by Karen Ball
“You did what you thought you had to.”
“Yes, at the time. But it wasn’t easy, Taylor.” He glanced away. “You may find this hard to believe, but my goal in life isn’t protecting wildlife. It’s honoring God.” He looked at her, regret reflected in his eyes. “Deceiving you wasn’t in line with that goal. I want you to know that, from this moment on, I will be honest with you. I will treat you the way God calls me to, with respect and truth.” He reached out to touch her face, and the tenderness in his warm fingers stirred her deeply. “Taylor, you mean a great deal to me. I want you to trust me. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn that trust.”
She didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t ready yet to give her trust to God, so how could she give it to Connor? She decided the truth was the best thing she could give him. “I want to trust you, but I don’t know if I can.” She rose to her feet.
He nodded. “I’ve seen that something holds you back,” he said as he tilted his head, “something that I don’t think involves me. It’s always there, in your eyes. Something … hard. Painful.”
She fought against the tightening of her throat and turned away. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“It’s Josh, isn’t it? And that boy. Brad—isn’t that his name?”
She spun back to face him. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
His eyes held a gentle warning. “If what’s holding you back from me is something I’ve done, then I can accept that and deal with it. But I won’t let someone else keep us apart, Taylor. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” He reached out to touch her face, and she batted his hand away.
“Do me a favor, Alexander. Keep your hands to yourself.” She swept past him, pausing only long enough to turn around and snap, “And stick to wolves. You stink as a psychologist.” With that, she spun around and headed for the tent.
That night they sat around a low campfire in silence. Usually they spent the evenings reviewing what had happened during the day. Tonight they had nothing to say. The silence was heavy and tense.
They had pulled two camp chairs outside and set them on either side of the fire. Taylor slouched in hers, deep in gloomy thought. One hand was cupped around a metal camping mug full of cocoa, and the other rested on Sasha’s head, scratching the dog’s ears. Taylor found comfort in the contact. At least Sasha accepted her as she was, without expecting her to make some huge strides toward forgiveness.
“I’m sure the light gray wolf is the alpha female,” Connor remarked quietly, gazing into the fire. His eyes came to rest on Taylor, as though debating something. “She looks pregnant.”
Taylor’s eyes widened, and she sat up in her chair. “You’re kidding!” She leaned forward and set her mug on the edge of the ring of stones they’d built around the fire.
“Wolves usually breed by February, so unless I miss my guess, she’s nearing the end of her gestation. She’ll be looking for a denning area soon.”
“I would have thought the time for pups was past.”
“Not necessarily. Wolves usually breed in late winter, but they’ve been known to do so as late as April. So they could be right on schedule.”
“Just think of it.” She hugged herself, barely able to contain her excitement at the thought. “Nokomis surrounded by pups.” She leaned back, then noticed that Connor was looking at her with an amused expression.
“Nokomis?”
She shot him a cheeky grin. “That’s what I’ve named the light gray one, the female. It means ‘grandmother.’ I figure she’s going to be the mother of this pack, so it’s appropriate.”
“I suppose you have names for the others, too?”
She tossed her head. “As a matter of fact, I do. The black one is Ayasha, ‘little one,’ because he’s the smallest and youngest. The tan one is Tala for ‘wolf.’ The other gray is Mingan.”
“Which means?”
She grinned again. “ ‘Gray wolf,’ of course.”
His chuckle was deep and warm. “Of course. At any rate, if Nokomis is going to have a litter, my guess is it will be soon. Which means we probably ought to make ourselves scarce.”
Disappointment, sharp and quick, pierced Taylor. “You mean leave?” When he nodded, she saw regret in his eyes as well. “But we just got the tent up a few days ago! Do we have to take it down already?”
“Not at all. The tent can stay up. We’ll be coming out here from time to time, so we’ll just leave it here. You said no one else knows about this place, right?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Then it should be fine. We’ll take what’s left of the food with us, but everything else can stay.” He rose and stretched. “I’ll pack the nonperishables up now so we don’t have to mess with it in the morning.”
“So we’re leaving tomorrow?”
He fixed her with a compassionate look. “I think it would be best. We’ve got to give them plenty of room. There can be a lot of tension when a female births. She gets snappy, irritable”—a broad grin stretched across his features—“kind of like someone else I know.”
“Ha ha.”
Connor turned away, but not before she heard his chuckle. He paused at the door to the tent. “You coming?”
“Not yet.” He studied her for a moment, then went inside.
Taylor leaned back in her chair, chewing on her lip. What was wrong with her? She should be happy to be going back to the ranch. She’d be with her family again, have the chance to tell them all the amazing things that had happened. And she’d be able to see Gavin.…
She reached up to massage her suddenly pounding temples. Why on earth did the thought of seeing Gavin make her head hurt?
She’d expected Gavin to be very much against her coming out here with Connor. Instead, he’d kept his dark eyes on her face, an odd emotion floating in their depths, listening when she told him what they were going to do.
“I’ll see you when you get back,” he’d said at last, then rose to leave. Not exactly a warm parting.
Taylor refused to give in to the tears that stung her eyes. She stared at the stars glittering overhead and wondered why life had to be so ridiculously complicated.
The song began slowly, with a single, mournful howl rising on the wind and drifting to float all around them. It was so subtle, so faint at first, that Taylor wasn’t even conscious of it. But Sasha was.
The husky shifted, then raised her head, her velvety ears cocked. Taylor noted the dog’s movement and looked at her curiously.
“Sash?” But the usually responsive husky didn’t even look at her. Taylor glanced around uneasily; clearly the dog heard something.
Sasha stood and stretched her throat out, reaching toward the sky with her muzzle. With a frown, Taylor went to kneel beside the dog. She laid a gentle hand on Sasha’s neck, burying her fingers in the thick fur. Sasha looked up at her, and Taylor was startled at the intense, faraway look in the animal’s ice blue eyes.
Sasha lifted her gaze back to the sky, closed her eyes, and tilted her chin up. After a moment, and a quick look around to assure her Connor was nowhere in sight, Taylor followed suit.
She could tell Sasha wasn’t alarmed, but something had caught her attention. Taylor was determined to find out what that something was. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the night sounds.
At first all she heard was Sasha’s steady breathing and the myriad crickets and frogs sending messages to each other. Drawing a deep breath, Taylor tried to focus.
The low, keening sound came to her then, and a thrill of wonder raced through her. The sound was deep and resonant. Pure and vibrant, it seemed almost a tangible thing as it drifted all around her.
A wolf was howling. But this time, instead of it being some sound that floated to her from a distance, she knew he was there, in the meadow, just across the pond. And the very air vibrated with his mournful song.
The single howl sounded again, rising, changing pitch at least four or five times. Then a s
econd voice joined in, also changing pitch, creating an eerie harmony that seemed to come from all directions.
Tears pricked Taylor’s eyes at the beauty of the sound. Before long, more wolf voices joined in, until the night was immersed in a symphony as ancient and as majestic as the mountains and forests around them.
Suddenly the night fell silent, as though the wolves were pausing, listening, hoping for some response. Taylor looked at Sasha. The dog’s eyes were half closed, as though in heartfelt contemplation of what she’d just heard.
“You could join in, you know.” At Taylor’s whisper, Sasha turned to meet her gaze. “For that matter, we both could.” With that, Taylor closed her eyes, lifted her chin, and howled, doing her best to copy the rising and falling of the wolf voices.
Seconds after Taylor began howling, Sasha followed suit. The two of them sang to the night and a shiver of delight surged through Taylor when the wolves once again lifted their voices, as though in response. The eerie beauty of the discordant chorus continued for a few minutes, and then the sound slowly died away.
Taylor sat there, her eyes closed, awash in wonder.
“I don’t know about Sasha, but I think you’re a bit off the beam.”
The deep voice came so unexpectedly that Taylor leaped to her feet. Sasha merely loped over to welcome Connor back to the fire.
That traitorous act, though, wasn’t nearly as irritating as the gleam of amusement in Connor’s eyes or the cocky grin on his face.
Taylor fixed him with a glare. “I thought you went to bed.”
“Nope. Just to pack things up. When I heard the symphony begin, I came back out. And what a show it was!” His playful tone made her want to smile in response, but she refused to give in to the impulse. “You’re lucky you didn’t kill the howl.” He sank into his chair and rested his hand on Sasha’s head as she sat beside him.
“Kill the howl?” Taylor raised an imperious eyebrow. “And how would I have done that, pray tell, O Wise One?”
“Your howl was the most pitiful thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard some awful ones. So I’m sure the wolves were less than impressed. Maybe even insulted.”
“Har dee har.” Taylor moved to snatch her cup of cocoa from where it rested on the fire ring.
“I wouldn’t—” Connor began in alarm, but he was too late. With a yelp that sent Sasha heading for the shadows, Taylor jerked her hand back in pain, sending the metal cup—and its scalding contents—flying.
Tears sprang to her eyes for the second time that night, but this time they were caused by physical pain. Before she could move, Connor had hold of her arm and was leading her to the nearest seat. For once she didn’t argue. The sight of the angry red skin filled her with frustration. She knew better. Even an amateur camper knew you didn’t grab anything metal that was near the fire. Not barehanded. She shook her head, silent recriminations flying, and her pain was only compounded by the knowledge that Connor would have a heyday with this act of stupidity.
But Connor seemed too busy dousing a towel in cold water to yell at her. When he came back to her side, the concern on his chiseled features warmed her. He didn’t meet her gaze, but concentrated on the burn, wrapping her hand in the cold, wet material and holding it gently.
Taylor hadn’t realized tears were streaming down her face until Connor looked at her, then reached out with that same gentleness to wipe her damp cheeks. Their eyes met.
Neither spoke. Taylor couldn’t have if she tried, her throat was so dry. All the churning emotions she’d been feeling, all the love she felt for Connor and the depth of her hurt, filled her eyes. She was sure he could see it all, could see her heart, but she couldn’t stop it. It just poured out of her.
His eyes widened slightly, and she swayed toward him. For an instant she felt as though she were falling, as though her senses were caught in a spinning vortex, and then the spell was broken when Connor vaulted to his feet and stepped away from her as though she’d suddenly grown fangs and hissed at him.
She blinked once. Twice. Then anger swept over her. “For heaven’s sake, Connor, I don’t bite!”
He moved to stand near the fire, staring down into the flames, his expression troubled. After a moment of silence, he looked at her again. “I’m just trying to honor your request to keep my hands to myself.” He raised his brows. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind. Again.”
She jumped to her feet, careful to keep her swaddled hand clutched close to her chest. “If I live to be a hundred years old, I will never understand men.” Her tone was low and furious. “And I especially will never understand you!” She walked away, heading for the tent to hunt up the first-aid kit. It would have burn ointment.
And, if she were lucky, pest repellent.
Connor watched as Taylor jerked open the tent door and disappeared inside. She slammed the door shut, but because of the tent material, the sound was far less than satisfying. Had it been a normal door, Connor was sure his ears would be ringing with the sound of her fury. He chuckled for a moment, then sank down into the chair. Sasha came over to sit beside him, looking at him with a bewildered expression.
He understood her confusion. “Don’t look at me, girl. I’m just the wolf expert. I sure can’t explain women.”
Sasha let out a huff of air and lay down, curling into a circle, resting her head on her paws and covering her nose with her tail.
Connor leaned forward and gazed into the dwindling fire, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin in his hands. “I’m just a man. If you ask me, the only one who really understands the fairer sex is God. He made ’em. He must know what makes ’em tick.” He looked at Sasha in exasperation. “You’re a female. You explain this to me. Here I am, trying to give her space, trying to give her time to build up trust in me again … and she looks at me with those beautiful green eyes all full of emotion. How’s a man supposed to respond?”
The Siberian didn’t move; she just looked up at him in mute eloquence. But Connor didn’t need an answer. He had one already. A man responded the way he had with an overwhelming urge to pull her close, to enfold her, cradle her against him, and keep her safe.
Either that, or shake the stuffing out of her.
TWENTY-THREE
TAYLOR WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET THE NEXT MORNING, AND Connor wondered if her hand was hurting. After a breakfast of coffee and rolls, she stood at the edge of the pool, looking across at the meadow. The wolves were nowhere in sight.
He walked toward her, wondering if he was risking his head in doing so. But when he drew close, he saw the dejected droop of her shoulders and heard a small sniff. Moving forward, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She tensed momentarily, then relaxed.
When she looked at him, tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’m sorry I got angry, Con.”
“I’m sorry I acted like a jerk.” That won him a watery smile.
“Well, we seem to be trading off where that role is concerned.” She looked back toward the meadow. “Do you think they’ll miss us?”
He let out a sigh. “Maybe. I hope so. At least a little.”
She turned to head for the tent, then paused, turning her focus to the cave. He saw surprise dawn on her features, and he followed her gaze.
The wolves stood outside the cave, pacing back and forth, whining and scratching at the ground in front of the entrance.
Taylor’s quick look was full of alarm. “Is something wrong?”
But Connor was too excited to answer. Before he could think better of it, he reached out to encircle her with his arms, hugging her to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong! Something’s right! The female must be denning. In the cave.” He looked down at her, his eyes glowing. “Sikis and Nokomis are going to be parents.”
Her head spun to stare at the pack again, then she gave a squeal and threw her arms around Connor.
“When will it happen?”
At her delighted question, he laughed down at her, struggling to catch his breath—in part because sh
e’d hugged him so tightly, and in part because she was so beautiful and so close.
“A few days. Right now the pack is staying close. When the birth happens, the female won’t let them inside, and the alpha—”
“Sikis.”
“Right, Sikis will be extremely protective of the den.” He hugged her again, then set her away from him.
“Can’t we stay, Connor?” Her eyes pled with him, and he felt his heart melt at the look in those eyes. He’d love to give her what she asked, but he couldn’t.
“No, but I’ll make you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“We’ll come back in a few weeks—” “Weeks!”
“The pups won’t venture out of the den before then, Taylor. The last thing we want to do is make the pack nervous or give Nokomis reason to move her brood.”
Despite the pretty pout on her face, he knew she understood. “Okay.” The concession was grudging, to say the least. “Three weeks. But no longer.”
He didn’t even try to restrain his laughter as he threw his arm around her shoulders. “You got it.” They walked toward the tent. “And it will go quickly, I promise.”
“Right. Mom and Dad used to tell me the same thing about my birthday and Christmas. But they always took forever to come.” She cast a glance back over her shoulder.
“Well, it will be worth—” The look she shot him halted his words.
“If you tell me it will be worth the wait—,” she ground out—“I’ll scream.”
He clamped his mouth shut. That was exactly what he had planned to say.
She studied his face and her lips twitched. “I get it. You’ve decided to exercise the wisdom of the ages and remain silent in the face of a woman’s impending fury.”