Authors: Maddy Barone
As they stood around the gate awaiting entrance, the cat let out another howl. The stupid thing had cried the whole way across town and Paint had an urge to lift the lid on the basket and let the cat run away.
“I love Rose,” Stone remarked. “But I wish she’d left the cat at home.”
The gate opened and Beck Carr, one of the burly men Sky hired as guards, smiled a welcome. “Paint,” he bellowed. “Good to see you. Snow, you too. Where’s Sky?”
Paint walked through the gate. “He’s eating supper with the mayor. We’re all staying on for a month or so. This is Standing Bear, White Horse, Stone, and Mike.” He tipped his head back to the sign. “New hours?”
Beck Carr nodded while staring, horrified, at the basket. His flattened nose wrinkled. “What is that stink?”
Paint lifted the basket. “This is Mitzi. She’s been in this basket for hours. The little pile of sand in the corner doesn’t do much to absorb the smell.”
The guard locked the gate with a scowl. “We got all the mousers we need.”
“Mitzi isn’t a mouser. She’s Rose’s pet.”
“Who’s Rose?”
“Sky’s wife.” Paint led the others toward the house. “We’ll see you later, Carr.”
“Sky’s what?” Carr bellowed at their backs.
Paint just waved and kept going. Since the ladies were entertaining tonight and he didn’t want to go through the visitors in the reception rooms, he led the men around to the kitchen door. The noise of the piano, singing, and conversation from the reception rooms was muted at the back of the house, but wolf ears heard it perfectly well. White Horse and Standing Bear looked with interest in that direction, but Paint herded them into the kitchen.
The cook, Patty Nord, was there, stirring something on the stove, along with a couple of the ladies who worked in the kitchen or carried trays of snacks around the reception rooms. All of them stopped what they were doing to stare. Paint hid his reaction when Zoe, one of the dancers, flinched at the sight of his scars. He was used to it, and it shouldn’t bother him, but it did.
“Paint,” called Mrs. Nord. “You’re back. And you brought friends.” She looked at the suitcases they all were carrying. “Never saw any of you with so many clothes before.”
Snow laughed. “Not ours, Mrs. Nord. These bags belong to Rose.”
“Rose?” Zoe sneered. “Is she a new girl? No one told us about a new girl.”
“No,” said Paint, meeting the girl’s eyes directly and not trying to hide the scars that sliced down his forehead, beneath his eye patch, to his cheek below. “Rose is Sky’s wife. They’re having supper with Mayor McGrath. They should be here in a couple of hours.”
“Wife?” Zoe burst into tears and ran from the room.
White Horse blinked at the swinging door, then at Paint. “What was that all about?”
Mrs. Nord rapped the spoon on the side of the pan to remove the sauce clinging to it. “Hmph. Never mind. Introduce me, Paint.”
Paint obediently named his cousins.
Mrs. Nord scrutinized each of them, ending her survey by staring hard at Stone. “Stone?” Her voice might have been cold or bored, but her eyes were lethal. “You’re the man who rebuffed that sweet little nurse and broke her heart.” She dismissed Stone with a sniff and turned back to Paint. “So Sky finally married the girl he left at home? I suppose you better carry those things up to his room and…”
Mitzi let out the loudest wail yet. Mrs. Nord stared at the basket. “What on earth is that?”
Paint held the basket up. “This is Mitzi. Rose’s cat.”
“Good heavens.” Mrs. Nord pointed to the door that led to the basement. “I suppose it will need a litter box and some food. Take it downstairs to that little closet off the laundry room. There’s a bucket of sand there. Just close it in that closet and I’ll send someone down with a bowl of water and some leftovers later.”
Paint handed the suitcase he was carrying to Stone. “Take Rose’s things upstairs. Snow, you know where Sky’s room is? I’ll take care of Mitzi.”
As he stepped down the dim stairs, Paint heard voices. A human might not have picked the sound up, since it was coming from the laundry room. He paused on the landing, cocking his head to listen. There were two voices, both male. He frowned. Why would any men be downstairs? Sky’s men would be patrolling outside, or would be upstairs in the reception rooms or on the next level, where the businesswomen would be entertaining their appointments.
Paint eased quietly down the stairs to the landing near the bottom. He set Mitzi’s basket down and approached the voices. He could see a faint glow of lamp light coming from the laundry room. The distant, tinny sound of the piano above momentarily drowned the voices out, but Paint caught the jeering tone. His moccasins made no sound on the uneven cement floor and the men didn’t notice him. There were two of them, far too roughly dressed and poorly groomed to be customers. Sky wasn’t so picky about what customers wore, but he did require his guests to bathe before they were allowed in the door of his house. These two were too shaggy, too unshaven, and too dirty to be guests. They stood just inside the laundry room, their backs to him, looking at something at the far wall that Paint couldn’t see. One had dirty blond hair, the other brown.
“Look at that bitch,” the blond one sniggered to the other. “Acting like she don’t even hear us. Think you’re too good for us? Huh? Huh, bitch?”
Paint shifted a step to get a clear view between their bodies and saw a woman standing at a laundry tub with her back to them, vigorously scrubbing some pale article of clothing on a washboard. She wore jeans and a blouse, and her thick brown hair shone slightly red in the lamplight. She completely ignored the men behind her, just bending lower over her work.
“You’re so ugly even Gabe wouldn’t keep you on to whore at his place.”
Both men laughed raucously, as if it was a good joke. Paint felt his wolf bare its teeth in a snarl. The unfamiliar woman continued to ignore them, as if they weren’t worth giving any attention to. Paint nodded with approval.
“Who would pay even a twenty bit to fuck her?” the brown-haired man said loudly.
“I would, if it was dark enough, and if we were in a place where no one would hear her scream.”
The brown-haired man slugged the other on the shoulder and let out a screech of ugly laughter. “You’re in luck then, Bob. No one’s around here and all we gotta do is blow out the lamp. You won’t be able to see her ugly face, and one hole pretty much feels like another in the dark, right? She won’t be able to run far, not with that bum leg.” The mockery died when his voice rose to a shout. “Turn around, bitch! Look at us while we make you bleed.”
The woman‘s shoulders twitched but she kept scrubbing. Paint stepped silently behind the men and clamped a hand over each dirty neck. “The only blood we’ll see down here is yours.”
Now that they had a man to deal with, the two showed their cowardice by screaming and flailing to get away. One of them kicked a metal pail, and it fell, spilling water all over the floor. Amazingly, the brave woman hadn’t reacted to the drama behind her until the water washed over her shoe. Then she wheeled.
Paint got a flash of eyes so pale a green they seemed almost to glow in the light, and a thick fringe of dark lashes which made them even more eerie. She looked from the two strangers to Paint. Her hand slapped over her mouth, not quite stifling her hoarse scream, and she staggered to the other side of the room, threw open a door, and fled down a servant’s corridor that Paint knew twisted all over the house like a maze. The sound of her footsteps, uneven and punctuated with hoarse sobs, faded away. Paint’s wolf wanted to run after her, to tell her she was safe, but it also wanted to kill the two men who tormented her.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of the men whined.
Paint squeezed his hand tighter around the nape of the man’s neck. His wolf wasn’t the only one torn between wanting to kill these would-be rapists and going after the terrified woman. Rage jerked his voice out of him in a low snarl. “I am your worst nightmare. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to kill you.”
He dragged them to the stairs, heedless of their thrashing and protests. One of them kicked Mitzi’s basket. It tumbled down the three steps from the landing to the basement, and the latch holding the lid down came open. Freed from her prison at last, the cat shot up the stairs in a streak of brown fur. Paint followed with his swearing captives. Startled shrieks from the kitchen and then from the reception rooms marked Mitzi’s progress through the house. A grim smile touched his lips. He told Rose the cat would cause trouble.
When he hauled his prisoners into the kitchen, Mrs. Nord snatched a butcher knife out of the block on the counter. “Where did they come from?”
“Found ’em in the basement, harassing a woman doing laundry.”
“Katelyn,” the cook exclaimed. “Where is she?”
Paint remembered the terror on her face when the woman fled into the dark. He hoped it was the two men that scared her so bad, but his scars probably hadn’t helped. “She ran off.”
The cook narrowed her eyes at the two men. “How did you get down there?”
They remained stubbornly silent. Paint wanted to smack their heads together. Stone poked his head into the kitchen.
“Rose’s cat is…” He trailed off when he saw the two men Paint was still holding by their necks. His eyes narrowed into slivers of ice. “What’s up?”
“Found these two making trouble for a woman downstairs. You go catch Mitzi and stick her downstairs. I’ll take these two to the City Guard.”
“I’ll go find Katelyn and be sure she’s all right.” Mrs. Nord replaced the knife in the butcher block and picked up an oil lamp. “Poor thing,” she muttered, lighting the wick of the lamp.
“Mrs. Nord,” Paint said. “You shouldn’t go alone. What if there’s more men down there?”
Joe Sullivan came into the kitchen. “What on earth is going on? There’s a cat sitting on top of the curtain rod in the East reception room and he won’t let anyone near him.”
Paint jerked his chin at Stone. “Stone will take care of the cat. Joe, you go downstairs with Mrs. Nord to find Miss Katelyn.”
Paint’s wolf set up an internal howl. Surprised, Paint tried to figure out why. The answer was clear, but hard to understand. The wolf didn’t want Joe near the woman Katelyn because he wasn’t Pack? Paint’s breath caught in his throat. That was the reaction of a wolf who had chosen a mate. But Paint’s wolf had already chosen a mate. She’d rejected them…
His hands tightened so fiercely on the men’s necks that they howled like the wolf. Paint made himself loosen his grip. Killing the men who frightened a woman his wolf liked would be so easy. And quick. His wolf approved of quick. He wanted to be done with them so he could find Katelyn. Paint’s breath threatened to turn to pants. What did his wolf want with Katelyn?
Joe stared at the two scruffy men Paint was holding. “Who the hell?”
“Found them downstairs, bothering Miss Katelyn.”
The strength of his desire to kill them and rush to find Katelyn surprised him. But he couldn’t do it. For one thing, here in Omaha he couldn’t kill anyone he wanted to, and for another, Katelyn was upset. Looking at his scars and eye patch wouldn’t calm her down. Still, he didn’t want the slender, elegant lawyer to be the one to find Katelyn.
“Stone, you go downstairs with Mrs. Nord. Joe, find Snow and tell him to round up the cat. I’ll take care of these two.”
He dragged the two would-be rapists out the back door. He would dump them off with the first set of Guardsmen he saw. Then he would get back to Sky’s place and try to meet Katelyn in better circumstances. Hopefully, someone would wrangle the cat into the laundry room and set up a litter box for her. She sort of liked Stone. At least, she scratched and bit him only half as often as she bit anyone else.
It wasn’t until they were a block away that he remembered Stone had probably had other plans for tonight. He hadn’t seen his mate Sara for two years and she was only a few miles away now.
Curse it. He hoped Sky and Rose were having a nice evening now, because when they got home they would have a mess to figure out.
Chapter 8
Rose stepped toward the odd box on wheels, and as she did, four men in the uniforms of the City Guard stepped from the shadow of the Justice Hall to the curb. None of them spoke, just stood by the car like guards. The car didn’t quite look like those she remembered from 2014. Actually, with the running boards and boxy shape it looked more like a gangster car from the 1920s than a modern automobile. The front end where the engine should go was too short, though, and there wasn’t a trunk. The mayor was enthusiastic as he pointed out this feature and that.
“Where’s the engine?” Rose asked.
Surprise flashed over the mayor’s face and he examined her with deeper interest. “Engine?”
“The motor. Isn’t it in front? I don’t see where it would fit in the back.”
Fresh interest showed on the mayor’s face. “You know about automotives, my dear?”
She didn’t like when Sky called her his dear, but the mayor saying it was worse. “No,” she replied honestly. “I just know they have engines. At least, in the Times Before they did.”
“You are absolutely right. The engine is in the front.” McGrath went to a latch on the side of the fifteen inch stub nose of the car, but before he could open it, one of the Guardsmen leaned down to whisper in his ear. The mayor abandoned the latch with a sigh. “Yes, yes, you’re right, of course.”
The Guardsman opened the door and Mayor McGrath gestured them to get into the car. “We shouldn’t keep my wife waiting too long. Helen doesn’t like it when I’m late for supper.”
Two of the Guardsmen got in the front seat, and the other two stepped up onto the running boards, one on each side. There were two bench seats facing each other behind the driver’s seat. McGrath sat in the one facing forward and she and Sky sat facing him. The seats were plush, covered with leather. It smelled like French fries. When the car started, the scent grew stronger. Rose’s stomach growled. It had been a long time since the late breakfast she ate at the den before riding into Kearney to catch the return train to Omaha. She never imagined this morning that she would be riding in a car.