Jillian stalked back down the hallway, clenching and unclenching her fists. It was some minutes before she was able to calm down. And a few more before she realized what an unprofessional ass she'd been to lose her temper like that. Arguing with a client for God's sake. Sure, she'd confronted that Mountney character, but she'd kept her cool and reported him to the authorities afterwards. But she'd actually yelled at Charmaine.
She didn't know where Caroline and Birkie were or what they must be thinking, but she was dead certain they'd heard it all. Connor might have heard it, too, if he'd come in. Crap. If he'd been three counties away, he'd still have heard it all. Embarrassed color flamed bright along her cheekbones. Crap, crap, crap. She didn't want to lose her first real job because she couldn't control herself. Could I have been more of an idiot? What would her 'Client Relations' instructor say? She'd done exactly what he had emphasized a vet should never do--gotten emotionally involved.
Jillian sank into a chair at the lunchroom table and laid her head on her arms. She should find Connor immediately and explain--no, not explain, there was no explanation, no excuse for her behavior. Apologize, that was what she should do first. Then resign. Maybe ….
"Do you always beat yourself up like this?"
Jillian sat up quickly and scowled. Of all the people she'd rather not deal with right now, James was right at the top of her list. "What do you want?"
He pulled out the chair next to hers, flipped it around and straddled it with his arms resting on the back. "I want to know what's got you so upset."
She goggled at him. "You must be the only person in a two-mile radius that didn't hear me yelling at Charmaine Forrester. I could lose my job over this. I should lose my job."
"Your job's safe enough. If Connor fired his staff for getting exasperated with clients like that one, he'd have no one left to work for him. Including himself. By the way, Birkie says to thank you for saying a few things that she's been dying to say for years. She may start a fan club for you."
"I ... oh, jeez, it was so damn unprofessional." Jillian blew out a breath and ran a nervous hand through her hair, not realizing that it made it stick straight up in several places.
"No argument there. So tell me why you became a vet."
"What?"
"Tell me why you decided to become a vet. I want to know."
She eyed him suspiciously but his face seemed sincere enough. "I care about animals," she said, hesitating. Oh, what the hell. "Okay, so I love animals. I've been crazy about animals since I was a kid. But I respect them, too. I like being around them and learning all that I can about them and from them." Her voice was clear and steady now. "I want to make things better for them wherever I can."
James nodded. "So wasn't that at the root of your argument with Charmaine? You didn't argue with her over her choice of hair color or her political persuasion. You wanted to make things better for that worn-out little dog."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's what it boiled down to, but I probably just pissed off Charmaine."
"You sure did. Birkie says the woman'll have a terrific time telling the story to everyone she knows."
Jillian winced and put a hand to her forehead. "Great. Just great. She'll never come back, never take that poor dog to a vet again."
"It's not all bad. She's going to rehearse everything you said over and over to herself and everyone who'll listen. So some of it might sink in eventually. And out of everyone she tells, there's probably plenty of people who will agree with you, enough to sprinkle a little doubt in her mind."
"Plus she's one hell of a drama queen." Connor was standing in the doorway. Put a finger to his lips when she started to speak. "No, don't you dare apologize. If you knew Charmaine, you'd know she's addicted to drama, especially if it involves her. So she'll definitely continue to take Pinky to an animal clinic. Wanna guess which one?"
She hesitated, trying to read the answer in her employer's face. "Here?" she ventured.
"Without a single doubt. She couldn't resist the possibility of another scene. Know how I know that?"
Jillian studied Connor until the truth dawned on her. "You! You did?"
"Oh, you bet I did. Raised my voice on more than one occasion, I'm afraid. Ask Birkie about it sometime. And there've been a few other clients who have managed to push my buttons, too. The point is that you can't care about animals and always keep your professional detachment in place. I'm not saying you shouldn't try--we don't want to start abusing clients--but there's always going to be a few who drive you crazy." Connor checked his watch. "I've got dinner at Devlin's waiting for me, so I'm gone. See you tomorrow."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot." The relief was like cool rain on a hot summer day. Jillian closed her eyes and just breathed it in for a long moment. Opened her eyes to see James looking at her with decided amusement in those impossibly blue eyes. It rankled for a moment, but then she reminded herself that he had been kind. Which was more than she had been the last time she'd seen him. "Guess I should say thanks to you, too. I know you were trying to make me feel better."
"Don't know if I succeeded. You look pretty tired."
"It's been a long day. I just need a nap and I'll be fine." And sex, she needed sex, too. Lots of sex. At this time of day she'd usually only think food, shower, sleep, but having James nearby was making her hormones hum. It was a shame his shirt was buttoned today. "I gave those papers to Birkie."
"I know, thanks for signing them. I just picked up the order from her."
He seemed to be looking at her very intently. Her own gaze traveled over his strong features and rested on his lips. She knew just what they tasted like, and a shiver raced down her spine. She wanted to taste them again. I've got to get out of here. "Good. Um, that's good. Glad I could help. See you." She had no choice but to be abrupt, not when she had to order her eyeballs to quit staring at the man, force her body to get up, command her legs to carry her out of the room.
Her hormones protested loudly all the way to her apartment. She hung her stethoscope on the coat rack, stripped off the lab coat and scrubs and stood under a hot shower. Sighed heavily and continued to stand there long after the hot water ran out.
Chapter Eighteen
Evenings were going to be the hardest, he knew that now. James could see the thumbnail shell of the moon sailing high and bright in the star-studded sky. The breeze whispered and called to him as he sat on the front steps of the cabin. The tendrils of air, ripe with forest scents, enticed him to give in, to leap away from his two-legged self and be one with the night. It was like entreating a parched man in a desert to leap into a cool oasis pool.
He gritted his teeth and turned away, determined to stay his set course and remain completely human. His wolf side was just too unpredictable. But God, it was hard to resist Changing and running free. Almost physically painful. I wonder if addicts feel like this? Needing that one thing that gets them through another day, another hour. James shoved those thoughts aside and tried to focus on something else.
Like his family. His brothers and sister had entered the yard as wolves, but they'd acted more like big dogs, leaping on him joyfully and knocking him flat. When they'd finally Changed, they'd hugged the breath out of him, couldn't stop touching and patting him all night as if to reassure themselves he was real. They talked all night, too--or rather, his brothers and sister had talked. James had found himself with very little to say. After all, what had he done over the past three decades that was worth talking about? His baby sister, Kenzie, had two doctorates. Two, for God's sake. Devlin was a published author. Culley ran a successful business.
Rip Van Winkle. That was what Culley had called him, after the man in the old folk tale who went to sleep for a hundred years and awakened to find that life had gone on without him. Culley had meant it as a joke, and James had smiled at the time but inside he was horrified. He tried to reassure himself that it wasn't the same. Not exactly. Still, even though it was three decades instead of ten, the world had certainly advanced i
n ways he hadn't expected. Culley's business was a prime example. It was 'online' and he had tried to show it to James in Connor's home office. The computer hadn't remotely resembled the last one James had seen. And it was mind-boggling to learn that most people had one--or two or more--in their home as a matter of course. Devlin had one in his pocket for God's sake. There was no doubt that James had some real catching up to do in order to fit into the human world. He'd felt seriously overwhelmed, emotionally and mentally, by the time everyone went to bed near dawn.
Small wonder he'd chosen to sleep outside for a few hours, claiming he was too hot to remain in the house. Whether his siblings bought that excuse or not, James didn't know, but it was an immense relief to be out in the night air, away from all the little technological marvels that marked this new century. He'd rather have Changed, curled up in the nearby woods, but if he was going to be human, he had to learn to make do. The porch swings didn't look overly comfortable, but he found an old hammock between a couple of trees behind the house. And so he let himself be lulled into exhausted sleep by the soft susurrus of the breeze in the aspen leaves.
At least Connor had waited a couple days before springing his big idea on James. "I know you're still trying to adjust, bro, but you've got to have a reason to get up in the morning. You used to have your own ranch, used to enjoy it. Hell, you were damn good at it. I've never seen anyone with a gift like yours. And God knows my land could use that gift. The ground's just lying there fallow and wasted when it could be producing, but we both know that I'm never going to have time for it." Connor waved his arm at the buildings, the fences. "Look at it, it's a mess. But it doesn't have to be. There's no reason the farm can't belong to both of us. We could be partners. I'll put up the money and give you signing authority on all accounts, if you'll just get this place whipped into shape."
In the end James had agreed to it, even though his gut was tight with fear, as if the whole thing was a monstrous trap, a ploy to keep him human, keep him here. It was an emotional reaction, he knew. He'd already made his decision to walk on two legs. But in truth, he hadn't given a thought to what he was going to do with his time. Protecting Jillian wasn't working out to a full-time job, especially since she didn't want him to defend her. Connor was right--again, which was getting just a little irritating--and so James found himself suddenly in charge of a very large, very rundown farm.
At his brother's invitation, James had taken up residence in the farmhouse where Connor's hired man used to live. It had begun its life as a cabin but had been added to over the years until now it was more like a sprawling lodge. Good energy was in it. Good location, too. Tucked back away into the trees on the opposite side of the farmyard from Connor's place, the house was invisible from every direction until you were almost standing in front of it.
But God, that first night indoors, in a bed... James had been disoriented, frightened in some primal way, like a child afraid of the dark. He didn't tell Connor, but that first night he had ended up sleeping outside on the porch and the next night, as well. No blankets, no pillow, just curled on the weathered boards like ….
Like an animal. James made a disgusted sound. Jesus, it's just a bed. I'll sleep in the damn thing.
In less than an hour, James was back on the porch, sweating. He swore viciously, half at himself and half at the bed that terrified him, and waited for his head to clear and his heart rate to slow to normal. He tried to think rationally when what he really wanted to do was tear the offending piece of furniture into tiny shreds with his teeth. And wasn't that just another sign of his animal nature? Would his first impulses always be those of a wolf? "Okay, okay. Small steps then. Maybe I can't sleep in the goddamn bed just yet, but I don't have to sleep on the porch either."
He got up and went inside, just stood in the living room. So far, so good. Maybe he could sleep on the couch? Even a wolf would probably like sleeping on a couch. He remembered sprawling on Jillian's couch, wondered if it had been a good idea to startle her like that. Hell, that whole night hadn't been a good idea. Look what it had brought him to. Warring with his wolf side, trying to sleep indoors like a human being ....
To be human or not to be human, that is the question. Culley had once paraphrased Hamlet when a wild game of four-legged rough-and-tumble gave the young Macleod boys a tough decision to make. Should they tell their mother about accidentally collapsing her line of clean laundry or stay in wolf form and run for the hills? It was over a century and a half ago, and they had laughed over that line many times since.
It didn't strike James as funny now. He no longer had the luxury of contemplating that question because Connor had been right. James couldn't just pop back into his family's lives, decide it wasn't working out, and vanish again. It would be cruel, and he was not a cruel man. He was only beginning to understand how much he had hurt his loved ones by disappearing the first time. He could never bring himself to do that to them again. Add to that the instinctive imperative to protect Jillian--if only from himself and his wolf nature--and James felt there was no other choice for him. He had to resume a human life.
Doesn't mean I have to like it. James stalked into the bedroom, kicked the offending bed, and grabbed a pillow and blanket. It had been simple to be human once, even enjoyable. He didn't remember having to struggle so damn much, didn't recall experiencing this level of frustration. And if it was simple once, it could be again.
He stretched out on the couch in the front room but couldn't relax. His eyes simply refused to close. His body wanted to curl up in a ball. He'd opened all the windows, but the room still felt stifling, even claustrophobic. At the clinic he'd managed to sleep in the loft, but it was wide open to the elements at one end, and the ceiling rafters were high above him. Burrowing into a pile of straw had been a whole lot more organic, more natural, than trying to get comfortable with a blanket and pillow. He thought wistfully of the hammock behind Connor's house. Maybe he should put up one of those in the yard. Yeah, that'll work real well in the winter. And the thought that he would still be human months from now was somehow depressing.
Jillian's probably sound asleep. An image popped into his head, and he let it linger, the small blonde woman curled in her bed, her short hair sticking up in every direction, her delicate faery features, the pajamas with the silly frogs on them. He hoped she was sleeping better than he was. The last time he'd spoken to her at the clinic, she'd looked ready to drop, but then, she'd fought more than one battle that day.
That whole scene with Mountney, for instance. Jillian's body language had showed no fear as she faced down the arrogant bastard and traded verbal blows. There was passion in her voice, in her face, as she stood up for a neglected animal, a passion her body didn't seem big enough to hold. It lit her up like a prairie wildfire, leapt out and scorched her adversary. And the glorious blaze of her pulled at something in James as he watched. Pulled him now just in remembering.
He had successfully resisted the powerful urge to charge in and protect her. He'd learned enough about her to know that Jillian didn't want to be defended, even though Mountney was doing his best to bully her with threats. In fact, she seemed to think an offer of help was some sort of statement on her abilities. So James accorded her the respect he would give another Changeling and allowed her to fight her own battle. But his wolf nature hadn't made it easy. A low growl had crept into his throat, and his control seemed balanced on a high, thin wire in a strong wind. James knew then, knew, that if anything in the highly charged scene shifted even slightly--if Jillian showed a moment's uncertainty, if Mountney lifted a hand to strike her--the wolf would have been at the man's throat in a heartbeat.
None of that had happened, thank God. James had partially appeased the wolf by standing, simply standing behind Jillian and glaring over the top of her head at her assailant as only a Changeling could glare. The guy had backed down and left in a hurry, but Jillian definitely hadn't appreciated what James had done. And she had no way of appreciating what he hadn't done.
Which meant he'd have to be a hell of a lot more careful.
In the past, Jillian Descharme had left an impression on him, even as a wolf, that he couldn't shake. A connection he didn't understand but couldn't deny. But he had to stay in control, had to find a way to watch over her and keep his distance at the same time. It would be too easy, much too easy, to become involved with her, to encourage a relationship that would only place her in further jeopardy. His job was to protect her, even from himself.
Some protector I am. He couldn't even win a battle with a stupid bed, of all things. And he didn't seem to be gaining any ground with the damn couch either. In the end, James slept on the bare floor just inside the open door. It was a start.
* * * *
Connor didn't see his older brother for days. The work around the farm was done as if by ghosts. The animals were fed and cared for, the tool shed tidied up, bales stacked and grain moved. Connor caught a rare glimpse of James as he was walking the far fields at sunup, kneeling now and again to run his hands through the soil. Maybe I pushed him too hard about taking on the farm. Maybe it's too much too soon and he needs more time.
Then one night he came home to a very different farm than he had left that morning. There were construction crews on the roofs of the buildings. Flatbed trucks of materials filled the lane. Heavy equipment vied for position in the corrals and smoke rose from burning piles of discarded fencing. The peace and quiet of the country had been replaced with a cacophony of power tools. He found a place to park his truck and walked into the heart of the chaos until he found James giving detailed instructions to a crew of electricians. Connor was intrigued. He waited until his brother finished, then tapped him on the shoulder. "Who are you and what have you done with my farm?"
Heart of the Winter Wolf Page 17