Werehounds understood each other as either hounds or humans but other humans couldn’t hear them speak as hounds. Hounds could not speak aloud to either human or hound. They communicated between themselves on open channels or could limit their mind track between two or more.
“We appear to have no choice about the decision we’ve made,” Sean mind-tracked. “Unless, as you say, we scrap this plan completely and accept the inevitable. There’s still time for you to leave before she gets here. She doesn’t know you, doesn’t expect you to be here, so if you pass her on the way out you can say you took a wrong turn”
Niles understood reverse psychology when he heard it. “Accept that our numbers will continue to shrink while we cling to the fringes of human society, never allowed to live among them openly, you mean? I’m not ready to do that.” “We’re living among them now,” Sean said.
“Carefully,” Niles said. He looked over the waters of Saratoga Passage sweeping in beneath the bluff where the cottage stood. Wind spun dead leaves and grit into the cold air. He sighed, loving this place, hating that he and his kind could not find peace there. “We consider every move we make. If they knew what we are we would probably have to leave.”
“Or stand and fight.”
Niles swallowed a curse. “Fight the human world we want to be part of? Back to reality, Sean. We are sworn never to harm a human unless they threaten us. Without them we have no hope of getting back our own humanity. We are not like the werewolves—they are animals and they like it that way. We’re not the men we were meant to be either, dammit, but we’re not giving up, not now. Not ever.”
“They are too quiet,” Sean said. “The wolves. I keep expecting them to interfere with our plans somehow.”
“You’re only saying what I’ve been thinking.” On these occasions Niles wished hounds could hear wolves’ thoughts, but they couldn’t, just as the wolves couldn’t hear theirs. ”The others must wonder, too. If they knew our plans, Brande and his pack would have every reason to stop us. We know too much about them. He knows we could make their lives hell.”
“It’s getting late,” Sean said. “Are you sure Gabriel gave you the right day for her arrival at Two Chimneys?” Two Chimneys was the name of the cottage the woman had inherited from her dead husband. She was about to come back for the first time since that death.
Niles rarely noticed fading light. He preferred the darkness and had perfect dark-sight, but he glanced around and wondered if Sean might have a point. “Gabriel ought to know. He’s going to be her new boss. She’s supposed to start in his office in the next couple of days and she’ll need to settle in here first. Gabriel said she’d come today.”
“This thing you’re doing could blow everything apart,” Sean said. “It could totally backfire. What if she goes running for the nearest cop the minute she finds out what you are?”
“I’ll feel my way. If she isn’t receptive to me, we’ll forget it–for now. We’d have to anyway.”
“How will you know if she’s receptive?” There was laughter in Sean’s thoughts. “When she arrives, you say, Hi, I’m Niles and I’ll be your new mate. All the females of my species have died out giving birth, but-–“
“Knock it off, Sean.”
Sean wasn’t done yet. “I need you to have my offspring, and find more females to do the same thing with other members of my team. We want to restock our ranks. Oh, and we can’t be sure you won’t die the same way our own females did.”
“Get back to the rest of the team and bring them up to date,” Nile said sharply. “They’ve got to be on edge. I’ll check in later.”
Niles felt Sean close his mind, and heard him go on his way.
A flash if silver caught Niles’ attention. A small car passing the cottage on the far side. Leigh Kelly had arrived. He stood absolutely still, his eyes narrowed.
He had waited a long time for this day, this meeting. If this woman knew his plans she wouldn’t even get out of her car.
The thought of what lay ahead scared the hell out of him.
Leigh left the front door of the cottage open to let in fresh air. The little house had been closed up for eighteen months since her husband Chris had died, and the musty smell inside made her eyes sting.
Or she told herself it was the smell that caused the start of tears.
Can I do this? She had thought she could, thought she was ready.
She glanced at the open steps leading to the sleeping loft and nearly lost it completely. A recollection shouldn’t be so clear you could see it. But she could see Chris climbing down those stairs early in the morning, his dark blond hair mussed, beard shadow clinging to the grooves in his cheeks and the sharp angle of his jaw—and that half-sleepy, half-sexy and all impish smile on his lips.
Leigh shivered and hunched her shoulders. No matter how hard this was at first, she would get past the waves of hurt, even disbelief. She had come too far not to make it all the way back to a full life.
For a few moments she leaned on the doorjamb and made herself take in the main room of the cottage, the main room with its fireplace on either side. This would be a happy place again. Sure it would take time, but Chris would want her to make it and she would, for both of them.
They had almost two years of wonderful time together before their marriage—only days after that marriage. But she wouldn’t wipe out a moment of that time, except for losing him.
She had gone inside, dropped her bag and started shrugging out of her green down coat when a thud, followed by another, and another, froze her in place. Her dog, Jazzy, still sat on the edge of the cottage porch, unperturbed, even though his head was turned toward the noise. Nothing moved beyond the big front window.
The thudding continued.
Carrying her coat, her heart thundering, Leigh tiptoed into the kitchen to peer through the window over the sink, then the one in the door, covered by a piece of lace curtain held tight top and bottom of the glass by lengths of springy wire.
Her stomach made a great revolution. Late afternoon had turned the light muzzy but in front of a wall of firs that was acres deep in places, stood a shiny gray truck with a long cab and a businesslike bed piled high with chunks of wood. In that truck bed stood a tall, muscular man in a red plaid shirt who tossed the logs to the ground beside the lean-to woodshed as easily as if they were matchsticks.
Leigh put her coat back on and crossed her arms tightly.
What was he doing here?
The door stuck and it took several wrenches to get it open. The ground was muddy from recent rainfall. Crossing her arms again, she kicked off her shoes and stuffed her feet into a pair of green rubber boots by the wall, where they were always kept–beside a larger pair.
Leigh glanced away from Chris’s boots at once.
“Afternoon,” the man called.
Leigh shaded her eyes with a cold hand and squinted to see him. He was very powerfully built, with dark wavy hair, long and a bit shaggy. The sleeves of the red wool shirt were rolled up. His Levis clung to strong legs, a dark T-shirt showed at the neck of his shirt. She couldn’t make out much more.
“What are you doing here?” she said. And she felt vulnerable since he could probably throw her as easily as one of the chunks of wood.
“Well–“
”Are you planning to squat here?” she asked, keeping her voice steady and sharp. “Because if you are you can forget it. This is my place. Get on your way.”
She wished she weren’t alone and kept herself ready to rush back the way she had come if he threatened her somehow.
“Hey, sorry. I’m just delivering wood like I told Gabriel Jones I would. I meant to do all this before you got here.” He had one of those male voices you don’t forget. Low, quiet and confident. And now that he had stopped moving wood an absolute stillness had come over him, a watchfulness. He was taking her measure. “I must have my days mixed up,” he added.
That explained it, right? Gabriel had asked this man to bring the wood. “I
see.” She felt like an idiot, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t trouble and likely to turn on her.
“The shed was full when…the last time I was here.” The day she and Chris had left, never to come back together.
“Apparently your stash got borrowed,” the man said. He flipped up one corner of his mouth. “With the house empty for so long you probably hosted a few beach bonfires. It’s starting to get cold. You’ll need this yourself now.”
She didn’t care about how cold it might get. The man sounded reserved but sure of himself and he made her edgy. He was probably right about the beach fires. Kids from the quiet little town of Langley and the outlying areas needed a way to let off steam and there were worse ways than having beach parties around Chimney Rock Cove.
“I’ve already stacked some of this by the front door,” the man said. “Easier to get it to the fireplaces that way.”
She had been too busy forcing herself to go into the cottage at all to noticed details.
The man didn’t seem threatening–not really. Except for that stillness that didn’t feel quite natural. “You sound as if you knew I was coming,” she said. Of course he did. He had already said as much.
“You know how things are around here,” he responded without looking at her. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business, but your new boss, Gabriel, he said you took some sort of office job at the bar. He mentioned it to me when he got me to clean your gutters.”
The blood that rushed to her face throbbed. It would look awful, splotchy and bright red around the freckled bits where her skin stayed pale. “Clean the gutters?” she said and swallowed. “Gabriel thinks of everything.”
“I was glad to do it. Niles Latimer–“ he hopped down from the back of the truck and wiped his right hand on his jeans, and wiped and wiped, then hesitated and put the hand in his pocket. “I’m in the cabin by the beach.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That way.”
Leigh felt his stillness even more strongly. Something restrained by his own will. If he didn’t want to hold it back, what then?
A rapid but stealthy current of energy invaded her, touched her in places and ways beyond understanding. She was responding to him. The most subtle yet definite change in light, an intensity, sharpened the lines and shadows of his features.
These things didn’t really happen. Fancy had taken over because she was tired and anxious. Strange and fascinating men didn’t set out to charm a woman they had only just met—or to possess her. The presence of danger. Leigh gave an involuntary shiver.
Shape up!
She advanced on him with wobbly determination, only she’d make sure he never knew she was not sure of herself. “I know the place,” she told him, shooting out her own hand. “I’m Leigh Kelly.” She used to be so confident, at least on the outside. To a fault some said. The same people might have called her a “smart mouth” and she knew some had.
He glanced at her face with bright blue eyes, lowered that gaze quickly and yanked his hand out again. He wrapped very long, workman’s fingers around hers and she winced when her bones ground together. Niles Latimer pulled back as if she had shocked him.
“Nice to meet you.” There was no particular accent that she recognized. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you lost your husband.”
“Are you?” She closed her eyes for an instant. “Forgive me–my social skills are a bit rusty sometimes. Thank you, but Chris has been gone quite a while now and I’m back in the swing of things.” She surprised herself by adding, “Wonderful memories can’t be so bad.”
She followed his gaze to her left hand where her wedding ring still looked new and three embedded diamonds glinted.
Leigh had never considered taking the ring off.
Once more she felt his unwavering attention on her. That was it, he watched her as if she was the only other person in the world and he had to commit her to memory.
And that, she thought, was a ridiculous conclusion on her part. He paid attention when he talked to someone was all. That was polite and probably too rare.
Niles pushed his sleeves higher on the heavily muscled, weather-darkened forearms of a physical man. “Is it all right if I carry on unloading now?”
“Of course,” Leigh said. “Thank you. But tell me how much I owe you for the gutters and the firewood.” Whether she’d asked for them or not, both things were needed.
“Nothing,” he said airily, sweeping wide an arm. “House warming present. Re-warming. This tree had to come down and I’ve already got enough wood for half a dozen winters. Anyway, neighbors look out for neighbors.”
Refusing the kindness would sound churlish but it made her feel very uncomfortable to accept. “Um,” was all she could think of to say. Leigh felt iron determination under Niles’ calm manner, determination and control drawn as tight as a loaded crossbow. It didn’t make her comfortable.
He laughed and it suited him–and made her smile. “I reckon I scared you. That was dumb. I should have thought of that possibility and come to the door to introduce myself,” he said. “Sorry about that. But let me get back to unloading. Then I’ll stack it.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No such thing. Leave it on the ground and I’ll do it. I’m tougher than I look and I need the exercise.”
“Stacking wood is a man’s job,” he said, showing no sign of realizing his own reminder that she was alone now. “You’ll have plenty to do giving the house a good clean.”
She dithered but said, “Well, thank you, then.” At another time she would have told him a woman could stack wood perfectly well. Today she didn’t mind having a man do something for her.
She only glanced over her shoulder once on her way back and he was already making the first layer of wood in the lean-to. Gabriel would never send anyone untrustworthy and Leigh decided she liked having Niles there, doing ordinary things and making the place feel less empty.
Chapter 2
Blue striped mugs and matching plates lined shelves built into a kitchen alcove no more than two feet wide. A heap of clean silver-plate flatware worn dull by use remained atop the small chest fitted below the shelves. And white pottery canisters, complete with yellow duck knobs, stood in a cluster on a scrubbed wood counter beside the speckled green enamel sink. One side of the sink was chipped all the way down to dark metal. Everything was exactly the way it had been when Leigh Kelly last left the kitchen–with Chris at her side.
More than eighteen months ago.
Everything was the same? No, everything had changed. Leigh was alone now, had been for what felt an eternity. She and Chris would never again run into this house, breathless after chasing one another around outside, and race for the kitchen to make hot chocolate or pour a glass of cold wine.
But she would start over. She would learn to remember Chris without wanting to cry.
She took the carnival glass vase from the center of the round table and filled its pencil wide well with water. With the New Year firmly settled in, the deep cold of winter turned the ground to stone. The only thing in bloom outside was a hardy Fuschia bush, but she had picked a short branch with a few vivid red flowers that would do just fine. Whenever she and Chris came here, the first thing she had done was to put a flower in the vase, sometimes a purple Cosmos, or a Snapdragon in summer, a couple of leggy Impatiens in fall.
Chris’s chair was left pushed out from the table and he had forgotten to take his scarred leather bomber jacket from the back. He had only used the coat up here and kept it on a hook in the broom closet.
Leigh’s eyes stung again and she blinked. The brown leather felt so soft beneath her fingers. The inside of the collar was darker where it had rested against his neck over a number of years. She touched the collar, picked up a sleeve and squeezed the knitted band at the wrist in one fist.
The jacket was cold but she could see Chris wearing it and striding along the beach below the bluff, laughing up at her.
Blinking didn’t hold back tears this time.
This was breaking the promise she had made herself–already. It was okay to feel nostalgic and even a bit choked up, but there could be no falling apart or letting the terrible hurt take over once more.
She fumbled in her pockets until she found tissues and pressed them to her eyes just as they completely misted over. The pain in her throat was as much from fighting for control as struggling not to put on the coat and go curl up with the tears until she fell asleep.
No. This was her new beginning. Choosing to return to the area known as Chimney Rock Cove and the house called Two Chimneys (because of the two fireplaces, one on either side of the same room) might take more guts than to go to a fresh, strange place, but in time she would be glad of the familiarity.
And she had not really had any choice but to return to see how she did here. The power of remembered happiness would eventually pull her back anyway.
The baggage she had brought in, one suitcase, still stood just inside the front door that opened into a well-worn and cozy living room where she and Chris had spent hour after hour. She had left the case there when she heard Niles Latimer but if she decided not to stay she wouldn’t have far to carry the bag back to her car.
The only sound was the distant pounding of the waters in Saratoga Passage onto the driftwood-strewn beach beneath the bluff in front of the house–and the thump of Niles Latimer’s logs. These and some loud sniffing from Jazzy, her Sheltie, Yorkie mix. Jazzy didn’t settle until he had explored every corner and cranny of new digs.
Jazzy was seeing the house on Washington’s Whidbey Island for the first time.
Chris never met the dog.
Leigh tapped a foot, summoning up the energy she was famous for. It had been on the rocky beach below the cottage that she met Chris for the first time. She had come by chance, looking for a retreat. A pin in a map was her guide to Chimney Rock Cove, but from the moment she saw the place it seemed familiar and she wanted to be there. Chris was the clincher.
Sometimes she had been convinced it wasn’t the pin that brought her to Whidbey Island, but fate—not that she believed in fate. Or did she? Even the air in the place felt different and colors took on their own fresh brilliance.
French Quarter Page 46
