White Wolf by Susan Edwards Page A

Jessie well supervised made him shake his head. “No. I’m not willing to trust the oxen or wagons to young Jess until he proves himself. Perhaps later, after I’ve had time to observe him working the oxen, I’ll change my mind. For now he travels with Rook.” Wolf turned on his heel, unaware of the look of concern that passed between Jordan and Elliot.
    Wolf stopped a few feet from Jessie and watched silently. The boy ignored him and proceeded to the next yoke, talking in low, gentle murmurs to calm the restless beasts. Wolf studied the rigging, which Jessie had expertly adjusted. He found no fault and had to concede that the boy seemed to know what he was doing and handled the oxen well. But some perverse part of him forced him to keep to his resolve.
    When Jessie glanced up to acknowledge his presence, Wolf hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re riding with Rook. He’ll need your help gathering fuel for the fires and fresh greens when they’re available while we travel. And remember, you do whatever he says.”
    Jessie’s brows drew together. “The oxen—”
    Wolf held up a hand to forestall the protest. With the sun rising at his back, he got his first good look at Jessie. Staring down at the face tipped up toward him, he frowned. Without the dark shadows of the barn or the streaks of mud, Jessie looked different than he’d expected—younger, softer somehow. Not what he’d expect to find in an adolescent boy who should be showing signs of maturing.
    He questioned whether the boy was really fourteen, as Rook had said. All the more reason to veto the idea of his taking charge of the oxen. A plaintive sound of mooing came from behind the wagon. Wolf narrowed his eyes as the Joneses’ cow tried to break free in order to reach the tender shoots of grass. Glancing around at the other wagons, he noticed the Svenssons also had a cow tethered to the back of their wagon, and he knew that the Macauleys, who had small children, would most likely also have a cow. And if he counted the one Rook purchased, he suddenly found himself in need of someone to herd them during the day.
    He snapped his fingers. “In addition to helping Rook, you’re also in charge of the milk cows. You will collect the cows from their owners each morning, drive them on the trail, then deliver them back to the wagons each night,” he finished, pleased with himself. He’d found a way to keep Jessie too busy to cause any mischief while they were on the trail.
    “But—”
    “Don’t argue. I’m the boss.” He paused and carefully enunciated his next words. “You will not drive a wagon until I’m sure you can handle the oxen. I won’t risk any delays or injuries due to your inexperience.” Wolf stared into blazing green eyes. “And a word of warning. Keep that temper of yours under control. I won’t tolerate tantrums or mischief. Got it?”
    Jessie thrust her chin out, glaring at him until the sound of Jordan clearing his throat sent her stalking off, rocks flying out from under her scuffed boots.
    Wolf forced back the guilty feeling brought on by those prairie-green eyes and that stubborn chin. Boys above the age of ten regarded the care of cows to be girl’s work, but Jessie Jones had become a thorn in his side from the first day he’d encountered him. He reached up to scratch his jaw. If the boy learned nothing else during this trip, it would be how to control his temper.
    Leaving Jordan and Elliot to finish getting ready, Wolf went on to the next family, shoving worries over the youngest Jones from his mind. Lars and Anne Svensson had two wagons with three yoke of oxen each, and six children: two girls ages ten and eleven and four boys ranging from fourteen to nineteen. Alberik, the eldest son, a tall, sturdy blond, and his father were in charge of the wagons, while Nikolaus and Bjorn, ages seventeen and fifteen, had been hired by Wolf to help Rook with two of the supply wagons. “I have need of another driver, Lars. Can