Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  “Nope. Everything’s ready.”

  “Good, ’cause I’m starving,” Sterling announced. “You know I can’t eat that mess they serve on planes. Rubber coated with food coloring, that’s all it is.”

  “I thought we could eat out on the deck,” Michael suggested. “The weather’s great.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Sterling winked at Samara. “Why don’t we go on ahead, let the boys bring out the food while we get better acquainted?”

  His charm was infectious. Samara grinned at him. “Lead the way.”

  She followed him to a pair of French doors leading onto an enormous veranda facing the rear of the house. At one end of the deck was a gazebo painted white with a red brick roof to match the exterior of the main house. A one-level guesthouse graced the opposite end of the deck. Winding flagstone walkways served as connecting paths between the gazebo and guesthouse, and centered on a small pool that shimmered sapphire blue in the dappled sunlight. A series of lush garden beds framed the terraced walkways, adding brilliant splashes of color to the landscape. The surrounding canopy of trees formed a leafy backdrop and provided an enchanting sense of seclusion.

  The overall effect was nothing short of breathtaking.

  “You like it out here?” Sterling asked, observing her rapt expression with a pleased smile.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” Samara said. “You must spend a lot of time out here.”

  “It’s hard not to.” He swept an appreciative look around the scenic environment. “The boys and I didn’t have anything like this back in the old neighborhood. I guess we were long overdue. Marcus will have to give you a tour of the garden. It was featured in one of those magazines last year—Better Homes and Gardens, I think it was.” He cleared his throat, adding gruffly, “Not that I pay attention to that kinda stuff, mind you.”

  Samara suppressed a knowing grin. “I’d love a tour of the garden. Especially now that I know how famous it is.”

  Sterling’s smile deepened as he offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Samara slipped her arm companionably through his as they walked to the gazebo. Four wrought-iron chairs were arranged around a matching white table draped with linen.

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” Samara said as Sterling pushed in her chair.

  He took a seat beside her. “Is this your first trip to Georgia?”

  She shook her head. “First time in Stone Mountain though. It’s lovely out here. So peaceful.”

  “It’s a far cry from where we came from, that’s for sure.”

  She arched an inquisitive brow. “And you don’t think that’s a good thing?”

  “To hear my sons tell it, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And maybe they’re right. But you know how it is with human nature. When we get accustomed to one way of life, we often find it hard to adjust to something new, something different.” He grinned ruefully. “I suppose it’s true you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, eh?”

  “I suppose,” Samara agreed, making an exaggerated show of looking around the yard and under the table. “But I don’t see any old dogs around here.”

  Sterling laughed, a deep, pleasant rumble. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Samara Layton. Just fine.”

  Marcus and Michael emerged from the house to serve lunch. Over the next hour, conversation flowed freely as the foursome discussed everything from politics to sports. As Samara bantered easily with the Wolf men, she couldn’t help envying the closeness they shared. She’d always wanted a sibling, perhaps even more than she’d craved a good relationship with her mother. Marcus had the best of both worlds.

  But throughout the meal, she never felt like an outsider. If anything, Sterling and Michael embraced her as if she were a member of the family. And on several occasions, she’d glanced up and caught Marcus watching her, studying her. The heat he sent through his dark eyes surrounded her, leaving her with a liquid rush in unspeakable parts of her body.

  When he left for his meeting, she walked him outside to the Navigator. She was telling him how much she’d enjoyed lunch when, without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless.

  When he finally released her, his dark eyes smoldered with an intensity that shook her to the core. She could only stare at him, stunned and breathless, as he climbed into the truck and drove away.

  She watched until the Navigator was out of sight before turning and slowly heading back toward the house, wondering what was up with Marcus.

  On her way to the kitchen to help Michael finish clearing the dishes, she passed Sterling and a group of his friends seated around a table in the den. After lunch, he’d called and invited them over for their weekly poker game, previously postponed in lieu of the fishing trip.

  Their raucous male laughter reverberated around the room as they regaled one another with ribald jokes and anecdotes of wayward grandchildren.

  “Well, you know I would trade places with you any day,” Sterling was saying. “I’m gonna have one foot in the grave by the time my sons decide to give me any grandchildren.”

  “Sterl, I hate to break it to you,” came the sage reply, “but you’ve already got one foot in the grave!”

  Samara couldn’t help but grin as more laughter and guffaws rumbled around the room.

  Sterling wasn’t amused. “Ha ha, that’s real clever, George. How long did it take you to come up with that one? Now if we don’t get this game started soon, I’m gonna start tossing you fellas out of my house—starting with you, Mr. Wise Guy.”

  “Where’s Charlie’s replacement?” another voice piped up.

  “What do you mean?” Sterling asked. “Isn’t Charlie coming? He seemed like he was feeling better on the plane.”

  “Nah, didn’t George tell you? Charlie’s still sick. George spoke to him before he left the house. He said his wife was putting him to bed.”

  Out of the ensuing mutters, Sterling demanded, “And when were you going to share this information with the rest of us, George?”

  “Sorry,” came George’s sheepish response. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  “Yeah, like your brain,” Sterling retorted.

  More scattered chortles. “Why don’t you ask one of your boys to fill in for Charlie?” George asked. “They’re both still here, aren’t they?”

  Sterling grunted in disbelief. “My boys? Have you lost your mind? Marcus and Michael would wipe the floor with you fellas. I taught ’em everything I know about poker.”

  “Which ain’t much,” George snickered.

  Ignoring the barb, Sterling continued, “Nah, we need to find someone else. I don’t feel much like losing today, not after we had to cut the fishing trip short.”

  Samara, belatedly realizing she’d been standing in one spot as she enjoyed their bickering, now tried to tiptoe past the room without detection.

  “Is that you out there, Samara?” Sterling called to her. “Come on in here. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  Silently cursing her own nosiness, Samara turned and retraced her steps to the den. Seven pairs of eyes lifted at her appearance.

  Sterling beamed proudly as he made the introductions. Samara struggled not to cringe when he presented her as Marcus’s “special lady friend.”

  She nodded at each man in turn. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen.”

  “Say, can you play poker, Samara?” the one nicknamed Bubba asked.

  Samara opened her mouth to respond when a derisive snicker from George forestalled her. “Everyone knows poker is a man’s game,” he scoffed.

  “Is that right?” Samara said, unable to resist the challenge. Injecting saccharine into her voice, she drawled, “Well, I suppose that’s probably true. I haven’t met too many female champion poker players.”

  “And you never will,” George declared emphatically.

  “So how about it, Samara?” Sterling prompted. “Can you play well enough to be our eighth man? I’ll even spot you the money so you don’t have to spe
nd your own. We don’t play for high stakes here. All of us are either living on a fixed income and/or the generosity of our children.”

  “Well…” With an exaggerated display of reluctance, Samara said, “I suppose I could give it a try. But I don’t want you gentlemen going easy on me simply because I’m a woman.”

  George’s dark eyes gleamed with anticipation as she sat in the chair opposite him. He looked like the proverbial cat that had cornered the mouse. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Layton. We’ll beat—I mean, treat—you fair and square.”

  Samara smiled sweetly at him. She saw no point in telling George that as a bartender in college, her favorite pastime had been playing poker with her coworkers during downtime. Maybe after the game she would let him know about the trophy proudly displayed in her curio cabinet at home, a trophy crowning her the champion in a national poker tournament.

  1

  When Marcus returned from his meeting later that afternoon, the last thing he expected was to find Samara playing poker with his father and his buddies.

  Every Friday night, Sterling Wolf’s den was converted into the poker domain, complete with an octagonal-shaped table that served as the room’s centerpiece. Other than the players themselves, no one entered the poker domain on Friday nights—not even his father’s indomitable housekeeper. It became a testosterone-filled cave ripe with the stench of cigar smoke, male sweat and rowdy laughter.

  So it seemed impossible that Marcus would find Samara seated at the table with the seven retired cops, as out of place as a ballerina at a rodeo.

  His first instinct was to march into the room and snatch her from the table—a reaction not even he understood.

  He was stopped by his brother, who’d hung around after Marcus left to work on a presentation he was giving at a restaurateur’s convention next week.

  Leaning in the doorway of the den, Michael reached out, detaining Marcus with a hand on his shoulder. Shaking his head wordlessly, Michael pointed across the room, clearly amused by what he’d been watching.

  A roar of incredulous male groans erupted from the poker table. “Another royal flush!” George Wilkins cried in disgust. “I don’t believe this!”

  Neither did Marcus. He watched, in amazement, as a grinning Samara leaned forward to haul in her earnings from the pot. “You fellas are making me quite a rich woman this afternoon,” she drawled, making a show of counting her money before pocketing it.

  Sterling laughed uproariously. “Gentlemen, I think we might’ve been better off if we’d asked one of my boys to join us!”

  “Too late now,” grumbled Bernard “Bubba” Ward. “Anyway, she’s got an unfair advantage over the rest of us.”

  “And what’s that, Bubba?” Sterling inquired.

  “Look at her! She’s as pretty as the dickens. I can hardly concentrate on my cards.”

  The complaint was followed by another round of laughter and guffaws. Sterling removed his porkpie hat from his head—the lucky hat from his detective days at the Atlanta PD—and settled it atop Samara’s head. The brim slanted crookedly across her eyebrows, partially obscuring her face but doing nothing to hide the megawatt grin.

  “Does that help, Bubba?” Sterling demanded.

  A red flush crept across Bubba’s pale face. “Well, maybe just a little.”

  The others ribbed him good-naturedly.

  “Let’s face it, fellas,” Melvin Tooks announced. “We’ve been outmatched by a superior opponent.”

  “That’s right,” Sterling chimed in. “It just hasn’t been our week. But you know what the best part is? There’s only one of us here who has to eat crow for underestimating Ms. Layton.”

  Seven pairs of eyes swung to George Wilkins, who seemed to shrink down into his chair. “So I was wrong about her,” he muttered sheepishly. “I’ve been wrong before.”

  Sterling grinned in satisfaction. “Samara, is there anything you’d like to say to our good friend George before we call it quits?”

  Samara’s grin widened. “It’s been a real pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wilkins. Now if you kind gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, rising from the table, “I think I’ll head on out and decide what to do with all this loot. And, no, Mr. Wilkins, going on a shopping spree is not one of my options, so don’t you even go there.”

  He grinned and ducked his head as the others laughed. Samara rounded the table and planted a conciliatory kiss on his ruddy cheek, and Marcus would have sworn the man blushed if he weren’t so dark-skinned.

  “Where’s my kiss?” Bubba protested. “And can you go to the movies with us tonight?”

  Samara sighed dramatically. “Thanks for the invite, Mr. Ward, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check. You fellas enjoy yourselves—and let me know if y’all need to borrow any money for tickets.”

  She left a trail of raucous laughter in her wake as she left the room.

  Grinning, Michael leaned over to Marcus. “Where did you find her? She’s incredible.”

  Marcus didn’t answer, too busy staring at Samara as she paused to speak to his father, managing to look both adorable and sexy in Sterling’s porkpie hat. When she glanced up and saw Marcus standing there, her smile widened with pleasure. It nearly knocked him off his feet.

  He must have looked as dumbstruck as he felt, because Michael chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  Marcus swallowed hard. “What day?”

  “You’ve finally met your match, Little Man. You’ve finally been tamed.”

  Marcus said absolutely nothing, afraid his brother’s words were too close to the truth.

  Chapter Ten

  S

  amara, Brianna Lynch is here to see you.” “Thanks, Diane. Please send her up.” Samara put the finishing touches on a report she’d been working on, saved the file and exited the program. She swiveled away from the computer just as Brianna Lynch appeared in her doorway.

  “Hi, Samara. I came as soon as I got your message.” Samara smiled at her. “Thanks for coming, Brianna. Please close the door and have a seat.”

  Brianna complied, sitting down almost gingerly in the chair opposite Samara’s desk. She still wore her waitress uniform from the downtown restaurant where she worked, a simple white blouse over a pleated black skirt. In her haste, she’d forgotten to remove the little green apron bearing the restaurant’s name and insignia. Raindrops glistened on flawless cheeks the color of café au lait. Thick shoulder-length braids marched back neatly from her face, still gently rounded from the weight she’d gained during pregnancy.

  Brianna and her four-month-old daughter, Lola, had been abandoned when Brianna’s boyfriend panicked and decided he couldn’t handle the responsibility of fatherhood. A pregnant, devastated Brianna had come to the Yorkin Institute in search of help and a nonjudgmental shoulder to lean on. She and Samara had bonded almost immediately.

  “Is it raining hard out there?” Samara asked.

  “It’s not too bad.” Brianna set aside her umbrella and wiped moisture from her face.

  Maureen Smith“I know you’re on your lunch break,” Samara said, “so I’ll make this quick. The reason I called is because we have a job opening here I thought you might be interested in. The coordinator of our employment counseling center has accepted a position with another company. She’s graduating from college in May and wants to begin working in her chosen field, so it’s a wonderful opportunity for her. But it leaves us with a vacancy that needs to be filled rather quickly. Our human resources manager, who supervises the counseling center, is stretched pretty thin as it is.”

  Brianna’s thick-lashed brown eyes grew wide with disbelief. “You want me to work in the employment counseling center?”

  Samara nodded, smiling. “I think you’d be perfect, Brianna. You’re smart, organized and conscientious. I’ve seen you in action at the restaurant, and you have excellent customer service skills, which are an important part of the coor
dinator position—being able to assist job seekers when they come to the center. Many don’t have regular access to computers, so they’re not familiar with how to navigate their way around our database. They need someone to provide technical assistance and, sometimes, a sympathetic listening ear.” She paused. “You’ve been in their shoes, Brianna. You understand just where they’re coming from.”

  “B-But I don’t have a college degree,” Brianna said faintly.

  “Neither did Crystal when she first started here. She worked part-time and attended classes at night. Before she resigned, we were going to bump her up to full-time now that we have the available funds, because we really need someone in the center on a fulltime basis. Joanne, our human resources manager, will train you on the database and teach you the filing system. Once you finish your GED classes and start college next year, we can arrange some type of flextime schedule. And don’t tell me you’re not going to college,” Samara warned before Brianna could open her mouth, “because you are, even if I have to enroll you myself and pick your classes for you—although I’d much rather leave that part to you.”

  121Brianna smiled tremulously. Her eyes glittered with excitement. “I-I don’t know what to say, Samara.”

  “Say you’ll accept the job.”

  “Yes! Yes, I’ll accept the job. Thank you so much, Samara. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “You don’t have to repay me. Just prove me right and do a good job like I know you’re capable of, and that will be repayment enough.” Samara’s tone softened. “This isn’t charity, Brianna. I’m giving you this opportunity because I truly believe in you and want to see you succeed in life. The starting salary is entry-level, but I’m sure it’s a bit more than what you’re earning now at the restaurant. As a full-time employee, you’ll also receive benefits—tuition assistance, 401(k), health care. No more coming out of the pocket to take Lola to the doctor.”

  “How soon can I start?” Brianna asked eagerly.

  “Crystal has agreed to stay on through next week and help train the new coordinator. So the sooner you can quit your job at the restaurant, the better.”