Once A Wolf by Susan Krinard Read Free Book Online

ill-fitting
    garments rushed up and down the unpaved street on some mysterious business or other. The
    buildings on every side had a haphazard look about them, as if the inhabitants were eager to
    claim themselves civilized without going to the bother of planning.
    It was not a place in which Rowena wished to make a long stay. If Randolph remained absent,
    she must find someone else to locate Quentin. She hadn't come so far to run back to New York
    with her mission unaccomplished.
    Unless Cole came after her. And she would not think about that.
    She began to study the passersby with greater attention. There was a man who might possibly
    approximate a gentleman; his clothes were clean, at least. That man had a respectable-looking
    woman on his arm, if any such creatures existed here. And as for that fellow there—
    "Excuse me, ma'am," a low voice said. "May I be of assistance?"
    She looked up into the shaded face of a true Western specimen, complete with broad-brimmed
    hat and deeply suntanned features. He lifted his hat just enough for courtesy and regarded her,
    unsmiling.
    Instantly she found herself comparing him to Mr. Randolph. His trousers, shirt, and waistcoat
    were simple and worn, far from those of a dandy. He was rangy and loose-limbed, with sandy
    hair that gave him a youthful look. But he had a certain quality about him that she had
    recognized in Randolph only toward the end: a tough independence that didn't reveal itself so
    much in externals as in attitude.
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    She found, however, that she could face this stranger with none of the unease she'd felt with
    Randolph. There was no point in standing on ceremony. "Thank you," she said. "I would
    appreciate being directed to the nearest respectable establishment that serves refreshments."
    He touched the brim of his hat again. "That would be the Kit Carson Hotel, ma'am." His gaze
    dropped to her trunks. "Were you waiting for someone?"
    Though her incautious decisions had not been particularly successful of late, she decided to risk
    another. "The gentleman I was supposed to meet has been… somewhat delayed. You do not, by
    chance, know a Mr. Thomas A. Randolph?"
    The transformation in his expression was brief and startling, reserved courtesy replaced by
    keen attention. "Randolph?" he repeated sharply. His right arm moved, pushing his loose coat
    open, and she caught a glimpse of leather, mother-of-pearl, and silver. She'd heard that
    firearms were a required item of apparel on the frontier.
    "Mr. Randolph was to help me locate my brother, Quentin Forster," she said, observing him
    carefully.
    "Forster?" he said. "Might I know your name, ma'am?"
    "Lady Rowena Forster. Have we met before, sir?"
    "No, ma'am… but I didn't expect to meet my brother's fiancée in Colorado. I'm Weylin
    MacLean."
    Rowena absorbed the information with surprise that she was just able to contain. Weylin
    MacLean, Cole's younger brother. She'd heard about him, of course, but had always been told
    that he was running the family business in the West.
    Well, this was certainly the West, and Weylin MacLean was in his element. The only
    resemblance he bore to his cultured brother was a slight likeness in the eyes and a sense of
    determination. He didn't have Cole's aura of driving power; even his accent was different, a
    drawl that she supposed must come from his Texas birth.
    She offered her hand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. MacLean," she said,
    "however unexpectedly."
    He barely touched her hand and released it. "I just came in on the train myself," he said. "Cole
    didn't tell me you were traveling West."
    "I'm sorry that we didn't meet. Were you in New York?"
    "No, ma'am. I was on other business." His gaze measured her dispassionately. "Cole doesn't
    know you came out here alone."
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    He certainly must by now, Rowena thought, hiding a shiver. She didn't intend to