by Karen Ball
He was more slender than Taylor had thought a wolf would be, but his demeanor was positively aristocratic; he gave the impression of a sovereign surveying his domain—and one of his subjects. His coat—a study of light grays, browns, and flecks of black—was so thick and luxurious that Taylor’s fingers itched to touch him, to bury themselves in what promised to be remarkable softness. The look on his gray face, though watchful, was sweet—disarmingly so—and she had the distinct impression he found her fascinating.
A quick and disturbing thought coursed though her, bringing alarm on its heels. Did wolves attack people? Was this majestic beast looking at her with such interest not out of curiosity but because she was a threat? Or an enemy?
Or, worse yet, an item on his dinner menu?
Her eyes widened at the thought, and she swallowed with difficulty. Frozen in place, loathe to move and precipitate any response, she could only continue the furtive exchange of glances. Then, for a brief, incredible moment, her eyes met the wolf’s golden gaze. The contact lasted only a second, but before his eyes flicked away, something clicked in her mind.
She was in no danger.
Her apprehension melted as the assurance resonated within her, filling her with a peaceful certainty that she had nothing to fear. In fact, she had the oddest feeling that the wolf was watching her out of concern and a kind of protectiveness.
They sat in silence for a few moments, regarding each other without ever repeating the eye contact. Taylor was mesmerized. The creature was a barely controlled store of power coiled in a slender frame; he was everything that was wild and graceful and beautiful.
And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the wolf was gone. It was as though he’d simply melted into thin air.
Taylor blinked twice, then frowned.
Okay, God. What are you doing now?
TWO
One Year Later
IRENE SMITH WATCHED AS CONNOR ALEXANDER STROLLED down the carpeted hallways of the home office of Wildlife Awareness Coalition. She knew Connor was totally oblivious to the ripple of interest that followed in his wake. Had he stopped and glanced behind him, he would have seen several women, standing on tiptoe, watching over their office dividers as he walked by. More than one had an appreciative glimmer in her eyes, and several were rummaging in their desks for mirrors and makeup.
Not that Irene didn’t understand their reactions. Their dreamy-eyed fascination was due in part to Connor’s rugged good looks, broad shoulders, and lean, muscular build. But as someone who’d worked with the young man for years, she knew those assets, as attractive as they might be, weren’t the greatest source of women’s response to him. What seemed to draw the most attention were Connor’s eyes. Irene had seen many a woman fall speechless when fixed with that penetrating blue gaze—a gaze made even more captivating by its curious blend of sincerity, respect, and audacity.
More often than not, Connor would listen to others, content to take in what they had to say. When asked, however, he didn’t hesitate to express his thoughts, beliefs, and values. He spoke what he believed, even when the words were difficult to hear. Irene respected that about him. Oh, he did his best to be kind, but kindness did not always remove the sting of tough truths. Especially when those truths had to do with his feelings toward the women who so often pursued him.
Connor enjoyed women, even enjoyed dating occasionally, or so he’d told her. But he’d made it clear he didn’t have time in his well-ordered life for a relationship. He was “married” to his career. Irene shook her head. What a waste. Still, that was Connor’s focus. So he made it a rule not to play with anyone’s emotions. He kept his distance. He said it was much safer that way.
So it was that he walked along in determined ignorance, unaware of the havoc he was wrecking in several women’s hearts.
Irene gave a sigh. She’d love to see Connor married to a woman he adored … someone who would bring a perpetual smile to that kind but far too serious face.
Ah, well, matchmaking wasn’t in her job description. What was in her job description, however, was getting Connor to the meeting for which he was already late.
As on most days, WAC—or “Wacky” as some of the politicians in D.C. liked to call the Wildlife Awareness Coalition—was buzzing with activity.
Connor enjoyed listening to the lively discussions emanating from the offices he passed. He’d spent some of his most enjoyable—and infuriating—days caught up in similar meetings. Brainstorming, venting, screaming, cheering.
He was going to miss this place.
The clean white walls were adorned with strikingly beautiful prints of bears, eagles, dolphins, wolves—every sort of endangered or threatened species. One wall was dedicated to plaques and certificates, most of them commending WAC for its work in educating the public regarding wildlife management issues. That was what had first drawn Connor to WAC: their profound dedication to raising the public’s awareness and deepening their understanding of wildlife issues. The organization had enjoyed remarkable success through programs that were both educational and entertaining. Information, Not Persuasion was the motto by which they lived. And it was this ideology that had drawn Connor to the organization sixteen years ago when he emerged from college with a degree in wildlife biology and a head full of idealistic goals and passions.
He paused to study a print of an eagle, admiring the beauty of one of God’s most magnificent creations, remembering with wry humor the young man he’d been—enthusiastic, fervent, eager to take on a world that seemed all too ready to destroy nature in the name of progress. Ask him to live in the wilds, to stand against any foe, to sacrifice comfort, society, and human relationships—he would have done it all. All that mattered was protecting God’s wonderful wild creatures who, despite claws, fangs, or seemingly gargantuan strength, could not protect themselves from mankind and its constant efforts to “subdue the earth.”
He turned to continue down the hallway. That young man had been so sure he could change the world. Instead, he’d run head-on into reality, learning some hard facts about the politics of wildlife management. He’d discovered that many of the true battlegrounds for effective wildlife management weren’t in the wilderness, but right here in Washington, D.C., in people’s offices. And contrary to his idealistic beliefs, human relationships were one of the most vital factors in the battle. With God’s help and guidance, he’d learned to deal with all kinds of people—politicians, ranchers, educators, government officials—even others involved in wildlife management, many of whom had their own agendas and prejudices. Talk about being refined by fire!
Fortunately, Connor was blessed with a quick mind, a teachable heart, and a spirit committed to following God’s principles. It hadn’t taken him long to discover that his most effective tools were tact, respect, and honesty.
“Well, it’s about time you showed up.”
Connor turned to find Irene Smith walking behind him, her expression one of tolerant affection. Her salt-and-pepper hair framed her face softly, and her brown eyes glowed with an amiable courtesy. All in all, she had the appearance of a sweet grandmother—but Connor knew WAC’s executive secretary could be an iron-willed tyrant when she had to be.
He smiled at her fondly and perched on the edge of her desk. “I suppose he’s waiting patiently?” He folded his arms across his chest and angled a look at the office door beside her desk as she sat down. President was etched in the decorative frosted glass of the door.
“Oh, of course. And penguins can fly.”
He laughed.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” She gave him a push off her desk. “Go forth and conquer.”
He was still smiling as he opened the door and entered the cluttered office. His amused gaze roamed the room. One thing he could always count on: Harry Crowley, the founder of and visionary behind WAC, would never change. “Harried Harry” he was called by those who knew him well, but always with a smile and a wink.
“So nice of you to honor me with yo
ur presence, Mr. Wonderful.”
The dry remark came from behind a large pile of papers, and Connor grinned. “I just hated to interrupt you, Harry, knowing how busy you always are.”
“Hmpf!” The man came to clamp a large hand on Connor’s shoulder.
Big and bearlike, Crowley presented an imposing figure. His height was well-balanced by his breadth—where he found such stylish tailored suits to fit his bulk, Connor would never know—and his eyes snapped with intelligence and awareness. Harry had been in the capitol city for a lot of years. He knew everyone, and his keen wit, ready laugh, and enviable knack of understanding and being able to relate to opposing sides of any debate had earned him the respect of many—an amazing accomplishment in a city filled with potential enemies and proven adversaries. Connor’s boss wasn’t timid about taking a stand, but he did so in such a way that people seldom felt disregarded or discounted.
No, not my boss, Connor corrected himself. My ex-boss. Almost.
“Sit! Sit!” Harry swept books from one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, then eased himself onto the edge of his desk and regarded Connor with sparkling eyes. “So! How’s the world-famous wildlife photographer?”
Connor arched an eyebrow. “Now, Harry, we both know you didn’t call me in here to talk about my change in professions. A change, I might add, that you considered … let’s see, how did you put it? ‘Ludicrous and lunacy,’ wasn’t it?”
An impenitent grin crossed the big man’s face. “Nice alliteration, don’t you think? Kind of fits with ‘morosely moronic’ or ‘downright doltish’ or—my personal favorite—‘clearly and concisely crazy and cockeyed.’ ”
“So why have you called me here, O great guru of the gazelles?”
“You’re learning.” There was an appreciative twinkle in Harry’s eyes. “And that’s exactly why I think you should stay with us.”
Connor gave an exaggerated sigh. “Harry, we’ve talked all this over. You’ve done too good a job of teaching me. I think you’re right on the money when you say the most effective way to get people fired up about supporting wildlife management is to educate them, to let them see for themselves what the issues are and why. Information, Not Persuasion, remember? I just happen to think I can accomplish more through the lens of a camera than by participating in yet another debate with yet another opponent in some bureaucrat’s office.”
Harry’s huff was full of disappointment. “So you intend to go through with this, eh? Just travel around the country, looking for unexplored wilderness and wildlife in all its glory and taking pictures?”
Connor leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Yup. Pretty much. Take pictures, write articles, maybe even put together a showing or exhibit. After all, if my work is good enough to hang on the hallowed walls of WAC—”
“I only bought those prints to placate what I thought was a phase you were going through. You’re one of my best field reps. I never figured you’d jump ship on me!”
“Hmmm, of course not. That’s why you asked me to supply you with prints of my work to sell at your fundraisers—”
“Pure marketing acumen. Wealthy people love to spend money on artsy stuff like your photos.”
“—which led to some of my photos being published in a nationally known wildlife magazine—”
“Hey, can I help it if they thought you were some kind of creative genius?”
“—and an offer from one of your pals, who just happens to own a D.C. art gallery, to hold a showing of my work next spring.”
Harry crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Well, now that you mention it—” his eyes widened as though just realizing some great truth—“I guess your success is entirely my doing. I just hope you’re appropriately grateful!”
Connor grew serious. “You know I am, Harry.” All jesting was gone. “You’ve helped give my dream life and breath, and I’m more grateful than I can say.”
“Good!” Crowley boomed, moving to sit in his large, sturdy leather desk chair. “Then you won’t mind doing me a little favor.”
Connor paused, eyeing his almost ex-boss. “A … favor?”
“Nothing big. By the way, have you decided where you’re going first on this photo expedition of yours?”
“Not yet.”
“Terrific! Then it shouldn’t be a problem to start in Wyoming.”
Connor leaned back in his chair. “Okay, Harry, out with it. What’s in Wyoming?”
“Nothing, as far as I’m concerned.” He tossed a folder on the desk and several papers and photos slid out. “However,” he continued as Connor scanned the materials, “there are those who don’t agree with me.”
Connor looked up. Could what he’d just read be true? “Wolves in Wyoming. Do you think this is for real?”
Harry’s shrug was noncommittal. “Normally I wouldn’t give reports like these a second thought. But with the wolves that were released in Yellowstone and then in Sawtooth a few years ago, who knows? It’s improbable, but …”
Connor knew where he was heading. “Not impossible. A wolf could have made its way that far.”
“Right into the backyard of a whole passel of ranchers, none of whom would send the welcome wagon out to greet him.”
“More likely the meat wagon.”
Harry inclined his head in agreement. “We’ve pulled together some information on the folks in this small town that seems to be the focus of all the attention.”
Connor flipped through the photos. Typical ranchers … rugged, craggy faces that evidenced years of being outdoors; salt-of-the-earth men and women …
Well, well. What was this?
Connor paused, studying a photo. He was aware of Harry droning on, telling him what he thought about the reports, but he wasn’t listening. He was busy studying the picture in front of him. There was a typical group of cowboys gathered together, talking and laughing; but standing to the side, watching, with a small smile on her lovely, slightly exotic features, was a woman. Connor couldn’t explain it, but something about her caught him … drew him. He couldn’t make out her eye color, but he had the oddest feeling they’d be brown—velvety brown …
“Yo. Camera Man. Are you with me?”
Connor’s head jerked up. “Uh, yeah, sure. You were telling me why I should be interested in all of this.”
Harry gave him a sideways look and reached out to pluck the photo from Connor’s fingers. An unexplained heat surged into Connor’s face, and Harry’s eyes widened.
“You blushing, boy?”
Connor couldn’t sit still. He stood and paced. “Of course not.”
Harry’s gaze went back to the photo. He flashed Connor a wolfish grin. “Looks like a pretty good reason to be interested right here, eh?”
“Very funny. She’s probably just a tourist who happened by when your spies snapped the shot.”
Harry waved away the accusation. “Spy, schmy. We’re just doing our job, old boy. Besides, she looks like a local to me. No doubt about it. And who knows, she might even be involved somehow.” His grin broadened and he waggled his eyebrows. “If you’re lucky.”
Connor grabbed the picture from Harry and shoved it back into the folder. “You were saying …?”
With a guffaw, Harry slapped the desk. “Boy, it does me good to see your feathers ruffled by a pretty face. Even if it’s a total stranger. This could be one of those blessings in disguise. You know the old saying, ‘All work and no play makes Jack—’ ”
“Very good at what he does.” Let’s see him argue with that. “Now, you were saying …?”
Still chortling, Harry gave in. “I was saying, circumstances being what they are, I figured it would be a good idea for you to go take a look. A purely unofficial look, mind you. One where no one knows who you are or why you’re there. Don’t want to get the locals any more worked up than they already are, now do we? And who better to send on such a delicate project than my most experienced field rep?” The man was thoroughly pleased with himself.
> Connor sat down again, his heart sinking. He hated doing “unofficial” investigations. There was too much deceit, too much concealing of facts. It went against everything he believed in. “No way, Harry. You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”
“I certainly do. I’m well aware of your stand on honoring God and truth and all that stuff. That’s why you’re going to be completely aboveboard with these folks.”
Connor looked at him. It sounded good, so why wasn’t he buying it?
“You’re going to tell them you’re a roving photographer out to shoot some great pix, who has just discovered the wonders of Wyoming.”
“Harry.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Harry’s eyes dared him to deny it.
“Well, sure, but it isn’t the whole truth—”
“So what? You’re not lying to anyone. After all, isn’t it the Good Book that says something about being sneaky as snakes and innocent as doves?”
“Shrewd.” Connor restrained a laugh. “Shrewd as snakes.”
“Whatever! Well, you’re just going in there as quietly as possible, thereby avoiding upsetting people unnecessarily. And if anyone happens to ask you if you’re there to check out the wolf rumors, you can honestly tell them you are.” His eyes gleamed as he played his trump. “I mean, what wildlife photographer wouldn’t jump at the chance to get shots of the first wolves to come to Wyoming in sixty years? And that’s not even mentioning the local beauties—”
Connor glared at him, and Harry held up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay, the local beauty, as in of nature, that you can photograph.”
Connor sat there, his arms crossed. The thought was attractive. Extremely. The image of brown eyes flitted through his head again, and he pushed it aside. Forget the girl! There were more important matters at hand here. Besides, he wouldn’t actually have to lie to anyone.
So why did he feel so uneasy?
He let out an uncertain breath. “I don’t know—”