by Dani Harper
Connor went to Birkie’s desk and searched through piles of papers. His young assistants had been taking turns handling the reception duties, but they hadn’t kept up on the filing. Finally he found an invoice from AgriPharm. The veterinary pharmaceutical company came regularly to restock the clinic.
“They were here two weeks before the attack on Zoey. But Dave Anderson is the representative who makes the rounds, and this isn’t his signature.” He closed his eyes and brought the paper close to his face. He could scent the young woman who had held the paper—Joanne. But the other scent was male, and a mystery. “I don’t recognize this guy.”
“You weren’t here?”
“No. I was on a farm call. One of the assistants signed off on it. She’d have no way of knowing that anything was wrong.”
“So maybe Bernie paid someone to get rid of the silver nitrate? Who would he know? Nobody in town would do it for him, and I can’t see him setting up something with an AgriPharm rep on his own. I mean, that would take some real research and planning, wouldn’t it? And probably a lot of money—you’d have to bribe somebody. Bernie might have the funds but not the connections.”
“No, nobody in town would do it . . . so we’re looking for somebody who doesn’t live around here.”
“And right now, the only stranger in town is that goddamn reporter who attacked Zoey.”
“Helfren,” spat Connor. “I don’t know his scent, but it has to be him. Still, I don’t understand why the guy would stick his neck out. Why go to all the trouble to get rid of some silver nitrate? And how would Bernie get him to do it—I mean, what kind of reason would he give him? Silver nitrate is pretty harmless stuff for humans.”
“Why is easy enough—Helfren gets a story. He’s already shown us he’ll go to extremes when he put his hands on Zoey.” Culley looked around. “Maybe he didn’t get rid of the stuff at all. What if Bernie told him exactly what you were . . . wouldn’t Helfren’s next step be to try and prove it?”
A sudden chill went down Connor’s spine as the realization dawned. A waterlike substance could be hidden anywhere there was water. The two men split up and moved slowly through the clinic, checking everything from the water cooler in the waiting room to the emergency eyewash station in the X-ray lab.
Culley found it first. A small water cooler stood empty in the corner of Connor’s office. It was safe, but there was a tall refill bottle on the floor beside it. Carefully Culley opened the lid and touched the rim. Instantly his fingertip was on fire. “Dammit to hell! Right here waiting to poison you. You’d have been throwing up blood for weeks.”
Connor suppressed a shudder. The effect of certain substances all depended on how you used them. Rubbing alcohol had been commonly used for decades to swab skin before a medical procedure. It didn’t hurt. But the very same substance in the membranes of the eye or the nose was excruciating, even damaging.
Silver nitrate burned the skin of a Changeling, any skin that would produce fur during the Change. The substance produced no such sensation on the mouth or tongue, just as it produced no discernable sensation when injected into a vein. An injection of silver nitrate prevented the Change, with little other effect. But silver in the digestive system of a Changeling was a different story. . . .
Thank God he’d been far too busy in Birkie’s absence to refill the damn cooler. He often came in hot and thirsty from surgery, from farm calls, from the clinic corrals. He likely would have filled up his water bottle and downed it before the taste registered. Agony would have followed rapidly. If he survived the internal bleeding, recovery would have taken many months. “Bernie would have gotten his revenge,” he said grimly.
“And what would Helfren get?”
Connor frowned. What did any reporter want except a story and—
In an instant, Connor was on top of his desk ripping the grating from the heating duct. A moment later he tossed a handful of fine wire and a tiny silver box to his brother.
“There’s what Helfren wants, Culley,” he said, his voice hard and cold. “Live footage.”
Chapter Sixteen
Shadows were long as the gravel road became dirt. Grass grew between the ruts. Zoey consulted the hand-drawn map on the seat beside her and hoped she was headed in the right direction. Connor never mentioned anything about a damn goat path. She’d attempted to nap twice, alternated drinking coffee and water all day long, and tried several headache remedies, but she still felt hungover. Her nerves were on edge as well—she’d been jumpy and distracted, and it had been an uphill climb to get even the simplest things done. Several times she’d come close to calling Connor to cancel, but although she couldn’t imagine what he had to tell her, he had said it was important. Well, she sure wasn’t going to dress up. At the last possible moment, she’d thrown on comfortable jeans and a soft cami, topped with a plaid flannel blouse, and forced herself to get in her truck.
Just as she was certain she must have taken the wrong road, she was relieved to see a mailbox with Macleod on the side, and turned in. A long tree-lined lane opened out to a pleasant farmyard, and she parked her old red Bronco behind Connor’s clinic truck. “Will you look at this place? It’s gorgeous!” She emerged from her vehicle slowly, trying to take in everything at once. The tall two-story house was freshly painted white with simple black trim. Overgrown gardens sporting tall irises and lilies fronted the shaded porch and flanked the steps.
Her publisher had warned her that his cousin’s farm had been rundown when Connor bought it. To the south, she counted several weathered farm buildings. They were old and tired-looking, and a couple were definitely leaning. The red paint had flaked away from the weatherworn wood, and every roof was missing shingles. The fences weren’t in much better shape, mismatched, propped up and no doubt held together by baling wire in spots. Yet everything was clean. There were no rusting equipment or abandoned cars, no stacks of junk and old tires. And the place didn’t have that barren look typical of many farmyards. Thick stands of trees flanked the old buildings and dotted the corrals, offering inviting shade.
The quaint old place had character, she decided. She liked it.
Something strange was bothering her ears and suddenly she realized it was quiet. Perfect quiet. Only a soft susurrus came from the surrounding poplar trees as a faint breeze fondled the coin-shaped leaves. She sighed a little as peace wrapped itself around her. She breathed deeply, taking in the cool air and then held it—something huge and dark was moving between the buildings, gliding from tree stand to bush. The furtive movement reminded her all too much of the creature that had attacked her. Straining to see, Zoey could just make out some black fur and the waving plume of a black tail tipped with white as it disappeared around a building. With her heart in her throat, she hoped like crazy it was simply the giant dog that had been in Connor’s office and not the massive wolf that had stood over her. . . . Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She nearly jumped out of her skin and the jolt made her head hurt. “Geez, Connor!”
He chuckled as she turned in his arms. Zoey shoved at him, but to no avail. He wasn’t holding her tightly, but she was securely caged nonetheless. Since resistance was futile, she changed tactics, stepping into him and sliding her arms around his neck, tipping up her face just so. As she’d sensed, he didn’t resist the invitation and bent his head to kiss her.
She bit his chin, hard.
“Ow!” He released her at once and held a hand to his face. “What the hell was that for?”
“Scaring me. And maybe for ditching me last night too, I’m not sure.”
“Still hungover, are we?”
“Very.”
Connor held out a hand. “I can make you feel a whole lot better. I’ve got a couple of great remedies.”
She eyed him suspiciously, but sensed he was sincere. She gave in and took his hand, allowed him to lead her up the wide steps to the porch.
“I did try to make things easier for you, you know.”
“How?�
� she asked.
“I told the welcoming committee to lie low. I figured they’d be a little overwhelming and probably much too loud. They get pretty excited around new people.”
The welcoming committee . . . “You mean, dogs?” He looked at her and she grinned sheepishly. “What am I saying? Of course you have dogs. Every farm has dogs, and a vet with a farm probably has, oh, at least four. Maybe even five,” she guessed, relieved and unable to stop blathering. He had dogs, lots of dogs. So there couldn’t possibly be a wolf on the premises. “I just saw a dog in fact. I think it was that big black one from your office.”
For a split second he looked surprised. “Right. Well, he’s sort of new so I guess he didn’t quite get the instructions. That’s what comes of having so many dogs. There are fifteen or sixteen of them around here now.”
Her eyes widened. She liked dogs but being greeted by an entire army of excited canines wasn’t on her list of things to do. “Thanks for giving them something else to do. I guess I’m sorry I bit you,” she added.
“That doesn’t sound real convincing, but I’m definitely sorry I scared you.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You know, you could kiss it better.”
“Maybe it’d be safer after the remedies you promised.”
“Good point. Later then—but mind you, I will collect.” Connor grinned and opened the door for her.
The interior of the sprawling old home had been renovated extensively, leaving it open and airy in design. It was more like an upscale lodge, with lots of wood and natural elements. The stone fireplace and large beams in the ceiling lent an earthiness that was relaxing and comfortable. Connor’s house is just like him, Zoey realized. This was how she felt when she was around him. Grounded. Centered.
He motioned her to a plump armchair in front of the fireplace. “Relax for a minute and put your feet up. I’ll get you something for that head.”
She sank into immediate bliss and lay back with her eyes closed. The busy sounds from the kitchen barely registered and the next thing she knew, she was waking up to find that daylight had nearly become twilight.
“I have got to get one of these chairs,” she murmured.
Connor appeared from the kitchen. “Great, aren’t they?”
“How long was I out?”
“A little over an hour. You needed it. And I think you still need this.” He handed her a glass of green liquid, and chuckled as she eyed it dubiously. “It’s safe, I promise. It’s one of Birkie’s all-natural herbal elixirs and it’s a terrific restorative.”
Despite the unexpected nap, she had little doubt she could use some restoring. “I sure hope it regrows brain cells.”
“If anything can, this’ll do it.”
Most hangover remedies tasted horrible, but this didn’t smell bad. She sipped cautiously, played with it on her tongue, then drank it down. She could swear every cell in her body was suddenly reaching out for more. “Wow. Is there seconds of this stuff?”
“There can be. Let that settle, and I’ll give you a short tour, get you some fresh air while dinner’s in the oven.”
The sun was skimming the horizon as they strolled hand in hand around the farmyard. Connor introduced Zoey to a variety of animals, both large and small, including the sixteen-dog welcoming committee he’d diverted earlier. They were calm and well-behaved but it was still a joy to watch her laugh and try to pet them all. Her interest in the other livestock was just as genuine, and she didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation to scratch a three-hundred-pound pig behind the ears. She did hesitate at the next paddock, however, which contained a long-haired Highland bull with a great sweep of horns, but when Connor walked inside, she followed.
“This is Magnus, one of our herd sires.” He rubbed the bull’s brow, hidden beneath a heavy fringe of hair. Zoey reached out and touched the broad forehead tentatively.
“He looks like a leftover from the last Ice Age.” The bull snorted. “No offense,” she added hastily.
Connor chuckled. “Highland cattle are tough and hardy, perfect for our northern Canadian winters. Not only are they dressed for the weather, they’re good at digging through the snow for forage—a lot of modern breeds have forgotten how to do that. Highlands will fight off predators too.”
“Like wolves?”
“Like wolves.” Ordinary ones at least.
No sooner had they left the bull’s paddock than a wildly spotted horse came trotting over to them, putting his head under Connor’s hands like a big dog asking to be petted.
Zoey laughed. “Looks like you’ve had a jailbreak.”
“This is Charlie, and he’s very good at opening gates. As you can see by his markings, he’s an Appaloosa. He has a fancy pedigree that goes all the way back to the Nez Pierce tribe in the nineteenth century.”
“You’re pretty smart,” Zoey murmured to the horse as she rubbed its speckled neck. “And really handsome too.”
“He’s certainly a looker. Charlie was born with a perfect coat, a beautiful head. Prettiest foal I ever delivered and could have been a champion in the show ring, except for a malformation of the front legs. They bow out quite badly, see?” Connor bent and ran his hands over the horse’s legs, while the animal nuzzled the back of his head. He laughed and straightened up, rubbing his hand around the animal’s ears. “As you’ve probably noticed, he’s a glutton for attention.”
“So you kept him?”
“The foal was breech and stuck in the birth canal when the owners called me in. It turned into a long night. The mare came through it fine, but the owners couldn’t be bothered with the little guy after they saw his legs. They wanted him put down, so I traded them even. Tore up the bill in return for the foal.”
“So now you have another horse. I’ve seen eleven so far. And twenty-some goats, a couple dozen mismatched sheep and some pigs, numberless cats, and sixteen dogs. You must rescue everything.”
He smiled, a little sadly. “Not all—I’d be overrun in a week—but I do seem to bring home quite a few. Most I can find homes for, and those I can’t find a place for just stay here.”
Zoey shook her head. “That’s a lot of extra work. You spend all those hours at the clinic and on call, then you have to come home and feed all these animals.”
“I enjoy doing it when I can. It’s kind of refreshing to hang out with healthy animals for a change. But lucky for these animals, Jim Neely looks after them, so they don’t have to wait around for me to get home. And when Jim can’t do it, one of my sibs does. Kenzie’s been here lately, working on a book, so she spends quite a bit of time with the animals.”
“That’s your sister, right? The one who’s in Scotland just now? I didn’t know she’s a writer.”
“Actually she’s an archaeologist, and she’s away on digs more than she gets to be here. Although she says it’s only because Jim’s here that she dares leave at all. Most of my family have misgivings about a farm being in my black-thumbed hands.”
“And Jim is your hired man?”
Connor laughed a little at that. More like an acquired man. Old Jim had been homeless, as much in need of a rescue as any of the animals. A small man with three missing fingers, he had spent most of his time drinking and getting into fights. But Connor had discovered by accident that Jim had a natural gift when it came to animals, and eventually persuaded him to move to the farm about four years ago. It had saved Jim, and in turn, Jim was a godsend to Connor. The old man blossomed, taking his responsibilities seriously and keeping the livestock end of the farm running smoothly.
“You could say that. I do pay him, but he’s more of a friend than anything. He lives in a cabin on the other side of that far stable.” He pointed. “Jim’s at a cattle auction today, so I said I’d feed the troops.”
“So can I help?”
“Next time. I already took care of that while you were snoring.”
“I do not snore!”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what they all say.” He laughed when she drilled
his shoulder. “Keep that up and I won’t give you Phase Two of your hangover treatment.”
“Do I get another glass of that green stuff?”
“That was Phase One. Phase Two is PT, and I’ll bet it’ll be even more effective.”
He could tell she was trying to resist asking, but finally she threw up her hands. “Okay, I give up, what’s PT?”
“Puppy Therapy.”
“Puppies? You’ve got even more dogs stashed somewhere? Oh!” She remembered the puppies. “Where is he? I want to see my puppy.”
“Maybe we should eat first—” He turned as if heading for the house.
She grabbed Connor’s hand with both of hers and dug in her heels. “My puppy. Now.”
He laughed and threw an arm around her, gathering her to him so effortlessly that she might as well have been weightless. She squirmed but there was no escaping. He nibbled at the corners of her mouth. “Puppy,” she murmured against his lips just before they took hers over. The kiss was long and deep, but still just a kiss—yet her nipples hardened almost to the point of pain, and her thong was suddenly soaked. The want, the desire for this man, pulsed raw and urgent within her.
She drew a long shaky breath and stepped back, and was both grateful and disappointed that he let her. He kept hold of her hand, however, and rubbed his thumb over it as he led her past several corrals and outbuildings toward an old barn that stood apart. Its hipped roof sported new metal cladding and the walls were neatly painted, yet the feeling of extreme age remained. Zoey figured the building was more than twice as old as she was. Maybe even three times . . .
“I have to announce our presence,” warned Connor. He began to scuff his feet, then whistle, as they approached the barn. “Lila is a little protective for the first few minutes.”
“You found a mother for the puppies?”
“Lila’s one of the best surrogate moms around.”
Zoey was about to ask questions when something enormous, dark, and shaggy appeared in the doorway. “A bear? Jesus, Connor, you gave the puppies to a bear?” Her grip on his hand tightened as she backed up several steps.