Free Lone Star 04 by Wesley Ellis Page B

strange man, and she wasn’t yet sure what to make of him. He was darkly attractive, and she liked the way he handled himself—calm and self-assured, saying what he felt like saying and keeping the rest to himself. More than once during supper she’d caught his eyes on her, and Jessie knew exactly what he was thinking. He was wondering how it would be to go to bed with her, and had already decided it was a fine idea. Jessie had to admit the same thought had crossed her mind. She was honest in her feelings toward a man, and her instincts seldom betrayed her. She had a good feeling about this one, but there was ... something that wasn’t quite right. She decided it had a lot to do with what was happening here, and how much of it Feodor did and didn’t believe.
    He turned suddenly, and caught her watching him. He gave her a broad grin, and Jessie didn’t turn away. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
    â€œYou sure you want to hear?”
    â€œYes. I am certain I do.”
    â€œI was thinking,” Jessie said, “that going back out there after that cane was either a very brave or a very foolhardy thing to do.”
    Feodor closed one eye, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I would think I am closer to a fool than a hero. If you want to know the truth, I was guided more by guilt than anything else.” A shadow crossed his face. “I should not have let him go out there alone. That was wrong.”
    â€œWhy? Because of the wolf—or the man-wolf?”
    Feodor’s mouth tightened into a firm and thoughtful line. “You ask an honest question. I will give you the best answer I can. I went to the university in Vienna. It was very hard for my family to send me there. I tried to become an attorney. Yet I am not an attorney. I am a farmer. See?” He smiled slightly and held out his open palms.
    Jessie reached out and touched them, felt the callused texture of his skin, and the strength in the tendons beneath. “Not a lawyer’s hands, that’s for sure.”
    Feodor shrugged. “I have answered your question, yes? I am caught between the new and the old. I do not believe in werewolves, Jessica Starbuck, but I understand the fears of my people. They have a new land now, but it is hard for them to let go of the one they left behind.”
    â€œMay I see that thing?” asked Jessica. She nodded toward the cane, and Feodor handed it to her.
    â€œSort of—beautiful and awful at the same time, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes. I would say that is so.”
    The can was not painted black, as she had first supposed. It was simply darkened and stained with age. It was the silver head, though, that intrigued her. It was fashioned roughly in the shape of an L—part of the angle made to fit the hand, the other part curved to clamp tightly over the cane. The silver head formed the muzzle, eyes and long ears of a wolf. The lower angle curled down over the cane in the thick fur of the creature’s neck and shoulders. Jessie pressed her hand tightly around the head, then jerked it quickly away.
    â€œIt‘s—cold,” she said, widening her eyes in surprise. “Why would it be that cold?”
    â€œI suppose because it is silver,” he said. A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth, and Jessie caught it.
    â€œAll right,” she said wearily, “let’s not get dark and mysterious.”
    â€œI didn’t say a thing,” Feodor said blandly.
    â€œGood. Just don’t. Feodor, that is a real wolf out there. Ki says he’s nearly certain he hit it at least once. He’s a good shot, too.”
    â€œGood shots miss.”
    â€œI know they do. Maybe Ki did miss. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe the wolf went off and died somewhere.”
    Feodor gave her a look. “No one in this village is going to believe that, Jessica.”
    â€œNo, I don’t suppose they will.” Jessica paused a moment.