A Temporary Arrangement

by Roxanne Rustand

  "Why not? It's a beautiful day. I actually thought about going by myself, but I'd feel safer with someone along."'

  A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw.

  She laughed lightly. "For heaven's sake. I'm hardly going to jump you out there. We had a little fling...and finally got that behind us. Right? Nothing special."

  "Uh.. .no." He clenched his jaw. "This isn't really a pleasure trip, though. Frank Carter e-mailed this morning and asked if I could track down the wolf collar emitting a mortality signal."

  "Isn't that his job?"

  "It is, but I spend a great deal of time in that area anyway, and he's got another commitment."

  "I'll just tag along, then. Honestly. I could really use a distraction."

  "Of course." His frown faded. "Have you heard anything?"

  "Not yet. I'm just hoping someone saw my attacker last night, and that the money turns up."

  "I hope so, too." He glanced up at the clock. "If you really do want to come along. I'll have you back in time to leave for the fairgrounds."

  "Super." He still didn't sound thrilled, but that didn't matter. She lifted a pair of khaki shorts and a

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  scarlet T-shirt out of the laundry basket. "Excuse me. I'll just be a minute."

  And then suppressed the sudden urge to shut her bedroom door in his face.

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  though the occasional flash of her waist was proving to be its own kind of punishment.

  Every step reminded him of how sweet and sexy and smart she was. Of how much he'd been enjoying her company this past month. And how damned foolish it had been to take her to bed last night.

  He'd already known he was going to miss her, come September. Now he was going to miss her a hell of a lot more.

  Yet—when he'd tried to put some safe distance between them once again—she'd dismissed that incredible night as a casual fling, which was just one more thing that showed how totally wrong they were for each other.

  Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace. Maybe it had been forgettable. To her. But he'd be remembering it for a long, long time. "Veer to the right after that next big boulder," he called.

  When he got there she'd propped her fanny against the boulder and was leaning over, applying suntan lotion to her long, slender legs. Between the expanse of bare tanned skin at the small of her back and those legs, there was far more temptation than he cared to see.

  "Want some?" She replaced the cap and held out the plastic bottle. Her dark sunglasses and the bill of her cap shaded her eyes, but her teeth flashed white as she smiled. "It's SPF 50."

  "No thanks." He gave her a wide berth. "We need to keep moving, if we're to get home by noon."

  "Right." She bounced to her feet and stowed the lotion in her low-slung hip pack. "How long do you figure this will take?"

  "Three hours, easily. I can take you back, if this is too much for you," he suggested hopefully.

  "Not at all. I'm just sorry we have a time constraint." She flashed a wicked smile. "You know, we uptown girls do our hiking on high heels and cement during all those shopping trips, so this is a snap."

  Had he said something about her being incapable—or had he just thought it? Trying to remember, he caught the edge of his backpack against a poplar trunk and nearly lost his footing.

  "Careful," she called.

  He pushed on ahead, moving faster than he normally would. By the time he got over the next hill, he felt guilty. She'd been nothing more than pleasant and enthusiastic today.

  A credit to her, given the stressful day yesterday and the fact that she'd gotten almost no sleep last night. He was acting like a complete jerk.

  And right now she was lagging behind, probably exhausted and developing blisters. He turned to go back over the rise and nearly ran into her.

  She held out her hand and fluttered her fingertips under his nose. "What do you think—is this too, too red?"

  The pungent odor of wet nail polish assailed his nose. She was doing her nails while she walked?

  She pulled them back and studied them. "Maybe

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  so. But let's keep going, okay? I really would love to see that lake." She patted her fanny pack. "I've got a 256 MB disk in my digital camera, so I can take hundreds of pictures."

  "I'm not sure we'll have that kind of time."

  "Not to worry. I can pretty much take them on the run," she chirped. "I wouldn't dream of being an inconvenience."

  Realization hit him like a fast ball to the gut. "This is about last night," he said. "Between you and me."

  "Last night?" She bit her lip, looking truly mystified. "I have no idea what you mean."

  He needed to tread softly here. If she broke down and got all emotional, how the hell would he get her all the way back home? And when? Barbara had always wanted to talk, too. And talk and talk and talk. Especially when she was upset. Which is how, on one fateful night, he'd unexpectedly found himself engaged to the last woman on earth he ever should have married.

  "You're upset with me," he said carefully.

  She gave a noncommittal shrug. "Why?"

  "I took advantage of the situation, and I'm sorry."

  An airy flip of her hand dismissed his concern. "I think I'm the one who took advantage of the situation, not you. And I do want to thank you for the distraction after one very bad evening. So let's just drop the subject, okay?"

  He'd woken up this morning dreading any long-term expectations she might have after a sensational

  night of sex. Now he was free and clear.. .though he wasn't too sure he was happy about it.

  If she wasn't upset over that, maybe he'd looked too dubious when she'd hauled out those serious-looking hiking boots and he'd insulted her. He had a feeling he wouldn't get very far with that apology, either.

  Sometimes it was just better to cut your losses and shut up.

  At Swiftwater Creek he waved toward a faint deer trail leading through a stand of skeleton-white birch. "The lake is another quarter mile that way. I've got to cross here and go about a mile to check on that missing wolf."

  "Hmm." She tipped her head, considering. "Maybe I'll just go on to the lake, then."

  "I'd rather we stayed together."

  "That's sweet, but you said the wolves try to avoid people. Right?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Then I'd rather start taking pictures so I don't hold you up. Don't worry, I did do a fair amount of hiking in Michigan on my own."

  He believed it after seeing her in action. Still, he hesitated. He'd never seen another person out here, and with the midmorning sun high in the sky, few of the larger animals would be out foraging. If he moved fast, he'd be able to rejoin her in less than forty-five minutes.

  "I'm a big girl, Ethan. I'll see you later."

  "Wait." He swung his backpack off and searched the seldom-used side pockets. "I still have these from

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  my last trip to Glacier," he said. He tossed her an aerosol can of bear spray, then unwrapped the clanger and also tossed her a brass cow bell. "Just make a lot of noise and sing."

  "Thanks. But believe me, if I start singing, this entire forest will empty."

  "Just don't terrify the wolves, okay?" She laughed. "I'll try to be selective."

  Ethan checked his current GPS position against the coordinates Frank had given him and started out on a meandering deer trail at a jog.

  When the trail twisted to the south, he struck out through the brush, dodging low-hanging spruce branches and skirting tangles of wild raspberry and outcroppings of rock partly hidden by vegetation.

  Every few minutes he rechecked his position on the GPS device in his hand, readjusted his direction and forged on, his progress hampered by the terrain and underbrush. In a quarter mile range of his quarry, he stopped. Listened. Sorted out the fragrances of pine and damp earth.

  At the top of the next rise he dropped
the GPS back in his pocket and followed the odor of wolf— typical, because of the carrion they often rolled in— the last twenty feet.

  It was the yearling male he'd watched from its birth and had collared with Frank's help just last fall. A dark, blood-matted hole in its hide identified the entry of a rifle bullet.

  Ethan's sense of loss bit deep. Not all the pups in a litter survived. Wolves of all ages succumbed to other wolves, to highway traffic, to mange and distemper. But this one had been a robust male with good prospects for successful dispersal into new territory until some bastard had ended his life.

  Swearing under his breath, Ethan released the radio collar, sealed it in a plastic bag to contain the musky wolf odor, and dropped it into his backpack.

  In slowly widening circles he scanned the ground for evidence. Sure enough, he found a boot heel print in a patch of mud—too blurred for further identification—which showed that the shooter had come to check out his kill.

  Another ten feet away a cigarette butt lay near part of a sneaker print. Two people, then, at least one of them a smoker. From the size of the prints they were likely both males.

  Which didn't rule out many suspects at all.

  He pulled out his cell phone and checked for a signal. Bingo. Surprised at finding even a weak signal, he punched in Frank's speed dial number but only got his voice mail.

  "Hey, your coordinates were right on. Rifle shot, just as we thought. Found two sets of footprints— probably male—and a Camel cigarette butt. It was chilly enough last night that the carcass doesn't show much decomposition yet. A four-wheeler can get to the site easily, so someone needs to pick him up for necropsy/'

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  Ethan ended the call and took a final survey of the area. "You deserved better than this," he said as he paused by the young wolf one last time. "I'm sorry."

  This was government property and there was no livestock out here to defend. The killing was a senseless waste. The fact that the culprit would probably never be caught filled Ethan with anger.

  Just once, I want to catch one of those bastards in the act.

  He found Abby on the massive boulder overlooking the lake, kneeling with her butt in the air and her elbows braced on the rough granite, her camera just inches from a cluster of bluebells growing out of a split in the rock.

  She sat up and tugged on the bill of her cap. "Any luck?"

  "Not for the wolf."

  "Oh." Her smile faded. "I suppose some jerks thought they were hot stuff, killing a beautiful animal like that."

  "Unless it was a livestock owner out for revenge."

  "Now what?"

  "The state will pick him up for necropsy. They'll check his nutritional status and overall health."

  "Can they do ballistics on the bullet and find out who did it?"

  He had to smile at that. "Maybe on 'Law and Order,' but it's a little beyond the scope of this situation."

  The sun had turned the tip of her nose pink. In-

  dignation brought color into her cheeks to match. "So what can we do about it?"

  "The DNR can hope for a good lead. Maybe these guys will brag to the wrong person, or someone will see them the next time they're out looking for fun/'

  "And in the meantime, they can decimate the wolves up here and just feel really proud. That's despicable."

  "I agree." He looked out over the lake, waiting for its beauty to fill him with a sense of calm and peace. Instead his gaze veered back to Abby.

  She looked through her viewfinder at a gnarled, stunted spruce that had somehow gained a foothold in a crevice of rock. "You never really told me what you do with the wolves. I mean, I know you watch them, but..."

  He settled on the rock next to her and watched an eagle soar high overhead. "Wolf pups are born in the spring. Usually by mid-June the pack moves among several rendezvous sites in the area, where the pups are left while the adults hunt."

  "All alone?"

  "They're well hidden. This year, I've been observing this pack as much as I can, at different times of the day. With GPS data from their collars, tracking by air and the footprints, I'll follow them when the snow falls. I should have a detailed history of their range and how they interact."

  "And when you're working for the DNR?"

  "A lot of different things. One was helping

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  students who come north to study the wolves as part of their college program. They help do howl studies, snow tracking and radio monitoring."

  "Howl studies?" She grinned. "That's so cute."

  "It's useful, actually. The juveniles have a different pitch. It helps locate the den and gauge the success of the pack's population."

  "Ah. How well they howl?"

  "How many pups survive."

  "Now that's just sad."

  Watching the range of emotions play across her face, he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest. But she's leaving and you can't, he reminded himself sharply. This is where his work was. This is where he'd inherited land that had been in his family for generations.

  He launched to his feet and shouldered his pack. "We need to start back so you can get to the fairgrounds."

  "I sure hope someone will have news about the theft. Maybe the guy's been caught."

  "With luck, the thief wasn't very smart." He waited while she gathered her things, then started down the path. "Most of them aren't."

  A gunshot reverberated through the shallow valley below and the two froze. A flock of birds rushed skyward.

  The forest fell totally, eerily, silent.

  "Oh, my God," Abby whispered. "What was that ?"

  He held up a hand and listened. Waited. Then he

  turned and saw her pale face. "I'm not sure who it was, but that was a rifle, and it's straight ahead. I think we'd better take another route home."

  pathy "—questioned the other three whose fingerprints were on the box. Everyone had airtight alibis for the entire night of the theft."

  Abby's stomach squeezed into a tight fist. "So now I'm a suspect." She tried to quell the tremble in her voice. "Is he coming here to question me?"

  "He'll be arriving in a few minutes. I'm really sorry, Abby. It's just a formality. Don't think for even a minute that I have any doubts."

  "I'll gladly take a lie detector test, anything to clear my name." She stood and looked out the windows into the July sunshine. Canada geese strolled along the small pond at the far end of the lawn. An elderly long-term-care resident sat in a wheelchair on the patio, visiting with a relative. A normal day. Normal activities. Except a sheriff would soon walk through her door. What if he didn't believe her?

  "I'm sure everything will—" Erin stared at the floor by Abby's desk. "Look."

  "What?"

  Mystified, Abby stood and moved to the side of her desk, then crouched to pick up a scattering of paper beneath it.

  Two checks, made out to the Blackberry Hill Memorial Fund-raiser.

  A fifty-dollar bill.

  Shocked, she stared at the money. Then she lifted her gaze to meet Erin's.

  "Oh, Abby," she whispered. "Is that from the auction?"

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  "I—I didn't know it was in here." Abby sat back on her heels, her thoughts racing. "How could this be?"

  At a sharp rap on the door, she looked over her shoulder and froze. Sheriff Johnson stood there, his expression grim and assessing as he stared at what she was holding.

  "You found some missing money?" His voice was flat. "In your own office."

  "Yes—I think so. Just now." Standing, she felt out of breath, as if she'd run for a mile without stopping. "Erin happened to look down, and there it was— under my desk."

  He shifted his attention to Erin. "You knew I'd be stopping by. Did you tell Abby?"

  Erin paled. "Why, yes."

  "When?"

  The look she shot Abby begged her forgiveness. "Just a few minutes ago. We were talking about the the
ft, and I thought she should know."

  "Convenient discovery, then." Frowning, he reached into a leather pouch at his waist and pulled out a pair of vinyl gloves. From another he retrieved a plastic bag. "Move back, Ms. Cahill, to the opposite wall. I'd like to look through the desk, if that's okay with you?"

  Abby nodded. "Absolutely."

  He carefully searched the drawers and pulled a handful of checks from a hanging file.

  Shock and fear turned Abby's blood to ice. Each passing second seemed to last an hour as he continued. One check after another after another.

  "I had no idea. Really. My office door was locked that night. It always is. And..."

  The sheriff held up a hand to silence her.

  A lifetime later he stood. "Mrs. Reynolds, I counted fourteen checks in addition to the fifty. How much is actually missing?"

  Erin bowed her head. "There should be four thousand, eight hundred and fifty in cash, based on the auction receipts. The rest of the people paid by check."

  "So most of the cash is still missing." He lifted his stony gaze to Abby's face. "You have to come with me, ma'am. We need to talk, and I'd rather conduct this down at my office."

  The room started to spin. "A-are you saying that I'm under arrest?" This had to be a joke. A crazy, far out, stupid joke. "I've never even had ^parking ticket."

  "It's no joke, ma'am." The sheriff drew up to his full height, one hand on his service belt.

  Probably ready to haul out his handcuffs, Abby thought bitterly. "Don't worry. I'll come with you. But I sure hope you have a lie detector available, because this is absurd."

  "W-wait," Erin said faintly. "This isn't right. It can't be. If she took the money, why on earth would she hide it so badly? Someone wanted them to be found. And they must have hidden it here, so Abby would take the blame."

  The sheriff glanced from one to the other. "Why don't both of you come with me? Oh, and feel free to look upset when you leave."

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  The two women walked out together, with the sheriff behind them. But in the parking lot he told them to take Erin's car and follow him.