by Karen Ball
“Or humble!”
His grin was purely impenitent. “In truth, yer beauty makes me forget myself, darlin’.” The brogue thickened until Taylor was sure she could cut it into chunks. “I canna ken livin’ without ye, and the mere threat of it sets my mind to whirlin’. So you’d best say yes. You wouldna want me to drive meself off the mountainside, now would ye?”
“Och, the way ye do talk, Gavin MacEwen. And how the clan must miss such a golden tongue.”
“Indeed, I’m sure they must.”
His warm, rich laughter filled the Blazer, and Taylor leaned back, grateful for his understanding. I don’t deserve him, Lord.
“And though I hate to say it, we’ve reached our destination.”
She looked up in surprise and saw that they were indeed entering Wilson.
The small town, inhabited by roughly five hundred people, was a study in rugged beauty. As a restless teen, Taylor had given Wilson the disdainful title of The Town that Never Was. But four years attending college in over-populated L.A. had given her a new appreciation for Wilson’s small-town warmth and familiarity. Now she cherished the fact that traffic jams were unheard of in Wilson. And she enjoyed the uniqueness of the town’s landmarks—the post office, Hungry Jack’s General Store, and Nora’s Fish Creek Inn—a far cry from L.A.’s happening, frenetic hot spots.
Of course, if Hungry Jack’s didn’t carry what she needed, all Taylor had to do was head six miles further east to Jackson. With a population of nearly 7,500, Jackson was the area’s center of commerce. It had definite old-time appeal with its town square, shopping center, and an abundance of Western fronted shops custom designed to send any tourist into paroxysms of delight.
“Supplies or library first?”
Taylor patted the books beside her. “Library. Definitely.”
“I love a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.” His eyes twinkled at her decisive response. “Almost as much as I love one who’s ready when she says she will be,” he added as they pulled up in front of the building.
“And you know it goes without saying, dear Gavin—” she gathered the books, opened the door, and stepped from the vehicle—“that the only thing that matters to me is making your sweet Scottish heart happy.”
“That’s as it should be, lass.”
“I’ll be done in twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” A spark of some unfathomable emotion flashed in his dark eyes. And as she turned to enter the building, she was torn between relief that they were able to ease back to their typical bantering and a wave of regret.… As much as she’d like to just ignore it, she knew, deep inside, that while the ground may not have shifted during that kiss, the foundation of their relationship had.
SIX
“WELL, I WAS WONDERING WHEN WE’D SEE YOU IN HERE again.”
Taylor waved at the librarian as she approached the desk. “It has been a while, hasn’t it, Linda?”
“Hmmm, longer than usual.” The woman’s blue eyes wandered to the doorway behind Taylor. “Is Gavin with you?”
Suppressing a grin at the woman’s hopeful expression, Taylor laid her stack of books on the desk. “No, he decided to make a quick stop at the hardware store while I’m here.”
Linda’s mouth puckered, and then her eyes came back to rest on Taylor.
“Congratulations, Taylor.” Two dimples appeared in Linda’s cheeks. “You returned these just under the wire. No late charges this time.”
Taylor leaned on the counter. “I’m turning over a new leaf. The last batch almost broke the bank.”
Linda laughed and turned to her computer. “A new book on wolves just came in.” She peered at the screen, then jotted the information down on a slip of paper and handed it to Taylor. “Since you’ve read almost every book we have on wolves, I thought you’d be interested in this one.”
Taylor glanced at the paper. Trust Linda to pick a winner. “Thanks.”
“By the way,” Linda said, “have you heard the latest rumors—that we’ve actually got wolves around here?”
Taylor stopped cold, her heart pounding in her chest. “Oh?” She hoped she sounded far calmer than she felt.
“Oh, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s nothing to it. Just like there’s been nothing to all the other rumors we’ve heard over the years about killer wolves invading the area and decimating the elk and cattle populations.” Linda smoothed her hair. “I swear, if wolves did half of what people accused them of, they’d have to be able to fly, leap tall buildings with a single bound, and disappear at will.”
Taylor smiled weakly. “So who reported a sighting?”
“Oh, no one. But Mylon Hogan said he heard howling a few nights ago. And you know how the ranchers are about wolves. Someone thinks he hears one, and they all head for their guns.”
Oh no! Lord, please, don’t let this happen.
“Did Mylon send a report to the officials?” Taylor dreaded the answer. If the government agencies found out about her wolves, they’d be pounding on her door.
Linda snorted. “Think about what you’re saying, Taylor.”
Taylor’s brows came together. Then realization dawned—and her sense of dread doubled.
When Linda saw the light of understanding in Taylor’s eyes, she nodded. “Right. You know what they say: ‘Shoot, shovel, and shut up.’ I doubt any of the ranchers would even consider reporting a sighting. They don’t want the government coming in to catch and move the wolves.”
“You think that’s what they’d do? Capture them and move them someplace else?”
“I would certainly hope so. But they’d have to do it fast if they wanted to find the wolves in one piece.”
What Linda said was true. The ranchers were much more inclined to “take care of things” themselves, rather than let the government agencies and their restrictions in the door. Understandably so. Taylor had heard the debates all her life: The government had no right to tell people what they could and couldn’t do—or kill—on their own land. Especially when what they wanted to kill was a predator, one that many would willingly risk fines—and even possible imprisonment—to kill.
Like wolves.
Taylor sat on the bench outside the library, wishing she’d told Gavin five minutes rather than thirty. Her conversation with Linda had left her with a heavy heart, and all she wanted to do was go home.
Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she leaned back, watching the clouds dance by in the sky. The sun was warm on her face, and she drew a deep breath of the clean, crisp air—as a shiver traveled up and down her spine.
She sat up straight. She couldn’t explain it, but she had the oddest feeling … as though she were being watched. She glanced around, hoping Gavin was parked nearby, waiting.
Her gaze paused for a moment on a tall form a little distance away. A stranger—and a handsome one from what she could see of his profile—was leaning against the side of the general store, looking around with a casual air. Taylor studied him. Who was he? What was he doing in town? Had he been watching her?
Come on, Taylor, you’re being paranoid.
She started to look away—but just then he turned toward her, and their gazes collided. A shock jolted through Taylor at the intensity—and interest—sparking from the man’s dark blue eyes.
Heat surged into her face and she turned away. What was wrong with her? How could she have been caught staring at a complete stranger like that—
The thought died when she saw a young man coming up the sidewalk toward the library. Though his head was down, his chin all but buried in his chest, something disturbingly familiar about the way his thick, shaggy hair fell over his face like a black curtain blocking his features made her heart constrict. Taylor felt her breathing grow ragged, her heart start to pound. The boy’s walk … the straight way he held himself, the overall impression of grace and contained strength … it could only be one person.
As though sensing her scrutiny, t
he young man looked up at her. A wave of nausea flooded Taylor, followed quickly by a furnace blast of pure loathing.
Brad Momadey.
She wanted to turn and run. Or to scream and rage at him. She did neither. She simply stood there, stiff with emotion, holding his stunned gaze.
Somewhere in a corner of her mind it registered that his dark eyes were haunted, his face gaunt and strained. His coppery skin was pale, as though all the color had been siphoned away. He wore the anguished expression of someone consumed by a burning, unrelenting pain. She knew because it was the same expression she had seen many times over the last year in her mirror.
Faint stirrings of sympathy brushed at her heart, and she shoved them away. She would not feel sorry for him. She would not! She was glad he was suffering! It was only right after what he’d done.
“Forgive whatever grievances you have against one another.” Her father’s voice echoed in the black stillness of her mind.
No! The rejection came fierce, determined.
“Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”
Her heart twisted with pain, and she turned away from Brad with a jerk.
How do I forgive him, Lord? It’s his fault Josh is dead. His fault my heart is dead!
The cold, bitter thoughts ran through her, and she closed her eyes, sickened by the realizations washing over her.
Gavin deserves an answer, Father, but how do I give him one? I have nothing to give him! No love. No trust. Just an empty, dead heart.…
She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the emotions that threatened to envelop her.
That boy killed my heart, Father.
She felt a gentle touch on her arm and jerked away, turning, ready to fight.
“Whoa!” Gavin’s eyes were wide. “It’s only me, Taylor.”
Her breath came out in a rush, and she put out a shaking hand. He took it in his own and drew her against him, cradling her, sharing his warmth with her suddenly chilled body.
“I’m sorry.” The words were hushed and ragged. “I—it just was a shock to see him—Brad, I mean.”
Gavin nodded. “I see him.” The sadness in his voice disturbed her. “The boy looks like he’s in a bad way.” She stiffened, and his hold tightened. “I’m sorry, lass. I’m sorry it still hurts so much.”
“Take me home, Gavin.” Her voice was flat. “Please … just take me home.”
He didn’t question, didn’t remind her they hadn’t gotten supplies yet. He simply led her to the Blazer, opened the door, and helped her get in. As he came around to the driver’s side, she cast a quick glance out the window.
Brad was still there, his face ashen, … and as the truck pulled away, she was hit with the terrible realization that the boy’s face was streaked with tears.
Connor stood staring after the Blazer, willing his pulse rate back to normal.
The woman had been even more exotic, more beautiful in person than she’d been in the picture. He wasn’t even disappointed that her eyes weren’t brown but green … at least, he thought they were. He hadn’t been close enough to see, really, but he’d had the distinct impression of gold-flecked emeralds. And the impact of meeting her gaze head-on had left him feeling as though he’d been nailed on the side of the head with a sledge hammer. Twice.
It wasn’t just her looks that had pierced him. He’d seen his share of beautiful women. Usually that didn’t faze him much. No, it was deeper than that. There had been something in her expression, something in her eyes, that had reached down inside of him and taken hold.
And then, when she’d turned away, he’d seen her stiffen as though someone had struck her. She’d stared at the kid walking down the street, and he’d stared back, defiance warring on his face with what Connor would swear was shame.
Connor had been stunned by the strong urge he’d felt, the desire to go to the woman, to protect her from whatever was happening. He gave a mirthless laugh. Since when did he want to play the knight in shining armor?
Since I looked into those eyes …
With an exasperated sigh, he walked toward the library. Keep your focus, Alexander. You’re here to find wolves, remember. And that doesn’t have anything to do with your mystery woman.
No matter how much he might wish it did.
Gavin drove in silence. The only contact he attempted was to reach out and clasp Taylor’s chilled fingers in his large, warm hand. She leaned her head back against the seat and struggled to hold back the tears. Her empty book bag sat on the floor by her feet.
“Did you find what you wanted at the library?” Gavin ventured after several miles. She started, the memory of her discussion with Linda flooding back.
“No.” She was grateful for something to pull her mind away from Brad … and Josh. “I—I left after a few minutes.”
He quirked his eyebrow. “Why?”
Instead of answering, she looked at him. “Gavin, do you hate wolves?”
He searched her face, as though a bit concerned about her sanity, and she didn’t blame him. The question sounded odd even to her own ears—abrupt and out of left field.
“I’m sorry. I know that sounded weird.” She shook her head. “Linda told me some of the ranchers in the area are getting worked up over some rumors about wolves.”
“ ‘Worked up’ meaning they’re getting their guns ready?”
She bit her lip and gave a quick nod. “I couldn’t help wondering if you felt that way, too.”
“Would it bother you if I did?”
A sharp pang shot through her, and she found herself fighting tears.
“Taylor, to be honest, I don’t know how I feel. I’ve heard tales about wolves since I was a boy. Tales that make them out to be monsters. My grandda used to tell me bedtime stories”—he grinned wryly—“though I seldom slept afterward. Grandda knew how to spin a truly terrible tale.”
“About wolves? But why?”
His expression was troubled. “My grandparents, and their parents and grandparents … they saw wolves differently than Americans do now.” He glanced at her, a faint smile on his lips. “Most Americans, anyway. In Europe, wolves were considered monsters, killers. I think a lot of the hatred stemmed from the dark days when Europe was devastated by the Black Plague. Grandda painted a vivid, horrifying picture of wolves roaming to and fro, seeking something to tear apart. He made it so real, I could almost see it.”
“Did the wolves actually attack anyone?”
“I don’t know. But he told me how when people were dying in droves across Europe, the wolves pulled corpses from shallow graves and devoured them.” He angled a look at her. “Believe me, lass, you hear those stories often enough and the last thing you feel for the creatures is compassion. Fear, definitely. Anger, even hatred. But surely not a sense that these are the fine, noble beasts the environmentalists want us to believe they are.”
“But stories like your grandfather told are more fairy tale than truth. Myths and legends. Like stories about werewolves.”
“Och! Don’t even get me started on those!” The teasing laughter shone from his eyes.
“Wolves aren’t at all like the stories make them out to be, Gavin. And they don’t attack people.”
“Here now, are you telling me Red Riding Hood was a liar?”
Her laugh was decidedly weak. “I’m telling you some people are. Real people … though I’m not sure why.”
“What makes you say so?”
She tilted her head and thought for a moment. “Did you ever hear about the time, several years ago, when people here got all upset about that wolf attack in British Columbia?”
“Aye, New Chetwynd, wasn’t it? Two hunters shot and killed a wolf that came after them.”
“That’s just it, Gavin.” She turned in the seat so she could face him. “The wolf didn’t come after them.”
Surprise touched his features. “But the paper said—”
“I know what the paper said. It was wrong. I read a book that gave an account of the offi
cial report the hunters made. The wolf was just following them. They admitted it never made any movement toward them, never demonstrated any aggression, but they got frightened—”
“It’s understandable.”
“Getting frightened, maybe. But shooting the wolf wasn’t understandable. They had the decency to take the dead wolf to the authorities, but they weren’t charged with anything. Then the local news magazine picked up the story and splashed ‘Wolf Attack in New Chetwynd!’ across the front page.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Everything I’ve read says there’s never been a verified account of a healthy wolf attacking any person in North America.”
He looked at her disbelievingly. “Never?”
“The only wolves that have attacked people were rabid, and even those instances are rare. So all those tales about the big bad wolf? They spring from imagination and superstition. That’s what these guys are basing their fear on. Not the facts.”
He inclined his head. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve never been around the beasts myself. They were gone from the area long before my family came here. So I can’t say one way or the other what they’re really like. But I do know this”—his eyes darkened—“we’re a small band here, and we depend on each other to survive and endure. Ranchers like my uncle make their living on their livestock, and they aren’t greatly inclined to risk their families’ welfare just to placate some wolf-lovin’ environmentalist. Or the government, for that matter. And I’ll wager that anyone who chooses a pack of beasts over their friends and neighbors is making a regretful decision. If someone is actually hiding the existence of those creatures, he’d best keep it a well-guarded secret. My guess is he’d become as much a target as the wolves.”
The words struck Taylor hard. She knew he was probably right. If her neighbors found out about the wolves, they’d be more likely to kill them than anything else. If government officials found out about them, they might take them away. Relocate them. To someplace safer.
Someplace other than Galloway Glen.
She sat back and stared out the window. A fierce determination swelled up and filled her. No one was going to hurt her wolves. And no one was going to take them away from her. The wolves were hers! They came to her; they were on her land, and she’d fight anyone, friend or foe—even Gavin, she realized in amazement—who dared to set foot anywhere near them! True, she’d only seen the large male that one time at Reunion, but she’d heard him and the others several times in the past year, howling, joining their voices in a mournful, discordant, incredibly beautiful chorus. She’d been thrilled to discover that the beautiful beast who had watched her was not alone. And she was fairly certain they were establishing territory on Galloway Glen. She’d hoped against hope that no one else had seen or heard them, that they were as much her secret as Reunion was.