A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Xphoenix and Bothwell Mazero! And don't worry, Xphoenix, Scott does show up, but our old Canuck will have his moment under the spotlight as well. And the ring, B.M... let's wait and see where that takes us.
Also... any Kitty fans out there?
Chapter 4 – The Lone Wolf and the Kitty.
'So much for this Logan fella helping me', I thought as I was left to brood alone in the schooner while Kurt followed that short, gruff man back into the house. No wonder he was known as the Lone Wolf – he was clearly a misanthrope, and absolutely rude! He didn't even know me, and already he was judging me. My dislike for him was immediate, as must have been his for me.
Our mutual antipathy created a new dilemma, which was what to do next. As much as I liked and trusted Kurt, I couldn't keep riding with him. First, because life on the road was too dangerous for a regular lady, let alone for one who had killed a man and set his house on fire. Second, for I knew that my company endangered Wagner, and I'd rather die than let my friend be harmed because of me. Lastly, I was just sick of riding and hiding in a wagon. The West was wild and beautiful, but after nearly a month on the move, I craved to walk freely amongst people again.
Thus, I found myself in a problematic situation. I didn't want the Lone Wolf's aid -God forbid that-, yet I needed it like a thirsty man crossing the desert needs water. Mr. Logan lived an apparently quiet life in a small town hundreds of miles away from Missouri, and most important, he was someone that both Ororo and Kurt trusted. That was all I needed at that moment – a little bit of trust.
So, instead of passively awaiting and melting under the hot summer sun, I decided to take a plunge and talk to the man myself. After certifying that there was no one around, I climbed down the schooner and stopped by his door. That's when I overheard the strange conversation taking place inside. I recognized Kurt's voice immediately.
"…couldn't bring it, Logan. They told me the ship didn't make it in time."
"Goddammitt!" I heard a scratching sound and deduced that someone had kicked a table or chair in fury. After a moment, the Lone Wolf continued, "Shit, Kurt… I promised Kitty there'd be more cash this month. What am I gonna tell her? And what about Hank?"
"Tell them the truth, mein Freund. They know this business is risky. We'll have another shot in a couple of months."
That exchange surprised me. I had inferred that Wagner knew this man only on a surface level, but now it was obvious that they had some sort of business agreement going on and could even be friends. Kurt knew who 'Kitty' and 'Hank' were. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about the Lone Wolf to me before?
"What about the fräulein?" he suddenly inquired.
"That girl's trouble, Kurt. Can't have her around."
"You said the same thing when-"
"That's different. Kitty was just a kid."
"Logan, I told you what Sebastian Shaw tried to do to her, with her frigging husband's consent! You can't expect her to go back to them!"
"Not my-"
I felt someone tapping on my shoulder and turned around, suddenly missing the rest of the conversation.
"Who are you, lady, and why are you eavesdropping behind my door?" a petite brunette girl with big brown eyes and curly hair asked me, her hands on her hips.
I gaped at her, speechless. What could I possibly say after being caught eavesdropping?
The teenager -she couldn't be older than fifteen- studied me for a moment, then pointed a thumb in the wagon's direction. "Are you here with Kurt? Where's him?"
"I'm with Kurt," I quickly found my voice again. Maybe I could get away with it. "Kurt is… inside. I-I was, uh… I was looking for him."
She regarded me with a lopsided smile. "Sure you were. Well, let's go find him already."
She opened the door without ceremony and walked inside. From the doorway, I saw Wagner and the Lone Wolf stopping their little argument mid-sentence to glare at me.
"Do you know this lady?" the girl inquired.
"No!" Logan responded while Kurt answered, "Ja."
She pecked both on the cheek, then addressed Wagner, "Care to introduce us?"
I used the opportunity to step inside and make my case. "I'm Jean Grey, originally from Salem, New York," I told her, meeting the Lone Wolf's eyes next. "I assure you that I'm harmless, sir… If I've hurt someone, it's only because I was left with no other choice," I stated, trying to convince him as well as myself. "I've been running from everyone I know for the past four weeks, and I solely remain alive thanks to Mr. Wagner's kind heart and quick reflexes; he's been helping me in ways that I'll never be able to repay," I glimpsed sideways at Kurt, noticing that he had blushed a little. Then I paused for a brief second to take in my surroundings. We were standing in a spacious kitchen that seemed not to have been properly occupied in quite a long time, except maybe for dozens of stacked barrels resting near the far wall and an impressive amount of dust lying on the stove. "I need a place to lay low, Mr. Logan. In exchange, I can cook and clean the house, and I can help you produce whatever it is that you keep in these casks."
He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed me suspiciously. "Ya don't look like a housewife."
"But I am… or was," I assured him. "I'm a great cook, actually."
The teenager's eyes widened at my words. "Really? What can you cook?"
Before I could respond, the Lone Wolf asked, "Can ya farm?"
"No, but I'm a fast learner. I went to school, so I can write, read, and do math. Also, I can drive a wagon," I replied. I had seen a freight wagon outside, and judging by the barrels in the kitchen, concluded it could only belong to Mr. Logan.
He glanced at Kurt, who nodded in confirmation. "She does learn fast, mein Freund."
The four of us became silent. The Lone Wolf seemed to ponder for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Look, lady, I get it… ya've been through a lot. Shaw's a scumbag and your husband's even a bigger scoundrel. But I can't help ya," he looked from me to the girl, then back at me. "Ya're probably wanted in at least four or five states. I can't risk havin' ya around. I've got others to think about."
My heart shattered at his verdict. Kurt's too, I suppose, because he went in my defense again. "Logan, Jean has nowhere else to go," he tried to reason one last time. I was left with the impression that even the girl wanted to say something.
"That ain't my problem," the Lone Wolf retorted.
"I see," I nodded and stared at my boots in order to hide my desperation. Without his help, I was doomed. I had no money, no friends, no place to hide. I suddenly realized how foolish I had been for running from Jason in the first place. No matter what Ororo and Kurt had done for me, my husband would eventually find me and kill me for what I had done, even if it had been in self-defense.
That realization made me angry. Angry with myself for being so blind in the past five years; angry with Jason for deceiving me when he should have been the one to protect me; angry with God for putting me through such trials; angry with the whole world… but especially angry with that stranger who refused to aid me.
I raised my head and stared hard at Mr. Logan. "I'm sorry for wasting your time, sir. It's obvious that you have your own concerns at the moment… I shall not burden you with mine. I don't know why the Wind Rider thought you would help me."
I turned around and started moving to the door, but he held my arm before I could leave.
"What did you say… about the Wind Rider?" he asked me, his voice low.
I met his gaze. "I said that I don't know why she thought you'd help me."
He raised one eyebrow at me. "You know Ororo?"
"I do. She helped me to escape from Shaw's house in Springfield and took me to Kurt. She's the main reason I'm alive."
That earned a surprised look from the Lone Wolf. He let go of my arm and cursed under his breath. Then he glanced at Kurt and at the girl's expectant face before turning back to me.
"Fine. Ya can stay, Red… but ya do as I say. One slip, and I'll hand ya to the sheriff myself."
Before I realized it, I was hugging the man. "Thank you, sir," I said, tears in my eyes. "I promise I won't endanger your daughter."
"I'll kill ya myself if ya do," he whispered in my ear, then pushed me away. Looking into his dark eyes, I knew he'd make good use of his threat if I ever gave him reason to. But I wouldn't.
That settled, proper introductions were made. I told them everything about myself and how I had ended up with Kurt. In return, I learned that the teenager's name was Katherine, but she liked to be called Kitty. The Lone Wolf -or Mr. James Logan Howlett- had adopted her when she was seven. Her real parents had died in a wagon accident while trying to reach the Oregon trail. Luckily, Kurt had found her on the road and had brought her to his friend.
Logan had been producing and selling bourbon in Fredericksburg for almost a decade, hence the casks. His land was large enough to grow a corn field and hold the sheds of a small distillery. When Kitty was not in school, she assisted him with the finances while a huge seventeen-year-old boy named Peter Rasputin did most of the farming. James was responsible for the distillation and distribution. It was a lot of work for three people only, and it had culminated in the negligence of the Howletts' actual home. There was indeed a lot that I could do to make their lives easier.
That evening, I took whatever provisions I could find and cooked dinner for them. It was only pork, onions, and potatoes, but I made sure to excel myself at preparing it. I guess I succeeded, because Kurt, Logan, and Peter ate two plates each, and the latter even licked his fingers when he was done. Kitty enthusiastically complimented me on the food, but I think her main reason for being happy was that she wouldn't have to cook or do the dishes anymore. Apparently, cookery wasn't her forte.
Katherine Howlett was smarter than the average teenage girl, probably much smarter than I was at her age. During dinner, she came up with a plan to keep me safe in case my husband was searching for me. We would dye my hair black and pretend that I was James's little sister who had just arrived from Alberta after losing her fiancé in a horse-riding accident. The story was perfect because it also provided an alibi for my broken wrist since I would tell people that I had been in the accident with my dead sweetheart.
"You need a new name, Jean," Kitty pointed out. "How about Rose?"
Logan glared and grunted at her, making me wonder who Rose was.
"Not Rose, then," she said. "What kind of name do you like, Jean?"
"How about Laura?" I proposed.
"Laura Howlett. Sounds beautiful," Peter opined, smiling kindly at me.
The gentleness in Rasputin's blue eyes surely compensated his lack of table manners. He told me he had emigrated from Russia three years before and had been working for Logan since. The boy had all his meals with the Howletts but slept in a single-room shack by the corn field, which was understandable considering there was a young woman living in the main house. Kurt would be sleeping in his shed that night.
Katherine took me for a brief tour of the ranch house. Besides the kitchen, there was a cozy living room and two bedrooms – one for James and one for her. There was also a smaller room with a bath tube that could be filled with water from the well. Filthy as I was, I almost cried when Kitty showed it to me.
After a long-deserved bath, I dressed in one of her loose nightgowns – it barely fit me, but it would have to do for the night. I was sitting on the living room couch combing my hair when Logan approached me.
"Ya can take my bed until we get a proper one for ya. The sheets are clean."
His tone lacked the customary irritation with which he had addressed me so far. I looked up at him and, for the first time, was able to notice some beauty under the abundant facial hair and wrinkles – the dark blue eyes and tanned skin, for instance. He was short, just about my height; but his shoulders were broad, and his arms were strong. I presumed that he was in his early forties, in the peak of his physical shape. I wondered how such a gruff man could look so dangerous and attractive at the same time.
"Thank you, Mr. Logan, but that's not necessary. I'll be comfortable in the couch," I replied. I did not want to abuse his hospitality and make him angry with me again.
"Ya do as I say, remember? And cut with the 'Mr. Logan' thing. We're siblings now," he chuckled.
I smiled. "Thank you, James."
"It's Logan. No one calls me James around here," he explained, to which I nodded. Then he motioned to my bad wrist with his head. "We gotta fix that wrist of yours, Red. I saw ya makin' dinner. Ya're grimacin' in pain."
"I've tried. Kurt took me to a doctor in Tulsa, but he only made things worse," I told him.
"I'm friends with a surgeon in town. I'm sure he'll find a way to help ya," Logan said to me. "Get some sleep now. We've got a long day tomorrow."
He escorted me to his bedroom. I wished him goodnight, closed the door, and blew out the single candle that illuminated the room. Then I dropped myself on the bed and had the best night of sleep of my life.
It was nearly ten a.m. when I woke up. The house was completely silent, but there was breakfast waiting for me on the kitchen table. From the window, I could see Peter's silhouette feeding the pigs and chickens outside the barn, and also my only dress hanging from the clothesline on the back yard.
Two hours later, Logan, Katherine and Kurt returned from a sales trip where they had sold and bought goods. Kitty came running to me with a small bag containing the ingredients needed to dye my hair and a larger one with a gift.
"It's a new dress and hat, Jean, because you can't possibly go to town with the one you have! I swear to God I did all I could to wash it this morning, but some stains just refused to vanish, not to mention the tears. Now, I know this one is simpler, but it is-"
I didn't let her finish. Touched beyond imagination, I hugged her and told her how beautiful the dress she had bought for me was. I promised to pay her back someday.
I had made lunch for them, and as soon as the kitchen was clean, I let the teenager do her magic on me. She rubbed a mixture of wine, salt, copperas, and powdered nutgalls on my hair, then had me wait half-an-hour and washed everything with water. Smiling proudly, Kitty held a small mirror in front of me. Surprisingly, I couldn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Sure, the hair was black, the skin on my face and neck was slightly burnt, and I had to have lost at least eight to ten pounds in the previous four weeks. But the main difference was in my eyes – they had lost much of the spark, much of their vivacity… the green in them was dull now. They were the eyes of an old lady who had seen and done too much. They were the eyes of a murderer.
Pushing that thought off my mind, I searched the male inhabitants of the ranch to show them my new look. Kurt and Peter approved it, but Logan stated I looked better as a redhead. Good, I thought, because the last thing Laura Howlett needed was to draw the attention of the opposite sex. Jean Wyngarde was gone, and with her my need to impress strangers.
As promised, James took me to his doctor friend that afternoon. The man was almost as large as Peter, had thick round glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and possessed a bright, curious mind. We found him leaning over a thick book behind his pharmacy's counter.
"Who might this lovely lady be, my dear Mr. Howlett?" he asked Logan.
"This is Laura, my sister. Laura, this is Dr. Henry McCoy, the town's surgeon."
"Nice to meet you, Dr. McCoy," I greeted, extending my right hand to him.
The physician looked stunned for a moment, then recomposed himself and kissed the top of my hand. "Likewise, Ms. Howlett. I apologize, for I had no inkling that my good friend Logan had siblings."
"We haven't seen each other in more than a decade, Hank. Laura's just arrived from Alberta."
So, this must be the 'Hank' Logan had talked about with Kurt, I deduced. What kind of business a doctor and a bourbon manufacturer could have together, I had no idea.
Dr. McCoy listened to the made-up story of my injury with interest, and I could almost see the wheels in his brain working to make some sense out of it.
"Would you two please accompany me to the procedure room?" he said, opening the counter's lid to let Logan and I thru.
We followed him to a back room. After several candles were lit around the place, I could see that it was tidy and clean, with a few shelves containing thick books and a bunch of medical equipment neatly organized on a small table. In the center of the room there was a long wooden table and a stool. It was very different from Dr. Essex's 'office', which made me exhale in relief.
"If you don't mind laying on the examination table, Ms. Howlett… I need to inspect your wrist."
I exchanged glances with Logan. He nodded at me in encouragement and, more at ease, I did as I was told. Soon, I felt Dr. McCoy's large hands examining my left wrist with great care.
"How did you say you fell from that horse again, Ms. Howlett?"
I explained the accident again, and all the while the surgeon watched me. I could tell that he didn't completely believe in me; so, against my better judgement, I told him about having previously gone to another doctor.
"I knew it! This pattern of bone consolidation is not expected from the trauma you described, my fair lady. Regrettably, I fear that my colleague's technique might have only added damage to your already grave injury," he explained, sounding worried.
"Can ya fix it?" Logan questioned him.
McCoy examined my wrist again. "Certainly," he determined, looking back at my face. "However, I must warn you that it will hurt," his eyes suddenly moved to James. "You see, I was expecting to receive the feedstock for a potent analgesic today. Unfortunately, the delivery never arrived."
"I'm sure it'll come in the next lot," Logan replied with a shrug. "Ya know how erratic cross-country deliveries can be."
"Erratic. Right," the doctor mumbled, clearly annoyed. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it seemed that he and James did share some secrets. Anyhow, that was not of my business.
Logan removed a flask of bourbon from his jacket and handed it to me. I took three big gulps, then one more, and finally bit on the piece of leather that Dr. McCoy had given me. Next thing I know, I felt an excruciating pain as the doctor broke the small bones again to fix them properly this time. My eyes filled with tears.
Too busy trying to hold myself together for the rest of the procedure, I didn't see when another man rushed into the room.
"Hank! Hank! Where are you? I need the syrup again!" he shouted from the door.
"Summers!" I somehow heard Logan yelling and saw from the corner of my eyes how he approached the stranger in a deadly stride. "Get the hell outta here!" he demanded.
The man -Summers- stopped in his tracks when he realized the room was occupied. He looked from Logan to McCoy, then from McCoy to my tearstained face.
"May I help you, Scott?" the surgeon asked without taking his eyes from my wrist.
"I… I-I'm sorry. I-I had no idea you were with a patient," Summers said, still frozen in place. He stared at my face again, and if it weren't for the leather between my teeth, I swear to God I would have told him to get the hell out of there myself. Luckily, James did the honors for me.
"Are ya deaf, Summers? I told ya to get lost!"
"Sorry. I-I uh… I'll wait outside."
The stranger finally left. It took McCoy another ten minutes to finish the procedure and wrap my wrist immobile. He prescribed some painkillers that Logan paid for. On our way out, we passed by the man again. He seemed calmer, but utterly embarrassed.
"I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to intrude," he spoke in my direction. "I hope-"
"Piss off, Summers," Logan replied before I could say anything. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and guided me out of Dr. McCoy's pharmacy.
