous, for sure, but I think he was telling at least some of the truth.” Miriam looked down the street the way Kavanagh had gone. “You be real careful, Miss Tally. Real careful.”

      “It is not good,” Federico put in.

      “It has to be done. You know I won’t take any chances.”

      “No chances,” Federico grumbled. “Ay, Dios!”

      “You just see that Miriam gets back to Cold Creek.”

      “I’ll pray for you and Mr. André,” Miriam said. And Elijah, but she didn’t need to say it.

      “Thank you, Miriam.” Tally went to see the stable owner about staying the night and checked on the horses. She, Miriam and Federico shared fresh bread Miriam had bought at the bakery and a wedge of cheese, along with the jerky they’d brought from Cold Creek. Federico bedded down in a pile of clean straw, while Miriam and Tally lay rolled in blankets in the wagon bed.

      At cockcrow the next morning, Federico harnessed the wagon horses. He and Miriam set out on the rough fifty-mile ride home, while Tally took Muérdago, her roan, and rode to the southern edge of town.

      Kavanagh was waiting for her. He looked like Death himself, silhouetted against the lightening sky, the rolling, scrubby hills and mountains behind him. Tally hesitated only a moment and then urged Muérdago to join him.

      She had a feeling that she would need every prayer Miriam could send her way.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SIM WATCHED THE SLENDER RIDER trot up the hill, admiring her graceful posture and firm seat. He didn’t make a habit of admiring women—with one notable exception—but he had to give this one credit for the guts to pose as a man and the skill to pull it off.

      Of course he’d known she was female the moment he stood beside her at Hafford’s Saloon, and that was after he’d heard someone named Bernard was searching for a brother called André. He’d followed her at a distance through the streets of Tombstone, waiting for the right moment to get closer and hear the full story. It seemed too lucky that he’d located his prey so easily, but here she was, just where Caleb had told him to look.

      Caleb had mentioned that André had a sister who’d lived with him in Texas, but nothing Caleb said had suggested she was vital to Sim’s mission. What was her name…? Chantal. A handle as fancy as her speech. He rolled the name around his tongue, disliking the taste of it. He preferred the name she’d given herself: Tal.

      He didn’t trouble himself wondering why she disguised her sex. She gave off a powerful impression of fearlessness—even he had been hard pressed to sense her unease—but she must be pretty damned afraid of something. Afraid, and yet confident enough to keep anyone from looking too close at what lay beneath the mask.

      He had a suspicion that she cleaned up a lot nicer than her outward appearance indicated. Her features under the grime were strong but just a little too delicate for a boy, her lips full, her eyes the color of coffee lightened with fresh cream and flecked with crystals of sugar. She must have a figure under those baggy clothes. But she was only a means to an end, unimportant to him except as a guide to André.

      Likely she didn’t know anything about the map or she would be a helluva lot more suspicious than she was. She didn’t have any idea why André would have gone into the Chiricahuas outfitted for prospecting. But if André had told her about the treasure, Sim would learn soon enough. Meanwhile, he would let her keep pretending as long as it served his purpose.

      He nodded to her as she drew her mount alongside Diablo. A wisp of blond hair had escaped from under her hat, the strand no longer than a boy’s might be. She tucked it back with a gesture both artless and impatient. Her roan sidled, and Diablo snapped at the gelding’s flank.

      “Your horse has an unpleasant disposition,” she remarked.

      “Just like me,” he said. “You ready?”

      “Lead on.”

      He turned toward the east and broke Diablo into a gallop, racing down the slope of the dusty miners’ road pointing toward the Dragoons. Diablo had something to prove and lit full out, leaving Tal and her gelding to choke on his dust. But she was game for the contest. In a few minutes her roan was neck and neck with Diablo. What Sim glimpsed of Tal’s profile was grimly unamused. When Diablo had worked out a little of his spite, Sim reined him in and slowed to a steady lope.

      Tal flashed him a smile edged with anger. “Trying to get rid of me already?” she said, breathing hard. “Or was that just a test?”

      “That’s up to you.” He noticed that her hat had blown back a little ways. She caught his look and jammed it forward.

      “Now tell me about your brother,” he said.

      She blinked at his sudden change of subject. “What else do you need to know?”

      “How familiar is he with the mountains?”

      “Our ranch is in the foothills near the south end of the range, in Cold Creek Valley, between the Chiricahuas and the