by Dani Harper
“I knew what I was doing. I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I didn’t say that. No one’s accusing you of being helpless. But trying to handle everything yourself isn’t necessary or smart—”
“What the hell do you know about what’s necessary?” she snapped. “I have to handle stuff like this every day on my own. If I can’t do the job, I have no business being here.”
He glared back. Why the hell was she so upset? “The job doesn’t require you to place yourself in harm’s way.”
“Dammit, I’m a licensed veterinarian—” she began but he cut her off.
“Yes, you are, and because you are, you know damn well that going into that situation alone was stupid. If it had been a poodle or a cocker spaniel, it might have been different.” James shook the towel out before putting it back on the rack, aware that he’d like nothing better than to shake Jillian. “But that animal outweighed you, was injured and in pain and looking to tear into you. And not one soul in that room, including you, doc, would have been able to stop it.” The mental picture clutched at his gut.
“So you decided you should just waltz in and rescue us females?”
James’s voice dropped lower, his eyes narrowed to steely blue slits. He stalked forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with her, although he had to lean over to achieve that. “Don’t you reduce this to gender shit. That just demeans both of us. I stepped in because I had the experience and the muscle to do what was needed in this particular situation. So you could then do what you’re skilled and experienced at. What I did is nothing against you, and if you think it is, then you’re not as smart as I pegged you for.”
She was spitting mad. James could see the rage radiating from Jillian like smoke from a wildfire. If looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing. But there were other things in those glaring green eyes. Tiredness. No, more like all-out exhaustion. And pain. A headache? Suddenly concerned, he skimmed her cheek with the back of his knuckles—and caught her lightning fist in his hand an instant before she connected with his face. Caught the other fist too and held them both captive. Then James did something else completely reflexive. Still holding her hands, he bent his head and kissed that angry mouth.
For a split second he was certain she would either bite him or head-butt him. He could feel the outraged shock vibrate right through her; then something shifted subtly, changed. Whether it was in him or in her, or both, he didn’t know, but there was a sudden spark of surprised recognition. The spark flared. He released her hands, and she didn’t pull away. The kiss deepened, and they all but fell into each other. Her lips were both giving and demanding, and so were his. Hungry. Needing, then needing more. Neither of them was steady on their feet when they finally stepped back from each other.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Her voice was still angry but also a little shaky. Then he looked in her eyes and saw not anger but desire. Raw desire. The surprising power of it punched him in the gut a full three seconds before her fist did. By the time he got his wind back, Jillian was gone.
Jillian tried walking for an hour to distract herself, calm down. Then she shopped in every store along Main Street. She needed a giant economy package of work socks, didn’t she? But even with her body still vibrating like a plucked string, tiredness and hunger won out. She had to find a place to sit down, refuel and regroup. She considered going to the Jersey Pub but remembered there was a baseball game on the big screen TV tonight, which would draw a large and boisterous crowd. Instead she headed over to the Finer Diner. Birkie had brought her there during her second day in Dunvegan, claiming it was the best place in town to eat. The little gas station and convenience store combo hadn’t looked promising as a restaurant, but Jillian was a believer after that meal. Although she could sample much of the Finer Diner cuisine from the staff fridge anytime, microwaving a container just didn’t equal the fresh-made experience.
She waved at the big man working the till as some teenagers purchased giant cups of soda and multiple bags of chips. Bill Watson was nearly as tall as Connor and built like a champion wrestler—which at one time he was—with a multitude of both tattoos and freckles covering his muscled arms. The backstreets of London and the outback of Australia blended in his voice, along with pure good humor. Deep and loud, his words boomed easily across the store to the red vinyl booth where Jillian had planted herself.
“Right then, lovey, no doubt you’ll be looking for supper. The special is fish’n’chips, and Jessie’s made her best-ever slaw to lie down wi’ that.”
“Sounds great.” She leaned back and surveyed the store, glanced out the window at the row of businesses across the street and watched the gaggle of folks who stopped in front of the post office to chat or to sort their mail. It never failed to surprise her how much she enjoyed the little northern town and the people who lived here. There was a sense of community she’d never experienced before, even though she was more of an observer than a participant.
She certainly hadn’t been just an observer when James kissed her. That kiss . . . Good God, she could still taste him. Jillian sighed a little in spite of herself. She remembered the way James had pulled her close, the feel of his hands running up and down her body, the incredible heat that radiated from him, that blond beard surprisingly soft against her face.
And then she remembered the way she’d plowed her fist into James’s solid body before running like a rabbit. Her cheeks flamed. That had been dumb, just plain dumb, a reaction worthy of a school playground kiss. She could have just said no thanks, could have backed off, could have not kissed the man back in the first place—but she’d have to be made out of stone not to respond to James Macleod. Okay, maybe she could have kissed him and then said something supremely mature and dignified that would—what? Let him down easy? Discourage him? Was that what she really wanted?
Leaning her head on her hands, Jillian closed her eyes wearily. Okay, I admit it, I’m attracted to him. But who wouldn’t be? She supposed she should probably apologize for hitting him. But having James pissed off at her was good insurance against a repeat of that kiss, and right now she wanted some insurance like that. Deep down, she was just a little afraid of being kissed like that again. Who knew what might happen? Something, anything. Everything.
She furrowed her brow and deliberately recalled the events that preceded the kiss. Like his lecture. And the way he’d arrogantly pushed her aside and taken over restraining the dog. Jillian tried so hard to find her edge, drum up some anger so she could ruthlessly douse the little fires his kiss had kindled. Couldn’t do it. The truth was, James hadn’t been arrogant, hadn’t been showing off or trying to take over anything. He’d been trying to keep her from being badly mauled.
Oh, crap. As much as she hated to admit it, he’d been right, totally, absolutely right. She’d been too tired to see just how risky and stupid—he’d certainly picked the right word there—she’d been to even think of touching that monstrous dog without extra help. Her instructors back east would be the first to give her an earful about “risk management.” Connor would have been within his rights to fire her for endangering herself like that. His employee insurance rates would have skyrocketed if anything had gone wrong. And the dog could well have injured not only her, but the other women in the room too. Now I’ll probably have to thank James or something.
She sighed then. Right after I apologize to him. She’d been rude. Snarky, bitchy rude. Sure, she was tired, she was hungry, she had a killer headache, she had all sorts of leftover adrenaline in her system, but those things weren’t James’s fault. The fact that he reminded her powerfully, simply by existing, that she hadn’t had sex in a long, long time—okay, she could blame him for that one. But the rest, no.
However, in order to thank him or apologize or anything, she’d have to see him again. And how was she ever going to look him in the face after that killer kiss? Especially when something inside her went liquid at the thought of being wrapped in those powerful arms, held tight against that hot, hot
body.
She jumped as a steaming platter of fish and chips appeared in front of her. “Thanks,” she managed. Bill winked broadly and hurried back to the counter where a man was waiting to pay for gas. At once she recognized the dark red hair curling out from under the hat. Douglas Harrison. He was looking right at her, but for a split second, she thought he was going to walk out without acknowledging her. Then he seemed to think better of it and approached her table.
“Evening, Dr. Descharme.”
“Jillian. How’s the mare doing?”
“The foot’s real good. The heat’s out of it now, and she’s not favoring it much. You did a good job with her.”
“Thanks. I’m glad we could do something for her. She’s got a great temperament.”
“Yeah, she does, but Dad sure as hell doesn’t these days. I wanted to apologize for his behavior.”
“That’s not your fault—or his. I didn’t take any offense from it. Please don’t apologize.”
Douglas seemed to relax somewhat then. “He’s not like that all the time, really. It’s the damn Alzheimer’s. He just gets these spells and goes off the deep end, doesn’t recognize people.”
“Or sees things that aren’t there?” she ventured. “It must be very hard on you, on all of your family.”
He nodded. “Some days are harder than others. Fortunately he still has some good days too, and that helps. Anyways, I don’t want to interrupt your meal there.”
“That’s okay, I was just waiting for it to cool off a little.” She had an idea. “Your dad mentioned werewolves, but he also said something about a white wolf with blue eyes. Do you know if he ever saw a real wolf or maybe a wolf-dog cross around here that matched that description? Something that might have given him the werewolf idea?”
Some people’s skin turned pale when under stress. Others colored. Douglas turned a bright rose right to the roots of his auburn hair and looked so uncomfortable that Jillian was almost sorry she’d asked the question.
“Dad’s lived here longer than either of us has been alive, built his cattle ranch in the early 20s by clearing away raw forest. I imagine he saw plenty of wolves in every color back then. Not now though. There’s no wolves around the place now.”
“You keep saying that but—”
“I’ve got to go. Thanks again for your work on our mare.” He quickly walked out of the store.
Jillian watched him through the window, saw him get into a pickup and take off with a surprising squeal of tires. Nervous, she thought. The wolf thing made him nervous, as if he was scared of something. Why would that be? And why are all the attractive men I meet so weird? She was glad to find her food still hot and settled into eating, determined not to think about Douglas or James or any other members of the male species for the rest of the night.
Restless and edgy, James paced the parameters of Connor’s farm. What he really wanted to do was Change and race through the sprawling fields and forest that comprised his brother’s land. But he didn’t trust the wolf, and so he was trying to work off his frustrations the slow way—as a human being on foot. He’d walked all the way here from the clinic. And now he’d walked most of the fence lines. So far, however, all the walking seemed to be simply aggravating him more.
He was sick to death of being human. His head was crammed with too much information, conflicting thoughts and multiple considerations, all underpinned with complex emotion. And over all, a new awareness of Jillian he’d rather not have.
Damn, the woman can kiss.
He sighed, swore. It had to be lust. Attraction, then lust. Hell, he hadn’t had a woman in years. Decades to be correct, although he still struggled to accept the amount of time that had passed. It was perfectly normal to act on the attraction he felt for Jillian. But he had no right to what was normal, no right to encourage things between them. Encourage, hell. Although James had been out of the picture for thirty years, he was relatively certain that grabbing a woman he’d technically just met and kissing her senseless still wasn’t the norm. Even more disconcerting was how much he wanted to do it again. And again. One of the most important lessons learned by every young Changeling was control. Discipline. Restraint. He’d never had a problem with it before, not in all his long life. Until now.
Now, both wolf and human nature appeared obsessed with Jillian Descharme. He was supposed to be protecting her, not seducing her. Obviously he’d lost not just his control but his mind somewhere along the line.
He shouldn’t have kissed her, shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her—what had he been thinking? James snorted. Thinking with his hormones most likely. It only made sense that a return to human form would bring human desires with it. Except his desires were for something more than sex, and that both confused and infuriated him. It was the wolf’s fault, plainly. His wolf nature had introduced the notion of a relationship with Jillian, and now his human side seemed to be entertaining the idea.
Not that Jillian was encouraging things, however. She seemed to be pissed off at James every time he saw her. Of course, maybe he hadn’t exactly caught her at her best. He tried to look at it from her point of view. He’d broken into her apartment in the night. Grabbed her in the loft. Run over her in the hallway. Small wonder she wasn’t glad to see him when he tried to do something proactive like keep her from being eaten alive by a giant dog. But it still surprised him that she saw it as interfering. Maybe she liked to fight her own battles.
James considered that. She definitely had a warrior spirit. He’d glimpsed it that night in her apartment and admired it. There had been no screaming, no pleading, no fear at all in her—at least, no fear that she’d revealed. When she’d failed to deck James, she’d gone for a knife to gut him. Strange how that just increased her appeal.
A warrior spirit. She’d defied him in the loft when she had no hope of escaping, when she thought he meant her harm. More than a warrior. Because instead of fleeing when she had the chance, she’d paused and actually expressed concern for him. It stunned him, then and now. He’d knocked her flying in the hallway, and she hadn’t complained, but again, there was concern for him in those sea green eyes. It had nearly undone him. James wiped a hand over his face, found himself sweating as he remembered helping her up, remembered those aching seconds when he couldn’t make himself let go of her. When he very nearly kissed her.
Which made the kiss after the Cujo incident a whole lot less surprising. And the possibility of kissing Jillian Descharme again much more likely. How was he ever going to get out of her life and back to his own four-footed one? All he knew for sure was that the longer he stayed in human form, the more complicated his life seemed to get.
And what he was about to do would complicate it even further.
Chapter Sixteen
The doorbell rang, startling Connor into dropping the spoon into the soup he was stirring on the stove. He hadn’t heard a car come in the lane and none of the dogs had barked. Only a Changeling could get to his home unannounced, and Zoey was in the city until tomorrow. Anyone else would have given him some mental warning. The heavy front door was wide open, letting the breeze come through the screen door. Whoever was there could easily have spoken to him, called out a greeting, even stuck their head inside. Something. Connor approached the doorway cautiously, silently, and looked out.
A man stood on the covered porch, looking out over the yard. The twilight silhouetted him, revealing only his shape and not his features, but it was enough. The powerful form definitely belonged to a Macleod. He was tall, like all of the Macleod brothers, broad of shoulder and heavily muscled. Only one of them, however, had the white-blond hair, visible even in the fading light, that tumbled almost to this man’s collar and matched the pale close-cropped beard that followed his jaw.
James.
The man whirled. He recognized his brother and relaxed. A little.
Connor opened the door carefully, half-wondering if he was seeing things and half-afraid of scaring James off. Took a couple of steps o
utside. “You selling Girl Scout cookies or magazine subscriptions? What the hell are you doing ringing the doorbell like some stranger?” He searched his brother’s face. The strong features, the intense eyes, were tempered with both knowledge and sorrow, but it was the face Connor had carried in his heart all these years. “God, James. I—” He couldn’t finish for the emotions that squeezed his heart. He closed the distance between them and seized his brother in a rough embrace. I never thought I’d see you again, not like this. They held each other for a long moment then stood apart. Connor kept a hand on James’s shoulder, feeling a little foolish yet unable to let go. “I’m glad you came.”
James shook his head. “I’m . . . I’m not really sure what I’m doing here.”
His brother’s voice seemed a little deeper, a little rougher, but it was the voice Connor knew. He had to swallow hard, twice, before he could respond. “Doesn’t matter. You can take your time, sort it out as you go along.”
James waved an arm at the yard to change the subject. “Place looks good. Lots of potential.”
“Place looks like hell.” Connor snorted. “And as for potential, I’ve had it for over ten years now, and it’s almost as run-down as when I took it over. I just don’t get much time to work on it. A few years ago I hired people to come in and renovate the house, but it’s a lot tougher to find someone to renovate a farm. Maybe you can give me some advice over supper.” He held the door open. “Zoey’s not here so I’m heating up some soup, got a couple loaves of Bill’s cheese bread to go with it. You coming in to eat, or are you going to stand out here on the porch all night?”
“Guess I could help you with that soup.”
The soup was stuck to the bottom of the pot but luckily hadn’t burned yet. While they ate, Connor kept looking across the table. His brother James was actually sitting in his kitchen. It seemed normal and surreal at the same time. Connor made small talk about the farm, about the week he’d just spent up north with a mobile clinic, but towards the end of the meal, he just had to ask, “What made you come here in human skin?”
