The Last Lone Wolf

by Maureen Child

  “I just think it’s a mistake.”

  “Yes, so you’ve told me, but it’s not.” She turned her face up to him and a brilliant smile curved her luscious mouth. “And admit it, I’m doing better than you thought I would. Go ahead,” she urged, “say I’m doing well.”

  He blew out a breath. “The fall notwithstanding, yeah, you’ve done all right so far.”

  “Thank you! What a nice thing to say.”

  He chuckled in spite of himself. She was still smiling and her eyes shone with humor and pleasure in the moment. She had to be exhausted and irritated with his behavior, but damned if she didn’t keep her own spirits up.

  “You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”

  “Not odd,” she corrected, “just different. For example, when someone else is crabby, I don’t get crabby back. I try not to let their mood affect mine.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, picking up on her not-so-subtle jab. “That was a nice shot. You’ve got good aim.”

  “I know,” she said, glancing at her dog to make sure the tiny thing was still in sight. “So how much farther?”

  One dark eyebrow winged up. “Tired?”

  “Nope.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I could go for hours yet. Just curious.”

  “Sure,” he said with a shake of his head. “All right. Listen.”

  “To what?”

  He sighed. “You have to be quiet to listen.”

  “Right.” She snapped her mouth closed and frowned in concentration. After a moment or two her eyes slowly widened. “What is that? It sounds like hundreds of people talking in whispers.”

  “It’s the river,” he told her. “Just around that bend there, by the crooked pine. We’ll set up camp there tonight.”

  She sighed heavily and he heard the unspoken relief in the sound.

  Still, he had to give her points, if only internally. As close to the edge of collapse as she might feel, she wasn’t letting him know it. The woman was running on sheer grit and determination. And that was something Jericho approved of. He even thought that maybe he’d dismissed her too easily, judging her by her looks and her clothes and telling himself that no one that pretty, that dainty, was made of stern enough stuff to make it in his world.

  The problem was, he didn’t want to be wrong about her. His life would be much easier if she just failed this little test and took herself back to where she came from.

  By the time they made camp, Daisy was clearly exhausted, but worked right through it. She helped him lay out sleeping bags, then watched as Jericho set up a campfire ring. He set large rocks in a small circle, while clearing away any nearby brush that might catch with a stray spark.

  When he was finished, he laid a couple more flat-sided rocks inside the ring and built a campfire. Once the flames were going, Daisy took over, surprising him again. She carried the battered tin coffeepot down to the nearby stream, filled it with water and set it on one of the rocks to boil.

  “You almost seem to know what you’re doing,” he commented.

  “Well, I was a Girl Scout like a hundred years ago,” she said quietly. “I went on a couple of overnight trips and I can still remember watching our troop leader setting up camp.” She flashed him a smile and in the firelight, her features were soft, ethereal and downright beautiful.

  Darkness surrounded their campsite and stars were glittering like jewels flung carelessly across the sky. Nikki was curled up on a sleeping bag and he and Daisy sat across the fire from each other.

  While she waited for the water to boil, she reached into her backpack and drew out a couple of large, covered plastic dishes. “What’s that?”

  “Dinner!” She grinned at him. “I made more beef pasties late last night to bring along. And I’ve got some great corn chowder here, too. All we need to do is heat it up.”

  Surprised again, he shook his head. “You realize this isn’t supposed to be a picnic.”

  “We have to eat and I just thought it would be easier this way. Don’t worry,” she told him with a tender touch of sarcasm. “Tomorrow we can chew on bark if you insist. But tonight, dinner’s on me.”

  A short laugh shot from his throat. “Chew on bark?”

  She tipped her head to one side and looked at him with a bemused expression on her face. “You should do that more often.”

  “Eat bark?”

  “No,” she said. “Smile.”

  Jericho watched her then as she expertly scooped coffee into the pot, then sat back to let it boil on the edge of the fire. “You keep surprising me,” he said after another moment of shared silence. “I expected you to fold early today.”

  “I know.”

  “That why you hung in?”

  “Partially, I suppose,” she admitted, drawing her knees up and wrapping both arms around them. “And partially to prove to myself I could do it.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m not saying my legs aren’t screaming at me, or that I’m not so tired I couldn’t flop backward over a boulder and fall right asleep, but I did it.”

  He nodded, willing to give her that much at least. “You did.”

  “So, does that mean I’ve proved myself?”

  “Not yet,” he said, reluctantly thinking about what she had to face on the coming day. She’d be a lot more exhausted tomorrow night than she was at this moment, he thought and realized that he didn’t like thinking about that. “You’ve got to make it through the full two days and nights.”

  “I will, you know.”

  Her voice was steel covered in velvet. Soft but strong, and the purpose in her eyes flashed at him in the firelight. “I’m convinced you’ll give it a good shot,” Jericho said.

  “That’s something, anyway,” she mused.

  Just beyond their campsite, the river rushed through the darkness, swiftly moving water sounding like hundreds of sighs rising together. A cold wind swept through the trees and had Daisy tugging the edges of her borrowed coat closer together.

  “I can’t believe it’s so cold up here. In L.A., it’s still warm at night.”

  “We’ll probably have first snow by the end of the month.”

  “Can’t wait to see it,” she said, her eyes still glittering at him.

  “We’ll see.” Jericho reached out, tapped the coffeepot carefully with his fingertips and, satisfied, picked up a cloth to grab the pot by its curved handle. He poured each of them a cup of the steaming black brew, then watched as Daisy pulled a cook pan closer and dumped her corn chowder into it to heat.

  “It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she said, picking up her coffee cup for a sip. “So while we wait, tell me about Brant.”

  That caught him off guard and Jericho’s gaze snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what was it like over there? Was Brant happy where he was—before he died?”

  Five

  Frowning, Jericho said, “Happy? Nobody’s happy on a battlefield.”

  “You know what I mean,” she persisted.

  He stared into his coffee as if looking for answers. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I do. The thing is, people always ask that question, but they don’t really want to know what a war zone is like.”

  “I do. I want to know what my brother’s life was like before it ended.”

  Lifting his gaze to hers, he kept his face deliberately blank. “Brant did his job. He was good at it. He was well-liked.”

  When she opened her mouth to ask another question, he cut her off. “Daisy, let it go.”

  “I can’t,” she told him, regret shining in her whiskey-brown eyes. “I have to know.”

  Jericho sighed a little, took a drink of his coffee and told her what he could, with some judicious editing. Civilians would never understand what it was like in a combat zone. Would never know the moments of pure adrenaline rush, followed by the searing hours of boredom. They wouldn’t understand what it was to put your life in someone else’s hands and to trust them with yours, or the fierce loyalty that the military experienced on a
daily basis.

  And how could they?

  So he kept it simple and as vague as he could possibly get away with. “The days were blistering hot and the nights were so cold,” he said, “you half expected to wake up with icicles on your nose.”

  “Brant complained about the cold in an e-mail once. I sent blankets,” she told him. “To everyone in his unit.”

  “I know,” he said, giving her a real smile now as his memory raced back in time. “There was a lot of celebrating that day. After that, every mail call, Brant’s friends huddled close, wanting to get in on one of your packages from home.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, though her features were wreathed in sadness.

  He could give her this much. To let her know that her efforts had been appreciated by more than just her brother. “Touches of home are really cherished when they’re hard to come by. I can tell you all of the hot chocolate and instant coffees and dry foods you sent made him real popular. MREs get pretty tasteless after a while.”

  She nodded. “Meals Ready to Eat. Brant told me about them. He actually had me taste one once. It was tuna casserole.” She grimaced.

  Jericho laughed. “It’s an acquired taste. Actually, I brought some with me on this trip, just in case. So if you want to—”

  “No, thanks,” she said, reaching out to give her chowder a stir.

  The scent of the soup filled the air and Jericho could admit at least to himself that he was relieved she’d brought along provisions for tonight. What she’d packed looked a hell of a lot better than the MREs.

  “You were with him when he died, weren’t you?”

  The question was so softly asked, posed with such hesitation, the sound of the river nearly drowned it out. But Jericho heard her and also caught the worried expression on her face, as if she were half afraid to hear his answer.

  He was stepping onto dangerous ground here. Might as well have been a minefield. Not enough information and she’d still be thirsty for more. Too much information and her dreams would be haunted. No information at all and she’d rag on him until he gave her something.

  Again, he kept it simple. “Yeah, I was.”

  “He wasn’t…in pain, was he?”

  If he had been, Jericho wouldn’t have told her, but as it stood, he could be honest about this at least. “No, he wasn’t. He talked about you. Asked me to help you out if you ever needed it.”

  “My little brother trying to protect me,” she mused and looked at him. The trail of a single tear coursed down her cheek like a drop of silver sliding over porcelain.

  “That’s what brothers do,” he said, thinking of his own brothers. Jefferson, Justice and Jesse. He hadn’t seen much of them since he’d come home.

  By choice, really. He’d wanted, needed, the solitude of the mountain and his brothers had respected that. Of course, he thought with an inward smile, his sisters-in-law were less understanding and had managed to drag him off the mountain for a few family things.

  And on those rare occasions, he had been struck by a surprising jolt of envy that had shamed him some. Hell, he was glad for his brothers. They were all happy, doing what they loved doing—raising families. Jericho had decided as a kid he wasn’t interested in living his life in the traditional manner. But seeing his brothers with their families always left him feeling a little like the outsider.

  “You have three brothers, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, jolting from his thoughts.

  “Are you close?”

  “Used to be,” he admitted. “Still are, really, but we grew up, we each chose a different path and we all got busy building lives. Jefferson lives in Ireland now, so no, we don’t see much of each other anymore.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said, spooning chowder into two bowls and handing him one. “Family is important. It’s the only important thing.”

  Which made him remember that now that she’d lost her brother, Daisy had no family. Though he didn’t see much of his, he couldn’t really imagine life without them, either.

  In the firelight, Daisy looked lovely, delicate, with her soft hair falling over her shoulders, reflections of the flames dancing in her wide, brown eyes. She ate her soup and thought her thoughts and couldn’t possibly have known that just looking at her was making him…want.

  Which just naturally brought to mind Sam’s warnings before they’d left the lodge that morning. Maybe the older man was right. Maybe Jericho was just being twitchy and not being fair to her.

  But, hell, it was his mountain.

  Who said he had to be fair?

  Jericho watched Daisy maneuver her way carefully across a rope bridge in the early morning light and found himself silently rooting for her. She was a surprise in many ways. Not only did she have spine, she seemed inherently incapable of quitting. She wasn’t afraid to try something—take a risk—if it meant getting herself closer to her goal.

  Plus her incessant good humor was starting to rub off on him. Hard to maintain a stern demeanor when you were faced down by a brilliant smile every time you turned around. Yeah, she wasn’t what he’d expected at all. And though his original opinion that she didn’t belong on the mountain still held, he had to give her credit for a hell of a lot more than he would have guessed.

  Frowning, he watched her take small steps and then slide her hands along the top rope of the bridge. He’d had several obstacle-course projects made and installed before he’d opened the camp. This was one of his personal favorites.

  A single, heavy rope was the base of the bridge with more ropes angling up from the base in a V. Stretched between two tall pines, the bridge was only four feet off the ground, so anyone falling wasn’t going to die. Though the bruises gathered would be a painful reminder of failure. He’d seen plenty of men topple off that bridge, cursing their own clumsiness and ineptitude, but Daisy was making it. Sure, she was taking twice as long as most people to complete the course, but careful didn’t mean failure.

  The wind lifted her long ponytail and snapped it like a flag. Her jeans were dirty and her hands were curled so tightly around the guide rail ropes that her knuckles were white. But she was doing it.

  He stood below her, watching every step and wanting her to succeed.

  “Why does it have to sway so much?” she demanded, not risking a look at him but keeping her gaze fixed, just as he’d told her to, on her final goal. “It’s a rope,” he reminded her, “bound to sway.”

  “I don’t understand how this is a survival thing,” she muttered, scooting her clenched fists farther along the guide ropes. Her feet slid forward another inch or two.

  “If you have to get to the other side of a river fast, you’d understand.”

  “Be faster to swim,” she pointed out and gave him a fleeting grin.

  “You’re doing fine. Pay attention to where you’re putting your feet. One in front of the other.”

  “I know,” she said, swallowing hard. “Good thing you made me change out of my boots before we left the lodge. Never would have done this in them.”

  He smiled to himself and kept pace with her. The dog at the end of the leash he held barked and pranced and in general made a racket as it tried, futilely, to reach Daisy. “How can you concentrate with this dog shooting off its mouth?”

  “I’m used to it. Nikki’s very chatty,” she admitted and one of her feet slipped off the rope. She gasped but caught herself before she could fall. “Whoa, boy. That was close.”

  “It was.” And he didn’t want to think about the feeling that had jolted through him with her misstep. He’d watched dozens, hundreds of people walk this rope bridge and never once before had he had a vested interest in how they managed it.

  Lots of them had taken tumbles, too, and it hadn’t bothered him a bit. Yet damned if he wanted Daisy falling.

  Shaking his head, Jericho acknowledged that he was having a problem. He was supposed to be discouraging her from passing these little tests. Instead, he’d helped her as much as he could
. Maybe it was because of her brother, Jericho told himself. Maybe he felt as if he owed her something. But then again, maybe it was just because he wanted her.

  He could admit that much to himself. And whatever he was feeling for her had only intensified since that morning. He and Daisy had gone to sleep the night before, lying on opposite sides of the fire.

  But the nights were cold at this altitude and when Jericho woke up this morning, it was to find a curvy, beautiful, warm woman snuggled up close to him, spooning herself along the front of his body. Which completely explained the dream he’d been having, filled with images of hot, sweaty sex. He woke up to an aching groin and his blood pumping fast and thick through his veins. Ever since that moment of wakefulness, his body had been strung taut as a violin string. “Jericho?”

  He snapped out of his thoughts and focused anew. “No more talking. Just concentrate.”

  “Okay,” she countered, keeping her gaze fixed on the end of the rope bridge, “if I can’t talk, then you talk to me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “That’s not talking,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said, tugging on the leash to pull the dog back into line, “I’ll talk. Let’s see…we’ve got a batch of clients arriving end of next week. Only be here for a long weekend.”

  “Who are they?” she asked as her foot slipped. “Whoops!”

  “Concentrate.”

  “Right. I’m good. Fine. Keep talking.”

  “They’re part of a law firm from Indiana,” he said. Remembering how the last bunch of lawyers had performed, Jericho wasn’t looking forward to it. Lawyers seemed incapable of unwinding. Even in the wilderness, they were wired, tense. Without their PDAs and cell phones, they acted like spoiled children missing a favorite toy. They didn’t like being in the outdoors and usually resented being sent here by their companies.

  “Not looking forward to it,” he said. “Lawyers complain too much.”

  “True enough. I’m almost across.”