Never Cry Wolf Read online

  Lanky body amazingly muscular…sharp features softened by the long strands of loose blue-black hair grazing his cheekbones…large hands, surprisingly dexterous.

  What would those hands feel like touching her? she wondered. Grazing her face…brushing her throat…skimming her body?

  Heat smoldered along Laurel’s nerves. Where had this unexpected flare of attraction come from? She wasn’t even sure she liked the man. He certainly irritated her. What was she thinking? Shifting in the doorway, she decided to get out before he noticed something was wrong.

  That’s when she spotted the snowshoes. An extra pair hung from a peg.

  No hesitation. She decided to fetch them before Donovan could forbid it, the close quarters forcing her to brush by him in the process. As her breast grazed his arm, more heat made her catch her breath.

  He narrowed his gaze, his amber eyes boring into her. “What are you up to?”

  Glad for the tinge of exasperation in his tone—hoping he didn’t realize what was happening to her—she latched on to the snowshoes and inspected them in detail, avoiding his eyes so he couldn’t read the direction of her uncomfortable thoughts.

  “Hmm. One size fits all, right?” she murmured.

  “What do you imagine you’re going to do with those? Get yourself lost out there?”

  “Not if I’m with you.”

  “You won’t be able to keep up.”

  Though Laurel expected he might be correct—while she had used snowshoes at the ecology workshop, she was still a novice—snowshoes would be better than her hiking boots. Besides, she wasn’t intimidated.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Before he could object, she slid by him again, this time holding her breath so that no part of her would touch him. Escaping the supply closet, she left the snowshoes near the front door beside his. Then she threw herself into a chair and watched while he laid things on the worktable.

  “You don’t have enough clothes to spend any real time outside.”

  An excuse to leave her behind? “It’s not as cold as it was last night,” she insisted. “I’ll make do.”

  Without another word, Donovan disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Laurel got antsy waiting. What was he up to? If he hadn’t left his knapsack on the workbench, she might suspect him of slipping off without her. The image of him clambering through a window opening while trying not to make a sound, however, produced a snort of laughter.

  She found herself relaxing.

  When Donovan came out of the bedroom, she saw that he’d changed. And that he was carrying a bundle of white material. He tossed the garments to her.

  “Put these on.”

  Reflex made her throw her hands out to catch the waffle-patterned material. Laurel swallowed hard as she realized Donovan was lending her a set of his thermal underwear.

  Remembering the red undershirt he’d worn earlier, she muttered, “What, no wolves?”

  Rather than respond to her goading, he said, “And you can use this, as well.” He indicated a hooded jacket hanging from the peg next to his deerskins.

  Laurel zipped to the bathroom where she shed her boots, jeans and sweatshirt. She slipped into the long johns, her insides feathered by an odd sensation. Desperately, she tried not to dwell on the fact that these very same garments had caressed his skin…

  Again the provocative thoughts.

  Inappropriate thoughts, Laurel told herself.

  She hurried back into her clothes so Donovan wouldn’t have that excuse to leave without her.

  TOGETHER STILL.

  They set out from the cabin even as the afternoon shadows lengthened. They didn’t go far before stopping to put on their snowshoes. Binoculars afforded a closer view of her having trouble with hers. He helped her by adjusting the straps. Appearing uncomfortable, she concentrated on cuffing sleeves that hung too long over her fingers and pulling up the hood of the obviously borrowed jacket.

  Once ready, they headed north, no doubt to check the traps.

  What was she doing, hanging around, following him everywhere? Why hadn’t she gone back where she belonged so things could go according to schedule?

  She didn’t know Wilde…how dangerous he could be. How unthinkingly cruel. There had to be a reason for her hanging around. Had she witnessed more than she should have?

  The thought gave pause.

  She’d have to be dealt with, too, then. Gotten rid of and as soon as possible. But how?

  The leather pouch held an answer…

  Once they snowshoed out of sight, the cabin was fair game. A little too close for comfort, perhaps, but there was a first time for everything.

  Chapter Five

  Laurel was gutsy. Donovan would grant her that. She could have stayed behind and relaxed near the warmth of the stove. Instead, she chanced frostbite, exhaustion and sore muscles by trailing after him.

  Why?

  Though he got no complaints, he knew the unaccustomed physical exertion wasn’t easy for her. She’d caught up to him when he’d checked the first trap that, unfortunately, had gone undisturbed. Now she was straggling behind again. From the amplitude of her labored breathing, he figured twenty yards, give or take a few. But no matter how quickly he moved, she somehow managed to stay within shouting distance.

  While he’d like to discourage her, he really didn’t want to lose her out here in the middle of nowhere. That would only make more work for him, since he’d then have to be a one-man rescue party.

  Why was Laurel so reluctant to go home?

  She should be more than happy to wash her hands of a difficult situation. To get out while she could. To the contrary, she seemed to be digging in her heels.

  He had to admire that about her. It wasn’t just a matter of her tenacity, either. He didn’t know many women—or men, for that matter—who put principle before their own comfort, creature or otherwise. His gut told him that, if he wanted Laurel Newkirk out of his hair, he’d have to physically wrestle her onto that morning bus. Undoubtedly, she’d go kicking and screaming…

  A dark spot in the snow distracted him from thoughts about the woman. He left the trail to check it out. From the color, as well as the fur and bone content, scat could tell him about a wolf’s health and what it was eating.

  He was assessing the droppings when a breathless Laurel caught up to him, gasping, “Wolf?”

  “Nope. Too small. Probably coyote.”

  He glanced up. Her hood was cocked back, her face flushed becomingly. The workout was helping to relieve the stress that had previously tautened her features. Now they were softer. Prettier. Exhausted.

  Rising, he was tempted to push on immediately anyway. Then, again, if she collapsed, he’d have to carry her back to the cabin. Which brought him to a whole new chain of considerations having to do with holding the woman in his arms…

  Suddenly irritated that he had to accommodate another person at all, he asked, “Do you just attract trouble or do you go around looking for it?”

  Her jaw dropped at his attack, but she blinked only once before saying, “Why, I pay to have trouble come to me. That way, my life’s just one continuing not after another.”

  She was quick on her feet mentally—if not on snowshoes—Donovan realized. And while she was being sarcastic, he sensed she was covering a more vulnerable part of herself, one she didn’t want him to see. So he couldn’t figure out just how alone she might be?

  Alone.

  Now that would make sense. A reason to take a man at face value and get involved without looking too closely. Whoever had been posing as him was a predator. A lonely woman wouldn’t have stood a chance against a charming con man. He’d give anything to know what, exactly, the bastard had been after.

  “So, this is…what?” he prodded, hell-bent on provoking her. “A welcome change for you? Too exciting to give up and go home?” Where she should be anyway.

  Laurel visibly bristled, blue eyes shooting sparks at him. “
Did anyone ever mistakenly tell you that you have people skills?”

  “I’m better with animals.”

  “I’m pretty good with both. And, despite your studied disinterest, I’m not comfortable going off and leaving your father in a coma.”

  Studied disinterest? Donovan clenched his jaw. She thought he had to work at it?

  “The congressman isn’t your responsibility.”

  “In a way, he is. If I hadn’t gone running to him, he would never have come running to find you.”

  “He always did what was best for himself, which means for his political career.” A lesson he’d learned at his father’s knee. “He operates on his own agenda. Whatever is most expedient—”

  “Expedient!” she echoed, cutting him off. “He was thinking of you!”

  Donovan wouldn’t trust himself to believe that. Not again. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  He started off back toward the trail. This time, Laurel followed so closely they could practically share a pair of snowshoes.

  “I don’t think you know your father at all,” she taunted. “I’m not sure you ever wanted to.”

  “You know nothing about it,” he said coldly. “There was a time—”

  “Past tense,” Laurel interrupted. “When you were a kid, right? Kids don’t always see the big picture. They tend to run away from their problems.”

  What did she know about his running away? Or why it had come to that?

  “You can’t compare your life to mine.”

  “You’re right on that account. I have no one. You have a whole family if only you’d stoop to recognize them.” She paused to catch her breath. Her next words stopped him in his tracks. “I lost the only people who mattered in my life.”

  So Laurel really was alone.

  “And you’re throwing your family away,” she added, losing the sympathy factor.

  He whirled on her. “You’re assuming they have some use for me.”

  “And you’re assuming they don’t.” She took a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “Do you see everything in black and white? Either things have to be a certain way—the way you think they ought to be—or forget it?”

  A criticism he’d heard once too often.

  “You have a problem with ethics—my distinguishing between right and wrong?” he demanded.

  “I have a problem with people who can’t see shades of gray, Donovan. I don’t know anyone who’s perfect. Or anyone who’s all bad.”

  INCLUDING HER IMPOSTER, Laurel thought, trailing a silent Donovan once more.

  After glowering at her, the wolfman had given her his back and had taken off more speedily than before. At first determined to keep up, she’d forced her legs to go faster, but it wasn’t long before her muscles burned with the effort. Knowing she’d never get back to the cabin on her own steam if she kept up this pace, she slowed a bit and fell behind. His ploys to discourage her weren’t going to work.

  Not wanting to dwell on the warped psyche of a man who churned her insides, Laurel steered her thoughts back to the other Donovan.

  Her Donovan.

  She had seen good in the man, or she wouldn’t have given him the time of day. She also recognized a troubled soul when she met one. Her Donovan certainly had been that Not enough reason to stop her from getting involved; more than enough reason to keep her from committing herself.

  The real Donovan, too, was troubled, if not in the same way.

  Despite the family and self-imposed isolation issues he needed to work on, he’d developed a formidable personality, a sense of self that made him comfortable with who he was. He needed no one, as he so staunchly illustrated by the widening gap between them. He was content within himself in a way she could never be.

  Desperately missing what fate had stolen from her, she couldn’t understand a man who thrust away the very thing she longed to regain.

  Laurel needed people. Contact. Warmth. A sense of connection. A family. Things that she’d lost through no fault of her own. She’d tried her best to save them—first her mother from cancer, then her grandmother from the frailties and illnesses that came with age—but some things were beyond her abilities or understanding.

  In trying to patch the hole in her life as best she could for the past half-dozen years, she filled her days with work and friends and meaningful interests. Not to mention the animals—and sometimes even human beings—she rescued.

  That last thought jarred her.

  Had that been what had attracted her to the man who’d wrongfully introduced himself as Donovan Wilde?

  That he’d needed rescuing?

  In return…could that also be why he’d chosen her?

  An answer to Veronica’s pointed question…

  Before Laurel could assimilate the startling notion, she realized Donovan had gone off-trail again and hadn’t even warned her. Gasping for breath, she stopped and peered around until she spotted snowshoe tracks leading to a stand of cedars.

  She called “Donovan!” even knowing he wouldn’t answer, after which she set off to play catch up.

  Surely he wouldn’t actually let her get lost and wouldn’t leave her alone in these woods. Though she tried to convince herself, she wasn’t so certain. Panic was setting in before she caught up to him near a streambed, where a trickle of water still flowed, albeit along a path of ice.

  Knapsack set against some fallen trees at the edge of a small clearing, the wolfman crouched, shoulders taut, gaze unfocused.

  “Makes no sense.” He was muttering and shaking his head. “What the hell happened here?”

  “You tell me.”

  Donovan started. But when he straightened, he gave no sign that she’d caught him unawares.

  “So, what did you find?” she asked.

  “It’s what I didn’t find. The trap I set here is gone.”

  “Then you got one of the wolves,” she said excitedly.

  The animal must have pulled the thing free and dragged it off. The humanely designed leghold trap was made to do just that, she knew from the wolf ecology workshop. It could be dragged rather than snapped if the wolf lunged hard. The grapples would then catch on brush or logs elsewhere.

  She had the weirdest feeling about Donovan’s reaction, though. “We’d better find him, right?”

  “How?” He shook his head. “There’d have to be signs…a trail of some kind.”

  Knowing the trap would have been buried—in this season, merely under the snow—she scrutinized the ground’s pristine white cover. “Remember, it snowed last night.”

  “Not enough to completely cover furrows made by a wolf who was running confused and scared, not to mention dragging chains and grapples.”

  A chill shot through her. “C’mon, Donovan. What are you saying?” she asked uneasily. “That a leghold trap up and walked away?”

  “Just like the congressman’s car.”

  HAVING PULLED UP a chair and footstool near the Franklin stove, Laurel was warming her stockinged feet, sipping at her coffee and doing some hard thinking. Donovan had used the radio to check on his father through someone in the sheriffs office. Condition holding. Now he seemed to be thinking, as well, pacing the length of the room and ignoring the coffee mug in his hand.

  “It all has to be connected,” he muttered, tone low and acrid. “Everything.”

  Why did she get the feeling he was talking about a whole lot more than a disappearing car and wolf trap?

  “Define everything,” she said.

  He started, as if he’d forgotten her presence. “Things have been going wrong for months now. Livestock being killed out of territory when there’s a surplus of deer. A wolf disappearing…now a trap. Blood I sent to the lab to be analyzed never arriving. And an outsider has invaded this land several times.”

  He stopped in front of a window and stared out into the fast-falling darkness as if he could spot his enemy.

  Despite sitting so close to the stove, Laurel felt more and more chilled. Anyone else mig
ht think Donovan paranoid, especially after observing his strange behavior when they’d arrived back at the cabin nearly an hour ago.

  He’d gone on alert.

  She couldn’t describe it any other way. He’d had that frozen-sentient demeanor she’d seen in her own dogs when they picked up a disturbing scent or sound. For a heart-pounding moment, Donovan had stood on the front stoop…listening…watching…sniffing the air…

  Like a wild animal protective of his territory.

  In the end, he’d come inside without saying a word. Flesh crawling, she’d followed.

  “I’ve sensed him…and found his tracks,” he went on. “I mistakenly imagined a hunter not satisfied with public lands. But now I know…an intruder spying…waiting for an opening…”

  Considering how she’d gotten to be temporary roommates with the man, she figured he was on to something.

  “A man posing as you, showing me professional journals with articles written by you about wolf behavior…” she mused “…maybe someone who wants to bring the recovery program to a screeching halt…and who happened to have a run-in with your father to boot.”

  They connected for a moment, and Laurel could sense they were on the same wavelength. If all the things they were talking about were connected, then she hadn’t simply been fooled—she had been used. But to what end? What part had she been assigned to play in the unfolding drama? How would her marrying the fake Donovan have served his purpose?

  No way could the imposter have known she would involve Raymond. Right?

  Amber eyes burning into her, Donovan said, “Tell me how you met him. What he said to you. How he acted. Anything that might give me a clue.”

  While Laurel still didn’t relish rehashing the events that led her to this point, she knew it to be a necessary evil. Still, she couldn’t help but be self-conscious under the close scrutiny of someone as judgmental as Donovan. He would probably condemn her for being so gullible. A swig of coffee gave her courage.