TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

“You have paid employees to send on such tasks,” Niall continued. “No one, least of all the members of your Society, expects you to dirty your hands or endanger your person. You are no common shopgirl, Athena. Your fine Miss Hockensmith could not approve of such impropriety.”

In her heart Athena knew he was right, but she had chosen to take the risk, knowing that the other ladies would not expect a cripple to be capable of such adventures.

They were the only adventures permitted her, now. Among the orphans, or the inebriates, or the poor folk in their threadbare tents along the South Platte, she could not possibly be an object of pity. It was she who held the advantages, she who gave. No one reminded her, however inadvertently, of what she had lost.

And they needed her.

“They are people, Niall,” she said earnestly. “It is not enough to have someone deliver the food and see that they have fresh water and clothing and coal enough to get through the winter. They must be encouraged, led to see that there is a better life to strive for. Without real examples, how can they learn?”

“Let someone else do the teaching. Someone who is… unencumbered.”

She pushed away from the table and spun her chair about. “Am I not an encumbrance upon you, Niall? Your worry for me is distracting you from your important work, and wouldn’t it be so much easier if I would sit quietly and knit stockings until you find some use for me?”

Her outburst hung in the air like a choking haze. Athena touched her throat, amazed and chagrined. Had that self-pitying, selfish tirade come from her, or had some harpy assumed her shape and voice? What had possessed her?

Have you any use at all, Athena Munroe?

Niall walked the length of the table and stopped before her, grave and strangely quiet. “Yes, Athena. It is what I would prefer—to see you safe and content. But I know that is not possible.”

“But I am… I am content! Don’t you see—”

“I am sorry. You leave me no choice. Either you agree to cease these clandestine visits to the slums, and reduce your commitments to a reasonable number, or I must take steps to see that you are removed to a place where you can reconsider your priorities.”

Icy terror swept through her. “The Winter Ball—you cannot expect me to give that up, or abandon the orphans. Papa’s money made it possible. I am only doing what he wished.”

“It is your choice, Athena. I could see to it that you are relieved of all your self-imposed duties—and I shall, if I believe it will save you from yourself.”

“If only you thought of something besides making money—”

“The money you are so glad to have?”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “Where did you get your hard heart, Niall? It was not from Papa. Your mother—”

“Leave our mother out of this.”

“She was never my mother. She did not wish to be.”

Niall’s fair skin reddened. “She acknowledged you as hers, when she might have—”

“I know what she might have done,” Athena said quietly. “I know.” She wheeled about and started toward the door. “If you will forgive me, Niall, I am tired. I will go up to my room now.”

“Athena—”

“Good-night.”

She heard the bang of Niall’s fist on the table as she entered the hall. Brinkley appeared, ever bland and efficient, to help her to her room. He steered her into the Otis hydraulic safety elevator at the end of the hall and closed the gate.

After two years Athena was used to the curious motion of the device, which Niall had insisted was the perfect solution for the problem of stairs. And now, of course, the grand Windsor hotel had an elevator of its own. Niall’s foresight matched their father’s in every way.

So did his devotion to her. A devotion that imprisoned him as surely as her chair did Athena.

At the second floor, Brinkley met her to roll back the gate and step aside. He had been too long with the family to ask if she wished to be taken to her room. Fran would be waiting in the small chamber adjacent to hers, and all Athena wished to do now was retire.

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