by Jianne Carlo
“Thanks. I’m heading right back to Melanie’s house. I need to get to her before she heads out to the bus.” Mike shifted into reverse. “I called Mom. We’re on for one thirty tomorrow.”
“Go. Call me in the morning.”
“Will do. Later.”
Mike made it to the bus stop closest to the reservation in a record-breaking eleven minutes. He parked the truck under a spreading low-hanging maple in full fall foliage splendor. A thick film of dust coated the vehicle’s once shiny black exterior. Between the dense shock of red, rust, and gold leaves and the low sweep of the branches, a passing motorist wouldn’t notice the automobile.
Not wanting to chance meeting another waiting bus passenger, Mike followed his nose to Melanie and spied her seconds before she stepped onto the path between the copses of pines leading to the stop. He called out. “Melanie.”
She whirled around, lashes fluttering like mad, brows climbing, and blew out an audible breath. “You scared the dickens out of me. Are you following me again?”
“You didn’t seem to notice me earlier.”
“You should change your aftershave. It’s very distinctive.”
Mike chuckled. “Don’t wear aftershave, babe. Your phone must’ve slipped out of your purse. I found it at the cabin.” He pulled the cell from his jacket pocket.
“Thank you.” She took the pink-cased phone from him, and their fingers brushed.
From the moment he’d scented her, his boner-Pavlov reaction had gone nuts, dick and balls ramped up, aching and full to spewing. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be so close and not hold her. Mike hauled her into his arms and buried his nose in her hair. “I programmed my number into your phone.”
She stood stiff and unpliant in his embrace. “Mike. We can’t do this.”
“I know you want me. I can smell your arousal. Why can’t we do this?” He explored the base of her spine, lingering on the small of her back. “I also heard about Valérie’s little stunt in the cafeteria. That’s why you started avoiding me, isn’t it?”
Color rioted over her face. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It does, babe. I wasn’t sure what I was back then, wolf or pup. That first time I bumped into you in the cafeteria, you knocked the socks right off me. Then all that crap happened. Can’t you see? We’re meant for each other. So why can’t we do this?”
“Because.” She drew back and smacked his shoulder. “You’re the right side of town and I’m the wrong. I’m not a Laroque or a de Verteuil. I’ll end up dumped and everyone will snicker and your country club friends will say, ‘Yeah, we all knew she’d end up a tramp.’”
He took her mouth and his senses exploded, his tongue coarsened, and her sweet-salt essence coated where their skin meshed. Mike wallowed in the feel of Melanie right where she belonged—nestled in his embrace. He savored the taste of her, an exotic spiciness that zinged straight to his dick. She made a muffled sound in the back of her throat, and the vibration had his stones contracting hard and fast.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her hand massaged his scalp, and she rubbed against him and sucked his tongue. He lost it, lifted her high, arranged her legs to straddle his waist, and braced her on a tree. She locked her feet around his back.
The persistent whine of a straining engine penetrated his fevered stupor. It took all his considerable willpower to tear away from her addictive mouth.
“Bus.”
“Bus?” She gave him a sultry, half-hooded glance that made him growl.
“The bus is coming.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I promised myself this wouldn’t happen again.”
“Don’t do that, babe. We don’t have much time. Look at me.”
“I don’t want to. Put me down. I can’t afford to miss the bus.” She shoved his chest.
Mike shook his head and shifted her sideways. “I’ll have to carry you out, or else you won’t make it. Hold on to the phone and your purse.”
“Carry me?” Her question ended on a slight squeal.
“Close your eyes. You might get dizzy.” Before he finished speaking, Mike broke into a sprint. He had learned to control his skills by testing and timing each one, and knew the precise speed necessary to reach the stop before the bus arrived.
One minute and thirteen seconds later, he deposited her at the stop, steadied her when she swayed, and kissed her forehead. “Are you okay?”
She stared up at him, her mouth agape.
“Melanie, we have to talk. When you get off work, take the bus to the stop closest to the cabin.” Mike didn’t mention that he’d be following her from the second she left the clinic.
He heard the bus’s gears grate as the driver began the climb up the hill.
“I’ll call you later.”
He kissed the tip of her nose, vanished into the trees in the nick of time, but heard Melanie mutter, “I simply won’t answer. No, I’ll ask Doc G. for a ride. That’ll work like a charm.”
Mike grinned. He’d arranged to meet Glancing for dinner at the Caboose at eight, and Melanie got off work at nine. His smile went ape-wide; he so had the odds stacked in his favor.
Since he was already in the region, Mike decided to install the security perimeter. It took less than ninety minutes, and since there was no one home, Mike installed interior cameras as well as exterior hot spots. Making a note to ensure that Melanie found a different hiding place for the front door key, he replaced the metal key where he had found it under the welcome mat.
He went back to the cabin, adjusted the chili’s seasonings, showered, shaved, changed, and made it to the diner fifteen minutes early.
Brinda seated him at the same booth he and Drake had occupied that morning.
“What would you like to drink?”
Her snapped question got his notice. “Something you want to get off your chest?”
“I know your secret, Mr. Mike Dorland. You treat Melanie wrong and it becomes public information.”
Chapter Six
Melanie berated herself every single second of the thirty-three-minute bus ride to the clinic. All Mike had to do was get within spitting distance and she was a goner. Lordy, the man oozed potent pheromones.
She didn’t know what made her more fuzzy—his mouthwatering, tousled, drop-dead sexiness, or that since he’d stepped into the clinic, everything had gone Stepford wives haywire, or that the news about his birth mother had drop-kicked her into some alternate universe.
Nah. It was that run to the bus stop.
After the first few seconds of him sprinting—though that definitely wasn’t the word to describe his blurred motion—she’d had to close her eyes. Not because of an unsteady gait; no, his great bounding feet-together leaps were smooth and effortless. He hadn’t even been breathing hard when he dusted her off and straightened her coat. The magnificent glory of his wolf-beast power had her drunk.
Could he shift? White wolves couldn’t. She knew that much from her brother. In a way, they were both in the same muddled boat about their heritages.
The practical Melanie side of her knew the right thing to do: never be alone with him again. The wild Melanie, the one who’d dreamed of melting marshmallows and Mike’s huge cock while washing the dishes that afternoon, wanted to scream and rail and go for it. Have monkey sex with Mike. Maybe, maybe if she did, she could work him out of her system.
She buried her face in her hands. What had she done? How in mother-of-Mary heck had she thought she could get away with it? A no-harm, no-foul fuck? Did such a thing even exist?
Her lips still tingled from his kisses, and as to her pussy, well thank goodness she’d had the sense to wear real panties and not thongs. Melanie shifted on the seat, all at once overwhelmed with the memory of him fat and hard and filling her. If only she could relive it once more, to memorize every detail. It had all had happened in an intoxicating, out-of-focus haze.
What could it hurt? She could take the bus to the cabin after work. Who would know? The nights the
y had emergencies, she worked late at the clinic, slept there, and then went straight to work the following morning.
The years hadn’t dulled the way she felt about him. She’d loved everything about him from the start. The way he was so gentle with the younger kids in school, the way he protected them from the bullies, his sense of humor, the way he always chose the honorable path. Everything about Mike excited her, especially the times she’d caught him staring at her across the cafeteria. Until Valérie had sabotaged Melanie’s budding confidence, she’d had hopes and dreams.
Did they have a chance at a lasting relationship? She stifled a groan.
Her father’s DUI accident had paralyzed Mr. Dorland and eventually killed him.
How could they get past that?
The bus creaked and groaned to a stop in front of the Caboose, and Melanie didn’t register that fact until Mac called out, “Daydreaming, Melanie?”
She flinched, gathered her purse, and stood. “Wishing summer hadn’t come and gone so fast, Mac. It looks to me as if we’re going to skip fall and head straight into winter.”
“That’s fer sure. At least it’s not raining today.” When it rained heavy, if no one else was on the bus, he always drove Melanie right to the driveway to her house. “Jim Balden’s mare drop that foal yet?”
One of the great Seattle Slew’s stallions had serviced the mare, Whisper, and the whole county had Triple Crown hopes for the foal. After all, Whisper had won both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, and if it hadn’t been for that stumble in the Belmont, the horse could’ve been the first filly to claim the crown.
“Not yet. But Doc G. thinks it’ll be any day now. I’m sure you’ll hear the minute Whisper drops her foal. Doc G.’s going to broadcast that to every citizen. You have a good day now, Mac. And remember to take your medicine.” Melanie grabbed the rail and marched down the steps.
She worried about Mac. He and Bernie lived in a ramshackle hut at the far edge of town. Bernie and Mac had served together in the army, and both had worked at the Dorland’s mill. After Bernie’s debilitating injury in the mill fire, Mac had moved his buddy in and helped him through his rehab. Though Bernie walked with a limp afterward, he had been able to hold down a greeter job at the town’s supercenter. But Bernie had contracted pneumonia last winter and damaged his lungs and had to stop working. Since spring Mac had steadily lost weight, and she didn’t think the two men were making ends meet.
An icy breeze whisked dried leaves every which way on the short walk to the clinic. Maybe she could talk Virgil into a contest for a weekly free meal for two and they could fix the results. Somehow she had to find a way to help the two men.
* * * *
“Evenin’.” Her boss didn’t glance up but kept rummaging in an open desk drawer. “I can’t find Jim Balden’s file.”
Shrugging off her coat, Melanie rolled her eyes and said, “Doc G., the filing cabinets are in your office.”
He frowned, and his bushy sand-colored brows met. “I checked. There’s nothing under Whisper, and I remembered you were working on her file the other day. Thought you might have it still.”
Lord save her from the workings of the male mind. “I worked on it two weeks ago. Everything’s under B for Balden. It doesn’t go by animal, but by client last name.”
How many times had she explained the filing system to him?
Doc G. stuck his elbows on the desk and grimaced. “You know, when my daddy ran this practice, we didn’t have to fill out a million forms and keep a zillion files…”
Melanie had heard the same complaint a caboodle of times, so she tuned out and went to find the file Doc G. wanted. “Mac was asking about Whisper. Did you speak with Jim?”
“Couldn’t get ahold of him. So I talked to young Fitzwilliam. He thinks I’m early by a fortnight.” Doc G. snorted. “Young whippersnapper. He’s what? Three years on the job. And what’s his specialty? Small animals. Fudging idiot. We’ll see that foal before next weekend.”
Melanie pulled out the Balden folder and handed it to Doc G., who’d followed her into the office. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. Jim called—couldn’t remember if he’d dropped off a copy of the insurance stuff.” Doc G. opened the manila folder and flipped through pages. “It’s here.”
Doc G. never worried about files and forms, but then again, Whisper and her foal were both worth a small fortune. The word anal couldn’t begin to describe Jim Balden. But the poor man had pinned all his hopes on Whisper’s foal. It might be the only way to save the Balden ranch, the Ranch B, from bankruptcy.
“You’ll be holding the fort from eight. I’m having dinner with Mike Dorland at the Caboose.”
Just the mention of Mike’s name had her hot and bothered. Why were the two men having dinner? She had no recollection of them ever being friendly or even of their families socializing. Doc G. had to be forty-five, and Mike was nearly twenty-seven. She frowned. Hadn’t Doc G. told Mike last night that he wanted to discuss something with him? What on earth could Doc G. want from Mike?
“Do you want me to lock up? No need for you to come back if nothing’s happening.” That would get both Mike and Doc G. out of her hair, and with a little luck and spit, she’d have time to read more of the journal.
“If I’m not back by eight forty-five, go ahead and lock up, but I’ll drop you home tonight. No arguments, young lady.”
That solved that. No cabin and Mike for her tonight, not that she’d worked up the courage to actually be so forward. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d decided not to go for the brass ring per se, but to not rule her and Mike making love again as totally impossible.
“I’ll take you up on that.” Melanie grinned when Doc G. gave a little head shake. She usually refused his offers to drive her to the reservation.
Melanie caught up on the billing and organized the prescription refills for the next couple of weeks. She took inventory, did up orders for new cleaning supplies, and listed all the callbacks for appointments. Busy work, but the time flew by. When a humming Doc G. stuck his head through the examination room, she glanced up. “Need me?”
“Nope. Not in the mood to do any more paperwork, so I’m going to head over to the Caboose. I don’t think we’re going to see much traffic tonight.”
Doc G. had been hanging out at the Caboose more and more. Being a bachelor and not much of a cook, he had almost every meal at the diner. But Melanie figured Brinda was the magnet who kept drawing him there.
“I’m fine and I can always holler if a client arrives.”
“I’ll go wash up, and then I’ll go out the back. I’ll yell when I leave.” Doc G. shrugged his white coat off and hung it on the hook behind the door.
Melanie grabbed the sweeper and tray and began clearing the floor. Just as she filled a bucket with disinfectant, Doc G. yelled, “I’m off.”
“Have a good time,” she shouted back and set to work mopping. No longer could she hold back all the questions zinging around her head.
Mrs. Dorland wasn’t Drake and Mike’s birth mom. How in Mother Mary had that happened?
She had vague memories of Mike’s father. He’d been a tall, stern-faced man who didn’t invite approach and who always wore a jacket and a hat, even in the middle of the summer. He was the one the town looked to for guidance. If Mr. Dorland endorsed someone for mayor, that person won. If he favored a position, the majority of the town adopted it.
She couldn’t reconcile the responsible, community-oriented Mr. Dorland with a man of deep, dark secrets. How had Mike found out about his birth mother? Why had he asked Shuman for sanctuary? Even more important, why had the tribe refused? Her temples throbbed. She wrung the mop. Swiped up, down, ran the sponge edge into the tile creases.
Had he really said, “Love you”? Claimed her as his mate?
Could sheer, piercing, all-encompassing desire cause hallucinations? Could years of dreams and fantasies cause a body to lose all sanity? Did she have the strength to resist him? Did
she even want to? No, no, and no.
Melanie leaned against the wall. Fall’s dampness had seeped into the plastered-over ancient bricks, but the clammy chill didn’t help to cool her fevered skin. Even if he had actually said those two words, nothing lasting could ever happen between them. Her father had killed his, and his mother detested the White family for that very reason.
Besides, Mama had only just begun to heal. Eighteen months sober and holding down a cashier’s job at the casino. Mama was determined to get back to normal, and if she heard even a rumor about Melanie seeing Mike, well, that could send her back to Jack Daniels in a heartbeat.
She had no choice. None at all. A relationship, even a temporary one, with Mike wasn’t an option. Heck, but she’d give anything, anything at all for one, one more measly chance to make love to him.
Don’t go there.
Gritting her teeth, she gathered her tools and supplies, went to the back bathroom, and cleaned up and put away everything. With every move, images of their lovemaking peppered her brain. She grew giddy and had to hold on to the sink to support her weak knees. What she would’ve given to touch his penis.
The telephone rang the minute she sat down behind the desk. Melanie checked the LCD: Jim Balden. Doc G. was dead-on about Whisper. She smiled. Poor Dr. Fitzwilliam would never hear the end of this. She picked up the receiver. “Glancing Animal Clinic. Hi, Mr. Balden.”
“Melanie White, that you?”
She blinked. It was Mr. Augustus Balden and not his son, Jim, who’d taken over running of the stud farm. “Yes, Mr. Balden, it’s Melanie White. Is everything okay?”
“’Pends on what you call okay. Whisper’s not in her stable, and I can’t find Jim. Can’t find anyone.” Mr. Balden’s wavering voice held a hint of panic.
Everyone knew Mr. Balden had started having “memory problems” a while back. In a town like Chabegawn, no one used the word Alzheimer’s. Just like Mike’s mother hadn’t had a nervous breakdown, she’d had “an emotional time” that happened to last several years.
