by L. E. Horn
At first, I re-established my previous pattern with Peter, dropping in for my twenty-minute tea to compare notes about the day. But three days in, my twenty minutes morphed into two hours.
Every day, as I left Chloe with Peter and headed out for my evening run with Keen, I gave myself a long inner tirade. The problem with arguing with oneself is that sabotage is all too common. Despite my best intentions, I was falling hard for Chloe. But she was spoken for by Dillon the Sasquatch, who could crush me like a bug.
What the hell am I thinking? I had a million reasons why it wouldn’t work between us, with Dillon as the Everest in that mountain range. But something about her pulled at me, and I couldn’t resist.
After four days of downward slide toward boyfriend fists the size of hammers, I arrived for tea with a self-made pact that I wouldn’t stay a minute over my allotted twenty. An hour later, I headed out with Keen and my new running partner, Chloe.
Sometimes life is determined to get you into trouble.
Chloe paced me even though her stride didn’t match my own. She chattered as we traveled the trail in single file, seemingly unaffected by the brisk pace, while I panted out replies. Sometimes I led, and sometimes she did, her long chocolate brown ponytail swinging with her fluid strides.
My heart pounded with more than mere exertion.
Keen bounded along in pure delight. In her doggie eyes, the shared run elevated Chloe to the level of Chrissakesdess of Good Things.
I am sooo screwed.
At one point, Chloe paused where the trail forked. “Let’s go that way.”
“That’s the six-miler. I haven’t used it all winter. It’ll be blocked by deadfall, and there’s a boggy patch this time of year.”
“Sounds like fun!” She headed down it.
There were trees across the path, but instead of stopping to push them aside, Chloe either ducked beneath or jumped over them. Soon it became a competition to see who could get past the obstruction in the most spectacular or entertaining fashion. We laughed like kids, and Keen bounded around us, her silly tongue hanging out. Great. She’s fallen for Chloe too.
There was no doubt that Chloe beat me in agility. My larger frame had more trouble squeezing under or through branches blocking the way, while she and the canine snaked through with ease. After battling one octopus of a tree, I looked up to find Chloe sitting with Keen on the next horizontal trunk, laughing at me. The light penetrated the forest to pick out copper highlights in Chloe’s brown hair, and her smile could conquer Rome.
My heart flipped over, and I had to pause and record the moment. I had my phone out of my pocket and had snapped the photo before she realized my intentions.
I walked to her and leaned over, turning the phone so she could see. But she stood up instead. Her warm lips caught me unprepared, as did her hand when it snaked behind my neck, pulling me closer. For a second, I gave in, pressing into her space, my heart leaping in my chest. Her hand released my neck and joined the other one sneaking up inside my tee shirt to stroke across my belly, then one dropped to the waistband of my sweats.
Whoa.
I pulled away from her. This felt too damned good. I might not like Dillon, but I refused to do to him what had been done to me.
She followed me and planted another kiss, her fingers roaming around to cup my butt.
Oookay, that’s enough.
I pulled my head out of her reach and grabbed her hands to remove them. Her brows lowered and her lower lip jutted into a pout. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked me.”
“I do. But so does a certain tall dark and, well—angry guy named Dillon.”
She shrugged. “Dillon doesn’t own me. We aren’t a couple, only friends.”
Okay, that so didn’t mesh with what I sensed from him. Could she be that blind?
“Have you asked him about that?”
Chloe looked annoyed. “You aren’t afraid of him, are you?”
That hit kinda hard, even for someone who didn’t have much of an ego. Has she seen the size of his fists? I swallowed. “That isn’t the point. What’s important is how he feels about you.”
“Dillon likes me. We’re here so he can deal with some things. Uncle Peter’s place is like a fresh start. We screw around, but we’re not serious.”
She is that blind.
I kept my tone light. “Maybe you should have a conversation with him. I like you, but I’m not getting in the middle of something.”
Expecting reluctant acknowledgment or perhaps a piss-off comment, it surprised me to get an assessing look, followed by a brilliant smile before she headed off at a brisk pace, Keen in hot pursuit.
Shaking my head, I went after them, working my way around the next tangle of branches. We ran in silence for a while until we came to another blockage that forced me to stop and clear brush. Chloe and Keen had squeezed through with smiles of triumph, and left me to it, so they were ahead of me when they suddenly stopped. Keen’s nose faced into the wind, and I swear Chloe’s pose mimicked the dog perfectly.
I disentangled myself from the amorous poplar and joined them. “What is it?”
Chloe frowned. “Can’t you smell it? Something died near here.”
I sniffed hard and caught the barest trace of a foul scent. Before I could grab my dog, she barked and headed into the bush, tail waving like a flag.
“Oh, God, if she finds it, she’ll roll, and it’s too cold to use the hose on her.”
Chloe pursued, and I followed, beating aside branches she slid past. I had nothing more in mind than the logistics of forcing a seventy-pound struggling dog into my bathtub when we crested a small rise and looked down on death.
This close, the smell hit me right off the hop—heavy, foul, turning my stomach. Below us lay the remains of a deer. Keen sniffed off to one side, and I saw the coyotes. Or what was left of them. They’d been torn apart. But this scene lacked the violence done to the bison. And the deer had obviously been partially eaten, likely both by the predator and scavengers.
Chloe crouched near the two dead canids, her hands tracing the tufts of fur. I kept a watchful eye on the live one that, so far, was more engaged in sniffing than rolling. How she could put her sensitive nose so close to that odor, I had no idea. I stared down at the bodies.
“Coyotes sometimes take deer,” I said. “But what killed the coyotes?”
Chloe stood. “Wolves kill coyotes. They compete for resources.” Her voice was curiously devoid of emotion.
Yeah, I guess I knew that. So this was the reason I’d not heard the coyotes lately. These guys wouldn’t have had a chance against the things I’d seen on the trail.
“How long do you think they’ve been here?”
“A few days.” Chloe rubbed her face. “The scavengers have been busy.”
“So maybe those wolves are here to stay, if they’re setting up a territory.” I thought about the location of Ted’s farm. “They’ve got a fair range. They took two bison about fifteen miles from here.”
Her head shot around to look at me. “Bison?”
“Yeah. One of my clients lost two bison bulls to them. Only they made a real mess, tore them to pieces, and only ate the livers, hearts, and brains.”
“The richest sources of nutrients,” she said matter of factly, and I looked hard at her, surprised she would know that. But her gaze skittered from mine, and her face had taken on a pinched, unhappy expression. “Are you sure it was wolves?”
“No. But they’re around, and they weren’t before.”
Keen had found a smelly bit of—something—and was circling it, nose to the ground, in typical pre-encrusting fashion.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, striding over and grabbing her collar. I led her away from the carnage, and Chloe followed.
In unspoken accord, we headed back down the trail. Chloe remained silent as we navigated the obstacles she’d so joyfully tackled on the way out.
The silence wasn’t a comfortable one, and I made an attempt at conv
ersation. “It’s too bad about the coyotes. Peter will be upset. He used to enjoy watching them raise their family every year.”
“Yes.”
I tried again. “It’s nature’s way. Wolves and coyotes have been battling over territory for years. I guess the wolves really want this turf.”
No answer. She just kept walking, stepping through the tangles.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just upsetting.”
“I’m sorry we found that.”
“Me too, although it’s better to know. Let me tell Peter, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. Better to know? To know the coyotes were dead?
“I’ll tell him about the bison, too,” she said, and I stared at the long brown ponytail. It was a strange request. Was she worried about upsetting Peter? The guy had always seemed pretty tough to me. He’d miss the coyotes, but maybe he’d have wolves to watch now.
I shook my head, stepping over the last trunk before we joined the main path and turned for home. As we marched out onto the wider three-mile loop, I noticed the length of the shadows cast across the path. We’d been away much longer than I’d anticipated. And that meant Dillon would have returned and found her gone. With me.
I am sooo dead man walking.
That sentiment seemed to spring to six foot four of verified life when we returned to the house. As I clipped the lead on my suddenly snarly dog, I could feel the laser beams from across the yard. I can’t say I blamed him. If the situation were reversed, I would have been spitting fire. Chloe climbed the deck stairs to where he was standing.
“Dillon,” I said with a nod, stopping at the base of the stairs.
“Liam,” he growled back, his gaze never leaving Chloe. His nostrils flared as though he could scent something on her. For a second, there was a sick expression in his eyes, like that of a dog that had been kicked. Then the look hardened and he lit into her.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Out for a run.”
She mounted the steps and he grabbed her arm, hard. “With him?”
“Would you rather I ran alone?” She wrenched free, put her hands on her hips, and glared at him.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I interjected. “There are, uh, wolves around.”
“Wulves . . .” Dillon said the word oddly. He turned to me, and his gaze sharpened into one of pure hatred. “You stay the hell out of this.”
Okay, but be damned if I was going to leave until I was sure Chloe was safe.
She seemed unimpressed by the Sasquatchian attitude. “If I want to go for a run with Liam, I can. You aren’t my keeper, Dillon.”
Oh, man. This woman will break his heart. And likely mine too.
“If you wanna run, wait until I get home, and we’ll run.”
“I run with you all the time.”
Wait. She does?
Strangely, they both glanced at me, their expressions furtive. Chloe met my gaze and I swear she saw straight through to my heart. She dropped her eyes to the deck floor.
“I’m sorry you’re upset, Dillon. You don’t need to be.”
She reached out to touch his arm, and his expression softened. Aware of me standing right there, which I knew was the entire point, he pulled her into him for a hard, possessive kiss. For a moment she stiffened, and I thought she would fight him, but then she seemed to go limp in his arms. A hand snaked behind his neck and the other trailed up his chest.
Aaand, that’s my cue. Picking my heart off the ground, I said, “I’ll catch you guys later.” I moved on to my door, dragging Keen with me.
5
My inner frankenstein did not get me off extended duties, and I ended up on call on Good Friday. I swear every animal within a thirty-mile radius celebrated the coming of the long weekend by throwing themselves onto pointy objects or eating something indigestible. I ended up with a full day at the clinic and spent the evening on a double session involving a colicky horse. The animal took one sniff of me and decided it felt much better, only to succumb once more the moment I left. After a second visit, a lot of equine sedation, and a mineral oil flushing, the horse was fine. I, on the other hand, found myself considering the consumption of hard-core drugs. Although disguising my scent with perfumed soaps helped with the cats and dogs, horses saw straight through it. What they thought they perceived within me—I have no idea. Over the course of the last week, I had yet to work near a horse without it being sedated. In this instance, the owner had been a capable sort and was willing to administer the sedation herself. But if this—whatever it was—continued for much longer, it would call into question my career choice.
It was late when Keen and I finally got home, and I dragged myself out of the SUV. Twenty minutes later, I was back outside, walking stick in hand, my furry friend by my side, and the cool night air closing around me. After a long look at the entrance to the path, I headed for the road.
I left Keen off lead while we walked along our access road, but when we reached the mile intersection, I bent to attach her leash. At this time of night, the traffic was nonexistent, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I breathed deeply, enjoying the peace and stillness of the night and admiring the dark and quiet little farmhouses with their accompanying outbuildings. I particularly loved the big old barns. The ancient wooden structures were the heart of their attendant farms. A trip inside them took you back in time. Here, the farmer milked the cows, lifted hay-filled nets into the vast lofts, kept a pig or two in this corner, the cart horse in that stall. Most of these sagging buildings no longer housed animals, but the ghosts of the past still lived within.
One of our neighbors had renovated their old relic, attaching new siding and surrounding it with an expensive plank fence. From within the tidy paddock, three horses watched us approach. They stood around the remnants of a round bale of hay, the last of their winter fodder before the spring grass appeared. When Keen and I reached their driveway, their demeanor changed and their heads swiveled toward the bush that bordered their paddock. Keen lifted her nose at the slight breeze and paused as something shook the bushes like a terrier shakes a bone. The horses turned as one and bolted for the far corner of the paddock, where a gate would open to the pasture in the summer. Now, however, it remained closed, and they skidded to a stop before it, wheeling to face their fear.
Keen growled.
A hare erupted from the bush, darting beneath the fence, a pale streak in the darkness. Behind it, bounded one of the creatures. I didn’t know what to call them—wolf should have worked but didn’t. The black beast vaulted the fence as though it wasn’t even there. Its hind legs launched it in great, leaping bounds across the paddock, moving so fast it was on the hare before I could blink. There came a shriek, and it was over.
The creature leaned over the bloody corpse, then paused and swung its wide skull toward the horses. They had watched the pursuit and death of the hare while plastered against the gate, and now, beneath the creature’s predatory gaze, they began bolting back and forth along the far stretch of fence, bouncing off the sturdy planks, half rearing, approaching the point at which they’d hurt themselves trying to get away.
I’d seen what this thing could do. And be damned if I was going to let it do to those horses what it had done to the bison. I was already in motion, running up the drive toward the grassy lane leading to the pasture gate. Still on her leash, Keen ran with me, but she kept crashing into my legs because she wouldn’t take her full attention off the wolf-animal. I was almost at the lane when the creature abandoned the hare and took a long, loping stride toward the horses.
One horse jumped the barrier from a standstill, hooking a hind leg but wrenching it loose before galloping unhurt into the pasture. Its friends renewed their desperate assault on the fence, lacking the confidence to jump, but panicked enough to try barging through.
As I left the drive and splashed through a deep puddle along the lane, the creature
paused, lunged forward again, and stopped.
It’s doing it deliberately.
If the horses noticed me or Keen, they gave no sign. In blind panic, they crashed against the barrier, one post cracking like a pistol shot beneath their weight. I reached the gate and wrenched Keen back by her collar so she wouldn’t get trampled when the exit opened. I unhooked the chain and let it swing wide.
For a split second, the damned horses stared at me, nostrils flared. I was still downwind but close enough now that they got a whiff of me. Just then, the creature did another strange leap, and I became the lesser of two evils. The horses pounded through the gate and past me, racing to join their friend.
Which left Keen and me facing the creature in a bizarre case of déjà vu.
Most farms had at least a single yard light, and the one on the pole by the house cast a glow into the paddock. It shimmered highlights and shadows on the dense black fur around the creature’s head and down its back, making it appear even less like a wolf. When it shook its head, I realized the hair surrounding its face was long, forming a mane that hung heavy along its neck.
It stared, and Keen leaned against my leg, alternating between a low growling and a high-pitched, desperate whine. I swear neither of us drew breath until the bloody thing turned its back and did its odd, leaping lope back to the hare. It lifted the body in its jaws, took two long bounds to the fence and one over it, and vanished.
My dog and I stood in the puddle, the water soaking into my boots. Finally, I moved, taking Keen back down the drive. The horses were safe in the pasture. I didn’t believe the creature was interested in doing more than scaring the hell out of them. I’d drop by the farm in the morning and explain that I’d let the horses out after they’d been scared by a wolf.
A wolf. Right.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for the weekend. Saturday morning, after another sleepless night, I stopped at the farm and talked with the elderly owner of the horses. She’d wondered how they’d started the night in the paddock and ended up in the pasture. I explained about the wolf—there was no way I could tell her the truth of the matter, whatever it was—and asked if I could cast in plaster any paw prints I might find.
