Code of the Wolf. Susan Krinard

Serenity’s intense dislike. They weren’t all of the same mind.

      “I pay my debts,” he said. “I know how to work cattle. I may be one man, but I’m good at what I do.”

      “I said we don’t need you.”

      “I think you do, and if you cared about this outfit and these friends of yours, you’d realize that.”

      Angry blue eyes fixed on his. He had to admire Serenity Campbell in spite of himself. Scared she might be, but she would do everything in her power not to let him see it, not to show by a single word or deed that she was weak in any way. Just like she would do her best to hide her womanliness under ill-fitting boy’s clothes.

      “Let him help us,” Bonnie said, resting her hand on Serenity’s arm. “Most of the branding will be over in a few weeks, and then he’ll be on his way. Won’t you, Mr. Constantine?”

      Nothing in the world could keep me here, he thought. “That’s right, ma’am,” he said aloud. “Miss Campbell, you don’t have to worry. I’ll do my work and never trouble you again.”

      Serenity weighed his words as if she were Blind Justice herself. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Constantine,” she said. “You will be here on sufferance. You will treat every woman here with courtesy and respect. You will give no orders. And you will make no advances. None of any kind.”

      As if he would ever touch any woman who didn’t invite him to do so. That generally meant whores who made their living entertaining men. They didn’t expect anything from him but his money. Unlike Ruth, they could take care of themselves.

      The woman standing before him would never invite any man to touch her.

      “Do those rules suit you, Mr. Constantine?” she asked. “Because if they don’t—if you break a single one of them—we will drive you out. And if you fail to do your share of the work, or prove less competent than you claim, we will dispense with your services.”

      Jacob hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers. “I reckon you’ve made yourself clear, ma’am.”

      It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. She’d wanted him to take offense, walk away and save her the trouble of dealing with him one moment longer.

      “Bonnie,” she said, turning her back on him, “he still needs to be measured.”

      “I’ll see to it.”

      But the other woman didn’t move, and Serenity was the first to leave. She set off at a pace that must have challenged her small body and went into the bunkhouse.

      “I’m sorry,” Bonnie said. “Serenity didn’t mean what she said.”

      Jacob studied the redhead with interest. “I think she did,” he said.

      Bonnie glanced down at the milk pail by her feet. “I’d better take this inside before something gets in it,” she said. “Come on in.”

      He moved to pick up the pail, but she beat him to it. He followed her into the house, and watched as she carefully poured the contents of the pail into several bottles and capped them. “Where did you work cattle?” she asked.

      “Lots of places,” he said, leaning a hip against the table.

      “But you’re a bounty hunter now.”

      “That’s right, ma’am.”

      “Call me Bonnie.”

      He wondered if calling her by her Christian name would break one of Serenity’s rules of conduct. “Have you been here long, Bonnie?” he asked.

      “About a year.” She looked over her shoulder. “It’s a good place, with good people.”

      “Miss Campbell didn’t want to tell me much about it,” he said. “Or about herself.”

      “She never talks about herself, not even to us,” Bonnie admitted. “Don’t expect her to confide in you, of all people.” She turned to face him, bracing her hands behind her on the worktable. “Serenity bought this land

      three and a half years ago,” she said. “The owner of the land had died, and his kinfolk wanted nothing to do with this country. There was nothing on it but a few corrals, and an old adobe casa that had already been done in by wind and rain. She, Zora and Caridad started with only a few cattle. Within two years there were ten women working here, and a lot more cattle.”

      “Only ten women?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “Usually it’s enough. Helene can’t ride, of course, but…”

      Jacob paced away from the table, crossed the room and swung around again. “Do you all feel the same way about men as Miss Campbell does?”

      She laughed. “I guess it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” She sobered. “I can’t talk for the others, but just about everyone here has some reason for wanting to get away from men. Some just wanted their freedom. Others wanted peace. I wanted…” She hesitated. “I think you know what I used to be, Mr. Constantine. I see it in your eyes. Well, I’d had enough of that life, and it seemed to me that the best way to start fresh was to go somewhere and do something that had nothing to do with whoring.”

      “Why do you trust me, Bonnie?”

      “I’m a pretty good judge of men. I think you’re honest.” She hesitated. “I see something else in your eyes, too. You want to know about Serenity. But I can’t tell you. If she decides to trust you, maybe she’ll tell you herself.”

      Jacob wasn’t used to being so easy to read, or to being so firmly put in his place.

      By unspoken agreement, he and Bonnie let the conversation lapse, and she went in search of the sewing things. She returned with a tape measure and set about recording the length and breadth of his chest, shoulders and arms.

      Jacob felt nothing when she touched him. Bonnie’s movements were as efficient and impersonal as they could be. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, his thoughts turned back to Serenity.

      She’d touched him less than a half-dozen times, usually as if he were a side of beef or a sack of flour, but even those brief contacts had stirred him in a way he didn’t like. It was wrong, and he knew it. Just as it was wrong to wonder what had made her what she was.

      There was no reason to give it any thought at all. In a few weeks he would be gone.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      IT WAS A MATCH made in hell.

      If there had been any other way, Serenity wouldn’t be riding beside Jacob Constantine, constantly aware of his presence, of the smell of him, of the easy way he sat on his horse. If she hadn’t been so bent on protecting the other women from him—even Bonnie, who was far too trusting, and Caridad, who might shoot him and have to live with the remorse—she would gladly have sent him out with someone else.

      But he was her responsibility. So she rode out with him in silence to the southwest quarter of the range, beginning the search for calves in need of branding. No words passed between them; she didn’t offer conversation, and he seemed content to concentrate on the work.

      He doesn’t want to know me any more than I want to know him, she thought. And yet, in spite of herself, she began to notice little intriguing things about him that broke her concentration and awakened a far from easy curiosity.

      First, there was the way he worked the cattle. She had to admit that Constantine was worth several men in terms of skill and efficiency. He was just as good as he’d implied, guiding his horse with his knees and hardly a touch on the reins, handling the beeves as if they were harmless little lambs.

      Ordinarily, branding required a minimum of three riders for each quarter of the range, and weeks of grueling work. But Jacob didn’t need any help at all getting the calves down, holding and tying