Page 21 of Unwilling Wolf

Lenny must have taken pity on her and decided to wait on shooting lessons today. After breakfast she’d wrapped Eliza’s hands and set to teaching her how to make a pie with peach preserves.

She’d managed not to poison them with her other meals, and sitting there with its steaming golden crust, the finished pie looked edible, at least. Smiling at Lenny across the table, she took a bite.

It tasted like rubbish, and she gagged and spat the bite back onto her plate. Lenny did the same, and then pushed the rest around with a spoon as if she was trying to figure out how Eliza had managed to screw it up.

It tasted of salt, instead of sugar. Whoops.

Faint hoofbeats against dry ground in the distance brought her movements to a halt to better hear. Was she wishfully imagining the sound?

Lenny’s countenance changed in an instant. Her shoulders tensed, and her eyes blazed a lighter gray as she dragged her attention to the window. A soft snarl rattled her throat, lifting chills up Eliza’s spine.

She’d never heard Lenny make that sound before.

She rushed to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Eliza followed her to see what was making Lenny so angry. By the time Eliza had glided to the window to see for herself, Lenny was already loading the shorter rifle and a pair of pistols. Eliza leaned against the wall and pulled the curtain aside with the barest brush of her fingertips. A stranger approached, wearing leather pants tucked into fine boots. His button-up cotton shirt accented his imposing breadth of shoulder.

He lifted his eyes to the window, and they were the color of ice.

With a gasp at being caught, Eliza dropped the curtain.

What did he want, and why was he calling while the men were in town? And what in bloody hell had Lenny—brave, immovable Lenny—so agitated?

Lenny shoved the rifle into Eliza’s hands. The weapon felt good in her grasp, and her familiarity with it sparked a flicker of pride. Lenny put the pistols down, and with desperate speed unwrapped Eliza’s bandaged hands. Well, this couldn’t be good.

The man was close, and Lenny whispered, “I’m going to go around back.” She picked up the pistols and disappeared. Just…one second she was there, and the next, the back door was open.

Hopefully she’d understood Lenny well enough, because the man was already tying his horse to the post outside. He took a step toward the porch, and she flung the front door open and pointed the rifle at his face. “What do you want?”

The man put his hands up in the air and slowly backed off the entryway. He was tall. Handsome and thickset, but not from overeating. A man didn’t get such brute strength from eating too much. He had icy blue eyes the exact same shade as Garret’s, and sandy blond hair, from what she could see peeking out from under his hat. The feral way in which he looked at her made her think of the cougars she’d read about when she lived in Boston. The man might be tame, but just barely.

“My apologies. I didn’t know anyone was here, miss.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Damn her voice as it shook!

“I just came to take a look at the ranch.” The man watched her with the narrow-eyed, calculating look of some bird of prey, as if deciding whether to tell her more. “My name’s Wyatt Jennings. My sister’s about to marry Garret Shaw. I was making sure this place was fit to house her.”

He was lying. Not about the first part; that very well could be true, but the last part held such a false note and was followed by a cocky smile as if he didn’t care whether she believed the lie.

“Well, it will be very difficult for your sister to marry a man who already has a wife.” She still aimed the rifle at Wyatt, but the end of the barrel had dropped to his chest. The gun grew heavier by the moment, and her arms screamed for relief.

Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The look was then replaced by one of unrivaled anger. The venom in his glare made her throat seize up. He was a dangerous man, and his attentions, regrettably, were focused on her at the moment.

“You’re married to Garret Shaw?” he asked.

She gave a slight nod. Slowly.

“He was in talks with my father and sister to take her as a wife. Why in the hell would he go and marry you instead? You don’t seem his…type,” he ended with a sneer. “My sister comes with a hefty dowry, you see, and everybody knows Shaw is desperate to save this ranch from ruin.” He looked her up and down, lingering on the swell of her bosom. A cold, clammy sweat broke out across the palm of her hands. “I can see your appeal, though. You’re a pretty lady with a right proper accent. Can’t blame a man for wanting you.”

An icy chill slid down her spine. The way he was inching closer to the porch...

She raised the gun, aimed it directly at his face again. Her arms protested, but found the power to obey with the aid of the adrenaline-laced blood that pumped through them. “Get off my land before I blow a hole right through you, Mr. Jennings.”

“Now, Mrs. Shaw. Is that what I am supposed to call you? I don’t think you would really want to do that. Not a lady such as yourself. Murder is beneath you.”

She pulled the hammer on the gun back with a satisfying click. “Don’t try me,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

The rage was squarely back on Wyatt’s face. He spun and untied his horse. “You know, I heard Shaw and his men are in town for at least a few more days yet.” He mounted his horse, then leaned forward and spat into the dirt. “I can’t say I’m all that worried about this news, though. People die around these parts all the time. Part of life, especially for people like yourself, people not built for the terrain. I have a feeling my sister will get her man, and being a betting man, I’d say sooner than later.”

Wyatt’s threat was sincere. Fear slithered from her spine to settle somewhere in her gut.

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