by Pamela Clare
“I’ve got a friend here in Denver who’s a realtor. She can help Vicki narrow her search and handle the rental agreement for her.”
“Can you text Victoria … the realtor’s number?” The morphine was really kicking in now. “She’s got so much on her mind.”
“You got it. If you or Vicki need anything else—help with medical bills, meals, someone to drive, watch Caden, go to the grocery store—please let me know. I’ve got your six. You’re a hero to the people of Scarlet and to me.”
“Thanks.” Eric’s throat grew tight. “Coming from you, that really means something.”
Eric didn’t realize his eyes were closed until Nate spoke again.
“You rest, buddy. You did your part. Just heal and let us take it from here.”
Chapter 23
Brandon followed Libby through his front door, glad to be home. “Smoky with subtle undertones of smoke.”
He’d left the windows open, and smoke from the fire had gotten in. It hadn’t done any lasting damage and would clear eventually. Then again, the entire area around Scarlet Springs still smelled of smoke.
Libby set his bag of junk down inside the door. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
Wearing overall shorts and a yellow tube top, her hair in three ridiculous braids, she buzzed into his bedroom—their bedroom—and turned down the bed. “I washed the sheets last night. I wanted everything to be clean so you don’t get an infection.”
“That was sweet of you. Thanks.” He didn’t want to spend the day resting, but his body said otherwise.
He pulled off his T-shirt and crawled carefully into bed, wearing only the shorts she’d brought him and his underwear. His lower legs were heavily bandaged. Doctors had stitched sheets of lab-grown pig skin onto the deepest burns to help them heal—which made wearing pants difficult. His hands and elbows were bandaged, too, but without the temporary skin grafts.
And his face…
His doctor said those burns would heal, but the scars would take time to fade. Brandon didn’t really care. What mattered to him was dashing around the house right now, wearing three silly braids, and fussing over him.
He wouldn’t lie. He liked that.
“I’ll bring you your pain pills and some water.”
“I can get them myself.”
“No, you rest.” She left the room.
He grinned, laid back onto his pillow. He would need to find room for her stuff, clear out space from his closet, on his bookshelves, in the bathroom cabinet.
She reappeared with a glass of ice water in one hand and a bottle of Percocet in the other. “You’re supposed to take your next dose in two hours. I’m going to set the oven timer so you don’t miss it.”
He caught her wrist. “Hey, come here.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He patted his bare chest. “See any burns here?”
She shook her head, smiled, stretched out carefully beside him, resting her cheek on his chest. “I’ve spent so much time here it already feels like home.”
“That’s good.” Brandon kissed her forehead. “I’ll clear out space for you soon. Where is the stuff you managed to rescue from your house?”
She pointed.
He lifted his head, saw a small suitcase, her TV, and a few plastic garbage bags sitting in the corner of his room. “That’s it?”
Damn.
She nodded. “I only took the important stuff—my record collection, my beer bottles, my nail polish, my TV and computer, my sex toys, some clothes.”
“Vinyl, beer bottles, electronics, nail polish, and sex toys.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve got your priorities straight.”
“Some.” She raised herself onto her elbow, looked down at him. “I took that stupid music box—the one my dad gave me before he disappeared. I don’t know why.”
“It must mean something to you.”
He’d thought a lot about what she’d told him—the violence and abandonment she’d experienced as a kid. That kind of pain cut deep. It was bound to affect their relationship again and again. But he would rather spend his life on a rollercoaster with Libby than walk a smooth, straight path with anyone else.
He loved her. It was as simple as that.
Her lips curved in a little smile. “The plastic bag holding my sex toys broke on the way out to my car. The Deputy US Marshal who helped me evacuate was standing right there when it happened. He saw everything. I had to run inside and get the suitcase. Then these other two guys walked up—”
Brandon couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, the mental image of Libby scrambling to pick up vibrators, dildos, and cock rings under the supervision of a deputy US marshal more than he could handle.
“You think that’s funny?”
Brandon was laughing too hard to answer.
Libby stood, peeled off her overalls, pulled the tube top over her head, freeing her breasts. “I think I need to test them to see whether any were broken.”
Brandon got a hold of himself. “You should wash them before you do that.”
She grabbed a handful of things out of the suitcase, disappeared into the bathroom, and returned a few minutes later.
Brandon settled in, ready for a show.
She picked the pink one first—a run-of-the-mill cylindrical vibe—and turned it on, the buzzing sound proof that it worked. Then she reached over, those beautiful breasts swaying, and rubbed the damned thing over the bulge in his shorts.
Sure, it was arousing, but it wasn’t going to get him off.
“Libby, I’m all doped up. I doubt—”
She jerked his shorts down far enough to free his half-hard cock and gave him a lick, teasing the head with her tongue.
And just like that, he was hard as a rock.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “You were saying?”
“Huh?” He couldn’t remember saying anything.
She drew him into her mouth, worked the head of his cock with her tongue, teased the shaft with the vibrator.
Okay, it felt good—and strange.
He reached out to fondle her breasts, but she turned away, set that vibrator aside, and picked up the vibrating cock ring.
“Let’s see if this one still works.” She turned it on, touched the vibrating part to the underside of his cock where he was most sensitive, her tongue flicking the tip.
He jerked, gasped. “Shit.”
He liked her mouth more than the vibrators and her vagina more than her mouth, but there was something about this, something irritatingly arousing.
“How does that feel?”
“Libby!”
She stopped, smiled at him, stroking his length.
“No more vibrators. I just want you.”
She straddled him backward. “I don’t want to bump your legs.”
“Okay.” Brandon didn’t give a shit at this moment.
She moved the crotch of her panties aside and guided him inside her.
Brandon groaned, grasped her hips, guiding her as she rode him, her ass cheeks bouncing in a way that drove him crazy. He could tell from the motion of her right arm that she was stroking her clit, and that drove him crazy, too.
He took hold of one of her braids, gave a tug, pulled her head back, his hips driving into her from below. “God, yes.”
She came with a cry, the sound of her pleasure driving him over the edge, orgasm drenching him with bliss.
She snuggled against his chest afterward, careful of his burns. “I love you, Brandon. It scares the hell out of me, but I love you.”
“We’ll take it one day at a time.” He tried to stay awake, to stay with her.
She got up, bent down, kissed him. “Sleep.”
An orgasm and Percocet.
Did he have any choice?
Chaska drove down a winding country road, Naomi in the seat beside him, Old Man and Winona in the back. Ahead on his right, he saw it—a large wooden sign that read Wind River Wolf Sanc
tuary. “Here we are.”
He and Naomi exchanged a quick glance.
The day had finally come.
Chaska parked near a red-brick ranch-style house and climbed out, Naomi and the others joining him.
“This way.” Winona led them toward the house.
A blond woman in jeans, cowboy boots, and a white T-shirt stepped outside. “Hey, Winona. It’s great to see you again.”
Winona introduced the woman to the rest of them. “This is Heather. She runs the sanctuary. Heather, this is my Grandfather, my brother, Chaska, and my sister-in-law Naomi.”
Heather shook hands with each of them. “Great to meet you.”
“Heather and I met online years ago. She runs the sanctuary. They offer a home to wolves and wolf hybrids.”
Heather gave them a quick overview. “We’ve got about seven hundred acres and, at the moment, twenty-two wolves and wolf-dog hybrids. They have lots of room to run, some natural game to eat, and full-time monitoring and care.”
“I brought Shota’s crate.”
Heather smiled. “Great. Let’s go see him.”
Winona nodded, a forced smile on her face. “Yes. Thanks.”
Heather loaded them onto a muddy UTV, talking as they drove through the property. “A lot of people don’t know what they’re getting themselves into when they adopt a wolf. Maybe they’ve always had big dogs, but wolves aren’t like big dogs. There’s a part of them that stays wild. I’ve seen them tear through drywall and rip crates apart in minutes. We take in wolf hybrids at risk of being euthanized and wolves that can’t live in the wild.”
Like Shota.
Chaska wasn’t sure how his sister was holding it together. She loved Shota like a mother loved a child. She’d hand-reared him, cared for him around the clock, saved his furry life. For her to give him up was both incredibly brave and utterly selfless.
She had agonized about it these past few days after Heather called to tell her that Shota had bonded with a female named Aput. Wolves were pack animals, and though Shota was attached to Winona, she wasn’t a wolf.
“I can’t be there with him all day every day like packmates would,” she’d said. “If I ever find a boyfriend or have children, I’ll have to worry about Shota’s reaction. He’ll have so much more room there than he does here. He’ll be with other wolves. I’ll be able to move out of the house, get my own place, get out of your hair.”
Naomi had taken her hand. “You’re welcome to stay here. It’s your home, too.”
But Winona was determined to do the right thing for Shota—and for herself.
As Old Man had said, “Sometimes, doing the right thing means doing the hard thing.”
That’s why they’d all come.
They were here to support Winona while she said goodbye to a dear friend.
“I’m going to stop on this rise.” Heather pulled a pair of battered binoculars out from under her seat. “They’re over there.”
Winona took the binoculars, looked in the direction Heather had pointed, her lips curving in a tremulous smile. “Oh, she’s pretty! She’s pure white. They’re playing.”
“They bonded through the fence almost immediately. Aput—that’s an Inuit word for snow—has been by herself for a while. She’s an alpha female to her core. She took to Shota right away. I put them in together to see how it would go, and they just clicked.”
Winona turned, handed the binoculars to Chaska, tears on her cheeks.
He held them up, looked in the same direction Winona had.
There they were—romping, chasing each other. Then Aput dropped to the ground, lying on her side in a gesture of submission. Shota wagged his tail, nipped her, licked her muzzle.
Heather drove on, Chaska handing the binoculars first to Old Man, who chuckled, and then to Naomi, who looked like she might cry, too. Shota had saved her life, after all, and brought her and Chaska together.
They stopped fifty yards from the fence that marked the boundary of the enclosure.
Heather gestured toward the fence. “Go say hello, but be careful where Aput is concerned. I can’t say how she’ll react if you stick your hand inside.”
Winona walked forward, Chaska following with Naomi and Old Man.
Shota saw her immediately. He trotted to the fence, gave a welcoming yap.
Winona reached inside to pet Shota, speaking to him softly in Lakota.
Aput didn’t look like she liked this and moved closer, head down, teeth bared.
Shota snapped at Aput, stopping her in her tracks.
Winona scratched Shota behind his ears. “You look happy here, Shota. You have a new friend. That’s good. A wolf needs a pack. I love you, and I will miss you so much. But this is your home now. I want you to be happy. I’ll come to visit you sometimes. I promise.”
Shit.
Chaska’s throat grew tight.
“You have been a good friend. I’m so happy to have known you. Walk well, Shota. I will see you again.”
There was no word in Lakota for goodbye.
At that, Winona took a step backward, anguish on her face as Shota bounded off with the other wolf. As they drove away in the UTV, Shota turned to face them once more—and howled.
Winona smiled through her tears. “He’s saying thank you.”
Heather nodded. “He sure is.”
Five weeks later
Eric sat in the passenger seat while Vicki drove into Scarlet Springs. Tonight was the big fundraiser at Knockers. Joe and Jack West had put it together, and they’d wanted to wait until Eric was out of the hospital and able to attend.
They’d left Caden with Eric’s mom. This was Eric’s first evening out since before the fire, and Vicki wanted the two of them to be able to relax.
Eric wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to be there, but he couldn’t say that. He didn’t like being called a hero. He hadn’t done anything special.
“I know a secret,” Vicki said. “Joe seeds the pot.”
“What do you mean ‘Joe seeds the pot’?”
“He throws money into the donation jar when people aren’t looking. He knows he has more to give than anyone else in town, but he wants people to invest in their own community and have a sense of ownership in the outcome of these events.”
“So, he makes it look like donations are coming thick and fast from everywhere.” Eric was impressed. “I always wondered how a community as small as Scarlet could raise a hundred grand. Who told you?”
“Rain.”
Of course.
“She figured it out a long time ago but never said anything to him about it.”
Eric chuckled. “Yeah, Old Caribou Joe—he’s a clever one.”
The parking lot at Knockers was packed, but someone had reserved a spot for them near the front door, a hand-painted wooden sign that read “Eric & Vicki Hawke” sitting at the curb.
“They don’t want you to have to walk far.”
“I can walk just fine.” Okay, so it wasn’t always comfortable, especially with the compression sleeve on his calf. But he could walk.
He climbed out, made it to the door before Vicki did, and opened it for her. “I told you I can walk just fine.”
“Show off.”
They walked inside, heads turning their way.
“He’s here!”
“Hawke is here.”
“He looks good.”
“Eric Hawke!” Bear sat at a table near the door, dinner and a tall glass of milk on the table in front of him.
“Hey, Bear.” Eric was happy to see him whole and alive.
Part of the proceeds from tonight would go toward rebuilding Bear’s cabin. Joe had hired an attorney to fight for Bear’s ownership of the land. The proceedings hadn’t gotten far before a former county employee had admitted to burying the deed so the county could claim the land.
Rain met Eric and Vicki, gave them each a hug. “God, it’s good to see you again, Eric. The Team saved places for you at the usual table.”
They made their way to the back corner near the climbing wall, but it was slow going. Everyone seemed to be here tonight. Chip and Charles. Herb, the pharmacist. Zach McBride, Marc Hunter, Julian Darcangelo, and their wives. They were hanging with Julia Marcs, Joaquin Ramirez and his wife Mia, who was holding their two-week-old baby boy.
“He’s so cute! Can I hold him?” Vicki asked. “What did you name him?”
“Érik—after your husband.” Mia laid the bundle in Vicki’s arms. “Érik Matías Ramirez.”
“I’m touched, really.” Eric gave Ramirez a hug. The two had stayed in touch, and Eric considered him a true friend. “Congratulations, man. How do you like being a father?”
Ramirez’s face lit up. “It’s the best.”
Lt. Gov. Reece Sheridan was with them, too. “This is my wife, Kara.”
Kara shook Eric’s and Vicki’s hands. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Brandon was there with Libby, the two of them sitting with John Wright and his wife, Susan. “Chief.”
Eric hugged Silver and shook John’s hand. “You two look like shit.”
Where they’d had blisters on his face, they now had red patches just like Eric.
Silver grinned. “You, too, man.”
The Wests had a table to themselves—Jack, Janet, Nate, and Megan. They stood as he and Vicki drew near, shook his hand. They had done so much this past month to help Vicki and make the burden of Eric’s recovery easier on her.
Vicki kissed Jack and Nate on the cheek. “I don’t know how to thank you all.”
“You just did,” Jack said. “You’re welcome. We were happy to help.”
“You’re looking better,” Nate said.
“You were right. It gets easier.”
Rose kissed Eric on the cheek.
Bob Jewel socked him on the shoulder. “The Inn has survived two fires now, thanks to you. I’ve got a bottle of scotch for you.”
“If he doesn’t drink it first,” Kendra joked.
Finally, they reached the Team table.
“Look who’s here.” Sasha jumped up, came around the table to hug them both. “It’s so good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back.” That was the understatement of the century.