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This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
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This is the first in the Kootenai Pack series that is in chronological order. If you’re jumping in eager to know what happened after the events in Ghost Eyes, jump ahead to Part Two. If you have not yet read the first two books in the series, pick up book one Tooth and Claw then Ghost Eyes for best reading experience.
This book contains some material which may be difficult for some readers.
Thank you!
Prologue-
Jackson- After the Fall of the House of Lorde
“So what’re we supposed to do here?” I asked looking over the atrociously blue room covered in the same tacky ship decor as the rest of this stupid town.
Travis smiled easily and gestured to a folding chair, a plush chair, and a leather chaise lounge, “Take a seat in whichever makes you comfortable.”
I groaned and took a seat in the plush chair. It was bad enough Aster- Leeinsisted I get approved by a shrink before I could even get a job with a member of the Rogue Shifter Coalition, which apparently were the only jobs I was qualified for. Apparently approaching the age of thirty without a real resume was what employers called a redflag.
“Alright, Jackson,” Travis said leaning forward, “I know you’re here because of the RSC, but I want you to be assured that everything we talk about here is held with the strictest confidence.”
I grumbled, “I just need a job, man. Can’t you tell her that I’m not crazy and let that be that?”
Travis smiled, “All wolves who come to us from a pack go through this, despite whatever history you have with the dear leader, you’re not special.”
I raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, and the weak wolf continued, “We’re naturally pack animals, Jackson. There is a lot of emotional trauma for both the wolf and man when they leave. We want to be sure you’re handling the transition alright.”
I rolled my eyes, weak wolves irritated me. They couldn’t handle the challenge circle so armored themselves in useless pieces of paper. I’m sure Travis had a wall of degrees that made him think he was better than me.
“I’m fine. I left of my own renaissance,” I said using the word I heard on a cop show the previous night.
“Recognizance?” Travis asked, scribbling in his notebook, “So your pack is looking for you? Did you leave because of an impending trial?”
“No, I left by choice,” I growled. I knew better than to try to sound smart. I could take him in a challenge with my hind legs tied together, “I don’t like decisions the Alpha made, so I left.”
Travis nodded, “Many of our wolves left due to philosophical differences. What exactly did you two disagree on?”
I growled. I didn’t want to talk about the traitors. The backstabbing duo that had once been my mate and best friend. My inner wolf whined at the thought of Willow.
“A shewolf?” Travis asked. Damn weak wolves and their instinctual perception of stronger wolves. I growled again. Travis leaned forward in his chair, “Jackson, if you do not talk to me, I won’t be able to help you.”
“She was supposed to be the smart one. I was supposed to be the strong one,” I growled, “But she...”
“Go on,” Travis said with a sincere nod.
“She betrayed me, so I left,” I said, “And now I’m here, begging at the door of a dud’s fake pack because I spent my life protecting a woman who turned on me at the first opportunity.”
“This woman is your mate?”
I growled then lifted a hand in apology, “Yes. My Moon Blessing. She never liked me. I should have known she was working against me.”
“What happened?” Travis asked.
I gulped, “She won.”
The weak wolf stared at me. Images of her stepping into the challenge circle ran through my mind like a broken video. Flashes of the fight and the defeat of my father. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the shrink.
He was weak. Small. Wore glasses. What self respecting shifter wore glasses? Expensive pieces of glass and plastic that inevitably had to be replaced after a shift. Wasteful. It was wasteful. The wolf in front of me clearly was a part of Aster’s fake pack for a
reason. Selfish waste like that would never be acceptable at Kootenai.
“What did she win?” Travis asked. He adjusted his legs, crossing the right over the left this time.
“None of your business,” I growled.
“Cain and Lee are very specific on the conditions of new entrants to the Rogue Shifter Coalition,” Travis said. He talked in big words, he probably assumed I was stupid, just like Willow. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs again. He was nervous, afraid of me. Good, he should be afraid of me. I’m the rightful Beta wolf of Kootenai.
“Jackson?” Travis said, interrupting my thoughts, “Did you understand my question?”
I growled again, “Fine. You want to know what happened? Why I’m here, lowering myself to ask AsterFieldsfor help?”
“Lee Harris,” Travis corrected.
I felt another snarl building in me, but resisted. This was my last chance. My only chance.
“My mate superseded my challenge to become Beta of my pack,” I managed to explain through gritted teeth, “I refused to be a part of inception on that level of ingrates.”
“Inception?” Travis asked.
“Inception,” I agreed, “She was in cahoots with my father. They lied to get her that title. They had to. My mate is the smallest shewolf in the entire pack.”
Travis’ bug eyes widened with recognition, “You mean deception? That the Kootenai pack leadership deceived the pack by letting Willow win?”
I nodded. Memories of that night washing over my brain again. Suddenly, I felt like I was back there. Moments after my best friend declared my mate the winner. The pack cheered for Beta Lorde.
It should've been me. They should have been cheering for my victory.
I watched wolf after wolf offer their necks to Willow. Her wolf was so small she had to stand on her back paws to reach some of
their necks. Those should have been my necks, my pack submitting to me. I was Beta Lorde, not Willow.
Willow, my precious mate who got panic attacks in grocery stores. My Willow, the wee wolf that trembled like a leaf in thunderstorms. My mate, who could get so wrapped up in her own head she wouldn’t notice a mountain lion stalking her for miles. My Willow was not Beta material.
This had been the plan all along. My best friend watched over the submission parade looking relieved, happy even. I bet they had it all planned out too. Dad would lose to Willow, who was a Lorde by law. The title would remain with Willow, but I would be the one to defend the title. As her mate, it was my right to accept challenges on her behalf.
Willow would get the title, the respect, but it would be my blood that stained the field after tonight.
They sewed it up too perfectly. Willow’s wolf only had one injury, a small cut that would translate on her hairline. How many nights had she been choreographing this with my father? She injured him enough that he could retire and no one would question it.
Finally the submission parade ended and the pack bayed to the sky, celebrating this sham of a challenge. The former Beta had been hauled off the field, taking with him the Alpha and most of the Elder Council. The pack wolves ran into the trees to celebrate their new structure. All that remained in the circle was me, and the traitor I thought I loved.
“You bitch,” they were the first words that stumbled out of my mouth when she approached. Tail between her legs.
That’s right, she knew she fucked me over. Her wolf was ashamed of her for betraying her mate.
“Shift,” I growled at her.
Willow’s wolf growled at me. That would not stand. I was finally able to move and I pulled the wolf up to meet my eyes by the scruff of her neck, “Shift Willow. Face me like the Beta you pretend to be.”
Slowly the fur melted away revealing the small woman. Her hand slapped at my fist which held firm, holding her up by her hair.
“Jackson, what are you doing?” she squirmed, “Let go of me,” She failed to get out of my hold.
“A real Beta would be able to get free of this,” I snarled at her.
To my surprise, Willow didn’t cower, she stopped squirming and lifted her head so I could see her face. A part of her scalp folded over her eye and the wound was beginning to heal from her shift to human form. If she didn’t get the flesh correctly in place soon, it would leave a nastier scar than I thought.
I looked down at her ruined face. My once perfect porcelain doll was destroyed. Fifteen years I guarded her. I protected her from the brutal training of the Kootenai pack whelps. I spent years training with her so she would know how to run and hide. For what?
“Your mate is fragile and weak, you must protect her . Any injury on her skin is your failure as a wolf,” the voice that echoed through my mind was of a command from an Alpha already dead and burned. Years ago, fifteen years ago. He’d used his Alpha command to compel me to protect Willow hours after I first claimed her. I didn’t need an Alpha command to know she was weak and needed me.
I failed to protect her now. Damaged. Another thing Willow had ruined with her charade to undermine my Beta dream. I didn’t break the doll this time. The doll jumped off the shelf and was blaming me for it. Never again. I was done being the bodyguard. She didn’t respect me as her mate, I wouldn’t obey her either.
“I did this for you,” she growled, “Because you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
I dropped her to the ground and kneed her in the face, “This wasn’t for me.”
Willow stood up and held her hand over her cheek, her eyes were wide with surprise, “What is wrong with you?” she asked. The rage that had been boiling for decades bubbled over. The taste of her betrayal was hot on my tongue, the words to describe it were too far away. I channeled all the emotions swirling inside of me into what I did next.
In response to the violence I enacted against my mate, my wolf burst from my skin, and ran away in shame.
“Jackson?”
“Jackson?”
“Jackson!”
The shrill voice of the weak wolf pulled me from the memory. I blinked at him, “So yeah, I left.”
Travis’ chest heaved with heavy breaths. His forehead dabbled with sweat. The whole room reeked of fear.
“I’m going to need to talk to Lee about your petition to join,” he said. His voice quavered.
“I’ll wait here.”
Part One- Before the Fall
Chapter One
Willow- May-Fifteen Years Before the Fall
“Breathe, Willow, it's just lunch,” I whispered my mantra as I crossed from the hallway into the cafeteria. This was my least favorite part of the day. Every other time of day I could feign preoccupation with schoolwork, but not at lunch. At lunch I had to be social. I had to engage in conversation. I had to expend all my energy to pretend the little comments didn’t bother me. To ignore the way the whelps all looked at me with pity.
I made my way across the small lunchroom to my usual table, taking my usual seat between Preston Wright and Lori Idle. Both had already shifted, leaving me the last in our year without my wolf. The next table over, was full of Sophomore pups and whelps, about half of their year shifted, but no one was whispering if those pups were duds.
I knew they whispered about it behind my back. Oh poor Willow, she’llbeadudforsure. But I knew better. May of your junior year was far too late to get your wolf, despite me being a little only 16 and a half. I was the youngest of my year by several months, a September birthday afforded my parents the choice of entering me into kindergarten as an old 4 year old or an almost 6 year old. Being the smarty pants I was at 4, they opted for early.
I was always the smallest in my class. The baby, the last to get my driver’s license, the last to get everything. If I was in the sophomore class at my age, no one would be whispering that I was a dud. They’d tell me that I’d get my wolf any day now. Which was true, it had to be. My own self assurance did little to engender confidence in my peers.
“Hey, Willow,” Owen said from across the table. Owen and his mate, Emily, were seniors of low rank, so they overflowed into the junior pack kid table. And wherever Emily went, her baby sister, Caroline went too. The Fuller sisters were inseparable, despite the five year age gap. They sat next to
each other whispering, looking up at me for a brief second before returning to their chit chat.
“Hey,” I returned the greeting and sat in my seat. I pulled out my lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich -strawberry, not grapeand an apple. I carefully arranged my sandwich so everything was arranged just so for best eating.
“I’m going to do it,” Caroline’s chipper voice brought my attention away from my food. She looked to her sister who nodded encouragement, “Wish me luck.”
Emily gave her sister thumbs up and the younger Fuller wandered two tables over to where the underclassmen sat.
“What’s she doing now?” Preston asked.
“Lorde the Lush from the looks of it,” Lori retorted with a snort, “It’s practically a rite of passage at this point. Am I right?”
Several of the shewhelps at the table nodded agreement. My confusion about Lori’s cryptic comment quickly went away when Caroline’s shrill giggle was cut off by a sloppy kiss. Right. Lorde the Lady Killer.
The son of the pack Beta and current freshman. He stood almost six feet tall and was built like a Mack truck. He dressed in gym clothes almost exclusively. All the shewhelps and pups at my table and quite possibly every table in the cafeteria knew all about Jackson Lorde. He wasa bit of a rite of passage, bang the Beta’s son before you get your wolf. I had no idea how the whelps felt about the future Beta sowing his wild oats in their potential mates. Considering who his father was, I doubted any wolf beside the Alpha’s son would dare speak up.
Not that Kendrick spoke often. I glanced away from the sickening public display of mating to the senior table where Baby Biel sat. Unlike everyone else in the pack, Kendrick shifted at 13. He sat with the now seniors ever since, despite being only a freshman himself. Everyone at the senior table was mated except for Kendrick. If they hadn’t found their mate in the Kootenai pack, the senior wolves brought their mate back with them.
Sensing prying eyes, Kendrick turned his attention to my table. I quickly looked back at my sandwich before my attention was caught
again by the sounds of Caroline and Jackson. Just seeing him in action made me sick. I normally felt disgust watching him, but today was a whole other level. I felt physically ill. My heart started to race and my throat tightened. If I didn’t get out of this cafeteria soon, I’d have a full blown panic attack.
I wrapped up my sandwich and excused myself from the table, claiming to have lost my appetite. I found a quiet hallway and refocused my breathing. Focused on my mantra.
“Breathe, Willow, it’s just school. One year, twelve days, then you’ll be free,” I whispered, “Breathe, Willow, it’s just school. One year, twelve days, then university.”
I was lost in meditation when the bell rang, announcing the next class. I hurried to my feet and made my way there. School continued in a blur. The nausea that started in the cafeteria hadn’t waned. I could hardly pay attention as teachers hurried to give last minute assignments, while students counted the seconds to summer vacation.
When the final bell rang, I scurried to the parking lot where my dad’s car idled, “How was school today, honey?” he asked when I climbed inside.
“It was school,” I told him, “How was work?”
He laughed, “It was work. Did you and your friends make any weekend plans?”
I shook my head, “They’re doing whelp stuff,” I explained.
Dad patted my knee, “She’ll come, Willow. I didn’t get mine until two days before I turned seventeen. Your mom didn’t get hers until one day before she turned seventeen. And Virgil.”
I snorted, “Got his the day after he turned fifteen.”
“What a freak,” dad joked, “I’m not even sure he’s mine.”
My older brother, Virgil was a freak of Marquis nature. His wolf was strong. When he graduated last year, he climbed to the rank of Sixth Sentinel. I thought he was joking when he came home after the commencement run.
“How’s he doing in Red Rock?” I asked, hoping that the topic change would refocus my mind enough to lessen my nausea.
After graduation, Virgil was sent to the Red Rock Pack in Arizona for his out of pack education. A wolf white as snow in the desert, everyone laughed when he picked that pack to train in. But he made an excellent point, if he could learn to track and stay hidden in the desert, he could do anything in Kootenai.
“I promised I’d let him tell you the news,” dad said with a wide grin.
“He found a mate?!” I squealed, and dad laughed, confirming my suspicion, “What’s she like? I’ve always wanted a sister.”
“They’re coming to visit for Summer Solstice, but you have to act surprised,” dad warned, “He wanted to surprise all of us, but you know Virgil.”
“Can’t keep a secret to save his life,” I grinned back, “He better work on that if he wants to rise higher than sixth in the ranks.”
Dad pulled into the driveway of our modest home and I was overcome by the nausea again. I clutched my stomach, trying not to pass out in the car.
“You ok Willow-tree?” dad asked, “You look pale.”
“I haven’t felt good since lunch. Nothing to worry about I’m going to go lay down,” I told him, he looked worried, which wasn’t good. A worried dad was a hovering dad. I quickly added, “Probably just girl stuff.”
Girl stuff, every wolf-dad’s kryptonite. He turned from concerned dad, to awkward man in seconds. He stumbled over his agreement, not questioning me when I went upstairs.
This wasn’t girl stuff. I knew that for sure. My stomach gurgled like it was trying to escape. I ran up the stairs and dropped into a corner of my room. The gurgling got louder. What was happening to me?
I clutched my stomach and laid on the floor in the fetal position, trying to refocus my mind. I catalogued what was going on with my body. My breathing and heart rate were normal. There was no obvious pain. I was nauseous, but didn’t feel like I was going to vomit. I just didn’t feel good.
The sick feeling continued through the night. Mom checked in on me around dinner time.
“Dad said you’re having lady problems?” she asked, crouching in front of me on the floor, she pressed her cool hand to my forehead, “But that’s not right, you had your lady troubles last week. You don’t have a fever.”
“I just don’t feel good,” I told her.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead, “Oh, oh!” she bolted upright, “Kyle! Kyle! Get in here!”
My father’s thunderous footsteps echoed through the floor as he raced into my room, “What? What’s wrong?”
“Smell Willow,” mom instructed. Smell me? That couldn’t bode well, wolves had a sensitive sense of smell, even in human form. Some healer wolves even claimed they could smell cancer and pregnancy. I thought it was crazy, no one could smell cancer. But hearing my mom tell my dad to smell me started the spiral of worries. What if this wasn’t just nerves, what if I was nauseous because of stomach cancer? I didn’t get my wolf because I was going to die before my seventeenth birthday. Would anyone come to my funeral? They probably would, because manners matter, but they wouldn’t be sad about it. Oh that’s Milkbone Marquis for you, so small and bony her stomach killed her.
My spiraling thoughts were accompanied by a racing heart and difficulty breathing. Great, now I was panicking, again. Dad leaned down and sniffed, “Oh, Oh!” he jumped up, excited.
My parents hugged each other and looked back at me, “You’re getting your wolf, honey,” mom finally explained, “You just need to shift.”
I blinked at her, all thoughts of cancer disappearing from my mind, “Shift?”
“Yeah, shift,” dad said, “Don’t they teach you anything in Shifter School?”
“Oh you know that’s not how the first shift works,” mom scolded, “I’m going to bring up some food for you and your wolf, she’ll come when she comes. But I bet she’s coming tonight!”
My parents filed out of my room and I sat up.
I smelled like a wolf. This was a good thing. Why did I suddenly feel so scared? My mind started to race. What if my wolf was stuck? What if I’d never shift? I grew up hearing the horror stories of the shiftless. They had a wolf inside of them, but it never came out, unlike the unshifted, who had no wolves. I already had a hard enough time focusing on my day to day activities with just one set of thoughts and emotions, but two.
My heart rate increased and my vision started to darken around the edges. I tried to focus on my breathing, but I wasn’t calming down. I tried to name five things to center myself. Nothing was working. I was panicking.
One moment, I was struggling to breathe the next, I was on four paws, hiding under my bed. I shifted. It wasn’t painful, like I’d been told it would be. There was no breaking bones or poking hairs. One moment I was Willow, the next I was a wolf. But, like me, my wolf was small and weak.
“Willow?” my mom stood in my doorway, I saw her slippered feet as she walked in. I could smell the plate of goulash in her hands. Drool pooled in my wolf’s jaws, but we were too scared to leave our hiding place.
“Smells like wolf,” dad said, his bare feet beside mom’s in the doorway of my room, “We were only gone five minutes, she couldn’t have shifted already, right?”
“I don’t know,” mom said, “Willow, honey, I’m going to set this here and if you’re hungry, you can eat it ok? We’re going to leave you alone now, howl if you need us.”
They shut the door behind them and several minutes later, my wolf cautiously left the safety of the bed and slunk toward the plate. The goulash was cold by the time we reached it, but she licked the plate clean. Belly full, my wolf slunk back under the bed, curled in a ball, and fell asleep.
I woke in the morning still in wolf form. I didn’t know how to shift back. I also had to pee. I pawed at my door, unable to open it. My wolf was nervous about making too much noise, but I convinced her it was ok, we were safe at home. She howled, softly. Then, when there was no response, she tried again, louder this time.
“Willow?” I heard my mom’s voice in the hallway. I pawed at the door again and she opened the door.
I directed my wolf down the stairs to the back door, and pawed there, letting another soft howl. We really needed to go.
I howled again. Dad was at the counter in the kitchen drinking his coffee, “Willow? Still in wolf form?”
I whimpered and pawed at the door again, dad laughed, “Ok dear, stay close to the house, ok?”
I yipped an agreement and as soon as the door was open, my wolf bolted to the safety of the tree line. She did her business and explored the woods behind the house. She didn’t venture more than a couple yards out of sight of the house. The world was so foreign this low to the ground. Everything my wolf sniffed was new and exciting. The decaying leaves recently uncovered by the melted snow were a bouquet of olfactory sensation. And the animal tracks. I followed one trail to a rabbit warren. My wolf didn’t hunt, not yet, she didn’t know the rules, but she followed new scents until she discovered their origins.
Our exploration lasted hours, the sun was starting its descent before my mother called us back into the house, “Willow, you need to shift back,” she said when we trotted toward the house, “No muddy paws in the house.”
I whined, I didn’t know how to shift back.
“The whelps have their training session tonight after the pack meeting, if you shift back in time, you can join them” my dad said.
“She’s not joining the training session,” my mom scolded, “She justshifted. She’s not ready for that, this week Alpha Biel is the trainer. Do you want our daughter to have hideous scars because that’s what’ll happen if-”
Terrified by my mother’s words, my wolf bolted through her legs into the house, following her own trail until she found my room and hid under the bed.
“Willow,” mom said bending down to look under the bed, “You need to shift dear.”
My wolf whimpered curling into as small a ball as she could.
“She has a stubborn wolf, I’ll tell you that much,” dad said.
“Come on dear,” mom said again, “It’s just us, your parents. Shift for us baby girl.”
Chapter Two
May- Fifteen years before the Fall
Somehow, my parents coaxed the wolf to let me have control again. Mom ushered me right into the bathroom to clean up. As soon as she shut the door I turned to the mirror in the bathroom.
First shifts could bring major changes. Was I taller? Did I get the curves puberty forgot to give me? Had my eyes magically become proportional to my face? Did my hair get volume instead of falling limply to my shoulders?
When I looked, nothing changed. Not a zit was out of place. My eyes were still giant, my skin still pale, if anything, I was paler than before. I was still short, I still had less fat than a turkey burger. The only thing different was the way I felt.
Under my skin, my new companion paced, prodded, she wanted me to explore. This room was full of new scents. She liked some and hated others. She particularly hated my shampoo, so I didn’t use it. I washed the mud off my hands and feet and called it good. The steam enhanced the scent of the soap I used.
I dressed in my usual clothes, there was no change in the fit. Everything was the same. I was so disappointed. But what had I been hoping for? Mom knocked twice before entering my room, “Willow, honey, we have to hurry, we’re late.”
“Late?” I asked, “Late for what?” I checked my watch, we’d already missed the weekly pack meeting, hopefully we’d be forgiven considering the circumstances. Families were usually given leniency after first shifts.
“Dinner at the Alpha house,” she said with a bright smile, “They’re having a first shift celebration dinner.”
My stomach dropped and the nausea was back in full force. A dinner? For me? At the Alpha House. Oh this wasn’t good. Being the guest of honor at the Alpha House was a big deal. What if I forgot how to use a fork? Or drank out of my neighbor's water glass? I had
a wolf, now I could get punished for my misbehavior. I’d heard of Alpha Biel punishing much less crimes than bad manners. I don’t know if I’d survive being flogged.
“Yeah, apparently the Beta’s son also shifted for the first time last night,” mom said with a bright voice, “When I called to notify the Alpha of your shift, Mrs. Lorde answered and invited us to join.”
I was able to breathe again. This wasn’t a dinner in my honor. There was no way Jackson Lorde would share the spotlight with me. I could sit in the darkest corner of the table and politely pick at food until it was time to go. This I could do. This wasn’t nearly as scary.
“Ok, lets go,” I said.
My wolf started pacing against my skin when we reached the bottom of the Alpha House hill. She got more and more agitated, like she was searching for something. When we reached the front door, she was at full attention, pulling me forward, to a specific direction. It took me longer than it should have to realize it was the Moon Blessing Pull.
My mate was inside. I walked a bit faster in the direction of the pull, which was, blessedly, in the same direction of the formal dining room my parents were leading me to. Each step excited my wolf. Each step was a step closer to my mate.
My mate.
I had a mate. I wondered who he was. He had to be a visitor from another pack. Every Marquis found their mate outside of Kootenai going back generations. Maybe he was a new graduate from a different pack studying under our Alpha or Beta. That would be kind of nice. I could show him around the pack, he could help train me. Then he’d either take me back to his pack when he completed his training or join Kootenai. The idea of joining another pack was equal parts exciting and terrifying.
I felt the pull get tighter when we reached the door. I took a deep breath before opening it. My future was on the other side of this door and for once, my increased heart rate did not denote panic, it was excitement. My mate was on the other side of the door. My mate.
I opened the door and looked left and right, quickly scanning the bruised faces of the pack whelps looking for the stranger who was my mate. Seeing no strangers, my heart sank a little bit. All of the unmated pack whelps shifted well before me....except... I looked at the final face.
Jackson fucking Lorde.
The Moon Goddess saw fit to bless Jackson with physical changes. He was even bigger than before. He grew at least an inch all around. His hair was thicker too. His chocolate brown eyes poured into mine and his face split into a wolfish grin.
“Oh fuck no,” I heard my voice say.
“Oh fuck yes,” he said. All decorum went out the window. In one graceful motion Jackson leapt over the table, landing next to me. One second I was standing on my own two feet, holding the door open, the next I was dangling impotently in the air. My arms pinned to my sides by Jackson’s meaty arms. His face buried in my neck. I squirmed, trying to free a limb from his hold, but he held me tighter, inhaling audibly and sighing the word, “Mine.”
Oh hell no. This was not going to be my life. I fought harder to break his grasp. He did not get to do this. Just because he was the Beta’s son did not mean he could claim me like this.
“Back off asswipe,” I snarled trying to push away from him.
“Not a chance,” he purred lifting my face to rub his cheek against mine.
Is this guy covering me in his scent like wolves do? Already? Moons above, thiswas my mate? Of all the males in all the world, I got the animal in human form. I managed to move my head to look at my parents. They were smiling, my mom going so far as to hold her hand to her chest with happy tears in her eyes.
“You’re just going to let Captain Date Rape grope your daughter?” I asked, unable to break Jackson’s constrictor hold on me.
Jackson’s hands slid from my back down lower, pressing my front into him. He was hard, everywhere. Hard. Oh goddess, that wasn’t something I was ready for. There was one good thing from
his roaming hands, it lessened the pressure on my arms. I pushed back against his chest, hoping again, to break his hold on me.
“Back the fuck up right fucking now,” I said, mustering bravery from my indignation.
“Take this outside,” Alpha Biel growled, “Kendrick, watch them.”
I continued an impressive string of profanities trying to get out of his grip. Unfortunately, that only seemed to excite Lorde the Ladykiller and his, ahemLady Killer even more. The Alpha’s son came up behind us and herded Jackson out of the dining room. He walked with his face buried in my neck, rubbing his nose between the base of my neck and collar bone. Over and over again, low growls rumbling from his throat the whole time.
When we got outside, I thought he was going to set me down. Instead, I felt a sharp pressure where Jackson’ had been nuzzling.
He bit me.
The motherfucker bit me.
I yelped, and he let me go “Ow, what the fuck?!”
He stepped back, his mouth covered in blood. He wiped his mouth and smiled at me, his teeth stained red.
He was pleased with himself. How in the ever-loving hell did I end up with a sadistic wolf? I stared back at him, his chocolate brown eyes pits of the abyss staring back at me. I wasn’t afraid of him, I was too angry to be scared.
“Jackson,” Kendrick growled, “You just hurt your mate. Is this really how you want to do this?”
“I marked her. She’s mine,” Jackson argued, returning the future Alpha’s growl, “Back off, I don’t want to hurt you, Kendrick.”
“But hurting me is fine?!” I shouted, backing away from Jackson. My hand pressed my wound, hoping to stop the bleeding. Bleeding,I spend less than two minutes with my Moon Blessed Mate and I’m bleeding, there was only one explanation, “I’m cursed. That has to be it. Save myself for my mate and I get cursed with-”
Jackson turned back to look at me, growling. He advanced, but Kendrick got between us.
“Stop,” Kendrick commanded, and Jackson fell silent.
Kendrick took another step towards Jackson, his back to me, “Step back,” Jackson took steps backward, “Sit,” Kendrick commanded, and Jackson plopped to the ground, “You’re a friend, Jackson, but you can’t ever forget who rules this pack.”
“You don’t understand. She’s mine,” Jackson whined. His eyes flicked from Kendrick to me and back again.
“She doesn’t want you!” I shouted, feeling safe enough to voice behind Kendrick. The smug bastard shrugged at me. His shrug said it all. It didn’t matter what I wanted. The Goddess had chosen. He’d claimed me in front of the Alpha, the Beta, their mates, and all the whelps of the pack. I couldn’t deny him by the laws of wolves. Not without losing everything.
“Looks like you have some groveling to do,” Kendrick told Jackson.
Jackson growled and stared at Kendrick. The two engaged in a tense staring contest until Jackson averted his eyes, submitting to Kendrick. When my mate looked back at me, he didn’t look smug. He didn’t look self satisfied now. He looked scared. Scared of what? He bit me. Not the other way around.
Seeming satisfied in his mating crisis de-escalation, Kendrick left me alone with my mate. I continued moving away from Jackson. He’d already shown his speed and strength. He could overpower me in seconds. My heart raced as I planned my escape, but my wolf didn’t want me to leave. My breaths came in pants as I tried to figure out what to do.
Jackson didn’t move a muscle. He stared at me, his eyes pleading for me to do something. What? What did he want from me? He licked his lips, getting another taste of my blood that still rimmed his lips. His eyes closed like he was savoring a lick of ice cream. He was a monster. But, inside my chest, my wolf whined. He was our monster.
“You’re not allowed to fuck other girls,” I shouted, taking a cautious step forward. I would have to make this relationship with Jackson work. But I wasn’t going to be the doormat he expected of Willow Marquis. There was going to be rules.
To my surprise, Jackson smiled, “I don’t want to,” he yelled back.
Cautiously, I took another step forward, “You aren’t the boss of me,” I shouted, taking another step forward, “I’m my own wolf and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Except fuck other men,” Jackson yelled back with a wicked grin.
“Fine,” I agreed, I stood above him. Even sitting in the grass he came up to my belly button. Was he that tall? Or was I that short? I looked down at him. The size difference was just the beginning of ways this wolf could hurt me, “And if you ever, draw blood from me again, I’ll...I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” he asked, with a wicked grin, “Kill me? I’d like to see you try.”
Killing him wouldn’t do anything, wolves like him lived to die. No, I knew just the threat that would get to Jackson, I smiled my best wolfish grin, “I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to you with sauerkraut on a bun.”
Heat suffused my body at the sound he made. I don’t know who moved first, but an instant later, Jackson was beneath me, his lips pressed to mine. He was all mass and muscle. Every bit as tall and wide as I was small and frail.
His lips devoured mine. I never expected my first kiss to be like this. In all my youth imagining this moment, I expected soft and gentle. There was nothing soft or gentle about my mate. As quickly as our kiss began, he took charge, rolling us so he pinned me to the grass.
My wolf howled inside of me, she was thrilled at this new development. She wanted more from him. She wanted his scent all over us, she wanted our scent all over him. His hands were everywhere all at once.
In my lust filled haze, I forgot we had an audience.
“Come back inside you two,” Mrs. Lorde shouted, “I don’t want my grandpups to be conceived on the Alpha house lawn!”
Jackson got off me, face red with embarrassment. He wasn’t the only one. I was pretty sure my entire body was red from shame. My parents, Jackson’s parents, and the future Alpha of the pack just witnessed that wholething. I’d never been more embarrassed in my life.
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concerning whom she was again wondering and conjecturing. On discovering Tom Locke there, she had felt a shock of surprise, yet somehow he did not seem at all out of place, and never was there the faintest token that the experience was for him in any degree novel or unusual.
So absorbed was she in her speculations that presently she was almost startled to find the sermon ended, and to hear her father intoning the first lines of the closing hymn; never before had one of his discourses seemed so short and passed so quickly.
Standing, she sang with the congregation, without recourse to the hymn book. She had a voice that was clear, and sweet, and true, expressive and sympathetic; she was doubly charming when she sang.
In the midst of that hymn she suddenly became self-conscious, and felt the warm color mounting into her cheeks; although she did not see it, intuition or something of the sort told her that he had turned to look in her direction.
Following the benediction, she lingered to speak with some nearby friends. Passing down the aisle to the door, she found herself face to face with Stark and Locke, coming across at the rear from the far side. Larry bowed, and she gave him a friendly smile in return.
“I’m glad to see you at our church again this year, Mr. Stark,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss Harting,” he returned. “I’m afraid I didn’t come as often as I should last year. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Locke, one of our players.”
Their eyes met again, but how changed were the circumstances! Still, it was not she alone who remembered, and the flush on his face was no feeble reflection of that upon her own. She murmured something, her lids drooping quickly; in her ears his voice—strong, fine of timbre, well modulated—sounded pleasantly. She was disturbed by the remarkable behavior of her heart.
Afterward she could not recall what she had said, but she remembered his words accurately. They were few and formal, but
they were uttered in that unmistakable way which marks the speech of a man of breeding.
She took particular note of his hands; while they were a bit slender, with long fingers, there was something about them indicative of physical strength, and strength of character, as well. She wondered that a baseball player could have such fine, well-groomed hands; and she had come to believe that the hand of any man tattles the secrets of him to whom it belongs.
After a few moments, the ball players passed out of the church between two lines of children waiting to enter for Sabbath school when the congregation should have departed. Even as she smilingly greeted some of those children, Janet’s eyes followed the retreating figure of Tom Locke.
She was a bit startled to hear some one speak to her, and to discover Bent King, hat in hand, at her side. His face was unusually pale, and there was in his eyes something resembling anger. His voice sounded unnatural and harsh.
“I must say those two—er—fellows had their nerve with them!” he observed, in a low tone. “It took a crust for them to stop and speak to you here. I—I felt like punching their heads!”
“I am very glad you did not permit your feelings to master you,” she said, with a faint laugh. “I met Larry Stark last year, and I was glad to see him at church to-day. He introduced Mr. Locke, the new pitcher.”
“Oh, I saw it all,” Bent half growled. “I was standing out here in the vestibule, where I could look inside, and I saw them time their movements to meet you.”
“Oh, pshaw! You must be mistaken.”
“I’m not—begging your pardon, Janet. I say it was a sheer case of nerve for two hired ball players to do a thing like that. I saw people staring as you were talking to them. I don’t wonder you were embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed! You must be mistaken, Benton.”
“Of course you were embarrassed—you blushed like fire It was humiliating to be compelled to acknowledge an introduction to a common scrapper like that man Locke.”
“I assure you that I did not feel at all humiliated,” she returned, with a touch of defiance. “Instead, I was glad of the opportunity to meet him.”
King choked; the pallor of anger gave way to a flush of the same nature, and he gazed at her resentfully.
“You must be jesting,” he said, endeavoring to restrain himself. “I hope you’re not baiting me.”
“Not at all. Ever since the game yesterday I have felt much curiosity concerning Tom Locke. To some extent, it has been satisfied. I admit I was surprised to find him plainly very much of a gentleman.”
He bit his lip, his gloved hands gripping and crushing the soft felt hat, and for the moment he was afraid to speak again. Hatred for Tom Locke throbbed in every pulse beat.
She broke the momentary silence: “What are you doing here— now?”
“I am waiting to walk home with you.”
“But it is too early. I told you after Sabbath school.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“Don’t let me put you to that trouble.”
“I’ll wait,” he repeated grimly
He was waiting at the door when she came forth after Sabbath school was over, and he fell in at her side. She made an observation about the beautiful day, but his face wore a shadow, and it was of something quite different that he presently spoke.
“I hope, Janet,” he said, “that you are not becoming interested in that man Locke?”
“Oh, but I am interested in him,” she returned, laughing. “How can I help being? He is a wonderful pitcher, and he has shown that he can take care of himself when crowded into a corner. Every one who has seen him must be interested in him.”
“You know what I mean, Janet. He is a professional ball player, a stranger, a man whom no one around here knows anything about.”
“Oh, Mr. Cope must know a great deal about him, or he’d never signed him for the team. I’d really like to ask Mr. Cope some questions.”
“Don’t! If you do that, if you’re not careful, you’ll have people gossiping. You know how easy it is to start gossip in a small country town.”
She tossed her head a bit. “Yes, I know; but if they want to gossip over nothing at all, I’ll not attempt to deprive them of the pleasure.”
“These baseball players,” he went on, “always think they can mash any country girl they choose. I understand that they joke and boast of their conquests, and laugh about the silly girls who get stuck on them. You should have foresight enough—”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. King!” she interrupted frigidly. “You seem to presume that I’m anxious to pick up a flirtation with a baseball player. I assure you that you are mistaken; but, even if you were not, you could not choose a better method of making yourself offensive.”
He saw he had made a false step; in vain he tried to remedy the error. She would not quarrel, nor would she discuss the matter further, maintaining silence, save when it became absolutely necessary, out of politeness, to make some answer to what he was saying. Cursing himself for a blunderer, he apologized as well as he could, speaking of their long friendship, and his natural interest in her, which might have led any one into such an indiscretion. At the door of the parsonage they parted, he still humble and penitent, she still cool and formal.
“I’m a fool!” he growled as he strode away. “I should have known better. I did know better, but I lost my head when I saw him fawning upon her—when I saw her, poppy-cheeked, looking after him. If he
takes a fancy to cut in on my preserves, he’ll find the going rough. I’ll guarantee he has a vulnerable spot, and I’ll locate it.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE AGITATION IN BANCROFT
More than a hundred men, laborers and mill hands, bearing new brooms, recently bought in grocery stores, and making a tremendous noise with tin horns, cow bells, and voices, were marching down the main street of Bancroft.
They were Kingsbridge fans, who had come down to the city to root for their baseball team, and to back it up, if necessary, should a disturbance start upon the field; and, to the last horny-handed husky, they looked like fellows who would as soon fight as eat; one might have fancied, even, that not a few of them were the sort who would leave a meal any day to take a hand in a healthy, head-cracking scrap.
At any rate, their appearance had been sufficient to serve notice of the cause which had brought them thirty miles by rail on this midweek day to sit in a bunch on the Bancroft bleachers while the game was in progress.
After the affair in Kingsbridge, which ended with the whipping of Hoover, there had been rumors that the resentful Bancrofters would do things to Locke when he appeared in the city down the river, which had brought out this picked band of Lefty’s admirers with the openly proclaimed intention of being concerned in such “doings” as might come off.
The game was over, the Kinks had won again, and there had been no riot. Up to the seventh, it had been another pretty struggle between Locke and Hoover, but when the first Kingsbridger opened that fatal inning with a stinging two-sacker, the local pitcher went up in the air for the first time in the Northern League, being bumped for three earned runs before Manager Riley brought himself to send in a substitute. The game had terminated with the score seven to three in
Kingsbridge’s favor Hence the demonstration of the rejoicing visitors, as they marched down through town to take the homewardbound train.
Mike Riley, chewing at his inevitable cigar, stood on a corner, and sullenly watched the parade. After the game, he had not lingered to say anything to his players, for he knew that his mood would lead him into remarks not at all soothing or flattering, and mere talk could not remedy what had happened.
Some one grabbed Riley by the elbow, and he looked round, to see Fancy Dyke, accompanied by Rufus Kilgore, a lawyer, who was one of the backers of the Bancroft team. Dyke’s thin lips were pressed together, the corners being pulled down into something half sneer, half snarl. The lawyer looked disturbed.
“What’re you doing?” asked Fancy. “Standin’ here to give them howlin’ muckers a chance to see how bad you feel? Where’s the police, anyhow? They oughter pinch that whole bunch for disturbin’ the peace.”
“It would take the whole police force of the city to arrest a single man of them and land him in the caboose,” said Kilgore. “Kingsbridge didn’t send down a hundred fighting men to see any one of them pinched because he was celebrating a victory over us.”
“We was lookin’ for you, Riley,” said Dyke. “Come on over to Kilgore’s office.”
“What for?” growled the manager, having drawn back and shaken off Fancy’s hand.
“We’re goin’ to have a consultation; we’re goin’ to talk this thing over. Jorkins and Butler will be right along. We’ve told ’em to come.”
“What’re you tryin’ to do—make trouble fer me?” rasped Riley resentfully. “You’ve got busy mighty quick after the game, ain’t ye?”
“It’s sure time something was done,” retorted Fancy defensively. “This town won’t stand for much more of the medicine it had to swaller to-day.”
“That’s right,” agreed the lawyer “Everybody is sore over it. To be downed by Fryeburg or Lakeport would be bad enough, but to have Kingsbridge rub it into us—oh, blazes!”
“I don’t s’pose you guys got an idea I’m goin’ to lay down and let the Kinks keep it up right along?” snapped the manager. “I reckoned you knew I warn’t built that way.”
“It won’t do any hurt to talk over what’s to be done,” said Dyke. “Come on!”
Riley followed them, scowling blackly. They crossed the street along which the hilarious Kingsbridgers had passed, came to an open doorway two blocks farther on, and mounted a rather dark flight of stairs. Kilgore jingled a bunch of keys attached to a chain, and opened a door bearing his name lettered upon it, at the head of the stairs.
The office consisted of two uncarpeted rooms, the front and larger having windows which looked upon the street. The lawyer flung open one of those windows, through which drifted distant and dying sounds of the celebrating Kingsbridgers. Then he motioned his companions to chairs, himself taking the swivel in front of his littered, untidy desk.
“Had to let my stenographer off for the game,” he said. “She made a bluff that she was half sick and had a terrible headache, but I knew what ailed her, and I cured her by giving her a pass. She’ll come back to-morrow feeling worse than ever over our licking.”
“Natural enough,” said Dyke, sitting down. “It’ll make the whole town sick.”
Riley’s chair cracked under his weight. “Ain’t got a swaller of somethin’ round here, have ye, Kilgore?” he asked.
The lawyer produced a “longnecker” and a dirty glass. “Running water in the back room if you want it,” he said.
But the manager, having no desire to dilute the amber liquid with which he almost overran the glass, and disdaining a “chaser,” took
his “straight.” Dyke followed with a small “nip,” but Kilgore asked to be excused from joining them, and put away the bottle and glass.
Heavy steps sounded on the stairs. A tall, slim, sallow man entered, a puffing, red-faced, rolypoly individual toddling at his heels. These were Timothy Jorkins and Ira Butler, both financial backers of the team, and members of the Bancroft B. B. A.
“Here you are!” said Jorkins, in a deep voice pregnant with accusation, fixing his eyes on Riley.
“Yes, here you are!” gurgled Butler, likewise glaring at the manager.
“Yes, here I am,” rasped Mike, returning their gaze. “What about it?”
“What about it?” rumbled the tall man excitedly. “Do you say what about it? Have you the nerve to say what about it? We are the ones to say that. What about it, Mr. Riley; what about it?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Riley, what about it?” wheezed the fat man, digging up a limp handkerchief, and painfully mopping around inside his collar, his face becoming still more beetlike during the process. “That’s what we want to know.”
Riley removed the cigar from his mouth, and spat on the floor. “You’re all wrought up, ain’t ye?” he sneered. “Goin’ to jump on me good and hard, hey? There’s some poor losers in this burg.”
“Bancrofters’ll never stand losing to Kingsbridge,” declared Jorkins. “You were dead certain their left-hand kid pitcher couldn’t repeat the trick he played on us in their town last Saturday, but he did it, and everybody’s chewing the rag. If he can keep that up, they’ll grab the pennant away from us. They’re getting the jump on us at the beginning of the season. It’s plain we haven’t a pitcher to hold his own with that man Locke. Hoover blew up to-day. Locke got his goat, and he won’t be any more use against that team. They’ll keep Locke just to run against us.”
“Has Bancroft ever had a losin’ team with me managin’?”
“No, but—”
“She won’t this year, either Leave it to me. Don’t go off your nut so soon.”
“What do you propose to do?” asked Butler
“I ain’t had much time to figger on it yet, but you can bet your life that I’ll do somethin’.”
“I lost a hundred on the game to-day,” said Dyke mournfully.
“Where did they get hold of Locke?” questioned the lawyer.
“I don’t know,” confessed Riley. “Cope dug him up, and he ain’t tellin’ where. Hutchinson don’t know no more about the youngster than we do.”
“Perhaps he lies,” put in Jorkins. “Perhaps he does know.”
“He wouldn’t take the trouble to lie about it if he knew, and he told me straight that he didn’t know.”
“Think his conscience would keep him from lying?” asked Fancy.
“Conscience! If Bob Hutchinson has one, nobody ever accused him of it. But if Locke was his find he’d be taking the credit, you bet.
“Don’t nobody think for a minute that I’m goin’ to sit round and twiddle my thumbs while Kingsbridge is winnin’ games off us. I ain’t built that way. We’ll down ’em somehow or other, mark that.”
“We ought to have a pitcher as good as Locke, at any cost,” was the opinion of Jorkins.
“At any cost,” agreed Butler. “Why don’t we have him?”
“Pitchers of that caliber ain’t to be picked off ev’ry bush this late in the season,” said Riley. “There’s other ways of downin’ Kingsbridge.”
CHAPTER XX
MEN OF CONSCIENCE!
There was a moment’s silence. Then Dyke spoke up. “We’ll be up ag’inst it hard with our left-hand hitters if they keep on holdin’ Locke in reserve for us,” he said. “Lisotte, McGovern, Bernsteine, Mace—he’s got their number, ev’ry one of ’em. It was pitiful to see them tryin’ to hit him to-day.”
“Never suffered more at a game in all my life,” sighed Jorkins. “Every time a man fanned and those Kingsbridgers howled, I had an attack of heart disease. Then think of them loading up with brooms, and bells, and tin horns, and parading through the main street! It was insulting.”
“Insulting!” gurgled Butler. “Wonder they weren’t pelted with rotten eggs.”
“It would have been unfortunate if they’d caught anybody shyin’ rotten eggs at them,” said Riley. “They were primed for a ruction, and there’d have been merry blazes to pay. Now, gents, just you calm down, and wait for me to straighten things out. Losin’ this game today hit me just as hard as anybody, for I had an idea we’d bag it, dead sure.”
“And your confidence, which you expressed unreserved last night, cost me good money,” murmured Fancy
“You’ve won enough in the past to stand one or two losings.”
“I wish you could give us an idea what you propose to do,” urged Jorkins.
“I don’t mind sayin’, confidential, that I mean to do some chinnin’ with Bob Hutchinson.”
“How is that going to help us?” questioned Butler, in doubt.
Riley winked shrewdly “Hutch ain’t handlin’ a team in this bush league from choice, or for his health, and I know enough about him to hang him. He’s in a position to muddle things for the Kinks, and, if I have to, I can make him do it. I’ll get busy with Hutch to-night. Leave it to me, gents.”
“I’d rather beat them on the square,” said Kilgore.
“I never knew a lawyer to worry much about the way he won; they’ll gener’lly grab at anything that’ll land ’em on top. Of course, we’d all ruther trim the Kinks on the level; but we can’t let them trim us, no matter what we have to do.”
“If we did let ’em,” said Dyke, “some of the crazy ones would feel like handin’ us some tar and feathers. I reckon we’ll have to leave Mike to fix things; he’s on the job.”
“Thanks,” growled Riley sarcastically “The way you come at me on the street, I didn’t know but you was goin’ to demand my resignation from the management.”
“Oh, we couldn’t get another manager like you.”
“Thanks ag’in.”
“That’s right,” nodded the lawyer, “we couldn’t. We depend on you entirely.”
“But, of course,” put in Jorkins hastily, “if you enter into any sort of a deal with Hutchinson, we don’t care to know about it. You’re engaged to manage the team, and see that it wins; but no member of the association is going to advise you to go out for victory in anything but a legitimate, honest manner. I trust you’ll see fit not to come to me with information concerning a deal with this dishonest rascal, Hutchinson.”
“And don’t tell me anything about it,” cautioned Butler. “I have a conscience, and I’d feel it my duty to protest.”
Riley produced a fresh cigar, twisted off the end with his teeth, and lighted a match. Puffing at the cigar, with the match flaring at the end of it, he made no effort to mask the faint, sneering smile upon his face.
“You’re all men with consciences, I know that,” he said. “I wouldn’t for the world do a thing to make any of ye lose sleep at night. Go home and rest easy. That’s all I have to say.” He rose to his feet.
“I’m very glad to hear you speak that way,” said Jorkins. “It lifts something of a load from my shoulders.”
“Mine, too,” said Butler. “I was worried, but I feel better now.”
CHAPTER XXI
A SECRET MEETING
At nine o’clock that night, Bob Hutchinson, smoking, stood on the steps of the Central Hotel, in Kingsbridge, and waited. Presently two men, one stout and heavy, the other slender and quickstepping, came round the nearest corner, and hurried toward the steps. “Well, here he is!” muttered Hutchinson, recognizing the heavy man as Riley.
“Hist!” breathed the Bancroft manager, as he puffed up the steps. “’Fraid you wouldn’t be here. Let’s not hang round. Take us up to y’ur room.”
“Come on,” said Hutchinson, leading the way.
It was not necessary to pass through the hotel office and writing room, where there were a number of loungers, and some drummers. They mounted the stairs, and reached Hutchinson’s room without encountering any one.
“Shut the door,” said Riley the moment he was inside. “That was lucky. Nobody seen us come here.”
“Rather lucky,” agreed the Kingsbridge manager, turning the key in the lock. “I’d just as lief not have it known that you’re here. I didn’t want you to come, but you insisted. How’d you get here?”
“Gas wagon.”
“Oh, yes. Where is it?”
“Left it on the outskirts, so’s not to attract attention. Give the chauffeur orders to drive off an’ come back in an hour.”
“I tried to shut you off from coming when you telephoned, but—”
“I was all ready to start. I’d made up my mind to see ye to-night, anyhow. Shake hands with Mr. Dyke, Mr. Hutchinson.”
“Very glad to know you, sport,” said Fancy; but he dropped Bob Hutchinson’s cold hand almost as soon as he touched it. “I think Mike told you over the phone that I was all right.”
The Kingsbridge manager shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t quite get wise to his reason for saying that. I presume this is nothing but a social call?”
“Social blazes!” growled Riley. “Think I’d ride thirty miles at night just to make a social call, Bob? You know better.”
“If you came for any other purpose,” said Hutchinson, “you should not have brought company. That’s straight over the pan, Riley.”
“Aw, I tell ye Fancy is trusty; needn’t be afraid of him.”
“I’ve had some experience,” reminded Hutchinson. “You know what I mean. Are you trying to put me in bad in this town?”
“Not a bit of it.”
“Of course, I know the result of the game to-day raised particular thunder in Bancroft. It must have made them gnash their teeth.”
“Gnash ’em—you bet!” said Dyke. “There was an awful holler went up.”
“Got anything to drink, Hutch?” asked Riley. “It’s a bit chilly ridin’ to-night.”
“You know I do not drink.”
“Well, you can order up a round for Dyke an’ me.”
“I can, but I won’t. The boy would see you here, and in twenty minutes the whole town would know it. Sit down, and make yourselves as comfortable as you can without drinks. Here are cigars.”
Riley accepted one of the weeds, but Dyke chose to smoke a cigarette. Although they sat down, they plainly were not at ease; there was an atmosphere of suppressed tension in the room.
“Let’s git right down to cases,” said Riley abruptly. “You know, a place like Bancroft can’t afford to let a raw, mushroom burg of this
sort beat it out at baseball, or anything else. We’re willin’ the games should run close, so’s to keep the int’rest up, but we’ve got to feel all the time that we’ve got somethin’ up our sleeves that’ll land us sure at the head of the column when the season finishes.”
“Go ahead,” nodded Hutchinson, as the speaker paused. “Don’t mind me.”
“I know you well enough, Hutch,” pursued the Bancroft manager significantly, “to be dead sure you ain’t goin’ out and tattle anything I say to you in confidence. Well, our strongest hitters are left-handers, and that southpaw o’ yourn bothers ’em. Kingsbridge ’u’d like to win the pennant; but, next to winnin’ herself, she’d be satisfied to keep us from coppin’ it. Havin’ found a pitcher that can hold us down, she’ll keep him for that express purpose, no matter how the games with the other teams go. I own up that that pitcher looks like a nasty stumblin’ block, and we’d like to git him outer our way.”
“We’ve got to do it!” put in Fancy.
Still cautious about his words before Dyke, Hutchinson made no comment.
“Now,” continued Riley, “knowin’ you as I do, Hutch, I decided to talk it over with ye. Outside of that guy Locke, you’ve got a couple of dead ones for twirlers. Deever’s arm is on the blink, and Skillings is a has-been. Playin’ five games a week, as you do, with only one lay-off besides Sunday, you need three reg’lar dependable pitchers to do the work.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Just this: To win from Fryeburg and Lakeport, you’ve got to use better slabmen than Deever or Skillings. Locke is the only one you’ve got, and so you’ll have to work him in them games. See?”
Hutchinson fancied he saw, but he remained silent.
“Of course,” said Riley, “you’ll make a bluff of workin’ the others, but the minute things look a bit hazy you’ll yank ’em out and run Locke in to save the day. Get me?”
“And no man,” murmured Dyke, “can do that much pitchin’ and keep his flinger in condition to trim Bancroft.”
“I see,” said Hutchinson frostily, “that you do want to put me in bad here. If I overworked Locke that way I’d have the whole town howling like mad dogs. Already I’ve had instructions from old Cope to save the youngster for Bancroft.”
“But you’re manager, ain’t ye?” rasped Riley. “Are you goin’ to run the team or let an old Reuben like him do it? What did they hire ye for?”
“An inquiry I have put to Cope already.”
“Y’u’re s’posed to know your business. When a game’s goin’ to the bad, whether you’re playin’ with Bancroft or any other team, it’s up to you to save it, if ye can, by changin’ pitchers. As I said, Locke’s the only man you can depend on to win games, so you’ll have to use him.”
“If I should tell them so,” said Hutchinson, “I’d mighty soon get orders to go out after other pitchers.”
“Where are ye goin’ to get them—now? It’s too late; they’ve all been gobbled up—all the good ones. And even if you should happen to know of one that was all right, you wouldn’t have to sign him. You could try plenty of ’em no better’n Deever and Skillings, able all the time to explain, if the town kicked, that good pitchers couldn’t be had. What d’ye say?”
“I’m not saying a word,” replied Hutchinson, with another glance in Dyke’s direction.
In a way, although it was far from satisfactory, Riley accepted this as a tacit agreement to his proposal.
“I’d like to know,” he growled, after drawing hard at his cigar, “where old man Cope ever found that fellow, anyhow.”
“You’re not the only person who is curious about it,” said the Kingsbridge manager “One chap seems to think he knows. A young fellow by the name of King came to me about Locke. He’s got an
idea in his nut that the boy is a Princeton pitcher by the name of Hazelton.”
Riley started as if shot, almost dropping his cigar
“What’s that?” he cried. “Hazelton, of Princeton? Great smoke! It can’t be possible!”
“Why not? I should say the youngster is a college man.”
The manager of the Bancroft Bullies gave his thigh a resounding slap.
“Great smoke!” he exclaimed again. “If that’s right, that old rat Cope beat me to it. Why, I made a proposal to Paul Hazelton myself.”
“You did?”
“Sure. Biff Durgin, scout for the Phillies, told me about that kid last December; said he was a sure-enough comer. I wrote Hazelton a letter.”
“Then,” said Dyke quickly, “accordin’ to the rules of the league, you had the call on this Hazelton, in a way. If Locke is the same guy, you’ve got somethin’ on Cope, and you can make some disturbance about it.”
Riley lifted himself to his feet, pulling out his watch and looking at it.
“Twenty-five minutes after,” he said. “What time do the stores close here? I might be able to catch the old fox in his den.”
“Go for him,” urged Fancy Dyke. “That’s the stuff! If there’s a chance to do it, it’s up to you to protest Locke. If you can’t take him away from the Kinks, mebbe you can stop him from pitchin’ in the league, and that would do the business. Shall I come along?”
“You may as well. If this thing really comes to a meetin’ to decide on a protest, I may need a witness to the conversation that’ll pass between Cope and me to-night.”
Hutchinson was on his feet. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I presume it’s fully understood that my name is not to be mentioned in the matter. You’ll say nothing of your visit to me?”
“Aw, sure not,” promised Riley. “We’re not lookin’ to get you fired; we would ruther see you stay right here as manager of the Kinks. Don’t worry, Hutch; it’s all right. Let’s hike, Fancy.”
CHAPTER XXII
RILEY SHOOTS HIS BOLT
Henry Cope had a habit of closing his store at night himself. On this particular night his clerks had left, and he was lingering in his cramped little office to straighten out his books. A single swinging oil lamp burned dimly in the front of the store. The old man betrayed annoyance as he heard the front door open, and the sound of heavy footsteps came to his ears.
“Now, who wants anything at this hour?” he muttered. “Hello! Who is it? What d’ye want?” He pushed the spectacles up on to his forehead and leaned back from the desk to peer out through the rather dingy office window, seeing two dark figures approaching.
“Evenin’, Mr. Cope,” saluted Riley, his ample form filling the narrow doorway. “Don’t git up. I’ve just dropped in to have a few words with ye.”
“Good evenin’, Mr. Riley. This is a surprise. What’re you doin’ in Kingsbridge at this hour? Howdy do, Dyke?”
“Come up special to see you on ’portant business,” returned the Bancroft manager, without loss of time. “It’s about your pitcher, Locke. Would you mind lettin’ me see the date on your contrac’ with him?”
“Hey?” exploded Cope, decidedly startled. “Let you see the contrac’? You’ve got a nerve! If I had a reg’lar written contrac’ with him, I wouldn’t show it t’ you. What’re you drivin’ at?”
“Then you haven’t a contrac’?”
“I didn’t say so; I said a written contrac’. Of course, there’s an agreement between Locke and me. ’Tain’t necessary for it to be in writin’.”
