by Karen Ball
Now she knew that wasn’t the case. And she was terrified of what that meant. For her. And for the majestic creatures who had finally, against all odds, defied the dangers and hatred and returned to the area after being completely annihilated over sixty years ago.
“Why does this trouble you so, Taylor?” Gavin’s deep voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked at him, caught off guard. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, to ask him for his help, for his counsel, … but something held her back.
She believed he would listen, would promise to help her.
But people can’t always keep their promises, can they, Lord?
No, this was her battle. She would handle it on her own. She wouldn’t ask for help, not from her family, not from Gavin, not from anyone. There was too much at stake to trust anyone but herself to handle things: her relationships with her neighbors, the wolves’ lives …
Your hopes, a voice whispered from deep within. Your heart.
Keeping her face devoid of emotion, she lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know, it just didn’t seem fair, somehow. But I suppose it doesn’t really matter one way or the other since there’s nothing to back up the rumors. I mean, who’s really gullible enough to believe there are wolves in Wyoming?” She forced a laugh and settled back in her seat, hoping Gavin was buying her disinterest.
But his dark, probing eyes reflected doubt—and a vague glimmer of hurt and disappointment. She swallowed with difficulty, wishing he would talk about something else.
Instead, he reached for her hand again, closing his strong fingers around it. “Someday, Taylor, I hope you’ll realize you can trust me.”
“Gavin—”
He stopped her. “It’s all right, lass. I understand. You’re just not sure of me yet.” He smiled into her troubled eyes, and a gently teasing tone filled his next words. “But don’t fret. I’m not giving up. I’ll just have to work harder at showing you I’m not just the handsomest man you know, but the finest as well.”
SEVEN
LINDA WILLIAMSON LOVED BOOKS—ALMOST AS MUCH AS SHE loved men. So when she heard the front door of the library open and glanced up to see a tall, ruggedly handsome stranger walk in, she was definitely in her element.
She put on her most dazzling smile as the man approached. “Welcome to the Wilson library, sir. May I help direct you to something of interest?”
The man studied her, then inclined his head. “I’m interested in anything you have on wolves.”
Undaunted by his lack of response to her friendly overture, Linda turned up the dazzle a notch. “Well, you’re in luck! One of our patrons just returned several of our best books on wolves. And we just received a new book on the subject. It’s a beautiful combination of writings and photographs.”
His eyes lit with interest, and she reached for the books Taylor had returned and set them on the desk in front of him.
“I was just about to shelve these, so you couldn’t have timed your arrival any better.” Her eyes met his with a flutter. Electric blue, she decided. Like a summer sky when a thunderstorm is brewing. “I’d be more than happy to show you where the new book is located.”
He tilted his head to one side and regarded her curiously. “Is the book hard to find?”
“Well, no … of-of course not.” She was taken aback as much by the effect of his deep, sensual voice as by the question. “You look well equipped—I mean, well, I’m sure you know what to do—where to go—for what you want.”
His eyebrows arched slightly.
“For the book you want!” she amended quickly, feeling increasingly flustered under his intense blue gaze. She stuck out her hand, handing him the slip of paper on which she had written the book title and location for Taylor.
He took the paper, glanced at it, gave her a half smile, and then moved toward the shelves.
Oh, my. She watched him walk away, fanning herself. Oh, my!
Connor Alexander leaned back in the hard wooden library chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He stretched his shoulders back, trying to work out the kinks in his weary muscles.
Oh, for a night in my own bed.
The flight from D.C. had been delayed a few hours, and they’d experienced considerable turbulence all the way. By the time he finally arrived in Jackson, he was bone weary. Fortunately, the Jeep Wrangler he’d rented was ready, and the drive to Wilson had been uneventful.
His first stop, the general store, had been profitable. He’d noticed a small group gathered as he entered the building. Four or five men stood watching two old-timers play checkers, and Connor’s interest had been immediately peaked by their raised voices and heated exchange. He was willing to bet they weren’t discussing checkers.
He eased his way to the shelves closest to the group. Doing his best to look engrossed in selecting just the right bag of chips, he focused on the men’s words.
“They come on my land,” a heavyset man declared, “and they’ll get a gut full of poison!”
“Or lead,” another chimed in.
“I say we follow Brody Camus’s lead,” a dark-haired man commented. “We kill off as many of the vermin as we can.”
“Now there was a hunter!” Mr. Heavyset agreed with relish. “My dad saw old Brody come in once with more than a hundred wolf pelts.”
“Did more to rid this area of wolves than ten men combined, so I hear,” Dark Hair chortled.
“I want those wolves to come on my land.” This comment came from one of the checkers players, an older gentleman whose baseball cap was pushed back to reveal a craggy, weathered face. Clearly he had spent a good portion of his life outdoors.
His bald statement was met with confusion and exclamations of censure from all.
“Sure.” A grin splashed across his face. “I been wantin’ a new rug in my den!”
At that, a chorus of approval sounded around the laughing man, and Connor restrained a grimace. He grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the cashier.
The talkative young clerk also proved to be a veritable fount of information.
“I heard those men talking about wolves.” Connor nodded toward the group of men at the back of the store. “Thought they were extinct around here.”
“They musta come over the mountains from Idaho,” the clerk, a gum-chewing, fresh-faced teenager, volunteered, explaining that the locals suspected the animals were somewhere to the north of town, on one of the ranches near Phelps Lake. Connor noted the way the kid’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I’d sure hate to have ’em show up on my ranch. I hear tell a pack of them killers can take down a bull!”
“So they say.” Connor had paid for his purchase and walked out of the store.
That was when he’d seen the woman from the pictures. He thought he was imagining her for a moment. He stood there, staring at her, wanting her to turn and look at him—when she’d done just that! He barely managed to look away before she caught him watching her. Then he’d taken a chance and glanced back—and wham!
If he hadn’t been leaning against something, he was pretty sure his knees would have buckled.
You’ve got to get this woman out of your mind, pal. Okay, reality check. So she’s beautiful. So what? A face that lovely usually means a head that’s equally empty. Or totally full of conceit.
Yes, that helped. He needed to fix as unappealing a picture of her as he could in his mind.…
Okay, she was a redneck through and through. Yeah, that was it; she was probably the only daughter of twelve kids. And the youngest, which meant spoiled rotten. Probably couldn’t put a coherent sentence together. At least, not one that didn’t center on her thick, auburn hair or her high cheekbones or her almost almond-shaped, emerald eyes … eyes that he was sure saw into the depths of his soul.
Conner groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Okay, so the safest tact was to not think of her at all.
He turned back to the newpapers spread out on the table in front of him. Wolves, Alexander. Think wolves!
&
nbsp; He’d come to the library to find out what he could about the town and the surrounding area. He’d scanned back copies of the town’s weekly paper—not a big task considering how small the paper was. Still, that gave him a glimpse of local events and topics of interest. If the Help Wanted ads were any indication, things weren’t exactly hopping economically. Seasonal help at the resorts seemed to be the big opportunity. Either that or working as a ranch hand.
Connor set aside the paper and looked over the books the librarian had given him.
He glanced at the desk where the librarian seemed engrossed in her work. After that first intriguing encounter with Mrs. Williamson, as her nameplate identified her, the woman had treated him with a professional, slightly distant attitude. But he knew it would take little more than a friendly word, an interested smile, and she would once again be the welcoming charmer he’d encountered when he first came through the door.
He rubbed his temples as he looked down at the table again. A fan of library cards was spread out in front of him. They were the check-out cards from the wolf books, and each one had the same name on it: Taylor Sorensen.
Why did that name sound familiar? He shuffled through the newspapers, finally pulling out last week’s paper. He hadn’t seen the name in any of the articles, of that he was fairly certain. So that meant it had to be something from the classifieds.
He spread out the newspaper in front of him, reading over the ad in the Help Wanted section. Ah, there it was.
Temporary, full-time handyman/ranch hand needed. Work will last 1–2 months. Mechanical and riding skills a must. Housing provided. Good pay. References required. Contact Taylor Sorensen, Galloway Glen.
A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
He stuffed the cards back into the books, swept them and the newspaper up, and headed for the desk.
Linda looked up uneasily at the sound of firm footsteps approaching. He was coming to talk again. Stiffening her shoulders, she watched him stroll up to the desk, looking completely at ease.
The least he could do was have the decency to show some awareness of the way he was affecting her! From his bland expression, she might as well have been a cold piece of toast. Without jelly. Or butter.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked as he set the books on the desk.
“I think so.”
“Is there something else you needed?” The second the words were out, Linda could have kicked herself. Why was she being so accommodating? The man was entirely too sure of himself as it was! She should have turned her back on him.
“If you could direct me to Taylor Sorensen’s ranch, that would be a help.”
“Galloway Glen?” She was tempted to ask why, but the quicker she answered him, the quicker he’d be gone—and the quicker her embarrassment could be forgotten. “I’ll draw you a map.” She pulled a notepad toward her. “It’s north of town. Just follow the signs for Teton Village and Phelps Lake.” She sketched a quick map and handed it to him. “Are you … a friend of Taylor’s?”
“No, never met him. I’m going to see him about a job.”
“Him? Oh, but—” She broke off as the last part of his comment hit her. “A—a job? You’re going to … stay in the area?” Aware her voice was becoming high and slightly shrill, she clamped her mouth shut, staring at the desk as though fascinated by its wood veneer.
“For a while, anyway.”
She clenched her teeth. He was laughing at her. She was sure of it! Looking up, she met his gaze squarely. “Well. Isn’t that nice. I hope it works out. So, here’s your map.” She knew the words had come out rapid fire, but she just didn’t care. She shoved the map at him.
“Thanks for your help.” He took the paper and turned to head for the door.
“Wait!”
He halted, turning back to her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. She smiled sweetly. “Just thought I’d offer you some friendly advice. Watch out for Taylor’s dog.”
A wary look entered his eyes. “His dog?”
Keeping her expression friendly, compassionate, Linda went on, “Her dog. Taylor’s a woman. And Sasha—that’s the dog—is a bit … unpredictable. Especially where men are concerned.”
“And how does Mr. Sorensen feel about that?”
“Josh Sorensen was killed a year ago last fall. Taylor’s a widow.”
“Then she lives on the ranch alone?” Clearly the man was confused. Good.
“No, not at all. Her parents live on the ranch, and her brother and his family are close by too. Her father, Reverend Camus, is the minister here in town.”
“Camus?” His frown deepened. “Any relation to a Brody Camus?”
“Brody Camus was Taylor’s grandfather. And his father established Galloway Glen.”
From the look on the man’s face, this information was less than palatable.
“Anyway,” Linda pushed on, “watch out for Taylor’s dog. One minute she’ll seem just fine; the next she’ll be snapping and snarling and going for your throat.”
The man blinked. “And she lets this animal run loose?”
Linda was all wide-eyed innocence and concern. “You know how some people are about their animals. But I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. To Taylor, that is. About the dog. She’s kind of sensitive.”
He frowned. She could see his mind processing her words. “Thanks for the warning.”
“My pleasure.” As the door closed behind him, she could no longer keep the smug smile off her face. She picked up the books he’d been looking at and set them on the reshelve cart. “Entirely my pleasure, I’m sure.”
EIGHT
SEVERAL HOURS AFTER SHE RETURNED FROM TOWN, TAYLOR stood staring out the tall, elegant windows of her living room. She never grew tired of the view of her home and the wilderness surrounding it. Many people would go crazy in such a remote location, but she thrived on the challenge. As had Josh.
She pictured his face—and felt a pang of sorrow that it wasn’t as clear and immediate as it had been. Instead, another image floated into her mind … one of a firm jaw-line, golden brown hair, deep blue eyes …
Stop it! She couldn’t believe one brief glance from a strange man had rattled her so much. What was it about him that stirred her? Those intense eyes? Or the broad shoulders that looked like they could carry any burden she’d care to place on them? Maybe it was the oddly gentle expression on his rugged features?
No, no, no. The last thing she wanted to do was travel down that particular path. Better not to think about it—or him—at all.
With an impatient sigh, she turned and walked to the kitchen. Actually, the living room, dining room, and kitchen were one large room, a spacious floor plan with furniture arrangements defining each area. That was one of the things Taylor loved about her home: the light, airy feel of the open rooms.
When she pulled open the fridge door and took out the milk jug, Sasha rose from her place on the rug and came over, watching Taylor with interest, her tail wagging.
Taylor smiled at the dog. “Hey, you greedy beast. You ate your breakfast already, remember?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, her eyes fixed on the milk jug, and Taylor laughed, patting the dog’s head. “Gavin’s right. You are a walking garbage disposal.”
At the mention of the Scotsman, Taylor frowned. As she poured her glass of milk, she thought about the conversation she and Gavin had had on their return from Wilson. Why didn’t I tell him about the wolves? No answers came.
She moved back to the living room and sank into her favorite overstuffed chair. Leaning back, she took a deep breath, soaking in the sense of peace she so often felt in this room. She loved the openness of the living room, the way it was so often washed in sunlight, thanks to the tall windows on the south wall and the skylights in the high vaulted ceiling. The sheen of the log walls and the wood floor created a richness and warmth; the simple design of the alderwood chairs and couch with their black, oversized cushions offered homeyness a
nd comfort. Decorative pillows scattered across the furniture added a touch of color and playfulness. From the lighting to the plants to the glorious view, it was a room designed to uplift sagging spirits.
Taylor plopped her feet on the ottoman and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Would the walls around her heart ever come down again? She’d lowered them for Josh, allowed him to come in and draw her out of the inner fortress she’d built as a child. Nurtured by his love, encouraged by his openness, her long-buried desire to find acceptance and friendship had finally pushed through her defenses and blossomed. Until she’d met Josh, she’d always been a loner except around her family and her animals.
She studied the portrait on the mantel of the river rock fireplace. Her family’s faces smiled down at her. Her family. They’d always made her feel accepted, as though she belonged. They gave her security, an anchor. Only with them did she feel safe. With them, and at Reunion—her retreat, her refuge.
It didn’t matter a bit that she was always by herself. In fact, she preferred it that way. As a child, Taylor had never felt she really fit in with her schoolmates. She was … different. During her teens, she’d thought the girls in her class were scatterbrained, self-involved, and far too focused on their looks and boys. As for the boys, she’d never met one she couldn’t outwrestle, outrun, or outthink.