Terry Spear’s Wolf Bundle

by Terry Spear

  “I was gathering firewood. I guess he thought I was a new species of game bird.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to be shooting in the middle of the night.” She finished taping the gauze to the wound. “Are you really all right? Have you had a recent tetanus shot?”

  “Yes, to both.”

  She stared at him for a second, her look concerned again, and touched his arm, a jolt of electricity heating his blood. “I can’t afford to lose you before you help me find Bethany’s killer.”

  He raised a brow. “And here I thought you had a hankering for me.”

  “Humpf.” She jerked Michael’s sweatshirt off the floor and waved it at Hunter, her face stern, but he could see she was half-teasing. “You’re only borrowing my brother’s clothes. I expected you’d give them back in the same shape you received them.”

  “I’ll try to run faster next time.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine you running from anyone.”

  She had that right.

  She returned to the bathroom and rinsed the blood out in the sink, and then the shower curtain rings slid across the rod. A dripping sound in the bathtub followed that.

  When she climbed back into bed, Hunter leaned down, kissed the top of her head, breathed in her heady sweet scent, and pulled her into his arms. And wished he could have her, that she was one of his kind, and she’d want him in return.

  “I’ll try not to get any more of his things shot up. And when I’m able, I’ll buy him replacements. Sleep, Tessa. Or we’ll have to take a nap in the middle of the day to make up for not sleeping half the night.”

  “You have to report this to the sheriff’s office.”

  “The shooter said he would.”

  She turned and stared at Hunter. “You talked to him?”

  He tightened his hold on her, keeping her soft body pressed against his chest, her bottom seated provocatively against his arousal. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice growing ragged with need. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “He shot you on my property so it has everything to do with me. What did he say? That he was going to report how he’d shot you?”

  “More like that he was going to tell the sheriff how I destroyed his brand-new rifle.”

  Her eyes grew even bigger, the blue specks highlighting the green gems. “What…what did he look like?”

  “He said I stole Michael’s clothes. He had shoulder-length blond hair, stood a little shorter than me, talked big, but was shaking in his boots.”

  “Ashton Wellington.”

  “Who?”

  “The sheriff’s son and Michael’s best friend. Great. His father can be a real pain in the butt when it comes to protecting his son.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” He wrapped a curl of hair around his finger and examined the color and texture. “After all, the guy shot me, not the other way around.”

  “Yeah, but you destroyed his gun.” She frowned at Hunter. “How?”

  “I tossed it in the ocean. Figured he’d wake you up, and he shouldn’t have been shooting that close to your house anyway.”

  She groaned and hugged his arms wrapped around her chest, drawing him into her silky embrace, making his blood sizzle—siren.

  “Expect the sheriff’s visit early in the morning,” she warned.

  He nuzzled his face in her hair, smelled the fragrant peach scent, wanted to lick every inch of her skin to see if she tasted just as sweet. “What role do you want me to play?”

  “Cousin from back east. You’re staying with me until we clear Michael of his crime.”

  His hand stilled on her hair. “Gay cousin?”

  She snorted. “Like anyone would believe that.”

  He smiled and rubbed her arm with a slow, stroking caress. “Good. Not that I care much for being a cousin either, too easy to get caught up in a lie.”

  “What then? My lover?”

  He chuckled darkly. “Works for me.”

  Chapter 4

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING BEFORE TESSA WOKE, HUNTER searched through her house for any reason a lupus garou would have specifically targeted her other than the fact her pheromones undoubtedly had something do with attracting him and soon found something he couldn’t comprehend. Wolf pictures filled three desk drawers in the guest bedroom. Since lupus garou wolves looked just like regular wolves, he couldn’t tell if they were real wild wolves, or his kind. Not unless he could smell them. Against a wall, shelves housed several books on wolf behavior also.

  But why she’d have tons of photos and books on them, and why her scent attracted him to such an arousing degree—

  A sepia photo half-hidden by the wolf pictures caught his attention, and he pulled it out. “Seth.”

  Sitting next to a woman with a baby on her lap, Seth appeared more youthful than Hunter remembered him, his handlebar mustache curled high, his pale eyes as serious as the rest of the expression on his face. Hunter recalled seeing him in a photo panning for gold in California with his great-grandfather and great uncle, the three of them the best of friends. But he didn’t remember Seth having a mate before a rockslide had taken his life.

  Hunter glanced at the back of the photo. No identification. Why would Tessa have a photo of him? And how come Hunter remembered who Seth was, when nothing else was clear?

  In the closet, Hunter found a bunch of half-finished paintings, the focal point of the pictures, wolves—gray, red, Arctic.

  He frowned. Maybe Tessa’s brother used the wolf photos to create the paintings. But why not finish them? Why hide them away?

  Tessa stirred in her bed in the master bedroom. Hunter shut the closet door and left the guest bedroom to make the fire and start breakfast, but he had a lot of questions to ask the little lady.

  When Hunter’s arms had been wrapped tightly around her, Tessa felt warmer and more secure than she had in months—since the time the sheriff told her that her brother was suspected of murder.

  Except for Hunter nuzzling his face in her hair in the middle of the night, and rubbing his cheek on her shoulder another time, he hadn’t made any overtures that amounted to wanting something further. Probably because he didn’t know if he had a significant other, which made her appreciate him even more.

  After finding her father making out with different women on three occasions at home when her mother was gone, Tessa didn’t think any man could be faithful. Well, maybe she did. For a while. Until she began dating and then she knew the truth. Most men she’d known didn’t care who they were with as long as the woman agreed to have sex.

  Hunter’s warm embrace had been comforting, and Tessa wanted to bask in the feel of him, the masculine smell of him, the heat of his body all night long, but she finally had fallen into a deep slumber.

  When she fully awoke, she wasn’t surprised to find Hunter making eggs, sausages, biscuits, and coffee over the fire. Another load of wood was stacked neatly on the log rack. He seemed at home under the circumstances, which again made her wonder if he was an undercover operative or a Navy SEAL or something.

  Navy SEAL. She snorted. Yeah, that nearly drowned in the Pacific.

  Part of her hoped he’d remembered something about his former life, mainly that he wasn’t attached to anyone. But part of her was afraid he would recall too much, and he would leave her for his old life pronto. Right now, she needed him, if nothing more than for moral support, well, and protection.

  If someone had tried to kill him, she had no doubt he would want to square things with the person also. She still couldn’t believe Ashton Wellington had shot him.

  “Morning. I’ll get dressed and be right back,” Tessa said.

  “Morning.” Hunter’s masculine voice heated her through and through, his eyes capturing hers.

  She smiled. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Cliché, right. But god, he was—crouching before the fire, an elusive smile on his lips, his windswept hair curled about his shoulders, a shadow of a beard darkening his square jaw,
a look of seduction as the fire flickered in his eyes.

  “Ditto, Tessa.”

  She waved in the direction of the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.” Yet she didn’t want to leave. Never before had she wanted to be with a man 24/7. It wasn’t that she felt like moss that clung to a stone, rather, she just enjoyed his company—a little too much.

  In the bedroom, she slipped into a pair of jeans and a red turtleneck and sweater, then threw on a pair of warm knee-high socks and suede slipper boots. After washing her face in the icy water in the bathroom, she applied foundation, darkened her red lashes, and brushed her hair. She stared at the sink. Hopefully, the pipes wouldn’t freeze.

  She glanced at her brother’s sweatshirt hanging in the shower, the hole visible.

  Ashton was the reason her brother had gotten into so much trouble over the years. The sheriff always said Michael was the instigator. But he wasn’t. Michael was a born follower, Ashton, always the leader. So it didn’t surprise her he would pull something like this. Well, maybe a little. She didn’t think he’d do something so dangerous. What in the world had gotten into him? Drinking. Maybe. He could get crazy then—as she well knew.

  She padded down the hall into the living room where Hunter still hovered over the fireplace. He seemed so contemplative as he flipped the eggs and sausages, she didn’t want to disturb him, but he turned and smiled. The look was more smug than sweet, almost as if he had known she’d been quietly observing him.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He served up the eggs.

  She laughed a little under her breath. “What woman would complain? If Michael had ever made breakfast before I got my lazy bones out of bed, I would have been elated. And in shock.”

  Hunter would make some woman a darned good husband. But he seemed more like a mountain man, rugged, capable of living alone in the wilderness, yet he had a wonderful tender touch, too. He was perfect. If he wasn’t already attached.

  He handed her a plate. “I found some planks to board up the window, but wanted to wait until you were awake before I began banging around.”

  “Oh. Great. Thanks. I’ll help you.”

  His expression said he didn’t need assistance, but she owed him and she wasn’t about to let him do all that work himself.

  They took their meals to the dining table and sat down.

  “It’s still sleeting, a stalled storm front. I can manage without your help.”

  She raised her brows. “I bet you tell all your girlfriends that.”

  The forkful of eggs stopped midway to his mouth and his lips turned up a little, his amber eyes reflecting amusement.

  “We’re playing the part of lovers, remember?”

  “Ah. I wasn’t sure we’d agreed on that. I imagine people in this community might find that hard to believe.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “You’re right. They would, so when the sheriff comes, he’ll be our first test subject.”

  “Not sure he’ll make it in this weather. I’m surprised his son was able to get here.”

  “Or the intruder.” Tessa set her mug down, a lump lodged in her throat. “I never considered it before, but what if Ashton was the person who broke in? He was in the area, could have gotten a key from Michael—he’d been at the house plenty of times—and it would explain why he was still out here.”

  “What is Ashton’s relationship with you?” Hunter asked, super casual-like, but the undercurrent of edginess to his voice couldn’t be missed.

  And why not? The bastard had shot him. “I’m Michael’s annoying sister.”

  He looked skeptical. “Ashton appeared to be close to your age. Are you sure there’s not something more to it than that?”

  “We’re both twenty-three. Went to high school together. Michael met Ashton at a town fireworks display. My brother is two years younger and always looked up to Ashton. So no, Ashton has never shown any interest in me. He’s been in all kinds of trouble ever since we were kids. Senior high pranks, junior high pranks. You name it, he was always the ringleader. His dad was a police officer, then deputy sheriff until he was elected sheriff. He always covered for Ashton and blamed Michael for leading his son astray.”

  “Hmm, so then I must have led him astray last night when he shot at me.”

  “Shot you,” she corrected, her voice bitter. “Even if the bullet only grazed you, he still shot you.” That’s when she caught a glimpse of her ski cap…and the hole. “What…what happened to my hat?”

  Hunter shrugged and finished his eggs.

  Her heart raced lickety-split. “He didn’t shoot at you twice, did he?”

  “He missed me the one time, Tessa. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we have an understanding now.”

  “Ohmigod, he could have killed you! You have to tell the sheriff.”

  The expression on Hunter’s face indicated it was no big deal, and he wasn’t mentioning it.

  “All right, fine. I’ll tell him.” She jerked their dirty plates off the table. “The sheriff won’t be able to use my brother as a scapegoat for his son’s actions any longer.”

  “Let me handle this, Tessa.” He leaned back in the chair, his expression serious. “Not to change the subject, but I was looking for a phone book, to see if I recognized any names or addresses. Didn’t find one, although I came across a bunch of wolf photos in the desk drawer in your guest room.”

  Tessa’s heart hitched. How could she explain how she and her brother were incurably obsessed with wolves? She shrugged, then rinsed the plates.

  He took a deep breath, studying her, as if he was trying to catch her in a lie. Of course, she only felt that way because she was trying to hide her reaction.

  “I saw the paintings Michael did, too. Wonderful job. So where were the pictures taken?”

  “At wolf reserves or zoos. Michael and I do a fair amount of traveling so we can paint or photograph what we need to.” She stuck the dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Ah. And the books on wolf behavior?”

  She hesitated, and cleared her throat, hating the way her hands had grown clammy. Hunter probably had some hang-ups, too, so what was the big deal? “Some good wolf photos in them.”

  “For Michael’s paintings.”

  “Yes.” She wanted to see Hunter’s expression, but she busied herself with scrubbing the cooking pan. Did he believe her? She didn’t think she sounded believable. And she didn’t think he sounded like he was convinced.

  “What about the old-photo with the guy and the woman and baby?”

  She glanced back at him. “What?”

  He was so coolly noncommittal, it was almost as though he was hiding his own emotions. Which didn’t make any sense. “It was with the wolf pictures. Caught my eye because it was sepia, and I wondered if it was an old-time photo of a wolf. So it seemed out of place with the others. Who’s the family pictured?”

  Why would he ask? She didn’t know any guy who was interested in genealogy. “My great-grandfather, great-grandmother, and grandmother.”

  Unblinking, he stared at her.

  “You seem a little surprised.”

  Hunter joined her at the sink and massaged her shoulders with deep, comforting strokes and she relaxed.

  “I thought he looked like someone my great-grandfather panned for gold with. But I must be mistaken.”

  “Do you have a photo of them?”

  “Only of Seth Greystoke and my great-grandfather, but the photo’s gone—lost in a fire. But he couldn’t have been your relation.” Hunter straightened. “About this situation with the sheriff, I’ll take care of this, man to man.” The dark threat to his voice indicated he meant it.

  She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Hunter and the sheriff’s confrontation. She relaxed a little. “My great-grandfather’s name was Jeremiah Cramer. So you’re right about them not being the same man. As far as the sheriff goes, if you don’t tell him everything, I will. Had Ashton been drinking?”

  “No.” Hunter gave her shoulder
s a warm squeeze and headed for the living room.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “To board up the window.” He tossed on Michael’s field jacket, the ski cap, and gloves and was gone.

  The frying pan could wait. She rushed to get her snow boots, parka, and gloves on. Why in the world would Ashton have shot at Hunter twice if he’d been sober? Was he the one who was seeing Bethany behind Michael’s back? He had plenty of opportunities and motive, jealous that he couldn’t get a girl like Michael could and that her brother had become so popular because of his artwork.

  Tessa hurried outside to help Hunter, when she saw a figure dressed in a gray parka trudging and slipping along the winding road headed in their direction. She stared at him, trying to make out who the familiar figure was.

  Hunter cast a glance in the man’s direction. “You sure have a lot of visitors way out here as isolated as it is and as bad as the weather has gotten.”

  He began pounding a plank over the broken window.

  “It’s not—oh, hell, it’s Rourke.”

  Hunter paused and looked at her. “Rourke?”

  “The newspaper reporter.”

  Hunter raised a brow.

  “An old boyfriend from high school.”

  “From high school.” He pounded another piece of wood in place.

  Tessa grabbed the next board for him. “He’s looking into Michael’s claim someone else was seeing Bethany. At least if he wants dinner with me, he will.”

  “A date.” He took the plank from her and nailed it up.

  “I told him to use his investigative skills and find out something useful concerning Michael’s innocence.”

  He stopped and studied her. “So he believes Michael’s innocent?”

  “No. He just wants dinner.”

  Hunter smiled, but quickly masked the expression and took the next board from her.

  She frowned at him. “I’m not interested in Rourke.”

  “He’s simply a means to an end.”

  “Right.”

  “Ho!” Rourke hollered from a distance after picking himself up from the roadway a second time.