Sarah stared out the window of the truck, not convinced by Wolf’s explanation. She sensed that there was more that he hadn’t said. She saw the turmoil in his eyes, and felt the sudden tension around him. Wolf was an enigma, hiding behind something she couldn’t identify—yet.
Frustrated, Sarah forced her focus to the town they were driving through. Philipsburg was a small, hundred-year-old silver-mining town that had gone bust. The streets were narrow but paved. Most of the buildings were of wood-frame construction, not more than two stories tall. Many needed a coat of paint from weathering the harsh Montana winters where the wind swept down off the rugged Rockies and through the small valley.
On Broadway, at the edge of the town, they pulled up in front of a yellow one-story house. Red geraniums lined the walk, but the grass was predominantly brown, in dire need of water because of the scorching summer heat. Wooden stairs led up to a wide, screened porch with a swing. Wolf turned off the truck engine and motioned to the house.
“We’re home.”
The words sounded so good that Sarah’s throat tightened. Once she’d had a home. And two parents. Now she lived in an empty cabin. The loneliness of the past six months cut through her. Sarah’s imagination caught fire, and she wondered what it would be like to wait for Wolf to come home every night.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We’re home.”
Chapter Four
“Ranger Harding, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” Sheriff Kerwin Noonan eased back in the creaking leather chair and held Wolf’s opaque stare.
“Aren’t you interested in who sabotaged Sarah Thatcher’s mining claim? You know, if I hadn’t taken a wrong turn and gone down that road, she could have died out there.” Wolf was quickly getting the impression that Noonan abused his power. He had a cockiness, a know-it-all attitude, that automatically rubbed Wolf the wrong way. He had to struggle to keep his voice neutral and hide his mounting anger.
Noonan stroked his steel-gray mustache. “Sarah’s always been a precocious thing, Harding. I watched her grow up from a skinny kid who was always in trouble and fighting with someone at school into a young woman who still had axes to grind. She ain’t got the sense God gave a goose, jumpin’ at shadows and accusin’ Mr. Summers.” With a shrug, Noonan added, “She’s always been a troublemaker. If you’re smart, you won’t get mixed up with her.”
Wolf dropped his written report on Noonan’s cluttered desk. The jail was quiet, with only a lone drunk in one of the two cells. “I don’t think,” Wolf said softly, “that Ms. Thatcher’s personality has anything to do with the fact that someone sawed through those roots. She certainly didn’t do it to herself.”
Eyeing the report, Noonan sighed. “All right, Ranger, I’ll look into it. But I can tell you right now—ain’t nothin’ gonna come from my investigation. She pulled the same stunt when her daddy blew himself up with that box of dynamite in the back of his pickup. That girl came loose at the hinges, a wild banshee swearin’ up and down that Mr. Summers had murdered him. Well, wasn’t no such thing. Thatcher blew himself to smithereens all by himself. Pure and simple.”
“I’m interested in anything you find, Sheriff,” Wolf said, settling his hat back on his head.
“How’s the girl doin’?”
It was obvious to Wolf that Noonan didn’t respect women. Nor, plainly, did he see Sarah as the woman she had become. “She’s going to be on crutches for a week.”
Noonan’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Too bad. I suppose she’s heading back to her cabin out there in the middle of nowhere?”
Wolf shook his head. “No, I’ve offered her a place to stay until she can get mobile again. The doctor wants her off her feet for a while.”
“Harding, the town’ll talk.”
“Let them.”
“Your landlady, Mrs. Wilson, won’t take kindly to that sort of arrangement.”
Giving him a flat stare, Wolf said, “The only arrangement Ms. Thatcher has with me is that I’ve offered her a roof over her head and some food to eat.”
With a grin, Noonan nodded his head. “Just remember, Harding—you’ve got a wildcat living under the same roof with you. Better watch it, or she’ll turn around and bite the hell out of you. Anybody who gets mixed up with her is courtin’ big trouble.”
Wolf said nothing, turning on his heel and leaving the small, cramped jail facility. Sarah’s paranoia about people in general—and especially strangers like himself—was becoming more understandable all the time. No wonder she feared trusting anyone but herself. What the hell had happened to her? Grimly he walked back out to the forestry pickup, where Skeet was waiting in the cab. He’d already picked up Sarah’s clothes—what there was of them.
She’d also had him pick up some of her lapidary equipment. There was a large grinding machine with several wheels attached that would polish a stone to perfection. And the faceting machine, about as large as a dinner plate, with a round, movable surface, would allow her to continue working and bringing in some income while she stayed off her feet. Faceting was easy, she’d assured him.
As he’d moved through her cabin, collecting her few belongings, the financial deprivation Sarah suffered became very clear to Wolf. She hadn’t embellished the reality of her situation.
Driving out of the parking lot, Wolf headed home. How good that word sounded to him. Home. Having Sarah there made it seem like one. Wolf couldn’t hide from the fact that for many years he’d dreamed about a home and a family. But his life had veered off in another direction, one that he’d never forget, not until the day he died.
Twilight washed Philipsburg in an apricot hue as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The orange color softened the aging Victorian buildings, built during the silver and copper boomtown period so many years before. It was a town that had relied on mining to keep it alive. Now that the mining, for all intents and purposes, had been stolen from the earth and sold, Philipsburg had died. But, like many towns Wolf had seen, this one was resurrecting itself slowly, one new building at a time, because of tourism and Montana’s nationwide reputation as a hunter’s and fisherman’s paradise.
With a grimace, Wolf thought how his own life paralleled that of the town. So much of him had died down in South America. The rebuilding had barely begun. Taking leave from Perseus had been the first step. Wolf knew instinctively that Sarah was touching the new, emerging chords within him as a man, touching his soul in some wonderful yet undefined way.
Perhaps it was the wildness Noonan had accused Sarah of that appealed to his primal nature, the part of him that, although wounded, had survived. Wolf didn’t really perceive Sarah as wild. She’d merely used her instincts to survive—just as he had done.
Hope sprang in his heart, new and fragile. Sarah was untamed, and that excited him. He’d seen too many women beaten down, submissive beneath men’s needs and society’s expectations. Somehow, Sarah had not conformed in the way most women did.
His mouth was set in a grim line as he turned down the street that would lead him to the house. The price Sarah had paid thus far for not bowing under pressure had been heavy. Did the other townspeople feel as Noonan did about her? If so, Sarah had been an outcast all her life, and the thought tore at Wolf’s emotions.
Then, at the thought of seeing her, his heart began to beat a little harder in his chest. The feeling was delicious, and he savored it like a man starved too long for emotional sustenance. How long had it been since he’d felt these gentle tendrils take root to remind him of a less harsh and demanding world? He frowned. Could he afford to let himself get close?
Sarah heard the key in the lock and sat up tensely on the overstuffed couch. Her swollen feet rested on an upholstered stool. It was 6:00 p.m.—and Wolf had said he’d be home later. Was it him, or one of Summers’s henchmen? Her breath caught as the door opened and Wolf entered, his height and build making the doorway look small in comparison. The instant his gaze met hers, she saw an incredible change come over
his face. The thin line of his mouth softened perceptibly. The fatigue in his gray eyes lifted, replaced by something warm that made her feel welcome in his home. Relaxation replaced harshness. She gave him a nervous half smile of welcome.
“See? I’m being a good patient,” she offered. “My feet are up where you told me to keep them.”
Wolf grinned as he closed the door and ambled into the small living room. The couch was a boring beige, but he’d thrown a quilt made by his grandmother across the back of it. The colors woven into it were red, blue, yellow and black, to denote the major directions as seen by the Cherokee. It made the room come alive with vibrancy.
“Why do I get the feeling that you hobbled over and put your feet up two minutes before I arrived?”
Sarah’s uneasiness increased. “Are you psychic or something?” she croaked.
Wolf placed his keys on the cherrywood desk and dropped his hat on top of them. “I’ve been accused of being that from time to time.”
“You’re downright scary.”
“So I’m right?” he asked, coming over and halting beside her. Sarah’s hair was plaited in two long braids, and the style suited her. Her cheeks, once waxen, were flushed, and she fiddled nervously with her fingers in her lap. Disappointment flowed through Wolf. Sarah still didn’t trust him.
“I can’t lie,” she said softly. “Yes, I was hobbling around here a couple of minutes before you pulled up.”
“So why bother to look like you’d been following my orders?” he teased, starting to grin.
His melting smile seemed to embrace Sarah, and she suddenly felt beautiful beneath his searching, hooded gaze. Wolf was making her hotly aware for the first time in her life, that she was a woman. She saw the interest in his eyes—and the discovery as exciting as it was scary. Sarah had no experience with a man like Wolf. “I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you.” And then, disgusted by the admission, she muttered defensively, “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Wolf told her, “I appreciate it. I was worrying all day you’d be resting and bored out of your mind.”
“I wasn’t that good.”
Wolf lifted his chin and looked around. He noticed that small things, such as the vase full of wildflowers, had been moved slightly. “You dusted.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I can’t stand a dirty house.” Then she quickly amended herself. “I just picked up here and there, tried a little vacuuming, that was all. Your house really isn’t dirty.”
“Just messy,” Wolf agreed. He tilted his head when he saw the wariness come back in her eyes. “What’s that look for?”
“Aren’t you going to chew me out for doing all that walking around?”
“Why should I? I’m not your keeper. Everyone’s responsible for themselves.”
“You mean that?” Sarah’s gaze probed his laughter-filled gray eyes.
“Sometimes. The Cherokee part of me believes it thoroughly. My white side doesn’t.”
“I hate men who treat me like a half-wit,” Sarah agreed. “Just because I have blond hair doesn’t mean I’m dumb or helpless.”
“I’d never make the mistake of thinking that,” Wolf said wryly. “Hungry?”
“Starved.” Sarah was suddenly eager to share the evening with Wolf. There was so much she didn’t know about him, and so much she wanted to know. She’d had time alone to feel her way through her reactions to Wolf. All her life she’d been wearing male clothes, and she worked in a male occupation. No one had ever really looked at her as a woman until she’d seen that awareness in Wolf’s eyes. He seemed to delve beyond the clothes she wore and the way she made a living to truly see the woman she was. That realization aroused something in Sarah, and she wanted to explore Wolf further, curiosity driving her as never before.
“How about a steak, a baked potato and a salad?” Wolf asked over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.
Sarah grabbed her crutches. “Fine with me. I’ll eat anything.”
Wolf turned. “Why don’t you sit and rest?” He noticed at the entrance to the kitchen that not only had Sarah done his three days’ worth of dishes, but the counter was shining, and the table was neat and clean.
“I don’t sit or rest very well.” Sarah placed the crutches beneath her arms and followed him out to the kitchen. Wolf’s bulk seemed to fill the room. She sat down at the table, resting the crutches against the wall. There was something pleasant in just watching him move about the kitchen. Despite his size, he had a catlike grace, never bumping into things the way she did.
“I called over to the nursing home and checked in with the supervisor,” Sarah told him. “They know I’m going to be laid up and won’t expect me to visit Mom this week.”
Wolf glanced over his shoulder as he placed two huge potatoes in the microwave. “Did they tell your mother what happened to you?”
“No,” Sarah whispered. “She won’t even miss me not being there.”
The pain, her pain, stabbed at him. Wolf closed the microwave door and took two steaks from the refrigerator. “Doesn’t she recognize you even a little bit?”
“No. Usually when I visit her she reacts to me as if I’m a stranger.”
“That must be hard on you.” Wolf turned, seeing the hurt in her huge blue eyes.
“Yes…it is….”
Placing the steaks in an iron skillet, Wolf turned up the gas flame on the stove. “My mother died of a heart attack. I guess in some ways we were lucky. She died instantly.” Wolf caught himself. He never spoke about his past or his family. Perplexed, fighting an inner battle to remain detached from Sarah, Wolf castigated himself. Just one look at her and all his intentions melted like ice beneath sunlight.
“How old were you?” she asked softly.
Uncomfortable, he muttered, “Twelve.”
“Oh, dear.” Her heart twinged with pain—his pain. Wolf knew loss. That was why he could understand her. Her determination never to trust anyone softened even more as she watched him working over the stove.
Wolf turned when he heard the tone of her voice. Sarah looked so unhappy that the urge to sweep her into his arms and hold her tightly against him was nearly overwhelming. “That was a long time ago,” he told her gruffly. “Save your feelings for someone who counts.”
Sarah scowled as he quickly turned away again, busying himself with kitchen duties. “As if you don’t count,” she muttered. “Who rescued me from under that tree? And took me in for a week because I couldn’t afford the hospital? You count a lot in my book.”
The fervency in her voice broke through another painful barrier in Wolf. He turned and mercilessly met her soft blue gaze. “Honey,” he growled, anger vibrating in his voice, anger aimed at himself, “I’m not worth caring about. I’m no one’s ideal.”
Sarah winced at the cold blade of anger in his voice. Why was Wolf so down on himself? Hurt by his unexplained harshness, Sarah sourly reminded herself that they weren’t friends. Friends could confide in one another. Still, curiosity ate at her, and she choked out, “You’re a man with a lot of secrets, aren’t you?”
Wolf’s scowl deepened. Panic surged through him. Sarah unerringly sensed that he was hiding a great deal from her. Well, wasn’t he? Hell, he was desperately trying to hide it from himself. His voice was clipped with warning as he retorted, “You’ve got the curiosity of a cat.”
“And that isn’t going to stop me from finding out why you think so little of yourself,” she answered steadily.
Wolf’s gut tightened, and he tasted fear. “If you’re doing it for curiosity’s sake, don’t try and unlock me.” Wolf stared at her, the challenge in his gaze backed up by the growl in his voice. “I don’t play those kinds of games with anyone.”
Sarah gave him a tight smile, feeling shaky and euphoric at the same time. The potential thrill of knowing Wolf on a more intimate level was exciting, despite her fear. Sarah felt as if she were walking on a high wire, far above the ground. One small misstep with Wolf and she’d fall to her d
eath—only it wasn’t a physical death, but an emotional one. Her curiosity warred with the knowledge of potential danger. Despite her head’s warning, her heart demanded to know his terrible secret. “Haven’t you noticed yet? I don’t play games, either.”
“No,” Wolf admitted in a rasp, “you don’t.” He stood at the counter, afraid. Afraid that Sarah was going to gut him of his past.
Sarah felt a bristling kind of power throbbing around Wolf, and decided to back off—for now. “Speaking of games, which one did Sheriff Noonan try to play with you?”
Wolf felt incredibly vulnerable in Sarah’s presence. He sensed her tenacity, her determination to reach the very heart of his dark soul. He sighed silently to himself, grateful that she had switched to a more benign topic. Returning his attention to the stove, he checked the steaks.
“Noonan didn’t take my report seriously.”
Sarah nodded, feeling a palpable release of the tension that had been building between them, but still wondering why Wolf had gotten so tense and angry. “I figured as much. He never does,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“He’s on Summers’s payroll, that’s why. Noonan’s a banty rooster, full of himself, strutting around because he’s got police power behind him. The folks around here won’t buck him.” She added grimly, “But I have and will.”
Going to the refrigerator, Wolf pulled out salad makings. He divided his time between cutting up vegetables and watching Sarah’s darkened face. “What’s going on here, Sarah? The sheriff accused you in so many words of being a troublemaker since the day you were born.”
“As far as he’s concerned, I have been. Wolf, you don’t appreciate what I keep telling you—Summers runs this town. Those that are against him are too scared to challenge him.”
“Except for you?” Wolf guessed, pleased at the way his name rolled off her lips, low and husky.
“There were others,” Sarah admitted unhappily, “but they’ve moved away. They got tired of butting heads with the bastard.”
Heart of the Wolf Page 6