Picking up his bride
*Wade*
Mine is not a face that she-wolves carry with them into their dreams. I skim my thumb over the black eye patch before tugging the brim on the left side of my hat down lower. The right side shows little wear, but the crumpled left side carries the oil and sweat from the constant caress of my hand. Although the day is warm, I bring up the collar on my black duster.
Irritated with the world at large, my older brother and Alpha in particular, I lean against the wooden structure that has the dubious distinction of being Fort Worth’s first railway station and gaze into the distance at the seemingly never-ending tracks.
I hate the railroad with a passion.
Fort Worth was fading into obscurity, turning into a ghost town, before the citizens extended the town’s boundaries so the railroad could reach its outermost edge. It takes nothing more than a whispered promise to change the fading cow town into a thriving boomtown that the elected officials boast will one day be known as the Queen of the Prairie.
The Queen of the Prairie.
I groan. My brother has taken to calling his mail-order mate that very name, and Chase has never even set eyes on the she-wolf.
Hell, she could be the court jester for all Chase knows, but he’s spent a good portion of his money and the pack’s money building this she-wolf a palace at the far side of nowhere.
“We just need to get one she-wolf out here, and the rest will follow,” Chase assures us, a wide confident grin easing onto his darkly handsome face.
Only I don’t want she-wolves sashaying across the windswept prairie. Their soft smiles and gentle laughter have a way of making a man yearn for the simple dreams of his youth, dreams I’ve abandoned to the harshness of reality.
I’ve known men who have been disfigured less than me. Men who have taken a rifle and ended their misery shortly after gazing into a mirror for the first time after they were wounded. If I were a man of courage, I might have done the same. But if I were a man of courage, I wouldn’t be left with a face that my older brother can’t stomach.
I see the faint wisp of smoke curling in the distance. Its anticipated presence lures people toward the depot the way water entices a man crossing the desert. Turning slightly, I press my left shoulder against the new wood.
Damn Chase, anyway, for making me leave my horses and come to this goddess forsaken place of she-wolves, pups, and men too young to have fought in the great War Between the Packs. If I hadn’t been stunned speechless when Chase ordered me to come to Fort Worth to fetch his mate, I would have broken Chase’s other leg.
I still might when I get back to the ranch.
I hear the rumbling train’s coarse whistle and shove my sweating hands into my duster pockets. My rough fingers touch the soft material inside. Against my will, they search for the delicate threads.
The she-wolf has sent Chase a long, narrow piece of white muslin decorated with finely stitched flowers that he’s supposed to have wrapped around the crown of his hat so she can easily identify him.
Flowers, for the Goddess’ sake.
A man doesn’t wear flowers on his hat. If he wears anything at all, he wears the dried-out scales of a rattlesnake that he’s killed and skinned himself, or a strip of leather that he’s tanned, or... or anything but daintily embroidered pink petals.
I’m beginning to wonder if Chase broke his leg on purpose just to get out of wearing this silly scrap of cloth. It wouldn’t do to anger the she-wolf before she becomes his wife.
Well, I’m not going to marry her, so I can anger her all I want, and I’m definitely not going to wrap flowers around the crown of my brown broad-brimmed hat.
No, ma’am. No, sir.
I haven’t stood firm on many things in my life, but by the Goddess, I’m going to stand firm on this matter.
No goddamn flowers on my hat.
I squeeze my eye shut and think about breaking Chase’s other leg. The idea’s appeal grows as I hear more people arrive, their high-pitched voices grating on my nerves like a metal fork across a tin plate. A harsh whisper penetrates the cacophony of sound surrounding me.
“Dare you!”
“Double-dare you!”
The two voices fall into silence, and I can feel the boys’ gazes boring into me. By the Goddess, I wish I had never shut my eye. It’s harder to scare people off once they’ve taken to staring at me.
“Looks like he’s asleep.”
“But he’s standing.”
“My pa can sleep while he’s sitting in the saddle. Seen him do it once.”
“So touch him and see.”
A suffocating expectation fills the air with tension. Then the touch comes. A quick jab just above my knee.
Damn! I had hoped the boys were older, bigger, so I could grab one by the scruff of his shirt, hoist him to eye level, and scare the holy hell out of him. Only I know a bigger boy wouldn’t have jabbed me so low.
Reluctantly, I slowly open my eye and glance down. Two ragamuffins not much older than six stare up at me.
“Git,” I growl.
“Heh, mister, you a train robber?” one asks. “Is that how come you’re standing over here so no one can see ya?”
Not answering, I just huff. “I said to git.”
“How’d you lose your eye?” the other asks.
My eye? I’ve lost a good deal more than my eye. Trust boys to overlook the obvious. My younger brother did. Blaise never seems to notice that his brother left the better part of his face on some godforsaken battlefield.
“Git outta here,” I order, deepening my voice.
Blinking, the boys study me as though I’m a ragged scarecrow standing in a cornfield.
With a quickness they obviously aren’t expecting, I stomp my foot in their direction, lean low, and pull my lips back into a growl. The boys’ eyes grow as large as their hollering mouths just before they take off at a run. Watching their bare feet stir up the dry dirt in the street leading away from the depot, I wish I could run with them, but pack obligations force me to remain.
In resignation, I reposition myself against the wall, slip my hand inside the opening of my duster, and stroke the smooth handle of the Colt revolver. The thought of breaking Chase’s leg no longer holds enough satisfaction.
I decide I’ll shoot my brother when I get back to the ranch.
