"Wolf?" Her voice was a squeak, and the animal's ears pricked forward.
Wes kept his gaze focused on the wolf's eyes. Held them hard, even when the animal bared its teeth in a snarl and the fur on its back seemed to bristle upward. It lowered its head and shoulders slightly, as if in preparation to spring on them, and emitted a low and endless growl.
Wes didn't move. He just sat there, staring. Taylor wanted to tell him to get that damned knife out of his boot and make use of it. But she didn't dare to speak, and doubted she'd manage more than a meaningless grunt if she tried. Her throat seemed to swell shut with fear. She could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Very slowly Wes got to his feet. How he managed it in such slow motion was beyond her, but he did. Inch by inch he straightened until it seemed he towered above her from her vantage point, flat on her back. Then he moved forward, stepping over her, first with one leg, and then the other. So that he stood between Taylor and the wolf. And all the while he never broke eye contact.
The growling stopped. Peering around Wes's legs, she could still see the wolf. Its snarl died, and its head tipped upward as it stared into Wes's eyes. It spent a long moment like that. Neither moving, nor making a sound. And then suddenly the wolf simply spun around and ran away into the darkness. Taylor glimpsed its upturned tail as it bounded away, and then nothing more.
She lay still, shaking her head slowly. "What did you just do?"
When Wes sat down again, he did it suddenly. As if his muscles had just decided to go limp. Taylor pulled herself into a sitting position, getting in front of him so she could see his face. His eyes were closed, and he sighed heavily.
"Wes?"
He looked at her, shook his head. "I don't know, exactly. It's something Turtle taught me. Damn, I'm glad it worked."
"Glad … what worked?"
In something like wonder he was looking off in the direction the wolf had taken. "I'd tried it with horses. An eagle once. But hell, I didn't really think it…" Again he shook his head, pushing both hands backward through his hair. "A wolf. Never thought I'd have call to try it with a wolf. Damn."
He was talking more to himself than to her. She reached out, touched his face, just to remind him she was there. It worked. He looked into her eyes, and she could see he was shaken. Maybe more shaken than she was.
"Wes. Tell me what just happened here."
He closed his eyes, opened them again. "I talked to him."
"You talked to him." She frowned and looked at where the animal had been crouching. Then back at Wes. "To the wolf."
He nodded. And he looked dead serious. Taylor battled a shiver, and then forced a smile that had to be shaky at best. "What did you say? 'Please don't eat us'?"
Wes shook his head and looked at the ground. "I sound like a lunatic."
"Not unless the wolf talked back," she said, trying for a light tone, even though she still couldn't stop shaking.
Without looking up he said, "He did."
She threaded her fingers into his hair, tipping his head up again. "Okay. So you're a lunatic. A lunatic who saved my life twice in one night." A little of the tension faded from his face. "You stepped in front of me," she said. "That animal could have—"
He pressed his forefinger to her lips. "I'd step in front of a train for you, Doc. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
He took his finger away from her mouth, staring into her eyes. And then he lowered his head, and put his lips there instead.
It was so right. So perfect. And she didn't care that he'd lied to her, or that he talked to wolves. It didn't matter. All that mattered was this. Touching him. Kissing him. Wanting him with everything in her.
She slipped her arms around his shoulders. His crept tighter around her waist. When his lips nudged hers apart, she shivered, and when his tongue slid over hers, her heart seemed to melt. She was in his arms, and it was where she wanted to be. Where she'd wanted to be for some time now. And she held him close to her as she lay down, so that he came with her, his body covering hers. When he moved his hips, she felt his hardness pressing into her, and when he took his mouth away, he whispered, "Tell me to stop, Taylor."
He stared down into her eyes, and his were on fire.
Black fire. Raven Eyes. It didn't have to mean forever. He knew she wasn't ready for that. He wouldn't expect anything. Just this … just tonight.
She ran her palms over his chest. And then she said, "Make love to me, Wes."
His jaw went tight. He closed his eyes. And then he kissed her again. Deeply, thoroughly, and the gentleness in his touch grew into something more as he tugged her T-shirt up and put his hands on her breasts. And then he was kissing them, too. Suckling her, groaning deep in his throat. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes and letting him feed at her nipples. Her breathing ragged, she ran her hands over his chest, and his back, and then lower, slipping a hand between his legs and caressing the hardness there. She freed him from his jeans, and touched him. Hot and ridged and hard. She closed her hand around the tip of him, and he shivered. And then he backed away, sitting up, and he reached slowly down to pull her shirt over her head.
She shivered in the cold. Wes took her hands and drew her to her feet. But he remained kneeling down. And then he reached for her pants, unfastening them, sliding them down over her hips, looking at her as he did. She shuddered, but without shyness, stepped out of them. And then he peeled her panties away in the same slow manner, his eyes devouring her. When she kicked the panties aside, he touched her there, and he whispered, "I want to taste you."
Her stomach clenched. He put his hands on her buttocks and drew her closer. And then he pressed his mouth to her, nuzzling her there, pushing her open with his mouth, and then tasting her with his tongue.
Fire shot through her body, and her knees trembled and then buckled. She fell to the ground, but he followed, parting her legs with his hands, and burying his face between them. Stroking deeper with his tongue until she clasped his head and moaned softly in the night.
He kissed a path up her body, putting his hand where his mouth had been seconds ago, stroking up inside her, making her shudder and cry. And then he pressed himself into her, and she felt filled, not just physically, but spiritually. When he sank himself all the way into her body, she arched her hips to take him. And he wrapped her up tight in his arms and kissed her again as he moved. She knew it had never been like this for her before, and never would be again. She moved with him, arching against him, holding him with every part of her. And when she climaxed, he did, too. And it felt as if their souls were fused together in this fire. As if they'd never be able to exist again on their own.
Wes lay beside her, holding her close, as the sun rose over the desert. A ball of fire. Every sunrise here was a spectacular light show. Wes wondered if the sunrises would be visible from his ranch. He thought so. What an incredible way to wake up each morning.
If she were there beside him.
Without Taylor's face, bathed in the fiery glow of dawn, the sunrises would lose their appeal. He was in love with her.
The thought of losing her, of spending his life without her, became nightmarish to him then. And without warning, he thought of his brother Ben, and he nearly choked on the sudden tightness in his throat. Ben still mourned his wife, Penny. Every day he must think of her. Every morning he must wake up alone and remember waking with her in his arms. And the urge to hug his oversize brother hit Wes almost as powerfully as the urge to stay where he was, with Taylor snuggled close to him.
Then she sat up, and pulled the blanket over her, a little self-consciously. She looked nervous. Sated, but scared.
"It's okay," he told her, reaching up to stroke her hair. "I know it didn't mean anything."
And she lowered her head. "It meant something, Wes. It just didn't mean … everything."
He understood. He'd won her body, and even her affection. But not her trust, and not her heart. Not yet. "There's one thing you might not know about me, lady," he
said with a smile.
"You mean besides the fact that you double as Dr. Doolittle and talk to animals?" She smiled back, seemingly relieved that he wasn't asking for promises, that he was taking last night for what it was and nothing more.
"That I thrive on challenges," he told her.
"But you're wrong," she said. "I'd already figured that out. I knew it the second you showed me that ranch of yours."
"You calling my new place a challenge?"
She shrugged.
Wes sat up and sighed. "Better than my kid sister. She called it a dump."
The sun rose higher, and their smiles died as he got lost in her eyes. And before he slipped and said something stupid way too soon, scaring her off for good, Wes tore his gaze away. "We ought to get back. Your kids will be worried sick. Scourge might even decide to play hero and go wandering into the desert looking for you. I don't have time to hunt for hairballs."
"He wouldn't do that," she said. "He's too smart."
"He has a crush on you," Wes said. "Bad enough I have to compete with whatever Comanche stud Turtle has picked out for you. I have to contend with a Don Juan with peach fuzz to boot."
"Don't forget about my ghostly admirer," she said. "I really kind of like him." Her eyes were filled with mischief.
He chucked her under the chin. "He really kind of likes you, too," he said. "Damned if I ever thought I'd be jealous of myself."
She laughed softly. "Serves you right."
"You're right, it does."
He liked this. This easiness that had returned between them. And it was more than it had been before. Deeper. She seemed comfortable with him, relaxed. As for him, well, he was falling harder with every smart-ass quip she tossed his way. The guarded, solitary scientist had melted away. The woman underneath was so irresistible he could barely keep his hands off her.
"Better get dressed," he said. "Search party could show up any time." He got up, buck naked, and walked around picking up her clothes, which had somehow ended up scattered hither and yon. Then he brought them to her, and saw her eyes devouring him. He swallowed hard.
"Take away the clothes," she said, "And there's really no difference between Wes Brand and Wolf Shadow."
"Just a few hundred years is all. Or am I sagging more than I realized?" He pulled on his jeans.
She didn't return his grin this time. Instead her eyes narrowed. "Wes, will you tell me something?"
"Anything. I told you, nothing but honesty from now on."
She nodded, and he thought maybe she was about to put his vow to the test. "What did that wolf say to you last night?"
He blinked. Then drew a deep breath, lifting his head, and bringing his gaze level with hers again. "He … uh … he called me 'brother.'"
Biting her lower lip, she nodded slowly.
"Am I going to regret being honest, Doc? You going to recommend I talk to a shrink now?"
"No, Wes. Not when I…"
"Not when you what?"
She shook her head. "It'll sound foolish."
"More foolish than talking to wolves? C'mon, Taylor, this honesty thing has to work both ways."
She met his eyes, nodded hard. "You're right. It does." She lifted her chin. "I think I saw … Little Sparrow last night." She turned then, and pulled on her shirt, maybe to avoid his eyes.
"That's what you were talking about when I first got here."
She nodded and picked up her khaki trousers.
"And you thought it was me? What, in drag?"
Pulling the pants up to her hips, she stood and tucked her shirt in, then fastened them up. "No. I guess I thought you'd drafted another conspirator. But I shouldn't have, because…"
"Because?"
Dropping her hands to her sides, she faced him. "Because it wasn't the first time. I saw her once before, just prior to coming down here for this dig." She frowned hard. "Wes, it was like looking into a mirror. Only, translucent. And then she just faded like mist."
He thought then that he should tell her about his own encounter with someone he thought might have been Wolf Shadow. The real one, not his own little interpretation of the role. But then he thought better of it. Honesty was fine, but she didn't trust him yet. And if he blurted this out, she might chalk it up to yet another trick on his part. He'd tell her, yes. But not just yet.
It was like looking into a mirror.
Her words rang in his ears. He'd had the same eerie sensation at the single glimpse he'd had of … whatever he'd seen last night.
"I think," she said, "that you should talk to Turtle about this wolf thing."
"I was thinking the same thing." He finished dressing himself, and began shaking out and folding the blankets, stuffing them into her pack, slinging it over his own shoulder when it was filled. He took a long drink from the canteen and then handed it to her. "I'll take you back to camp, and then I'll head out to check on him. I don't like him out there alone, especially with a pack of wolves so nearby."
"It was only one wolf," she reminded him. "Besides, Wes, if you can talk a wolf out of attacking, old Turtle can probably make him roll over and play dead. He's a shaman after all. Shamans are known for their animal broth—" She bit her lip and met his eyes, her own widening.
"Animal brothers." Wes finished her sentence for her. And he didn't blame her for the wide-eyed look. He was feeling pretty wide-eyed himself. He didn't know what all this meant, and frankly he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was scaring the hell out of him. Almost as much as his feelings for Taylor were doing.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Wes walked Taylor back to the camp, received a scathing glance from Scourge and grinned at the kid in return. He borrowed a few supplies from the site, stuffing them into Taylor's backpack. Then he turned to the woman he'd made up his mind was going to be his own. "I'll be back later on."
She nodded. "Go on, go see about Turtle. I'm as worried about him as you are."
Impulsively Wes swayed forward and brushed her lips with his. Then he turned toward where Taylor had his horse anchored for the night and climbed aboard. "I know you hate my guts for this, Paint. We'll head home for your morning oats soon, I promise."
Paint shook his mane and nickered as Wes untied him, slipped his bridle in place and then mounted. He glanced back at Taylor once as he headed back into the desert. She was speaking rapidly to the kids, gesturing, her face firm. Not defending that kiss, he hoped. More likely telling them to mind their own business. And he smiled.
As if she felt his eyes on her, she turned, and met his gaze. And for a long moment they remained that way. Just looking at one another. Wes could feel something moving between them. From her eyes to his and then back again, like a current gaining amps with every circuit. He touched the brim of his hat, and rode away, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
But she needed time. And he needed Turtle. Because something very strange was happening, and he needed to talk it through.
He found his mentor still sitting in the same spot near the fire. He must have moved once or twice, because the fire hadn't dwindled. He'd tossed logs on, then. But to look at him, you wouldn't have thought so. He was like a wooden sculpture, sitting cross-legged on the ground with the woven blanket draped over his shoulders. If his voice—slightly hoarse now—hadn't been raised slightly in song, Wes might have been startled to see him sitting so still.
Wes drew Paint to a halt and slid from the smooth white back. And as he did, Turtle stopped chanting and looked up. "You found her," he said.
Wes nodded and turned to the pack he'd slung over the horse's rump, pulled it off, then unbuckled and opened the flap. He pulled out a battered old coffeepot, the canteen full of water and a can with some coffee inside. The items rattled and clanked as he found the two tin cups in the pack, and with his arms loaded, he strode over to the fire. "Taylor's fine. She took it into her head to bring some supplies out here last night, and took a wrong turn. Wound up camping out
at No Man's Bluff." Hunkering down, Wes dropped the items on the ground, opened the canteen and filled the coffeepot.
"You stayed with her?"
Wes heard the speculation in Turtle's voice and glanced up sharply. "Yeah."
The old man averted his eyes, but Wes thought he'd spotted a twinkle in them first. Couldn't be sure, though. He hadn't expected it. He'd figured Turtle would be angry, if anything, at the idea of Wes spending the night with her. Screwing things up for the prospective bridegroom Turtle had picked out for Taylor.
Odd. Wes poured coffee into the pot's basket, guessing at the amount since he hadn't brought a spoon to measure it. Then he slapped the lid on and settled the pot on a thick forked limb amid the flames.
"Something is on your mind," Turtle said. "Sit down and tell me."
Wes sat, eyeing Turtle and wondering yet again about the old man's instincts. He always knew what Wes was thinking, or it seemed that way to him. "Yeah, there is something," he said. "A wolf got into Taylor's camp last night."
Turtle nodded slowly. "Only one?"
"Only one."
"You had a fire?"
"It was burning low, but still burning." Wes sighed. "I tried that thing you taught me. Holding his eyes and speaking to him with my mind."
"Ah," Turtle said.
"And I thought he answered me."
Turtle's head came up, eyes narrowed on Wes's face. "He called you brother?" the old man asked.
Wes frowned hard. "How could you know that?"
The old face split in a grin of long, straight teeth. "Because it is what the Tortoise called me when he came to me seventy years ago."
Wes grinned. "Sure, he did. We don't have any tortoises in these parts. You're playing with me again, aren't you, pal?"
Turtle shook his head. "It wasn't a tortoise. It was the spirit of the tortoise. I was napping in the sunlight when a shadow fell over my face, and I opened my eyes to see him standing beside me, blinking slowly. And I saw his powerful beak and thought he might snap my hand off if it pleased him."
Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy Page 16