Old Wounds: (A Havenwood Falls Novella)

by Susan Burdorf

  Sherry stared at the wolf, his teeth bared, the stick pointed at him. She knew it was a foolish gesture on her part. That weapon was hardly going to keep the large animal from charging at her, but she had to do something to protect herself. His brown eyes locked on hers, his teeth were huge and white in his snout, and she jabbed toward him with the stick in warning. She fully expected him to charge, but he didn’t. To her great surprise, he backed up, as if considering what to do next. For just a second, Sherry felt like she had a chance to survive this encounter. What a great story that would be for the grandchildren.

  Sherry wasn’t sure what to do next, either. Trapped on that thin trail, she cursed herself for running into the woods, not sure what instinct had sent her into the underbrush instead of running down the road. Worse yet, without a flashlight since she’d foolishly thrown it at the animal.

  Now what? Sherry felt the electricity in the air around her, surprised at the intensity of the tingling that set her nerve endings on fire. Glancing up, she saw the clouds scurrying across the sky, covering the moon and stars and obliterating almost all light. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see the wolf’s shape in the total darkness. She still held the stick pointed in its direction, and she was certain it would leap at any second.

  But nothing happened. Her breathing became rapid with fear, and her knees and arms trembled as she sought to remain calm in the face of this threat to her person.

  Then, out of nowhere, the sky erupted into a thunderstorm of such intensity that, before she could react, Sherry felt the thin trail giving way. Reacting by instinct, she leapt to the side as the dirt under her feet began to crumble, but she was too late. She clawed nothing but air as her body fell into nothingness.

  She crashed on rocks and trees and felt herself falling, end over end, down the side of the hill she’d been poised so precariously on. Her body crashed into another rock, head whipping back and cracking onto a thick tree. Still she continued to tumble down, rocks and dirt falling with her. Unable to grab onto anything to slow the fall, she cried out as she slammed into another rock hard enough that she blacked out.

  So this is how it ends, she thought before darkness took her, on the side of a hill in a place I never heard of before, with a wolf the only witness to my end.

  Shit! Rusty shouted, his voice a howl of displeasure as he followed the woman over the edge of the trail and down the hill.

  There was an eerie stillness as he followed her smell until he found her, bleeding from a deep head wound, at the bottom of the hill.

  He whined and whimpered as he nuzzled her, trying to see if she still breathed. He was reassured she was still alive when she stirred slightly at the touch of his cold nose on her cheek.

  Alive.

  Breathing.

  Now what? He couldn’t run for help. Leaving her here would mean she would be without protection, and if the rain kept up with the intensity it was falling right now, she would drown. She’d slid under a pile of logs and old trees that had followed her down the side of the hill to land piled up at the bottom with her in the middle of the tangle of logs and dirt.

  He tried to pull her from under the logs by grabbing the collar of her sweatshirt in his teeth and tugging her out, but all that did, now that the ground was so damp, was cause the logs to shift, burying her deeper underneath them. Already the water was beginning to fill the trench. He let her go, careful to ensure her head was protected from the rainwater that crept closer to her body.

  He would have to transform into his human form, but he had no clothes nearby. If she woke . . . well, that might be hard to explain.

  For a few precious seconds, he considered his options. One, stay and continue, in his wolf form, to try to free her, dragging her out of harm’s way until he could get to a stash of his clothes and return to “find” her and bring her to safety. Or two, transform and then bring her to safety without a stitch of clothes on and hope she didn’t wake.

  Whimpering at the cold water that crept up his paws to his knees, he realized there was nothing else he could do.

  His decision made, Rusty closed his eyes. Forcing the change too quickly was always more painful than letting it happen naturally. Praying to the moon goddess, he felt the familiar surge of pain and tingling take over his body. He groaned as his body lost its protective coating of fur and the cold air rushed over his skin, searing him with icy pellets of rain and sleet as the storm slammed into him.

  He stood, stretched, and cried in his humanness at the loss of his furred body. Looking through the rivulets of rain that ran down his face and body, he stared at the woman at his feet. She was still unconscious, and the water now reached up to her waist. The rain pelted down as he worked to shift her from her prison, the water now climbing with icy fingers up her body to cover her up to her armpits.

  He realized he had only minutes before the water would cover her completely, and he worked feverishly to free her, finally breathing a sigh of relief when, with a loud sucking noise, the trees released her form to his grip.

  Groaning, he pulled her, his muscles aching and sore from his efforts to free her, stretched to their limits. He lifted her from the mud and pulled her to his chest where her head landed with a soft thump. He breathed in the scents of earth, dead leaves, jasmine, and the humanness of her.

  That was what undid him. Her humanness overwhelmed him, and for an instant, he just wanted to hold her, his body protecting her from the worst of the rain as he pulled her away from the place that had almost become her tomb. As he crab-crawled with her up the hill, away from the encroaching water, he dug his heels in and held her to him tightly. Breathing heavily, he calmed his body, adrenaline from the near disaster and rescue making him weak at the knees. He needed to rest for a minute before continuing the climb to the top of the hill. Along the way, he found her purse, which he slipped around his neck to ensure it wouldn’t be lost again. He imagined, like most women, she’d be devastated if it’d been lost.

  He held her close, her form stretched down the length of his body. Holding her this way, he hoped to give her some of his body warmth and stop her from shaking. At least, that was the reason he used to convince himself that his contact with her held some necessity, and he wasn’t just doing it because he liked the feel of her against his naked skin. Rusty concentrated to his slow his breathing and his racing heart that seemed to speed up with her proximity. Just when he thought he had his body under control, she did the worst possible thing she could do.

  She opened her eyes.

  She stared at him in confusion, her hand traveling up his bare chest to rest near his pounding heart, and he felt an unfamiliar shiver of pleasure at her touch. For just a second, he wanted to lay her down and take her in the woods, just like this, in an animal way he’d never wanted a woman before. It took all his strength not to follow thought with deed.

  Unfocused, pain evident in their depths, her eyes met his gaze, and she whispered a soft, “Are you an angel?” before closing them again. She moaned, whether in pain or not he wasn’t sure, as he picked her up and carried her up the hill and back onto the trail.

  An angel? Well, I suppose there are worse things she could have called me, Rusty thought as he quickly traveled toward his hidden clothes.

  Chapter 6

  Carrying her to where his clothes were hidden proved to not be as easy as he’d thought it would be. Whether because he was exhausted from his night prowls, or because he was battling the emotions that being near her roused in him, Rusty was trembling by the time he reached his destination.

  He laid her down gently, checking once again to make sure her breathing was regular, and was relieved to find it was. He noticed the cut on her head still oozed blood, but not as badly as it had at the beginning. Overhead, the storm still raged, but here, the canopy of trees was thick enough that it protected them from the worst of the rain that was now turning to sleet and would soon become snow. He shivered in the chill damp air, wishing once again he were wearing his wolf pelt.r />
  He quickly brushed away the layer of leaves and twigs that covered his waterproof backpack and unzipped it. He pulled out his clothes, dressing quickly with furtive glances at the woman, making sure she was still unconscious. He really didn’t want to have to explain that she’d been carried through the woods by a naked man who had been the wolf who’d caused all the trouble in the first place. Oh, and then there was that bump on her head.

  But now, he thought as he squatted down next to her, what am I to do with her?

  His phone, retrieved from the bag, was not showing any reception, which was odd in itself, as he had often made calls from this part of the woods without difficulty. He had to believe that the storm probably interferedwith the reception out here, even though weather had never affected it before.

  Instead of panicking, though, Rusty considered what he should do next. Obviously, he needed to get her some help. She might have a concussion, or at the very least, a really bad headache when she woke. He was closer to his cabin than to the town, but would she suffer too badly if he took her there first and gave her first aid there? He could take her to town in his truck once she regained consciousness or he finished his rudimentary first aid on her wound. His hesitation to turn her care over to the doctor in town played at the edge of his thoughts, but he put aside the deeper consideration of his reasons for wanting to keep her with him.

  Then he had a startling thought. If she were not who she was, would I still want to bring her to my cabin? He decided that was a thought best left for later.

  Before Rusty could ponder any longer, the air around him dropped another few degrees. Snow fell, slipping like icy fingers down the collar of his shirt in an ever thickening cloud of whiteness.

  He reached down and gently picked her up. Taking her to his cabin it would be. At least there they would be out of the elements, and he could call for help from Havenwood Falls. Getting her warm was his first priority. The head wound looked to have finally stopped bleeding, but her unconscious state still had him worried about the possibility of a concussion.

  Carrying her was somehow easier now. He curled her body into his for warmth, and within a half hour, they’d traversed the distance to his cabin. In that short span of time, the intermittent flakes that had first fallen had become a mini-blizzard that had him wiping snow from his eyes as he walked, not an easy proposition as he carried her. Snow had accumulated along the path, and he left footprints behind him as he walked.

  Hard to believe it was spring, but that was Colorado for you. Wait a few hours and the weather would change, the locals said. Today was definitely proof of the vagaries of Mother Nature’s mind.

  When he reached the cabin, he sighed in relief. The wood was stacked to the left of the door, and he noticed the rack was half full. He made a mental note to cut more. His front porch, holding two rocking chairs and a few half-hearted attempts at greenery that were just twigs in dirt right now, was the most welcome sight he’d seen in a while.

  As he passed, he noticed his truck—a beat-up Ford issued by the park for his use as a ranger, the job he occupied in his human form—listing to one side.

  “What?” he asked no one, inspecting it as he walked. One of the tires was flat. “Oh, that’s great. How did that happen?” This would put a monkey wrench in his plans to take the woman into town.

  They might just have to stay here for a few days after all. At least until he could get Joshua out here with either a tow truck or a new tire.

  Once they entered the cabin, Rusty walked to the far end where his bedroom was and set her on the bed. After wrapping two layers of quilts around her, he left the room to find his first aid kit.

  When he returned a few minutes later, he found her snuggled into the covers, snoring lightly. She looked adorable, and he couldn’t resist reaching out and smoothing her hair off her face. She moaned at his touch, and he drew his hand back, afraid he’d hurt her. She muttered something under her breath, and he thought he heard the words “my angel” before she fell back into a fitful sleep. Watching her for a few minutes more, he felt a strong desire to join her under the covers. The thought of her body against his bare skin roused him once again to desire.

  He treated her head wound as best as he could and bandaged it. She never moved under his touch. He rubbed her cheek, the feel of her silky smooth skin overwhelming him, and he had to draw back several times to maintain control over his body. He could still feel the wolf inside him.

  Once her wounds were treated, he stepped from the room and closed the door, leaving it slightly open so he could hear if she stirred.

  He shrugged into his coat and went outside to retrieve some wood for the fireplace. The storm had picked up in intensity. There was no way anyone was getting to his cabin tonight in this weather. His arms full of wood, he leaned down to the fireplace and settled the fire into a rush of flames. He tried to stop thinking about what might have happened had the woman continued to walk toward town in this storm, dressed inappropriately for the weather as she had been.

  He set about preparing some leftover stew for dinner, hoping she might wake soon and knowing she would be hungry when she did. While he waited for the stew to cook, he checked his phone and noticed there was still no service. Now what was he to do?

  This woman appeared to be on the mend, so once she woke up, he could check her for a concussion, but until then, he had to pray she was okay.

  His thoughts turned to whom she might be as he settled into a chair near the fireplace. He picked up a book and read three pages without remembering a word. Keeping his thoughts off the woman and his strange reaction to her presence was not going to happen if this book couldn’t hold his attention.

  He stared into the flames and pondered this development.

  Who was this woman? Why was she occupying so much of his thoughts? What had his strange need for her meant? Was he losing himself to his wolf side? Was his need for companionship as a human translating itself into animal desire when he was a wolf?

  What would have happened if he’d given into those desires on the hillside when he’d held her in his arms? He shivered at the thought of the consequences of his actions if he hadn’t been able to control himself.

  What if she was his perfect mate?

  There were consequences to that, too. Consequences that could do her more harm than good. Being with someone like him wasn’t as simple as going to a justice of the peace to get married.

  His eyes traveled to the room where she slept and widened in surprise.

  She stood in the doorway, holding one of his guns, and it was pointed at him.

  “Who are you?” she said in a soft voice, her hand trembling. “And what have you done to me?”

  Chapter 7

  Rusty’s first reaction was to hold up his hands. His second was to determine how many seconds it would take him to close the distance between them and disarm her. His third thought, and the best one he could come up with under the circumstances, was to play dumb.

  “Ma’am?” he asked, trying to reassure her with his confused expression and non-threatening manner that he had no idea what she was talking about.

  He studied the gun she held and then smiled slightly, knowing it wasn’t loaded. But she didn’t know that, and he had a feeling if he told her, she would be less than believing. He decided to let her think she had the upper hand.

  “What. Am. I. Doing. Here?” she asked.

  Her hand trembled, and her voice, brave though it was, was weak, indicating she was not fully back to her strength yet. He could overpower her in an instant if he needed to. He chose not to.

  “Here, why don’t you sit? I’ll get us some stew. I think it’s ready now.”

  “Where am I?” she persisted. She raised the gun, using two hands to hold it steady.

  He ignored the weapon, pointing again to the chair. Rising, he carefully went to the stove and put the stew into two bowls. He set one on the table next to the empty chair and one next to his seat. Returning to the kit
chen island, he cut a couple slabs of bread and put butter onto two plates, which also held a few strawberries and grapes he’d pulled from the fridge.

  Once he was seated, he began eating, blowing on the food and taking a bite to let her know it was safe to eat. She eyed the stew, then him, and then the stew again.

  “It’s okay,” Rusty reassured her.

  The woman finally sat, shifting the gun to her other hand while keeping it pointed at him, and picking up the spoon for a taste of the stew. The moan that erupted from her lips surprised them both. She giggled, embarrassment pinking her face.

  Rusty reached over and took the gun from her hand, and she gave it up without resistance.

  “It’s not loaded,” he told her quietly.

  “Oh,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes. Rusty noticed they were a light blue ringed by a dark velvety blue like the twilight sky before true night fell. He liked them. These were eyes a man could get lost in, and find himself again.

  “I . . . what happened to me?” she asked, as she buttered her bread.

  “You were injured in a fall in the woods. I’m a park ranger for this forest. I was out on foot patrol and came upon you under some logs. I managed to pull you free and get you back here to my cabin before the full force of the storm hit.”

  “There was a wolf . . .” she said, her brow furrowing at the memory. “I remember seeing a wolf.” She touched her forehead, her spoon clattering into the empty stew bowl. “And I remember . . . you?” She said that last as if it was a question.

  He didn’t answer, pretending to have a mouth full of stew instead.

  “Was it you?” She looked at him with an intensity that made him blush.

  “I suppose it was . . .” he finally admitted. “I did rescue you, after all.”

  “Thank you . . .” She hesitated. “But my rescuer was . . . different.”

  “How do you mean ‘different’?” Rusty asked, wondering how much she did remember.