Never Cry Wolf

by Patricia Rosemoor

  If she hadn’t sought out the McKennas, this disaster would have been averted. Raymond would have had a wonderful evening with his family and now would be in his own bed rather than in a hospital.

  All her fault…

  Guilt eating at her, she mentally removed herself from the situation and drifted through a cottony fog. She was aware of Donovan rising and crossing to the counter where Sophie asked him questions and he filled in a form.

  At some point, he commandeered a phone.

  And all the while, she wondered how she could have been fooled so badly. How she could have been so horribly mistaken.

  She retreated further, thinking of nothing at all, not snapping out of it until the sounds of activity broke through the fog sometime later. She blinked. Donovan was sitting across from her once more, his face shadowed by a thick lock of long blue-black hair that escaped its leather binding. One of the nurses was going over something in the chart with the admitting clerk, while the physician was approaching the waiting area, rubbing his balding head.

  Donovan flew to his feet. “Dr. Graves, how is he?”

  “The wound wasn’t as serious as it could have been. Your father must have thrown his arm in front of his head to protect himself.”

  Just as she’d surmised. “He’s all right, then.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “We hope so. He hasn’t come around yet, though,” the physician said, giving Laurel the impression that he should already have done so. “He’s still out from that blow to the head.”

  “Blow?” Donovan bellowed. “How could I have missed that?”

  “You’re sure someone actually hit him in the head?” Laurel asked, thinking of Raymond’s raised voice.

  Dr. Graves furrowed his brow. “How else…”

  “The car,” she said. “A deer bounded across our path, and when he swerved to avoid it, we landed in a culvert. He was bleeding a bit, but he said he was all right. That’s when he set out on foot.”

  “Hmm. That could be the source of his problem.”

  “Then why didn’t he pass out in the first place?” Donovan demanded.

  “Head wounds can be unpredictable. For example, he could come to any moment.”

  “What if he doesn’t? How long could he stay under?”

  “Indefinitely, I’m afraid.”

  Her relief short-lived, Laurel closed her eyes and prayed that wouldn’t happen.

  “In the meantime,” the physician continued, “I’ll have to ask you to stay long enough to talk to someone from the sheriff’s office. They’ll try to find the animal that did this so we can make certain it’s healthy.”

  Healthy…

  No healthy wolf had ever attacked anyone on this continent…But what if one of the wolves in the area wasn’t healthy? Laurel thought. What if it was rabid?

  Noting Donovan’s clenched jaw, she wondered if he was thinking along similar lines. If so, he didn’t voice his opinion, and she could hardly blame him. Raymond had said he lived in the woods with his wolves…

  Dr. Graves gave Donovan permission to visit his father for a few minutes. He hesitated long enough that she thought he might demur. But in the end, he nodded and went along with the physician.

  Thinking about animals made her remember her own.

  The first time they’d stopped for gas, she’d made a quick call to her neighbor Jack, who’d promised to feed all and walk the dogs before bed and in the morning. She’d assumed she’d be home by midday, but now that was out of the question. She wasn’t even certain of how she’d get back to Chicago. Or when. She couldn’t think about leaving before knowing Raymond would be all right.

  Hoping Jack would forgive her for waking him before dawn, she placed another call. Between yawns, he agreed to take care of her animals until further notice.

  Laurel strayed back to the waiting area but was too keyed up to sit. She didn’t have long to wait alone, however. Within minutes, the law arrived even as Donovan returned, his expression grim.

  Heart skipping a beat, she focused on him. “He’s…”

  “The same,” Donovan finished for her. He turned to the uniform.

  The middle-aged lawman introduced himself. “Deputy Sheriff Ralf Baedecker here. I need to ask you two some questions.”

  “Of course,” Laurel said.

  He quickly jotted down the basics—names and addresses—then went for the details. His manner was open and encouraging, easing Laurel into the story. Without going into why, she told him they’d set out to find the congressman’s son. She told him about the deer and their crash. About hearing the congressman’s voice followed by his shout of alarm.

  “So, he was arguing with someone?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, he sounded…well, agitated…but I never heard a second person.”

  “Go on.”

  “I raced off and literally tripped over his body. That’s when Donovan showed up, just in time to help.”

  The smile never left the deputy’s lips when he glanced at Donovan. “Great timing. You’re the congressman’s son.”

  “So to speak.”

  “And you just what…happened to be strolling by in the middle of the night?”

  “Is there some law against it?”

  Tension crackled between the two men, making her shift in her chair.

  “Touchy young fella, aren’t you? Donovan Wilde. Familiar.” He concentrated a moment before his brow cleared. “You’re involved in the wolf recovery program in these parts.”

  Donovan nodded. “I trap and collar the animals, then track their movements.”

  Exactly what her Donovan had said.

  Baedecker clucked. “This is going to reflect badly on the program, I’m afraid. And we’re gonna need your cooperation.”

  “How so?”

  “To trap the wolf that attacked your father, of course.”

  “Wolves don’t attack humans.”

  “Apparently one did now.”

  “I know my wolves,” Donovan growled.

  “Then what’s your theory?”

  “I don’t have one…yet.”

  The deputy made some more notes, then rose. “I’ll be talking to the sheriff about this, young fella. Sorry to say that when it comes to predators—whether the two-footed or four-footed variety—he’s not one to let things slide.” He nodded to Laurel. “Miss.”

  Jaw clenched, Donovan glared at the deputy as he sauntered away. “Get your things,” he said without looking at her. “We’re leaving.”

  “What about your family? Don’t you think we should call them about your…Congressman McKenna?”

  He was pulling on his jacket. “I already called my mother.” He made it sound as if he had no one else. “She volunteered to notify his family.” Grabbing his headgear, he stalked toward the exit.

  Laurel bit back a harsh response. Having no clue as to the source of what appeared to be a mutual animosity, she should give him the benefit of the doubt The circumstances made doing so difficult, however. Raymond McKenna was his father. What was wrong with Donovan? Why couldn’t he make peace with the man before it was too late?

  Thinking about the loved ones she’d lost too early in her own life made her move fast. She wanted out of the hospital and now. She pulled on her jacket and flew after him into the breaking dawn.

  Some serious snow had piled up. Donovan was clearing the windows on the Tracker. As she approached the truck, she noticed something she’d missed earlier—his personalized license plate, an image of a timber wolf and the letters W-I-L-D-E. Another testimony to the way she’d been fooled.

  Without a word, she climbed into the passenger seat.

  If she expected him to grill her, she had a long wait. As he drove back the way they’d come, Donovan took refuge in a sullen silence, leaving her to her own thoughts.

  Only sometime later, when they turned off the highway and into the woods, did he startle her by suddenly asking, “Why didn’t you tell the deputy everything?”

 
; “What do you imagine I left out?”

  He gave her a searing glance. “That I’m not the Donovan you came here to find.”

  Chapter Three

  “What does it matter?” Laurel asked, sounding a little too offhand.

  “It must matter to you or you wouldn’t be here,” Donovan returned. She radiated tension. “And it must matter to him or he wouldn’t have come running to northern Wisconsin in the middle of the night.”

  “You matter to him, not some stranger. You’re his son.”

  “By whose standards?”

  “Obviously not yours. How high are they?” she demanded. “Could anyone meet them?”

  Her questions ticked him off.

  She knew nothing about what he’d gone through before choosing not to care. Considering her attitude, she’d probably been raised in the perfect, all-American family. Two parents, two-point-five kids, a station wagon and a dog.

  “Yeah. Someone could meet my standards,” he informed her. “A man who treated me like his son…rather than like his big mistake.”

  That shut Laurel’s mouth for a moment. But Donovan didn’t want her quiet. Not now. Now he wanted answers. And he meant to get them.

  “So, this guy who’s using my name, what’s he to you?”

  “Nothing. Not anymore.”

  The quaver in her voice spoke volumes. Donovan almost felt sorry for her when he continued to probe. “But he was something.”

  “I believed so…fool that I am.”

  “And what exactly made you come running after him?”

  She hesitated a moment, then, voice sharp with pain, said, “I thought he was in some kind of trouble. He disappeared. So I went to your father, to see if he knew where you…rather, his supposed son…was.”

  Donovan couldn’t stop the harsh laugh from escaping him. “As if the old man keeps track of me.”

  “I think he might”

  “Probably the only reason he even knows where I am is because my mother told him I’d taken the job here.”

  As much as he would have preferred to keep moving, he’d returned to familiar territory because of his mother. She was his only family…as he was hers. She wasn’t getting any younger. He had to keep an eye on her, make sure she was okay. If only she’d marry Josh, a man who’d been mooning over her for years, he would sleep easier. She deserved a husband who loved and wanted to do for her. The husband she’d never had…

  “He knew you were in Idaho before this,” Laurel was saying, pursuing the topic.

  “But I didn’t know he knew. Enough said?” He’d never heard from the man, but obviously his mother was at work again. Instigating. Still trying to make them accept each other after all these years. “But that’s not the point. We were talking about you and why you’re here.”

  “Your cousin Keelin sensed you were in trouble.”

  Keelin. The one who’d come all the way from Ireland to reconcile her aunt and uncle with her father. Aileen had talked about Keelin when she’d called, pleading with him to come with them to the McKenna family reunion in Ireland. As if he’d voluntarily put himself in such a lousy situation. He wasn’t a McKenna and never would be.

  “I’ve never even met Keelin!” he said gruffly.

  Not that it stopped her.

  “She seemed very certain. Something to do with the family legacy. She was so upset, that your father practically flew out of the house to come after you.”

  That news gave him pause. “Why…what would she even know about me?”

  “Nothing specific. Donovan—the imposter—told me she has the sight. Her husband mentioned it, as well, last night. Keelin said she didn’t have to see this. She knew it was the family legacy at work.”

  “One little hitch. I haven’t really disappeared…the reason you approached them.”

  “But Skelly agreed that you were next in line,” Laurel insisted. “And on the way up here, the congressman told me his mother left a legacy of the heart to her grandchildren, but that it went hand in hand with danger. And he cited Skelly and your cousins Keelin and Kathleen as proof. They all faced some terrible danger.”

  “But I’m not the one in trouble, am I?”

  If there was one thing Donovan mourned, it was not having had the chance to meet the one McKenna who’d truly cared about him. His grandmother Moira had always written to him with such love, from the time he was a child. And he’d faithfully written to her in return, right up to her death. Afterward, he’d received a final letter which he still treasured…her last wishes for him and her other grandchildren.

  …Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours…

  And he’d turned thirty-three—the magic age for this to occur, according to his grandmother—nearly two weeks before.

  Donovan shook his head. “If you believe in such nonsense.” Despite his words, he envisioned yellow eyes staring at him from the dark.

  “The rest of your family believes. And they’re all concerned about you.”

  “Right. I can just see Skelly worrying.”

  His older brother hated his guts. Skelly had been pure hell to be around. As a teenager, he’d even tried beating the tar out of him. Skelly McKenna had seriously underestimated his father’s bastard…

  Laurel was sitting forward, staring out the windshield. “I think we should have come upon the congressman’s car by now. I hope we didn’t pass it”

  “I doubt we could have missed it. Do you have any idea of the distance to the highway?”

  “Not exactly, but it was a ways in, not too far from where you found us, actually. Before he set off on foot, he said we were near your cabin.”

  Donovan wondered how his father would even know where to look for him, considering he lived in the middle of nowhere. As they neared his place, they passed no vehicle, off-road or otherwise.

  “Maybe the service towed it in,” Laurel said. “I used the car cell phone to call for help, and I left the keys in the ignition. Could they have just taken it?”

  “Sounds likely. Whoever came out probably figured you found shelter for the night.”

  “I guess I’ll have to make another call then.”

  “Right.” Knowing she wouldn’t be happy about this, he said, “Later.”

  “Why later?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep, and we’ll have to go into town to find a telephone.”

  “You could take me there and just leave me. I’m perfectly capable of finding a telephone on my own.”

  “Then what?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to get a room.”

  Donovan laughed. “Where do you propose to do that?”

  “In a motel?”

  “You overestimate the sophistication of Iron Lake. We do have one motel, but it’s seasonal. Owners go to Florida for the winter. You’d be lucky to find someone willing to rent you a room for the night.”

  “I may be staying for more than a night,” she said, throwing him for a loop.

  “Why? You think you’re going to find this Donovan of yours?”

  “He’s not my Donovan, but, yes, I’d like to find him.” Some of the hurt had left her voice to be replaced by steel. “But, primarily, I’m thinking of your father…even if you aren’t.”

  Donovan clenched his jaw before he could say something cruel in return. If she wanted to waste her time, that was her business. But she wasn’t going to waste his. Nor would he jump to her tune. For the moment, she’d take what he was willing to give her, or she could walk to town.

  That settled in his mind, he turned down the old logging road.

  THE WATCHER’S GUT did a jig when the Tracker pulled in. Hours of waiting for the prey to return finally paid off.

  The wolfman slid out from behind the wheel. Even as his moccasins hit the fresh snow, he stopped and peered around, then lifted his head as if sniffing out danger. Suspicion radiated from him, as well it should
.

  But he wouldn’t see or smell a thing out of place. The thicket of trees and bushes provided ample camouflage, and unless Wilde knew exactly where to look…

  The other door opened to reveal his passenger. What was she doing here and where was the old man?

  Fear filtered through other equally strong emotions, and a sense of self-preservation took precedence. The plan needed to be recalculated.

  The wolfman had been the target!

  What if the old man was dead when he hadn’t even been part of the original equation?

  Life didn’t always work out the way one imagined it would.

  Obviously, neither did death…

  RESIGNED TO HER situation, too tired to argue, Laurel was actually glad when the trip ended where it had begun. Daylight allowed her to see what she hadn’t been able to the night before: Donovan’s home.

  Set back a bit from the road, the log structure perched beneath a ring of decades-old pine trees. Picture-postcard perfect with its snow-covered roof, stacks of cut wood snugged on either side of the door, the cabin reminded her of an article she’d read on the ideal honeymoon getaway.

  As they approached on foot, she also noticed the antenna for his radio—his not having a telephone a reminder of how far from civilization they were.

  “Did you build this yourself?”

  “You give me too much credit I’m Trapper Dan, remember? Not Paul Bunyan.”

  If she didn’t know better, she might think he had a sense of humor.

  Donovan climbed the two steps to the porch, stamped his feet and cleared the remainder of the snow from the soles of his moccasins using the boot scraper next to the door. Laurel gazed around in awe of the view. His home was set in the midst of a winter wonderland. She could definitely understand the attraction of living out here in God’s country.

  That he didn’t use a key to enter didn’t surprise her. City-paranoid about such things, she knew country folk had a more relaxed attitude. Besides which, the cabin was so isolated that, to raid it, someone would first have to know of its existence. She doubted many people did.