TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

He backed away from the bed, averting his eyes from her appeal. So she could be bought, after all… at a price he refused to pay.

Damn her.

“Very well,” he said. “You have made your position clear. But understand me, Caitlin—my offer has no bearing on my intentions toward Morgan or my desire to protect my sister. I will do whatever is necessary, with or without your help.” He bowed stiffly. “If you will forgive me, I have a murderer to find.”

Caitlin’s hand hovered in midair, fingers curled in supplication, even as he shut the door on impossible dreams.

Chapter 19

“It is too risky. We ought to delay departure for at least another day,” Ulysses said, studying the sky as if it were a dangerous and unpredictable beast.

Which, Caitlin thought, was precisely the truth. And she would rather face that dangerous beast than spend a single night under the same roof as Niall Munroe.

There was no sign of the noonday sun behind the flat gray canopy of clouds. She, Harry, and Ulysses stood near the bam, where the entire circus caravan was assembled and ready to make the journey east through the pass—a dozen wagons, fifty horses and ponies including Caitlin’s, and the much-prized calliope. Niall, thank heaven, had not emerged from the house.

Caitlin balanced her weight on a pair of makeshift crutches, aware of the stiffness in her leg but no longer in pain. If her injury couldn’t stop her from leaving the place, no human being was going to do so. Not even a well-meaning friend.

“You are as unlike your namesake as any man could be, Ulysses Wakefield,” she chided. “Where is your sense of adventure? Your trouper’s spirit? Or, for that matter, your pride?”

“I have never been one for suicidal acts,” Ulysses said. “Nor do I wish to see the troupe caught in a snowstorm. My desire to leave does not seem quite as urgent as yours, Firefly.”

Caitlin had told no one about Niall’s offer. Despite Uly’s misgivings, Harry was obviously as eager to leave as she was. It was difficult to say whether he worried more for her or Morgan—who was still in the vicinity, to judge by the wolf tracks that appeared every night near the house. He could not quite break his final ties to the troupe. Or to Athena, though he hadn’t gone after her.

How can men be such fools?

“We are ready to go,” Harry said, tugging his worn scarf more snugly about his neck. “Everything is in order, and I do not relish the prospect of remaining here with Munroe hovering over us like a starving buzzard.”

“I have spoken with many of the others, and they all agree,” Caitlin added. “We will have to get through the pass while the weather is clear. If we don’t do it now, we may not get another chance before winter’s end.” With an unreadable glance, at Caitlin, Harry hurried off to consult with the boss hostler. Horses stamped, dogs barked, and troupers waited impatiently for the order to move.

The order came at last, and the caravan lurched into motion with much cracking of whips, groaning of harness, and hails passed down the line of wagons. Billows of vapor rose from the horses’ mouths. The hazy light could not dim the bright colors of wagons and props, or the resplendent patchwork of apparel worn by the troupers. But there was no fanfare, and the circus folks were subdued as they trampled a path through the snow past the outbuildings and into the park. The ranch hands paused in their work to see them off, a few tipping their hats, and Mr. Durant came out onto the veranda, undoubtedly glad to see the last of his unwanted guests.

Caitlin sat beside Harry in the office wagon, her injured leg propped out straight before her, and refused to look back. Niall had no reason to pursue them. He, like Durant, would be happy to see them gone. His only remaining interest in the troupers lay in what they knew of Morgan, and no one had answers that satisfied him.

Inching along the half-covered dirt road all too slowly, the caravan passed through the gate that marked the boundary of the inner pastures. Before them stretched a blanket of white punctuated by the bare limbs of leafless shrubs, and the deeper green of fir and spruce. Ruts and furrows marked where ranch hands and their cattle had passed. Soon even those signs disappeared, replaced by the subtler tracks of fox, rabbit, and deer.

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