Dark Heart Wolf - Haley Weir Page 0,32

and took me to their camp. Sam, Wesley, and Jesse helped me get away and they struck a deal with the wolves."

Mary Ann could not believe how much she had missed.

Beth pulled a piece of bread from the platter on the table and fed it to the tiny critter that clung to her. "But when I was in the camp, I caught onto a few things. Working in the steel mills in Chicago all my life has been hell, but at least I learned some valuable skills."

"Like what?"

"Like recognizing the smell of a forge and furnace. They've got a weapon maker," Beth supposed. "If you and Sam go up the mountain to complete his task and get Itsá, we might be able to get the Comanche to give us a hand."

"Why would they help us?"

"Turns out they don't know the second spirit has risen. They talked about the Wendigo Spirit but not the skooma—no, that's not right. Scmudamuch? Schmarmaduck?" Beth continued to struggle with the name until Sam took pity on her.

"Skadegamutc."

"That's it," she said excitedly before returning to her usual surly disposition. "Anyway, I figure if Itsá and I go speak to them together, we might be able to make an even stronger alliance than the one we already have."

"The Comanche ain't known for workin' with settlers, Beth." Mary Ann was still unsure. "Either way, I wish you the best of luck." She lifted the laundry and carried it up the stairs.

Beth's voice carried through the house. "Go talk to her!"

~*~

The halls were quiet. There was no laughter that rang through the corridor or gentle whispers that he remembered. And he only had himself to blame. How many times had he wandered these halls? How many times had he crawled into Mary Ann's bed and stroked her hair as the nightmare of her brother's death haunted her? Sam followed the thin ray of light that spilled from her bedchamber and knocked on the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course. You can do whatever you like."

He opened the door and caught himself staring at the roundness of her belly once more. Sam swallowed noisily and forced his gaze away. Mary Ann busied herself with tidying the bed. Sam searched inside for the courage to speak. "I'm sorry," he croaked dryly. "I treated you badly, and instead of bein' your friend, I walked away. I should have stayed."

"You did what you felt was right."

"Stop!" Sam snapped. "Stop pretendin' you ain't angry at me. I can see the hurt in your eyes, Mary, and I was the one who put it there. I deserve your anger."

"No. I won't." Mary Ann pushed the wardrobe shut and sat at her writing desk. "I understand why you are unable to meet my gaze. Your family was taken from you, Samuel. And you were left a broken man. You have every right to be afraid of what is still unknown. I won't hold your grief against you."

"And the child?"

She smiled then, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "We'll be all right."

"That ain't what I asked you."

Mary Ann shrugged. "Your father was a terrible man. He hurt you, and he deserved to die as painfully as he did. My father got what he deserved too when my brother shot him for lookin' at me wrong."

"I thought your folks died in a wagon accident?"

"That's how it looked when Leroy was finished, but I know the truth. Mama was sick near the end of her days. Not in her body, but her spirit. Every day her mind got worse until she hurt herself," Mary Ann confessed. "She took the coward's way out and left us here alone. People think Pa never came back but he did...and, when he looked at me, he saw a woman, not his daughter."

"Leroy shot him?"

She nodded. "Killed him dead and made it look like they had both died in the accident. He never let me forget the sacrifices he made for me, either."

Sam could not imagine a father thinking of his own daughter in that way. "I ain't goin' to lie, Mary. I wish your pa were still alive so I could kill him myself."

She shook her head and toyed with the lace at the cuff of her sleeve. "I know your mother was ill before she died and your brother holds that against you—as if your presence would have made any damn difference. Everyone is always mad at one another, and I'm sick of it. If I ain't holdin' on to anger