Heart of the Wolf

by Lindsay McKenna

  “I’m not important,” Wolf growled, getting serious.

  “To me you are.”

  Wolf shook his head. “You’re young and full of idealism, Sarah.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  “I feel a hundred years old, and no, I don’t have any idealism left in me. It got kicked out of me a long time ago.”

  “By the marines?”

  “By life, honey.”

  Sarah enjoyed Wolf’s tender touch, feeling the ache in her feet lessen as he deftly bandaged her feet. “Are you implying that because I live in isolation here in a very unpopulated area of America that I’m naive?” she retorted.

  Wolf finished his task and rested his hands on his thighs as he held her challenging blue gaze. The fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth, touched him. “I see you as naive, yes.”

  “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or an insult, Wolf.”

  Wolf slowly straightened, rising to his feet. The pleasure of talking with Sarah was going to make him late for work. He retrieved a sack lunch he’d packed earlier. “It just is what it is,” he told her softly.

  “You think I’m like a child. Is that it?” Was that why he’d pushed her away? Did he see her as immature?

  Wolf groaned and held up his hand. “No, I don’t see you as a child.” Far from it. If Sarah could look inside his heart, she’d find out how badly he wanted to know her better. “You’re a beautiful young woman. And in some ways, because of where you live, you are—” he groped for the right word “—untouched by the world at large.”

  “Untouched?” Sarah demanded, frowning. Wolf saw her as protected from real life? Oh, come on!

  Glancing at his watch, Wolf gave her an apologetic look. “Sarah, I’m going to be late if I don’t get going. Let’s continue this conversation tonight, all right?”

  Her lips compressed, Sarah watched as he quickly slid the breakfast dishes into the soapy water. “You’re getting off lucky, Harding,” she said, half serious, half teasing.

  The urge to walk over to Sarah, lean down and plant a very long kiss on her petulantly set lips was almost Wolf’s undoing. The fire in her eyes, he knew, reflected her sensitive roller-coaster emotions. Sarah’s world was one of strong, passionate feelings—a world Wolf desperately wanted to explore. A world he knew he must forbid himself.

  “I’ve got to go. Do you want me to leave Skeet at home with you today?” Worry gnawed at Wolf. He’d left Maria undefended, and—Swallowing, he added, “Skeet’s a good guard dog.”

  Home. The word struck Sarah hard. Yes, this was a home. The discovery was bittersweet. “No, I’ll be fine. Nothing will happen to me here.” She saw the concern in his darkening gray eyes. That haunted look was back. Why? Sarah gave him a confident smile and waved. “Get going or you’ll be late for work, Wolf.”

  “I’ve got a roast pulled out of the freezer, thawing. Will you—”

  “I’ll take care of it. Although I’m overly protected, young and naive, I think I can handle putting a roast in the oven so we have something to eat for dinner, Wolf.”

  His mouth worked into an unwilling grin. “Anyone ever accuse you of having a dry wit, Ms. Thatcher?”

  “Only naive men like you, Mr. Harding.”

  With a laugh, Wolf waved goodbye to her, Skeet at his heels. As he walked onto the back porch and out into the morning sunlight, Wolf thought he had never felt happier. Sarah was far from naive, and they both knew it. As Wolf opened the door so that Skeet could bound into the cab, he smiled. He didn’t deserve Sarah. He didn’t deserve the feelings of joy coursing through him, but he couldn’t help himself. After nearly a year of darkness and despair, Sarah’s smile, her feisty courage, were helping him to heal.

  As he backed the pickup out of the driveway, Wolf worried about Sarah’s safety. He tried to tell himself that she would be safe at his home. Sarah wasn’t Maria. Sarah knew how to fight back, how to survive. Still, as he’d put the truck in drive and headed down Broadway, his gut was tight with foreboding.

  Sarah decided to leave the damnable crutches in the corner of the porch as she hobbled to the faceting machine. She’d rather endure the pain. Morning sunlight flowed strongly through the screened-in area, and robins sang in the trees surrounding the small, green lawn.

  Faceting was second nature to her. She fitted the jeweler’s loupe over her eye and inspected each stone minutely. Many of the rough sapphires had too many inclusions. No matter how carefully they were polished and faceted, those stones would always have a dull look to them.

  The time sped by as Sarah found fifteen rough sapphires worthy of being faceted. She became lost in the process itself, unaware of the hours passing. The radio was playing in the living room, the music softening the grinding noise that the faceting machine made as the hard surface of the sapphire was polished away.

  Sarah’s stomach growled ominously. Glancing at her watch, she smiled. Noon exactly. Hobbling without the aid of the crutches, Sarah made it to the kitchen and peeked into the refrigerator.

  As she made herself a tuna sandwich, she realized with a start that she felt incredibly happy. Ever since her father’s death, she’d felt as if she were in a cocoon of grief.

  Sarah sat down at the table, a glass of iced tea in hand, the sandwich on a plate. She frowned. It was as if she could still feel Wolf’s presence in the small kitchen. Despite his height and size, he moved deftly around the area, never knocking into anything. As she began slowly chewing the sandwich, Sarah’s heart centered on Wolf.

  Why had he been so worried about leaving her alone? She knew Summers well enough to know that the bastard would never openly attack her and risk eyewitnesses. No, Summers was careful, waiting until she had her guard down.

  Suddenly Sarah wished Skeet had stayed with her. It would at least give her someone to talk to—even if he couldn’t answer her back. The wish that her mother was more aware of her made Sarah sigh. Right now she wanted to talk to her about all these crazy feelings alive within her, clamoring for attention. Philip had never made her feel like this. But then, she reminded herself grimly, Philip hadn’t really loved her.

  Deciding she had more questions than answers, Sarah cleaned up the kitchen and went back to work. As she hobbled through the living room, the phone rang. She hesitated, wondering if she should answer. After all, this was Wolf’s home, not hers. But what if it was Wolf calling to see how she was? If she didn’t answer, he’d panic and come back to check on her. Or would he?

  Sarah muttered under her breath. Her imagination was getting the best of her. She meant nothing to Wolf. Moving toward the ringing phone, Sarah reached out and picked it up.

  “Ranger Harding’s residence.”

  “You’re dead.“

  Sarah froze. Her fingers automatically tightened around the phone, and she gasped. Then anger followed quickly on the heels of her shock.

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  No answer.

  Sarah’s breathing became erratic. She knew that whoever was on the other end hadn’t hung up. “You bastard! Who do you think you are threatening me? Go to hell!” She slammed the phone down.

  Shaking, Sarah stood with her arms wrapped around herself. Her heart pounding, she looked anxiously around the small house. The dainty white lace curtains moved slowly as a summer breeze stirred through the living room.

  You’re dead.

  It had to be Summers! He’d hired someone to call her. To threaten her! Anger and fear warred within Sarah as she stood on her throbbing feet, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. Her first instinct was to call the ranger station and tell Wolf. No. She couldn’t begin leaning on him. She had to handle this herself.

  Gnawing on her lower lip, Sarah shivered involuntarily. This was the first time she’d ever received a threatening phone call. There was no point in calling Sheriff Noonan to report it. Her stomach was tight with terror.

  Forcing herself to move, Sarah went back to faceting, far more alert, far war
ier, than before. What should she do? What could she do? Every particle of her being cried out to tell Wolf. Her hands shaking badly, Sarah repositioned the stone on the machine for the next facet.

  “No!” she whispered forcefully as she gently set the stone on the grit-layered wheel. Turning the machine back on, she watched it for a long moment. Summers was just like that grit—he was wearing her down a little at a time. Sarah raised her head, tears stinging her eyes. Everything was closing in on her. The only good thing in her life was Wolf. Her father was dead, and her mother was, too, in a sense. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, tears running hotly down her cheeks. She couldn’t stand if Wolf was hurt or killed defending her. No, she just couldn’t put him in that kind of jeopardy.

  Wolf noticed that Sarah was jumpier than usual when he got home that evening. During their dinner of pot roast, baked potatoes, gravy and carrots, the phone rang. Sarah jumped, her eyes huge. Wolf answered the call—from the ranger station telling him about a change in his assignment the next day. When he sat down again, he noticed how pale Sarah had become.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded, slicing into the thick, juicy pot roast.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Fine.”

  “You’re as jumpy as I would be if I found myself in the middle of a minefield,” he noted dryly.

  Sarah forced herself to begin eating again, her heart banging away in her throat. “Are you always this alert?” she muttered.

  “It saves lives,” he answered darkly, and shoved a piece of potato into the gravy.

  Lives. Her life. Maybe Wolf’s. Sarah choked down a small piece of beef, not tasting it. The very thought of Wolf being hurt because of her put a knot in her stomach.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Sarah shook her head, afraid to look up. Wolf read her eyes and face too easily.

  “Are your feet bothering you?”

  “Yes.” It was a white lie, Sarah told herself as she pushed the plate away. If she didn’t get out of the kitchen, she was going to tell Wolf about the call. Desperation fueling her, she got up and moved around the table, careful not to engage Wolf’s gaze.

  “Sarah?”

  “I’m okay!” she flared, and left the kitchen.

  Scowling, Wolf looked toward the living room. Finally, he returned his attention to the food on his plate. He’d had a long day out in the field, walking along the many local trout streams, and he was more tired than usual. Part of it was due to lack of sleep last night, but the bigger part was from worrying about Sarah’s safety all day. He saw Sarah limping down the hall toward her bedroom. She was probably going to soak her feet. He’d wrap them later, before she went to bed.

  “Dammit,” he growled. Sarah had made a wonderful dinner, but his emotions were in tatters. Just being around Sarah made him achingly aware of how much he wanted her—on all levels. Wolf had given the situation with Sarah a hard, realistic look today.

  Pushing his plate away, Wolf got up. The chair scraped back, further testing his already taut nerves. Maybe kitchen duty would help take the edge off him. In some ways, he thought, this was going to be the longest week of his life; in other ways, he had never felt as content. There was no explanation for it. He’d never before looked forward to such small, seemingly meaningless things in his life. But now, the thought of Sarah eating, pushing her spun-gold hair behind her ear, sharing her winsome smile with Skeet or just moving with unconscious grace, made him appreciate living as never before.

  All evening Sarah worried that the phone might ring again. She took an early bath, pulled on her cotton nightgown and robe and hobbled back out to the living room. Wolf was sitting on the couch watching television when she came and sat down next to him.

  “I’m kind of tired. Would you mind wrapping my feet? I think I’m going to bed early.” She handed him two Ace bandages.

  Wolf nodded and eased out of his sprawled position on the couch. He could see that Sarah was tired from the darkness beneath her blue eyes. As he knelt down at her feet, he looked up at her. “You never said how your day was.”

  She shrugged and leaned against the couch, her arms around herself. “I got some stones faceted. That was good.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Her skin tingled as he gently grazed the skin of her foot.

  “They look a lot better tonight.”

  “I threw the crutches away,” she muttered.

  Wolf grinned as he placed the heel of her foot across his thigh. “Maybe walking on them increased the circulation and helped reduce the swelling.”

  Sarah watched, fascinated, as Wolf’s large, scarred hands carefully wrapped her feet. She never felt pain when he touched her—only a simmering heat that taunted her like the threat of a thunderstorm on a hot summer day. “You mean you aren’t going to chew me out for not using those crutches?”

  “Am I your keeper?”

  She shrugged and made a wiry face. “No woman should be kept.”

  “I agree.”

  “You’re really different from the guys I’ve known,” Sarah said. “Why is that?”

  The pleasure of touching Sarah was humbling to Wolf. Her feet were delicate, despite their swollen condition. “Must be my Cherokee heritage,” he teased. “Women are treated as equals in my tribe.”

  “Will miracles never cease? At least there’s somewhere on this earth where we’re not maligned or mistreated.”

  “Now, don’t waste your anger on me. I’m treating you like an equal.” Wolf tried not to smile, but he saw the laughter dancing in Sarah’s eyes. He liked making her happy.

  “You’re too smart for your own good, Harding.”

  “Yeah, I know. But my mother taught me when I was knee-high to a cricket that women were just as strong, bright and resourceful as any man.” He captured her other foot and inspected it closely. What would it be like to simply run his hand the length of her slender leg? Instantly he blocked the molten thought and began wrapping her foot.

  “I think I’m lucky,” Sarah admitted. “Dad showed me how to change tires and put oil in the old pickup, and taught me mechanical things. Mom taught me how to sew, cook and clean.”

  “There’s no reason a woman shouldn’t be taught those things.”

  “Well,” she said unhappily, “there are plenty of men who think we’re nothing but housekeepers.”

  Wolf’s laughter boomed through the living room. He sat back, his hands on his thighs, and held her mutinous gaze. His breath jammed in his chest as she began to laugh with him, her husky voice as refreshing as clear, clean water. With a shake of his head, he studied her.

  “Were you always this rebellious?” he teased.

  Sarah felt heat rushing to her face and knew she was blushing—again. “I don’t see it as being rebellious. I see life as one of justice for everyone.”

  “Yet you willingly made dinner for us tonight.”

  “That’s because you asked,” she said pointedly. “You didn’t expect it of me.”

  “I think,” he said lightly, “what you’re really telling me is that you don’t want to be taken advantage of.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened as she held his warm gray gaze. “You understand.”

  Wolf smiled a little. “I like your courage, Sarah Thatcher. You’ve got brains and a backbone. You keep fighting for what’s rightfully yours. Every step you take opens up doors for other women who might not have your strength, conviction or courage. You’re doing a good thing.”

  “Yeah, and it could get me killed,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

  A pang went through Wolf’s heart and rattled his conscience. “I guess,” he began in a low tone, “that the Great Spirit puts tests in front of us to make us stronger.”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Right now I don’t feel very strong.” Just scared. Scared to death. She ached to confide in Wolf, to tell him about the phone call. But why? To involve him and, perhaps, make him a target, too? No, he was too fine a man, a man who reveled in her independent nature.

  Without thinking, S
arah reached out, covering Wolf’s hand with hers. “You’re so very special, Wolf. I just hope you know that.” Reluctantly she removed her hand as she saw the startled look on Wolf’s face, and the stormy quality of his eyes. “Good night,” she whispered sadly. “I’ll see you in the morning….”

  Chapter Seven

  You’re dead.

  Sarah jerked awake, screaming. Breathing hard, she hunched over in the bed and buried her face in her hands. She was shaking badly, and the cry was still echoing in her brain. Perspiration dampened her gown, which clung to her.

  “Sarah?” Wolf hesitated fractionally at the door.

  The darkness was relieved only by the streetlight outside the curtained window. Sarah gasped at the sound of Wolf’s thick, sleep-ridden voice. Before she could raise her head, she felt his callused hand slide across her shoulders in a protective gesture.

  “Honey, what is it?” Wolf’s heart was pounding unrelentingly in his chest. His mercenary instincts had taken over when Sarah’s scream had jolted him out of his sleep. His eyes slitted, adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream, all his senses screamingly alert, he checked out the room, the window, the door to the master bathroom. Nothing. He glanced down at Sarah. It had been a nightmare….

  Without thinking, Wolf sat down on the bed next to her, and pulled her into his arms. She was trembling badly, and she pressed her face to his chest, sobbing for breath.

  “It’s okay….” He tunneled his fingers through her mussed hair. “You’re safe, Sarah. You’re safe….” Wolf shut his eyes, feeling her begin to cry, although she made no sound. It hurt to think that she couldn’t even give voice to whatever nightmare had been stalking her.

  Leaning down, blindly following instinct, Wolf grazed her temple with a kiss, gently massaging her neck and her tensed shoulders with his hand. “Go ahead and cry, honey,” he whispered raggedly.

  Sarah’s hands curled into small fists, and she let herself sob, the sound echoing in the room. Just the touch of Wolf’s hand, soothing her, allowed the trauma to be given a life of its own in strangled, hiccuping sounds that came from deep within her. She was safe. Safe for the first time in a long time. Wolf was holding her, rocking her, and she felt more like a hurt child than a woman. He was her protector, keeping her safe when the nightmare had stripped her of her defenses, leaving her nakedly vulnerable to the world that wanted her dead.