Reunion

by Karen Ball

  Put simply, she saw little point in spending time with people with whom she had little or nothing in common.

  “I have more interesting conversations with my dog,” she told her mother once when she inquired why Taylor didn’t spend time with any of the girls in her class. Her mother had raised an eyebrow and cast a glance at the husky lying in the middle of the room.

  “Have you ever really talked with any of these girls?” Her gaze came back to rest on her scowling daughter.

  “Why bother?” Taylor snorted. “All I have to do is watch and listen. They stare at themselves in the bathroom mirrors every chance they get, they moan about how ugly they are, and they sigh all over themselves if Bobby Ravenhill even looks their way.”

  Her mother had listened patiently, but her expression clearly told Taylor that she wasn’t fooled. She knew how hard it was for her daughter to overcome her self-consciousness and reach out. She also was aware of how cutting teenage girls could be, particularly about anyone who didn’t think and act the way they did.

  Still, whatever Taylor had lacked in social skills, she more than made up for in inquisitiveness and out-and-out daring. Not with people—they were too intimidating. But Taylor was always trying things. The proverbial bookworm, she read everything she could get her hands on. But just reading wasn’t enough. She had to do something with what she’d read.

  Once, in the sixth grade, she watched a TV special on skydiving. Fascinated, she promptly checked out every book the school library had on the subject. Then she’d fashioned a handkerchief parachute for one of her dolls and launched it from her bedroom window. Her delight when the contraption worked convinced her she could do even better. Soon she was perched on the edge of the hayloft, a homemade parachute—a sheet and some clothesline—tied to her back. She barely missed landing on her father as he came in to feed the horses. Fortunately, she didn’t miss the hay pile. The stunned look on her dad’s face as she sat there, half-buried in hay, sheet and clothesline draped over her head, was a memory that still made her smile.

  Then there was the time she slipped though the fence surrounding the field where their nearest neighbor kept their bull. She’d wanted to see how long it would take the nearsighted beast to spot her and react.

  Ryan, who had timed the experiment with the new stopwatch he’d gotten for his birthday, said she should go out for track. When he showed her her time for getting from the middle of the field to the fence, she couldn’t argue.

  “Course, we don’t know if you’d run as fast without a bull on your heels,” he commented as they mounted their horses and headed for home. She couldn’t argue with that, either.

  A loud knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she hopped up as the front door opened.

  Luke Narbona came in, his dark brown eyes filled with warmth. “You returned, but you didn’t call me to help you unload the supplies, Yazhi.”

  The Navajo endearment warmed her. Yazhi. “Little One.” She tossed her arm around her friend’s shoulders. Few people would have guessed Luke was old enough to be retired. He had the straight carriage and build of a far younger man. His copper skin glowed with health, and his aquiline features were smooth and free of wrinkles. Only a few streaks of gray in his long black hair, worn in a braid, betrayed him. He was a man who thrived on activity—especially activity that improved Galloway Glen or the retreat center. Taylor’s home had become as much a passion for Luke as it was for her.

  “That’s because I didn’t get any supplies, Luke.” His eyes were filled with questions, but she forestalled them by leading him from the house to the barn. “But I’m sure we can find something to keep you busy.”

  “What happened in town, Taylor? Why’d you leave before you got supplies?”

  She considered telling him about Brad, but the thought of reliving the experience was too overwhelming. Instead, she told him about the ranchers and their reaction to the rumor of wolves.

  “The wolves are gone from this area,” he said. “These men are foolish, like worried old women, to think they could return.”

  “That’s what I said,” Taylor agreed with a smile. “There haven’t been wolves in this part of Wyoming for more than sixty years. I don’t know why anyone would believe they’d suddenly come back.”

  Luke glanced around him. They were in the horse barn. He shot Taylor a pointed look. “Hmpf! Why do I think I know where this is leading?”

  She grinned. “That’s what I’ve always liked best about you, my friend.” She handed him a shovel. “Your remarkable keen sense of the obvious.”

  Later that night the moon was high and bright in the sky as Taylor sat and rocked on her front porch. She snuggled into the soft quilted comforter her grandmother had made her, then reached a hand out to rest on Sasha’s broad head.

  The husky turned, and a twinkle of moonlight caught her ice blue eyes as she looked at her mistress. Affection swept Taylor as she stroked the dog’s soft fur.

  Sasha was Taylor’s second Siberian husky. Her parents had given her a pup, Vanya—a name meaning “gift from God”—when she was ten, and she and the husky had loved each other completely and unconditionally. When Taylor came home from college, new husband in tow, Vanya fixed him with a dubious stare, then moved to sit between the two of them, her unblinking gaze fastened on Josh as though warning him that Taylor was hers and not to be trifled with. Fortunately Josh loved dogs, and it had only taken him a few weeks—and an entire box of dog biscuits—to win the Siberian over.

  When Vanya died at the ripe old age of fifteen, Taylor had been devastated. Josh put up with her moping for a week, then told her to get her coat and get in the car, they were going for a drive. They ended up at the home of a local husky breeder who just happened to have a litter of pups. It was there Taylor found Sasha. Actually, it was more accurate to say Sasha found her.

  Taylor had gone to sit on the back stairs, where she was petting a five-month-old male, when she felt something warm and moist nudge the back of her neck. She turned to find Sasha behind her. The dog looked at her for a moment with the most amazing pair of white-blue eyes, then laid her chin on Taylor’s shoulder and licked her neck with the tip of her pink tongue. Taylor was lost. Just under a year old, Sasha had been returned to the breeder by a woman who had developed severe allergies to the dog’s thick double coat.

  When the breeder saw Sasha’s action, he grinned. “Well, the dog’s made her choice. I guess the final decision is up to you.”

  Taylor took her home that very day. And though one dog could never replace another, Sasha quickly became an integral part of the Sorensens’ lives. In no time at all it became clear that Sasha was not only thoroughly devoted to Taylor, but also perfectly suited to her chosen mistress in personality and temperament. She enjoyed nothing more than trotting alongside Topaz, roaming the ranch with Taylor. Like most huskies, she was as independent and stubborn as she was loyal and loving.

  As Taylor rubbed Sasha’s velvet soft ears, she closed her eyes, soaking in the silence—until the sound of movement in the nearby woods startled her. Taylor stilled, staring into the darkness. Sasha stood slowly, her ears twitching, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

  Heart pounding, Taylor stood, too, possibilities running through her mind. A bear? Maybe, though it wouldn’t have been so quiet. Raccoon? Could be, though it had sounded larger. Actually it could be any number of nocturnal animals.…

  It could also be human.

  The unwelcome thought nudged its way into her mind, and she stiffened. If that were so, it was an intruder. Neighbors or friends would have identified themselves right away.

  Her eyes swept the woods, trying to discern any activity in the moonlight.

  Sasha growled again and tensed beside her, ready to bound into the trees. Taylor placed a hand on the dog’s head. “Stand!” she commanded in a low voice, and the dog obeyed, standing motionless—her eyes fixed on the woods.

  “Who’s out there?” Taylor put as much confidence in the
question as she could. Never let ’em see you sweat. She’d learned that early on.

  Silence was her only response—until Sasha turned her head sharply. Taylor jumped.

  So much for appearing cool and confident!

  “What is it, girl?” Taylor touched Sasha’s head, but the dog didn’t look up at her. Something had caught her full attention, and she tilted her head, angling her ears as though listening more carefully to whatever night sound was drawing her.

  Taylor strained her ears … and heard the faint rise and fall of a wolf howl.

  Relief swept through her, and she looked down at the Siberian. Sasha was lifting her chin, as though tempted to join in the distant song.

  “I understand, Sash. I’ve been tempted, too.” She cast another look toward the dark woods, but all was silent. If something, or someone, had been there, it seemed to be gone now.

  She lowered herself to sit next to Sasha, draping her arm around the dog and resting her head against the animal’s soft, fur-covered neck. With a sigh, Taylor listened to—and was oddly soothed by—the eerie, resonant song that rose and drifted on the wind.

  NINE

  THE SOUND CAME TO HIM IN THE NIGHT, AND AT FIRST HE thought it was just another nightmare. But it continued even after he awoke, and a shudder gripped him.

  He threw off the covers and moved to the window, looking out on the moonlit landscape. He concentrated, listening intently. Had he really heard the howling?

  Yes, there it was again, distant and haunting. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his long black hair falling like a curtain to hide his face as he fought the sadness welling up within him.

  So the rumors were true. He’d granted himself the luxury of not believing, of dismissing what he felt were the tales of old women masquerading as hunters. He knew how quick men were to label any howl wolf howls, even if they knew that it was really just dogs in the area venting their canine angst. It always sounded so much better to say, “Hey! I heard a wolf howling last night,” than “Tommy Black Elk’s old hound dogs were at it again.”

  But this … there was no mistaking this haunting, sonorous song rising in the night. The ever-changing pitches, the discordant symphony that lifted and danced on the wind, as though wooing its listeners to join in. His dark eyes narrowed. This was not Tommy Black Elk’s hounds. This was a wild song, full of excitement and an almost seductive entreaty. It was hard not to be drawn.

  As Taylor apparently had been drawn.

  His heart lurched. She’d lied to him—told him she didn’t think there were any wolves in the area. But clearly those howls were coming from her ranch.

  The fact that she’d sided with them against him was galling. Didn’t she understand what these animals were? It wasn’t even so much that they were killers. Many animals could be accused of that fault. No. The greatest danger lay in what they could cost Taylor. If she sided with them, she would be siding against her neighbors. She would become a target. He couldn’t let that happen.

  He turned from the window and went back to his bed. Morning would begin soon enough. He needed to get some rest, to find some sense of restoration and oblivion before he took up the battle.

  His eyes glittered with a fierce resolve as he pictured his adversary: the amber eyes, the falsely sweet expression, the sharp, jagged teeth. And then superimposed on the image of the beast came the reflection of a beautiful smiling face framed by long dark hair and emerald green eyes brimming with laughter and sincerity.

  He sighed and turned over, punching his pillow into submission. For now, he needed sleep. Tomorrow he would plan and prepare.

  He would have to be cautious. He couldn’t let Taylor know what he was doing. He didn’t want to alienate her, to destroy what they were building. He’d have to be as clever and skilled as his opponent if he were to succeed.

  Yes, tomorrow he would begin to plan. And by next week he would be ready to do what needed to be done.

  On that determined note, he closed his eyes.

  TEN

  CONNOR TURNED HIS WRANGLER OFF THE HIGHWAY AND drove under a tall arch made of logs. At the top of the arch was a large sign with the name Galloway Glen carved into it. The librarian’s map had been clear and exact, a pleasant surprise. He’d half expected her to lead him to the edge of a cliff somewhere.

  He eased the vehicle down the long, winding gravel drive, admiring the scenery. Fields of wildflowers bordered the drive. Just beyond the field to the west was a thick forest of evergreens, and beyond that the Tetons loomed in all their craggy majesty. Galloway Glen was a wilderness paradise.

  Perfect location for a pack of wolves. A pang of regret shot through him. Too bad such a place was owned by wolf haters.

  You don’t know that for certain.

  The caution breezed into his mind, and he found himself arguing. “I know, Lord, but if her grandfather was what those men say he was …”

  People change.

  Connor couldn’t argue with that. Still, it seemed wiser to follow Harry’s instructions, as much as they galled him. He would have preferred to knock on Taylor Sorensen’s door and tell her who he was and what he wanted. But until he was sure she wouldn’t run him off her land—and then follow in her grandfather’s footsteps—he’d just have to play this Harry’s way. Fortunately, he had the perfect plan to accomplish his task.

  Provided Taylor Sorensen still needed a handyman.

  Within a mile or so he saw the ranch buildings. As he drew nearer, he passed a herd of horses grazing in a fenced-in field. The driveway opened into a parking area, and he pulled into a spot in front of a large barn. As he stepped from the Jeep, he looked around enjoying the view.

  The buildings were well-cared-for log structures. To the east of the barn were several small cabins, complete with porches and rocking chairs. In front of him, opposite the barn, was a beautiful, ranch-style, two-story log home made of lodgepole pine. The wraparound porch with its rocking chairs and large pots of flowers gave the house a welcoming appearance.

  Heavy double doors and a large, circle-head window graced the front entrance, which jutted out slightly from the rest of the house. From what Connor could see, the entryway had to have a vaulted ceiling. On either side of the entrance were windows as tall as the front doors, and these were flanked by double windows topped with fanlights. The overall effect was one of rustic elegance.

  In fact, everything about Galloway Glen seemed to proclaim beauty, clarity, and balance. It was a far cry from D.C., that was for sure.

  Drawing a deep breath of the crisp, clean air into his lungs, he went up the steps to the front doors. It was time to go to work.

  Taylor was sitting at the kitchen table with her mother, just finishing a second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.

  She looked from her mom to the door. “Who can that be?”

  “I suppose you could always answer it and find out.”

  “I suppose so.” Taylor got up. It wasn’t Luke—he would have pounded on the door, then come in. And Gavin always came to the kitchen door.

  The only people who rang the front doorbell were people who didn’t know her.

  She walked across the living room and peered through the peephole in the massive pine door—then felt a jolt shoot through her.

  It was him. The stranger from town. And seeing him this close up was doing odd things to her breathing. And her knees.

  “Wow!” She jumped when a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “ ‘Wow’?” Her mother stood on tiptoe to look out the peephole, then turned to look at her daughter. “Wow indeed.”

  Taylor went for a second look.

  What was a man like this doing in the middle of nowhere—particularly in the middle of her nowhere? Before a suitable answer came to her, he rang the bell again.

  “Do you intend to stand there and gawk all day, dear, or are you going to invite the poor man inside?”

  “I wonder what he wants?” Taylor matched her mother’s qui
et tone.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, dear.” Her mother turned back to the kitchen. “But you certainly won’t find out if you don’t let him in.” The last three words were spoken in a raised voice, and Taylor swiveled to shoot her mother a warning look.

  Her eyes drifted back to the peephole—and she found herself eye-to-eye with the man. The full impact of his intense, blue gaze hit Taylor as solidly as a splash of cold water, and she jumped back, unaware that Sasha had padded over soundlessly to stand behind her. Her heel came down on one of the husky’s paws, and Sasha yipped in pain, scrambling out of the way. Taylor gave a yelp of her own as she lost her balance and landed in a heap on the floor.

  “Ohhhhhh.” She groaned, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. “I knew I should have stayed in bed.”

  “You certainly would have gotten into less trouble.” Her mother’s tone was a blend of compassion and humor.

  With a resigned sigh she pushed to her feet. Please, God, let him be gone.

  She peered out the peephole again.

  He was standing there, completely at ease, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the peephole, as though he knew she was there. His thick golden brown hair just brushed the collar of his leather jacket. A slight smile tilted his lips, making him even more attractive—a fact that Taylor found particularly irritating.

  Well, nothing to do now but admit defeat. She reached down to turn the handle and, with what she hoped was complete calm, pulled open the door.

  “Yes?”

  His mouth opened as though he’d intended to answer, but nothing came out. He just stood there, staring at her, mouth agape. So she wasn’t the only one affected by their encounter. The satisfaction—and pleasure—that gave her was far greater than it should have been.

  When he blinked at her, she had the impression he was trying to make her disappear, like a mirage.

  Or a nightmare?