by Ava Sinclair
He hoped now he’d prove worthy of that trust.
Chapter Three
“Mr. Holder?” The blond secretary poked her head around the office door as she timidly peered inside. She’d announced her presence with a knock, not that she’d needed to. Bruce Holder had heard her heels on the carpet long before she’d reached his office, and he swiveled his chair now so that it was facing the door instead of the Anchorage skyline.
“What is it, Betty?”
“Mr. Hardwick is here.”
Bruce Holder leaned back in his chair, smoothing his silk tie over his broad chest. “Thanks, Betty. Send him in.”
She nodded and stepped away and a few moments later, the lawyer entered.
Jerry Hardwick was short and as skinny as his client was broad, and he entered the room with his usual briskness, straightening his bowtie as he walked. But halfway through the office, he stopped.
“This is new.” Hardwick was pointing to the full mount of a wolf in a running pose—part of an elaborate diorama that took up half the wall in the large office. The wolf, frozen in eternal gallop, was bearing down on a hare.
“Just got it back.” Bruce smiled broadly, enjoying the lawyer’s fascination with the display.
“Your former investment partner wouldn’t have approved.” The lawyer turned his attention back to Bruce. “If he’d known you had something like this, he’d never have gone in business with you in the first place. Miles Fowler loved those wolves.”
“You should know.” Bruce eyed the lawyer from across his mahogany desktop. “We spent enough time in court fighting about the damn things. But it hardly matters how he’d have felt about the mount. Miles Fowler is dead.” Bruce rose from his chair and walked around the desk to stand beside the smaller man. “Besides, I didn’t have this before he died. After I failed to prevail in our little dispute, I felt the need to get away from it all, and what’s better than a guided hunt?” He pantomimed holding a rifle as he spoke, aiming the imaginary weapon at the wolf’s side. “Bang.” He chuckled, the sound a low rumble, and was gratified to see the attorney looking slightly horrified.
He clapped the lawyer on the back. “Come on now. Don’t look at me like that. It was a clean shot, although not immediately fatal.” He jerked his thumb toward the wolf as he turned away. “He made it about a hundred yards before he dropped on the tundra.” He smiled. “Most satisfying thing I’ve ever done. Almost.” Bruce Holder settled into his desk chair. “But enough small talk, Jerry. Give me some good news.”
“I wish I could.” The lawyer’s tone was nervous as he took a seat across from his client. “But I’ve gone over the agreement with a fine-tooth comb. I even got one of the other senior partners to look it over. And there’s nothing we can do. Given your loss in court, there’s no grounds whatsoever to go after Miles Fowler’s estate. Everything has gone to his adoptive daughter, and I think it’s pretty clear she doesn’t want anything to do with you.” He paused, crossing his thin legs nervously. “I heard what you did, Bruce. It was a bad idea, showing up at the memorial service like that.”
Bruce smiled again. “Hey, now… I just wanted to pay my respects.”
“Come on now.” The lawyer shook his head. “You know that’s not how it looked. Everybody in Anchorage was talking about the fight you waged against Miles over that land. And now people are saying you only showed up at the funeral to rattle Carly Fowler.”
“That was exactly what I intended to do,” Bruce said, putting his huge hands behind his head. He winked. “But as my lawyer, you’re bound by confidentiality, so you can’t say a damn thing.”
“Well, being your lawyer has put me in a tough spot. And like I said, it’s a dead end. If you don’t think so, just look at what I’ve written up for you here.” Hardwick placed his leather briefcase on the desk in front of him and snapped it open. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and slid it across the desk.
Bruce reached out, pulling the papers toward him with his huge hand. He leafed through them silently, before tossing them back on the desk.
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this,” Hardwick said when his client had finished looking at the papers. “My advice to you is to move on. It’s over, Bruce. Carly Fowler owns the land now. Who knows what she’ll do with it, but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be in line with Dr. Fowler’s vision. And that means you’ll never get your hands on it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Who knows, little Miss Fowler might be reconsidering her life choices even as we speak.” He paused, glancing out the window toward the distant mountains. “After all, that wilderness can be pretty scary place…”
He turned back to the attorney. “I want you to draft a letter to Carly Fowler. Offer to buy the land. Something tells me she might be ready to sell.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Bruce fixed the attorney with a hard look.
“What do you mean you can’t do it?”
The lawyer stood, snapping his briefcase shut. “I’ve been asked to inform you that this is our last meeting, Bruce. Binkley & Swain will no long provide counsel on this matter. Miles Fowler was well liked, and representing you in any harassment of his surviving heir is a liability for us.” He sighed. “Look, Bruce. I’ve personally represented you through all of this business with Miles Fowler, even though I knew it was wrong. And yes, I was well paid for it. But I’ve had enough. I’ve never met anyone so… so… inhuman.”
“You’re quitting? On the grounds that I’m inhuman?” Bruce arched an eyebrow as his bearded face turned serious. He rose from his chair like a mountain, picking up an orange from a bowl on the edge of the desk as he approached the attorney. “Well, let me give you a message to take back to your senior partners, Gerald Hardwick, esquire.” He was looming over the smaller man now, his voice low as he spoke. “We’re all inhuman in our own way. In fact, if you were an animal, you know what you’d be? A weasel. I’ve always seen you as a weasel. Most lawyers are—scheming little things that rely on their cunning to draw blood. Weasels are opportunists. If they can’t kill for themselves, they scavenge—usually from the kills made through the strength of larger predators. But that doesn’t always end well. Sometimes they get too close to those jaws. And then…” Bruce squeezed the orange. As it crumpled in his hand, his eyes locked on the horrified gaze of the lawyer who could only stare as juice dripped onto the carpet.
Jerry Hardwick backed away. “You’ll have the letter severing our relationship in the morning.”
Bruce smirked as the lawyer all but fled the room.
Humans, Bruce thought again. You all try to seem brave, but you’re so damned scared. He sniffed the air. The rank scent of nervousness was already fading with the lawyer’s departure. He tossed the orange in the trash can and walked back to the window, staring out toward the mountains. It didn’t matter what Hardwick thought. It didn’t matter what anyone thought. There were two kinds of creatures in this world: predators and prey. The strong survived, and the weak? Well, they got what was coming to them.
And they would. All of them would.
Chapter Four
“Hey, Lakota. She’s waking up.”
The words sounded like they were coming from underwater. Or maybe she was underwater and they were coming from above. Carly had the sensation of floating upwards, of rising. It was a feeling she’d experienced once before when she was coming out of oral surgery. It was the feeling of coming to.
Her first awareness was of the brightness. She blinked rapidly against its assault on her waking eyes, even as she tried to focus on the shape of the person looming over her. The second sensation was of the dull, throbbing ache in her arm.
“Where am I?” Her voice was raspy from lack of use, her mouth dry. She moved to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed against her collarbone.
“Easy. Easy. Just lay back.” A woman, speaking softly, then louder as she called the name again. “Lakota.”
Now there were two figures
standing over her, and with a few more blinks, they came into view. It was the woman she focused on first—older and pretty, her thick plait of black hair shot through with streaks of silver. The man beside her was younger, in his thirties maybe. Like hers, his hair was black, but came just to his shoulders. He had high cheekbones, dark brown eyes, and the muscular build of a native.
“Where am I? What happened?” But even as she asked the questions, images began flitting back, like random pieces of a jigsaw puzzle her mind could not assemble. The bluff. Tears. The path. Birds screaming in warning. A primal roar. Blood. A bear. Pain. Terror. Wolves. A man.
She looked at the one called Lakota.
This man.
“A bear.” She could hear the tremor in her own voice as one piece of the puzzle rose to prominence in her psyche. The grizzly’s mouth, just inches from her face. Hot breath. Death in its eyes. “There was a bear.”
The man and woman exchanged a quick glance.
“It’s okay.” The woman laid a gentle hand on hers and squeezed. “It was scared away before it could seriously hurt you.” Her voice was soothing. “You’re safe now. You’re in our home. I’m Sabine Thornby, and this is my brother, Lakota Longtree.”
Carly raised a hand to her forehead, trying to will her hazy thoughts to solidify.
“There were wolves.” She looked back at the man, who was intently staring down at her. “Did you see them?”
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, ignoring her question. “You’ve lost some blood.” He inclined his head toward the woman. “Credit Sabine here for patching you up. She’s a nurse in the village. She knew what to do when I brought you to the house. She cleaned the wound, stitched it up. Kept you warm. You’ve been sleeping a long time, Carly.”
He knew her name, and her look of puzzlement must have served as a question because he answered it.
“Your pack,” he said by way of explanation. “It was on the trail. We… I picked it up for you. Your identification. That’s how we verified who you are.”
“My pack…” Now the pieces were falling in place. Her trip to the bluff, the ashes carried away on the winds, the foxes, the birds, the bear, and the wolves. Yes, definitely wolves.
“What happened out there?” she asked. “That bear. Those wolves. I’ve been around animals all my life… predators don’t behave like that.”
The expressions of her caretakers were unreadable now.
“I’m not imagining it,” she said.
“You’ve been traumatized,” Lakota said, and beside him, Sabine nodded sympathetically. “Right now you need to cling to what you know for certain—and that is that you’re in a safe place now where nothing can hurt you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, released it, and stood. “Sabine, will you fix her some stew?”
“Sure.” The woman stood. “Why don’t you help her to sitting?”
Lakota leaned down and Carly felt his hard forearm arm work its way under her upper back as his hand moved to her waist. He was gentle as he lifted her to sitting.
“Good girl,” he said when she was sitting.
It seemed an odd thing for him to say, but Carly just dismissed it, focused now on her surroundings.
It was a beautiful home, with high, vaulted ceilings supported by heavy, heart pine beams running the length of the room. The walls were made of logs, and the centerpiece of the huge open room was a massive stone fireplace with a chimney that went all the way up to the second floor, which boasted an open landing above. One wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto an open, sloping hillside with thick trees as far as the eye could see. It looked remote, and Carly began to wonder exactly where she’d been taken.
“That’s an improvement.” Sabine smiled as she walked over with a tray. “It’s good to see you sitting up and awake. You’ll feel even better with some food in you.”
Carly’s stomach immediately growled as the odor of some sort of stew wafted her way. “How long have I been here?” she asked quietly. She glanced at the small table by the sofa for the first time, noting the presence of several syringes and a roll of gauze. There was also an IV pole with an empty bag and, she realized, a bedpan on the floor. She flushed.
“You were out for two days,” Sabine said, lifting a spoonful of stew to Carly’s mouth. “You weren’t conscious when you arrived. You’ll have a couple of battle scars from where the bear hit you, but you were lucky; the blow didn’t slice any tendons or break the bones. Just some blood loss and a lot of bruising from being tossed around.”
Carly swallowed the stew. It was delicious, and she opened her mouth for more. “I’ve never seen anyone sleep so deep,” Sabine continued. “I’d have been worried about you, but your vitals were strong. It was the sleep of someone chronically exhausted even before her injuries.”
She offered Carly a glass of water, and this she was able to take on her own, downing a few sips before replying.
“I’ve probably not had a good night’s sleep in weeks,” she said. “Not since…” She wiped the corner of her mouth with her good hand and then looked up at Sabine. “My adoptive father was killed in a plane crash. You may have read about it in the paper—Miles Fowler?”
“We know who he is,” Sabine replied. “He’s something of a hero in these parts. So many of us appreciate his advocacy on behalf of the local wolves.” She paused. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I see Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.” A young man strode into the room, interrupting their conversation. He sauntered over and sat on the edge of the couch, staring down at Carly.
“Wow,” he said. “You look like hell.”
“Could you be any ruder?” Sabine glared at the young man.
“She survived a bear attack, Ma. I’m sure she can handle the truth.”
Sabine inclined her head toward the young man. “This charming fellow is my son, Sam.”
Sam fixed her with a lopsided grin as he held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Sleeping Beauty.”
“My name is Carly,” she replied, coupling her handshake with a scowl that only seemed to amuse him.
“Carly. That’s a cute name. And I was just playing. You look a lot better than you did when we…”
“Sam?” Sabine interrupted him sharply. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Sabine fixed her son with a stern look, and Carly couldn’t help but notice how quickly the young man’s demeanor changed from playful to placid.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where’s Uncle Lakota?”
“Right here, waiting for you.” Carly hadn’t even heard the man who’d saved her leave, but now he was walking back into the room, and she could see the strong family resemblance in the strong jawlines and cheekbones that jutted like sculpted ridges below their dark eyes. The two men could have been models. Then she recalled now from some recesses of her mind the feel of a callused hand stroking her face, the strength of muscular arms lifting her effortlessly from the ground—the arms of an outdoorsman.
Lakota was addressing the younger man with an annoyed tone. “Why isn’t the truck loaded? You know we’re supposed to meet Rick with those carvings by five.”
“Chill, Uncle.” The younger man stood, turned, and stretched. “They’re on the deck,” he said. “I was just about to carry them down. We’ll be at the gallery on time.”
“You’re going to the city?” With her free arm, Carly pushed away the blanket. “Good. You can take me back. I can get to the doctor and go home. I’ve imposed on you long enough any—”
“No.” Lakota cut her off. “You’re not strong enough to walk. Let alone leave.”
Logically, Carly knew he was right. But being overruled without any discussion had her feeling piqued.
“I think I can decide if I’m ready to go,” she said firmly.
His reply infuriated her even more.
“Not here,” he said. “In this house, I make the decisions.”
Carly looked to Sabine, seeking… what? U
mbrage at the patriarchal attitude? Camaraderie? But Sabine simply nodded in placid agreement.
“Lakota’s right,” she said. “Please listen. It’s for your own good. We didn’t bring you in and nurse you back to health to have you pass out in the truck.”
Carly rubbed her bandaged arm, telling herself that Lakota’s heavy-handed concern was well-intentioned. They had saved her, after all.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I just didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re no bother.” Sabine said, then turned to Lakota. “Go on. And don’t worry. You know I’ll take good care of her.”
Lakota nodded at Sabine then looked back down at Carly. “When I come back, you’ll be strong enough to talk. And then we’re going to have a little discussion about why you were out in the dangerous woods by yourself.”
Before her ire could resurface, he’d turned and walked away, Sam at his heels. Carly watched him go, wondering at Sabine’s compliance.
After the men left, her hostess rose to take the tray, leaving Carly with her thoughts. When Sabine returned, she announced that a bath had been drawn, and helped Carly to unsteady legs.
Lakota had been right. She was still too weak to travel. In fact, Sabine had to help her undress to get into the tub, assuring her gently as she did that as a trained nurse she was more than used to helping people on and off with their clothes.
It helped that the bathroom was so inviting. The huge garden tub was situated before another glass window, and the steam wafting from the surface smelled vaguely of lavender and patchouli.
“Careful with your arm,” Sabine said as she helped Carly into the water. She’d just gotten settled when she heard a soft hum and felt accompanying pulses of water massaging her; it was a whirlpool tub, and the sensation on her achy body was nothing short of bliss.