Free Wolf's Tender by Gem Sivad Page A

wall. The extra length of the pants wrinkled around the ankle of her boot, as she stomped her feet into them, but she stood, pleased with her own ingenuity.
    " Godey's Lady's Book says a lady must deal with challenge in a calm and creative manner.” She smoothed her hands over her hair, realizing that unredeemable disaster had struck. Her once slicked down and tamed mane of hair was free, billowing out around her in a halo of dandelion snarls.
    She lifted a strand and looked at it. “What the hell's on your hair?” he'd growled, even as he'd buried his face against her neck and pushed it to the side. She blushed standing there in the morning light, struck dumb remembering.
    Well, there's nothing on it now, Mr. C.W. McCallister, and just look at this mess. She couldn't cry over her hair when there were so many more important reasons to have hysterics, but she wanted to.
    Remembering his touch left her feeling disconnected from her body. As if something had happened to her that separated who she had been from whom she was today.
    Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the old man who owned the barn banging around the trough where she and Charlie Wolf had bathed. She slid back further in the stall, hiding until she heard him grumble his way out the door, easing it closed behind him. It jarred her from her dithering. She grabbed a bunch of hair and tied it back with a broken corset string.
    If he saw me sleeping in Charlie Wolf's embrace, my reputation is gone. Apparently so was Charlie Wolf. Not knowing what else to do, Naomi saddled the buckskin mare and rode into the early morning toward the Sparrow Creek Academy for Young Women.
    Her thoughts about the bounty hunter were grim. He might not come after her , but she was betting that he wouldn't let anyone steal from him, and she'd taken his horse.
    In spite of the ache between her legs, she was physically none the worse for her experience. Her mind flitted swiftly past her reputation. She knew from the smirk on the stable owner's face the night before, he wouldn't remain silent.
    She clasped the sides of her mount and remembered the feel of Charlie Wolf inside of her. Her cheeks flushed and she squirmed in the saddle, internal muscles clenching a reminder of the pleasures of being filled.
    It was unseemly to think about physical gratification when her students’ lives were at risk, so she reminded herself that Charlie Wolf had taken advantage of her dire circumstance to seduce her. He was a libertine and an undesirable person.
    Even so, she was quite relieved when, at midmorning, Charlie Wolf caught up with her, riding up on her right side.
    "You need a hat. Your face is burned red by the sun.” She knew that, and he didn't need to point out to his cousins how bizarre she must look. Tendrils of curling fluff escaped the corset string thong holding the mass.
    The two bounty hunters who hunted with him moved in on her left. They all rode silently through the gates of the school property. She dismounted, staring at the rocks and rough ground instead of toward the body of Patrick Wilson.
    "I need to give this man a burial.” The horror of the earlier event seeped through her bones, leaving Naomi shuddering under a wave of panic—she couldn't look at a dead Patrick.
    Charlie Wolf put his hands on her shoulders, scrutinizing her, taking in his drooping buckskin pants and the tunic that covered her to her knees.
    "Go back to the horses and get your clothes out of my saddlebag.” He turned her around, pointing her away from Patrick's violent death. “I'll take care of that.” She was both relieved and aggravated.
    She was glad to let Charlie Wolf take over the burial task because being back at the school left her too anxious about her students to be of any help. Patrick's body was a gruesome reminder that the girls had been captives of the Comanchero for over a day.
    Every other consideration was outweighed by the need to hurry after them. Galling though it was, she