SECRET OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

“Yet you haven’t even met him.” She strode forward until she stood nearly eye to eye with him. “You can’t possibly fight what you can’t see and don’t remember. Without my help—”

“Have you ever cured a man with this disease, Johanna? Have you ever treated a werewolf? No,” he said, forestalling her answer. “May needs you now. I won’t put either of you in further danger.”

She opened her mouth for another protest, and he silenced her with his lips. He kissed her as if it were the last time, hard enough to leave his impression seared into her skin. She held him as if by sheer physical strength she could prevent him from going.

But she was only human. He set her back and kept her apart from him. His endearing, crooked smile made a brief appearance and was just as quickly gone. “I’ll find May and bring her back to you. If you need help after I’m gone, ask Harper. He’s a capable man, and a real purpose is what he needs to be whole.”

Johanna found nothing to say, not a single reasonable argument. Her legs began to tremble. Quentin guided her to her chair and sat her down in it.

“Good-bye, Johanna,” he said. His breath hitched, as if he would say something more. “Good-bye.”

Her vision blurred. She blinked, and Quentin was gone.

Gone for good.

Chapter 20

“No.” Johanna tried to stand, faltered, sat down again. “Quentin.”

Someone banged on the office door. Oscar barged in, frightened and upset.

“Doc Jo?” he said. “I couldn’t find May. I’m sorry.” He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. “Mrs. Daugherty said to come get you. There’s something going on in the yard. Lots of people. They look mad.”

Gott in Himmel. The mob of townsfolk Bolkonsky had warned her about. Were they already here?

Her question was answered soon enough. A shout from outside came from the direction of the front gate, and it was not a cry of greeting. Necessity gave her the will to move. She hurried to the window and looked out. Possibly twenty men, and a few women, were gathered just beyond the gate. They swayed back and forth as one, like some huge, restive, hungry beast.

She knew what had to be done. Quentin would find May and keep her from harm; Johanna’s trust in him remained unshaken. It would be up to her to keep the mob at bay.

“Is everyone else in the parlor?” she asked Oscar.

“Yes. Mr. Andersen got us. He said to wait for you.”

“Good. I want you all to stay there, and not move. Do you understand?”

“Are those people going to hurt us?”

Who’d told him that? she wondered. Andersen? Or had Oscar seen enough ugliness in his life to recognize it in the folk of Silverado Springs?

“Let’s go to the parlor.” She took his hand and led him down the hall to where the others waited. Andersen was pacing up and down the length of the room, rubbing his hands. Harper, beside her father in his wheelchair, gazed toward the kitchen, where Mrs. Daugherty waited nervously in the doorway. Irene, her expression half obscured by her garish face paint, perched on the edge of the sofa.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Daugherty demanded.

It seemed impossible that Mrs. Daugherty, with her ready ear for gossip, knew nothing of last night’s incident, or of the townspeople bent on their version of justice. Yet she’d offered no warning. Johanna went to her side and spoke in a whisper. “You did not hear about what happened to the mine owner?”

“I haven’t been in town since yesterday mornin’. I stayed with Mrs. Bergstrom last night, way up along the Foss stage route. She’s alone now, and ailin’, and I—” She pressed her lips together. “Why’re them people here, Doc Jo?”

“There is no time to explain. I need you to help keep everyone calm and quiet.” She addressed the others. “There is no cause for alarm. I would like you all to remain here, together, until I return. I am going to speak to the people outside.”

“I know why they’re here,” Irene said shrilly. “They’ve come to get Quentin. He murdered that man in town.”

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