Chapter One
“Folks in Laramie, WolfDen, too, are on the shoot thanks to that damned Grant Ford.” Frank entered the cabin and slammed a handful of wanted posters on the small wooden chopping block.
Carla set aside the eggs she’d just gathered from the coop and wiped her hands on her apron. She focused on the bold print under the two terrible sketches. “Jock Corrigan and Frank Smith wanted dead or alive.”
“I told that damned Jock this would happen. I told him if we didn’t put Grant out of his misery, he’d haunt us for the rest of our lives.”
Yes, Frank had mentioned Grant a few dozen times. He’d begun to sound like an old woman moanin’ and bitchin’ about the weather when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. If Grant Ford was behind the bounty placed on their heads, perhaps Frank finally had a legitimate reason to grumble.
“I suppose now it’s somehow Grant’s fault Wyoming’s best bounty hunters will be looking for trouble?” Jock pushed back the curtain separating the main part of the cabin from their sleeping space. “There’s no reason to point fingers and place blame. We all thought Grant was a goner when we left him in my pack’s den six months ago. Your pack dragged him outside with two or three slugs to the chest. He survived because he had a will to live. None of us expected him to overcome those gunshot wounds.”
“Oh, he lived to tell the tale all right.” Frank dragged the wanted posters across the flat surface with his index finger. “In case you haven’t heard.” He tapped the bounty notice. “Grant now has Laramie’s prized star pinned to his chest.”
“He’s the marshal?” Carla asked, taken by surprise.
“Uh-huh.” Frank’s dark brows furrowed. “According to this, he’s real serious about his new lawman title. He’s placed a right smart amount on our heads.”
“How come this is the first we’re hearing about Grant’s new position?”
“Just happened day before yesterday,” Frank said. “I found out while I was in town picking up these posters.”
“How’d this happen?” Jock picked up the brown papers and studied the images. In deep concentration, he rummaged through the stack. “He’s even described how we look in our wolf forms.”
Carla peered over Jock’s shoulder. “Isn’t there some law against this?”
“Pack laws,” Frank replied. “Apparently Grant is above those now.”
“He’s always thought he was a little sharper than everyone else,” Jock said.
Frank snarled. “His smarts aren’t in question now are they?”
“Neither one of you are wearing a badge,” Carla said quietly.
“Thanks for pointing that out,” Jock said, tossing the posters to the table and tucking the tail of his shirt in the back of his breeches. He grabbed a tin cu
p and poured a cup of coffee. After a sip, he took a walk outside.
“This is killing him, Frank,” Carla said. “Grant was always at Jock’s flank. He was his beta, but he was also his best friend. They were like brothers. Imagine how you would feel if Heck had betrayed you.”
Since Carla had become two pack alphas’ mate, Heck James had become her keeper of sorts. When Jock and Frank went scouting for new territory, Heck often stayed behind to watch over her and keep an eye on the land previously claimed by the Wyoming Wood and WolfDen packs.
Heck and Frank had the kind of relationship Jock once enjoyed with Grant. They shared similar histories and a kinship not just anyone would understand.
Carla related to their past because she’d been part of it. Before settling in WolfDen, Jock and Grant used to pass through from time to time. They often stopped for a visit, long enough to eat a hot meal and share the adventures of their travels.
“I know Jock’s hurt,” Frank said, pulling Carla away from her thoughts. “I hate it for him, but it doesn’t change the fact that I warned him. Grant held a grudge. A man with a vendetta against someone he once considered a friend is a dangerous sort of character.”
“Grant sees it like we left him for buzzard food,” Heck said, removing his hat as he entered the cabin.
“Did he say that?” Frank asked.
“Yep.” Heck gave Carla a heated look. “That’s the story he’s telling in town.”