Werewolf in the North Woods: A Wild About You Novel

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Abby shook her head, which made her ponytail dance. “I think he’s secretly flattered that you want to meet with him. We have a little area in the far corner of the store with a pot-bellied stove and a couple of wooden armchairs. Why don’t you wait for him over there?”

  “That’s fine.” Roarke followed her down a store aisle and caught himself enjoying the way her jeans fit her backside as she walked. He should look away. He didn’t.

  From the corner of his eye he noticed a small display of condoms on a top shelf, out of reach of little kids. So Dooley’s General Store helped promote safe sex. Good to know. Except buying condoms from her grandfather might not be the smoothest move he’d ever made.

  Besides, he wasn’t buying any, because he didn’t have time to have sex with her. He would talk with her grandfather and hear his story. Maybe Earl Dooley would tell him something that would help in his own search. In fact, he should have thought of that earlier.

  Abby turned and gestured toward the two battered chairs sitting on either side of an old-fashioned woodstove. A fire crackled behind what was probably the original leaded glass in the door. “Can I get you something ? A cup of coffee? Hot chocolate?”

  “Coffee would be great, thanks.”

  “How do you—”

  “Black.”

  She nodded. “Coming right up.” She headed for the door leading into the back of the store. “I’ll see if I can move Grandpa Earl along.”

  The wooden chair creaked as Roarke settled in. He figured it was an antique, too, and he hoped it could hold a two-hundred-twenty-pound werewolf. Sitting in the chair beside the fire and surrounded by the organized clutter of the store, Roarke wondered if Dooley would be happy retiring to Arizona, after all. A man needed something to do with himself, an identity of some kind. And clearly he had one here.

  But that wasn’t for Roarke to worry about. He had plenty on his plate dealing with the Gentry pack’s crisis. That was his ultimate priority, no matter what he thought of Cameron. Exposing one werewolf pack meant all of them were in danger—the Wallaces in New York, the Hendersons in Chicago, the Stillmans in Denver, the Landrys in San Francisco.

  Roarke smelled Abby before he saw her come out from the back room holding a steaming mug of coffee. Every whiff of her was more enticing than the last. He’d be wise to limit his exposure.

  She was followed by a tall, thin man with a head of thick white hair. He wore glasses, but they didn’t soften his piercing blue gaze a bit. If Roarke had been hoping for a guy with failing eyesight, Earl Dooley wasn’t about to accommodate him.

  Roarke stood.

  “Here’s your coffee.” Abby handed him the mug.

  “Thank you.”

  “And here’s my grandfather.” She stood aside. “Dr. Roarke Wallace, meet Dr. Earl Dooley.”

  Roarke’s eyebrows rose as he stepped forward to shake Earl’s hand. “I didn’t realize that you—”

  “Ah, I never use the title.” Earl’s handshake was firm. “My degree’s in mythology.”

  “That explains your interest in Sasquatch.”

  “Actually, Sasquatch explains my graduate studies. I’ve been stalking Bigfoot all my life, just like my father did before me.” Earl gestured to the two chairs. “Have a seat. Abby says you’re willing to hear my side of the story, so you might as well get comfortable. Abby, you take the other chair.”

  “Let me get your stool first.”

  “I’ll get it. You sit.”

  “Okay.” Like an obedient child, she sank onto the other wooden chair.

  “Be right back. Talk among yourselves. Drink your coffee, Dr. Wallace.” With a chuckle, Earl ambled down the aisle toward the front of the store.

  Feeling a little like an obedient child himself, Roarke sipped his coffee. “You could’ve told me he’s a PhD.”

  “As he likes to say, it’s window dressing. He got the degree because his father insisted that he have one since he’s so darned smart, but the only thing Grandpa Earl ever wanted was to help run the store and look for Bigfoot.”

  “And with all that time spent studying folklore and legends, he never began to doubt?”

  She shook her head, and her ponytail swayed again. “Nope. His father saw Bigfoot once, but he didn’t have a camera at the time. The Irish are great storytellers, though, so he described the event in vivid detail to anyone who would listen. Grandpa Earl listened a lot.”

  “I’m beginning to understand his dedication to the cause.”

  Abby smiled. “That was the idea.”

  He was also beginning to understand that Abby didn’t do much of anything without a reason, which led him back to the question of why she’d worn a sweatshirt inviting someone to kiss her. It also invited someone—in this case him—to focus on her breasts.

  Under different circumstances, Roarke would have been happy to follow up on Abby’s broad hints. Knowing he didn’t dare was making him cranky. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him this much, and what bad luck that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

  So he drank his coffee and tried not to think about kissing Abby.

  “Okay, kids.” Earl returned with a tall stool and placed it in front of them before perching on it. “You might think I’m doing this so I’ll have a superior position in the discussion, but my damned knees make low chairs booby traps.”

  “This climate must not be helping any,” Roarke said.

  Earl’s glance sharpened. “Now, don’t you start in on me. I suppose Abby told you that she wants me to move to Arizona.”

  “She mentioned it.”

  “Your friends the Gentrys would just love that. I’ve often wondered if they sit over there with a voodoo doll and a box of pins.”

  Roarke stared at him. “Surely you don’t believe in voodoo?”

  “I do, and don’t call me Shirley.” Earl chuckled again. “Sorry for the cornball joke, but it still makes me laugh. Anyway, I guess you don’t believe in voodoo.”

  “I can’t say that I do.” He couldn’t say that he didn’t, either. The power of suggestion had always fascinated him.

  “‘ There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ That’s Shakespeare.”

  “I know.”

  Earl shifted on the stool. “You’re a physical anthropologist, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you graduated magna cum laude, plus you were asked to take part in the New York Consortium for Evolutionary Primatology.”

  Roarke was impressed. “You’ve been reading my online bio.”

  “I wanted to know the credentials of the man who planned to shred my Bigfoot evidence. At least you’re brilliant. That helps me deal with the hatchet job.”

  Guilt stabbed him as he thought of how arrogant, and how hypocritical, his talks had been. He had no doubt that Earl had seen that mated pair, and regardless of Earl’s evidence, he’d made a terrific scientific discovery. As a reward, his name had been dragged through the mud.

  “Hell, I know the evidence is bad. My camera’s old and my arthritic fingers don’t work as well as they used to. But can I give you anecdotal evidence instead?”

  “Sure.” Roarke leaned forward and cradled the warm mug in both hands. “I’d love to hear about what you saw.”

  Earl launched into his tale, and Abby hadn’t been kidding about the Irish gift for storytelling. Roarke sat spellbound, his coffee forgotten, as Earl described the early morning, the apelike roar of the creatures, the gag-inducing smell, and the camera that refused to cooperate. When Earl finished, Roarke had absolutely no doubt that this was a Bigfoot sighting of massive importance to cryptozoology.

  “I think they’re still out there.” Behind his glasses, Earl’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “I couldn’t say for sure, but I thought one had a belly on her, as if she might be pregnant. I think they’re looking for a place to have that baby.”

  Roarke did his best to look unaffected by that
news, but he was struggling.

  “I want to throw out a challenge to you, Dr. Wallace.”

  “Hey, call me Roarke.”

  “Roarke is an Irish name. Are your folks Irish?”

  Roarke shook his head. “Russian, if you go back far enough. My mom just likes Celtic names, I guess. My brother is Aidan.”

  “I like your mother’s taste in names. At any rate, I challenge you to spend some time in the wilderness area beyond my property looking for that Sasquatch pair. I want to make a believer of you.”

  Roarke would be spending time in that area, all right, but he’d do it as a wolf. He could travel more efficiently, and the pair would be less likely to run if they saw him. Besides that, when he found them he’d be able to communicate telepathically, one mythical creature to another.

  “You’re hesitating,” Earl said. “Are you afraid that you’ll find something that blows your pet theories out of the water?”

  “No.” Roarke searched for a way to reject the challenge without sounding like a pompous jerk. “But I have . . . a paper that I need to be writing, so I’m afraid I don’t have time to spare.”

  Earl looked as if he didn’t believe a word of that excuse. “You could take Abby with you.”

  Abby made a soft exclamation of protest.

  Earl turned to her. “What’s wrong with that idea?”

  “You can’t just spring something like that on people, Grandpa. Even if Roarke wanted to look around, he might not want to take me, and now he’s in the awkward position of having to say so.”

  “At my age you don’t worry about etiquette, sweetheart. He should go and you should go with him because your knowledge of the woods could save him some time.”

  Roarke imagined sharing a tent with Abby and almost reconsidered. But then he’d never find his quarry because he’d be too busy enjoying the charms of Abby Winchell. “It’s a thought,” he said, “and I appreciate the motivation behind it. But I really can’t afford the time.”

  “I would go myself, but my arthritis is driving me nuts lately. Still, I may have to ignore that and head on out.”

  “That’s a bad idea, Grandpa,” Abby said.

  “Probably, but it really frosts me that no one believes what I saw. Even Roarke doesn’t believe me. Am I right?”

  Roarke fell back on his canned response. “It’s highly improbable that a large, bipedal humanoid could survive in this climate.”

  “Bullshit. If bears can, then Bigfoot could. I sure wish you could see that. I must be losing my storytelling skills, because if you believed what I told you, you’d be out combing those woods. A brilliant scientist like you wouldn’t be able to resist.” Earl’s shoulders slumped.

  “It’s a great story,” Roarke said. “But my scientific training tells me—”

  “You can’t rely solely on your training. ‘To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything.’ Einstein.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Roarke said.

  “But . . . I can’t force you to go out there and look.” Earl stood and held out his hand. “Thanks for coming, Roarke. It was worth a shot trying to convince you.”

  Roarke stood and gripped Earl’s hand. “I wish I could say you changed my mind.” He wished he could say a lot of things, including that.

  “I wish you could, too.”

  Glancing at his watch, Roarke grimaced. “Sorry to cut this short, but I need to take off.”

  “That’s some watch you have there.” Earl peered at it. “Doesn’t look like a Rolex. Judging from that fancy car outside, I’d expect you to wear a Rolex. What is it?”

  “A Louis Moinet Magistalis.”

  “Huh. Never heard of that before.”

  Abby got up. “I’ll walk you to the door, Roarke.”

  “Which is my cue to let you two young people have a private conversation,” Earl said. “Thanks for listening to an old coot.”

  “It was a pleasure.”

  “And tell Cameron Gentry I will see him in hell before I’ll let him have this land.”

  Roarke couldn’t help smiling. The guy had spunk. “I’ll tell him. Take care, Dr. Dooley.”

  “You, too, Dr. Wallace.”

  Still smiling, Roarke walked with Abby to the front door. He wouldn’t mind continuing a friendship with Earl, but that would be impossible given the situation.

  “I watched your face during Grandpa Earl’s story,” Abby said when they reached the door. “You were digging it.”

  Roarke glanced down at her. “Of course I was. You were absolutely right. Nobody can tell a story like an Irishman.”

  “Yes, but I think it was more than that. I can’t shake the feeling that a part of you believes in Bigfoot.”

  Gazing at her, Roarke longed to give her the satisfaction of knowing he’d changed his mind. But because he’d never doubted her grandfather in the first place, he couldn’t claim an about-face. “Let it go, Abby.”

  “I can’t. He’s so frustrated.”

  “Then tell him this.” Roarke pictured Gentry’s fury at this decision, but he didn’t much care. “I haven’t changed my mind, but I’ll cancel the rest of my talks. He can spin that information any way he wants to.”

  Abby’s eyes glowed. “Thank you, Roarke.” Placing both hands lightly on his shoulders, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  Her kiss was quick but potent. Her lips tasted like warm coffee, and the imprint of her velvet touch lingered long after she’d pulled away. It took all of Roarke’s willpower not to kiss her back. Somehow he managed to get out the door and into his car, but he had no memory of the drive back to the Gentry estate.

  No doubt about it, Abby was big medicine. He remembered the way his brother, Aidan, had behaved after meeting Emma, and Roarke had a really bad feeling he was heading down that same path. He needed to find the mated pair and get the hell out of Portland before he did something really stupid.

  Chapter 4

  After Roarke left, a customer came in for some crackers and a couple packs of gum. Abby gave them too much change for their twenty and didn’t realize it until they’d driven away. That’s what she got for kissing Roarke Wallace. Now her brain was mush.

  Worse yet, he hadn’t kissed her back. Instead he’d stood there like a bump on a log. Then he’d left in a hurry, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. How demoralizing.

  Yesterday he’d seemed interested, but yesterday she’d been wearing a killer outfit. Maybe he was just that shallow. Now she was embarrassed for choosing to wear her Kiss me, I’m Irish sweatshirt. She’d thought doing that would be flirty and fun, when in fact it had only added to her humiliation when Roarke turned to stone at the touch of her mouth on his.

  Grandpa Earl might deserve some of the blame for that. His suggestion that Roarke take Abby camping had been a blatant attempt at matchmaking. Roarke probably had a girlfriend back home and he’d only shown interest yesterday out of courtesy or habit. When he realized her grandfather was ready to welcome him into the family, he’d slammed on the brakes. God, she wished she could take back that kiss!

  “Abby,” Grandpa Earl called from the back room. “Come look at this.”

  With a glance toward the parking lot to make sure nobody had driven up, she started toward the back room. Business had fallen off lately, which Earl attributed to the Gentrys’ smear campaign but Abby thought might be due to the convenience store that had opened about four miles down the road. It offered longer hours and served soft drinks from a dispenser. People liked that.

  She walked into the back room. A door to the right led to the living quarters, which must have been cramped for a family of four back in the day, but were about right for a widower and his occasional guest, Abby.

  Grandpa Earl sat at the desk in an armless swivel chair that he could get out of without struggling. He was hunched over his aging computer staring at the monitor. “Come look at what that watch of his sells for,” he said without looking up.

  She didn’t have to ask who he wa
s talking about. Obviously he meant the nonkisser, Roarke Wallace.“Grandpa, I know he has money. His parents are friends with Cameron’s parents, so it stands to reason that he’d be wearing a pricey watch.”

  “I guess pricey describes a watch worth eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars. I assume that’s before they add tax.”

  Abby gasped. As a claims adjuster she’d dealt with some expensive items, but she couldn’t remember ever hearing about a watch in that price range. No wonder Roarke hadn’t wanted to get involved with her. She was from the wrong side of the tracks.

  Grandpa Earl punched a few more keys. “Here’s some information on his family.” He gestured toward the screen. “I gather that the Wallaces are to New York City what the Gentrys are to Portland.”

  “That explains a lot.” Abby flopped into an old easy chair beside her grandfather’s desk. Her Grandma Olive used to sit there with her knitting while her husband researched Bigfoot on the Internet. Olive’s knitting basket still sat beside the chair and no one had ever suggested moving it.

  “It does, but it makes me sad.” Earl sat back in his chair and glanced over at Abby. “He may be a rich boy, but he’s a professor at a prestigious university. As such, he should keep an open mind and not allow other considerations, like loyalty to the Gentrys, to interfere with scientific inquiry.”

  “You gave it a good try, Grandpa.”

  “Not good enough, obviously.”

  “I don’t think it helped that you practically threw me at him.”

  Her grandfather blinked. “Who was throwing? I just thought—”

  “That he should take me camping? That’s a very intimate thing to do.”

  “Not if you sleep in separate tents! Did I say you should share a tent? No, I did not. I said he should take you along. Men and women go on scientific explorations all the time without having sex, Abby.”

  Her cheeks warmed. He was right. She was the one who had jumped to the conclusion that if Roarke took her camping, they’d sleep together. Her mind had been on sex, but her grandfather’s mind had been on creating a team of two people for scientific exploration.