If Carl didn't go along with the arranged mating, his defiance would endanger his standing in the pack and his ability to negotiate for another season of smokejumping.
I should call for helitack and leave before the next storm rolls in.
But every part of him, man and wolf alike, rebelled at the thought.
He wanted another night with Michelle, this time with his cock buried to the hilt in her hot, wet, welcoming depths.
And that would be the absolute dumbest thing I could do right now, he chided himself.
It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to claim her completely last night, but he couldn't risk accidentally mating her and committing himself with a lifetime bond to a woman…an Ordinary woman…he'd just met.
You need to be thinking with your big head, not your little one right now.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the front door bang open, followed by a heavy tread.
"Hey, Mica!" called a male voice. "What's for breakfast?"
Chapter 12
Protective Instincts
Well, this should be interesting, thought Carl.
"Michelle's not here at the moment, but I'm making pancakes and scrambled eggs," he replied.
The pancake batter in the pan looked nice and bubbly, so he grabbed the spatula and began flipping the pancakes, all the while tracking the footsteps approaching from the mudroom, then through the living room with its creaking hardwood floor.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded the voice.
Carl turned from the stove and saw a tall young man who looked to be in his late teens.
The newcomer shared Michelle's warm brown eyes and black hair, though his head was shaved up the back and sides, leaving a gelled pompadour on top.
The kid was glaring at him, and Carl remembered that he was dressed only in his pants, no shirt. Michelle had liked seeing him shirtless, so he'd decided to oblige her with a topless breakfast.
A discreet sniff informed him that the newcomer was closely related to Michelle. Which explained the scowl…the sight of a half-naked man standing in his big sister's kitchen was making her little brother protective of her.
Carl approved.
"I'm Carl," he replied, smiling. "And I'm guessing you're Roberto?"
"Yeah." The kid's scowl deepened. He crossed his arms over this chest. "Where the hell did you come from?" he demanded. "I didn't see your car. And how do you know my sister?"
Carl's wolf sat up approvingly at this evidence that Michelle did have at least one pack member concerned about her well-being.
But we can do a better job protecting her. It sounded smug.
"I didn’t drive in," Carl said. "I'm a smokejumper, and I was blown off course while trying to parachute to the Mt. Baldy fire yesterday. Crash-landed in a tree. Your sister was nice enough to rescue me."
As he spoke, he whisked the eggs with salt, pepper, and a splash of milk, then poured them into a second pan sitting on the stovetop.
"Really?" Roberto's scowl vanished and was replaced by curiosity. "So where's your parachute?"
He looked Carl up and down very carefully, his gaze lingering on the big, bloodstained hole in the leg of Carl's pants.
"I cached my gear. I'll go pick it up later, once I'm up to hiking again."
The front door opened, and Carl heard Michelle's lighter tread.
"Beto?" she asked, sounding surprised as she entered the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"
"I ran out of milk. So I thought I'd eat breakfast here." The scowl returned. "Mica, why are you having a sleepover with some random guy?"
She looked at Carl, and her face turned red under her tan. "I—that's none of your business, manito." She frowned. "And I hope you haven't been giving him a hard time. He's my guest."
"But what about Mr. Dooley?" Now the teenager sounded petulant.
Carl's wolf came alert. So did Carl.
"What about him?" Michelle asked, looking genuinely bewildered.
"He likes you," Beto answered. "And I thought you liked him. I was kind of hoping that you two would get together or something."
No! Carl was shocked at how vehemently his wolf objected. To tell the truth, he didn't like the sound of it either.
To his relief, Michelle looked horrified at her brother's words.
I am so screwed. But Carl couldn't regret his night with Michelle, his gorgeous, strong, passionate rancher, who smelled so good and tasted even better.
"What on earth gave you that impression?" she snapped. She added, "I mean, Dennis is nice, but he's definitely not my type."
"And this dude is?" Beto jerked a thumb at Carl.
Carl smiled at him. He liked the kid and liked how he was trying to look out for his sister.
He opened a cabinet door and pulled another plate. Then he distributed the stack of finished pancakes between the three plates and divided the scrambled eggs.
"That's none of your business, Beto!" Michelle sounded annoyed.
"But, Mica, I'm just trying to look out for you."
"And I'm a grown woman. I don't need you to be my chaperone." She sighed. "Stop being such a pain in the ass."
"Only if you stop acting like such a bitch," Beto shot back.
He grabbed one of the plates that Carl had prepared and stomped angrily out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.
An uncomfortable moment of silence passed.
Then Michelle remarked wryly, "Typical Beto—even when he's angry, he doesn't forget to take his share. I apologize for my brother's rudeness."
Carl laughed. "No harm done. I made plenty of food, as you can see."
He handed her a plate and stole a kiss. "Let's eat."
◆◆◆
Before last night, Michelle had been skeptical that incredible, earthshaking sex like that actually existed outside of movies and books. She had never been happier to be wrong.
She opened her eyes smiling when her alarm woke her at dawn, and her good mood lingered while she mucked out the barn, replaced the dirty straw with clean, and refilled all of the troughs with clean water.
And then, to be greeted by the smells of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast when she returned to the house…
She sneaked a glance at her guest as she forked up the last of the excellent pancakes he had made.
He caught her looking and smiled across the table at her. God, he's so gorgeous.
And it wasn't even his looks, though he was a very good-looking man. It was the way his smile lit up his eyes, and his quiet thoughtfulness.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked softly.
"I was just thinking that you're pretty amazing," she replied before she could censor herself. "Thanks again for breakfast. You're going to spoil me for having to cook for myself when you leave."
His smile faltered for a moment when she mentioned his impending departure.
Wait, does that mean he's dreading it, too?
"Well, I think you're amazing, too," he said. "Not to mention utterly gorgeous."
Her face heated at the compliment. The conversation was rapidly wandering into dangerous territory, though, so she decided to change the subject. "How would you like to take a tour of the ranch before it starts raining again? I won't make you walk," she added hastily.
Though his limp had lessened, and the fresh bandage on his leg wasn't showing any signs of blood seeping through, she found it impossible to believe that he could have healed overnight.
Especially since neither of them had gotten much sleep.
"I'd love a tour," he said, sounding like he really meant it.
"Well, I'm sure it's nothing like your parents' place in Alaska." She suddenly regretted her impulsive offer to show him around. He'd grown up on a ranch, after all. What if he reacted like Dennis had, and thought that she was just some crazy hobby farmer?
He put his chin in his hand and looked at her. His penetrating gaze made her feel that he could see the swirling cloud of insecurity inside her
skull.
"And that's what's going to make it interesting," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't know anything about goats or alpacas." His mouth twitched. "And I'm looking forward to meeting Alfred when he isn't trying to kick my head in."
Chapter 13
Tour de Force
After they washed and dried the breakfast dishes, Michelle fired up her little two-seater RTV and took them away from the house.
Carl looked around with interest as they drove past a weathered-looking barn, a large chicken run with a dozen hens and a handsome rooster, then a substantial vegetable garden surrounded by a stand of fruit trees heavy with ripe apples and pears. A small cabin stood tucked away behind the barn. Her ranch was hilly and wooded, with pastures that would have been too small for a herd of big beef cattle but which seemed perfect for smaller animals like goats.
She bumped down a tree-lined, deeply rutted dirt track, the RTV's big tires sending mini-tsunamis of muddy water splashing out from the numerous puddles as she drove.
Then they emerged into a large, unfenced clearing with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains.
Michelle parked the RTV and turned off the engine. The only sounds were the trees moving in the wind and the kee-kee-kee of a distant hawk.
Steep slopes rose into a jagged ridge on the other side of a narrow valley bisected by the gray ribbon of a highway far below them.
Banners of fog were caught in the dense blanket of conifers covering the ridge. Behind the ridge, an endless succession of other peaks marched into the distances, their stony heights capped with snow.
Carl had grown up surrounded by spectacular Alaskan scenery, and this place equaled any of the views back home. Its wild, unspoiled beauty called to his wolf spirit…as did the lovely, unpretentious woman sitting next to him, clad in worn jeans and a warm flannel shirt that minimized her magnificent curves.
Without conscious volition, he reached over and took her hand, chilled from the drive in the open vehicle. She laced her fingers through his, and that simple gesture of acceptance made him absurdly happy.
"When I saw this view, I knew I had to buy this property," Michelle said, after they had soaked in the view in companionable silence for a few moments. "I think it broke Dennis's heart to have to sell off part of his ranch to pay his wife's medical bills."
"He's married?" Carl asked, startled. "But you said—"
"His wife didn't make it." Michelle's expression was somber. "Cancer."
Carl nodded with unwilling sympathy for her oaf of a neighbor.
They sat in the open two-seater for a few more minutes, watching the clouds gather over the mountaintops as a rising wind whipped at their hair and faces.
Finally, Michelle said, "We'd better head over to the goat pasture before it starts raining again."
From the lookout point, it was a short drive over to a large, fenced pasture dotted with at least fifty white, long-haired goats.
Grazing amongst the goats were four of the long-necked beasts that Carl remembered all-too-well from his encounter…Wait, was that only yesterday? I feel like I've known Michelle for years!
His bastard of a wolf grinned at that. See? She's definitely the one.
Shit, thought Carl, with a hint of despair. He glanced over at Michelle's profile, and a sneaky voice, one that didn't belong to his wolf, asked, But wouldn't a woman like her be worth it?
When the RTV came to a stop, he hopped out with only a twinge from his injured leg, and approached the gate to open it for her.
The two big shepherd mixes that he remembered from yesterday raced over and stood barking furiously at him on the other side of the fence.
Carl let his wolf rise. "Quiet, you two," he ordered.
The dogs went instantly silent. He waved at them. "Go, shoo!"
Tails between their legs, they trotted away and took positions on either side of the flock. Their gazes never left Carl. He might have intimidated them temporarily, but they weren't about to abandon their livestock guarding duty.
Good dogs. Smiling to himself, Carl proceeded to unlatch the gate.
As he did so, he noted that Michelle's fences looked very different from the cattle fences he'd grown up around. They were much taller, for one thing, and the panels between the sturdy-looking fenceposts were grids of woven wire topped with strands of barbed wire.
He pressed his palm against one panel, testing its strength. It held. Whoever had installed it had done a good job planting the fenceposts and fastening the panels.
Maybe Dooley was right about the bear, he thought. It might even be a grizzly. No other animal could take down a strong fence like this.
Michelle noticed him examining the fence. "When I bought this place, I had to replace all of the fences, because cattle fencing doesn't work for goats." She grimaced. "It wasn't cheap."
"Believe me, I know," Carl said, as he swung the gate open for her. "I grew up listening to my mother complain about the cost of repairing and replacing our fencing every time she did the ranch's accounts."
As Michelle drove into the pasture, all of the animals made a beeline for the RTV. Carl hurried to close and latch the gate behind her.
When he turned back to Michelle, she had lifted a pair of big plastic feed buckets out of the RTV's cargo bed.
She grinned at Carl, her brown eyes shining. "Want to become instantly popular with my animals?" She handed him a bucket, which proved to be filled with a mixture of chopped carrots, apples, turnips, and broccoli stalks. "The goats are pushy little buggers, so I always give the alpacas their treats first."
Now that he was in man-shape rather than wolf shape, all four of the woolly, long-necked alpacas proved to be gentle…even his earlier nemesis, Alfred.
The other three alpacas were females with fleece that ranged in color from soft gray to cinnamon brown. Michelle introduced them as Abby, Alice, and Adelaide.
Like the goats, they were all wearing waterproof blankets tied securely over their backs to protect their fleeces.
As the goats crowded around them, pushing and baa-ing, the alpacas waded into the melee with calm dignity and accepted the tribute that Carl offered them.
"They like having their necks scratched," Michelle informed him, and demonstrated on Alfred.
His big, long-lashed eyes half-closed in obvious pleasure as her fingers dug into the thick fleece.
Carl watched her, noting how her expression softened into something tender, almost maternal. She loved her animals, it was clear.
His wolf sent him an image of Michelle holding a baby in her arms and wearing an identical expression.
The mental picture was deeply appealing, but Carl pushed it aside.
Not gonna happen, he reminded his wolf, with an unexpected pang of regret.
But his gaze kept returning to her as his fingers sank in the thick, soft wool of Adelaide's neck.
Once the alpacas had eaten their fill of the proffered treats, Carl helped Michelle distribute the rest to the bleating, jostling herd of impatiently waiting goats.
Meanwhile, the two dogs circled the RTV and the milling livestock like sharks, keeping them together and eyeing Carl with deep suspicion.
He figured it was time to make peace with Michelle's dogs, so he pulled a napkin-wrapped pair of breakfast sausage links from his pocket and extended them to the bitch, who was clearly the dominant of the pair.
"Here, girl. Here, Cookie," he coaxed, keeping his wolf firmly suppressed. "Have a treat."
It took a few minutes and a lot of coaxing before the lure of a sausage finally convinced the big tan-and-black dog to creep forward.
Never taking her eyes off him, she snatched the proffered sausage from his fingers and darted out of range to enjoy it.
Her move emboldened Biscuit, and he trotted forward without hesitation to accept his treat from Carl. He even allowed Carl to briefly pet his head and scratch his ears before retreating to join his sister.
It didn't take long for the goats to dispose of the bu
ckets' contents and move away to continue feeding on the grass and weeds in the pasture. Carl looked at the rapidly dispersing flock.
"Will you have to shear all of these yourself, come spring, or do you hire help for that?" He was genuinely curious, since he knew that shearing sheep required a fair amount of strength, to restrain the animals safely while simultaneously using clippers on them without injuring them.
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