Force Of Nature

by Peggy Webb

  As he thrust home she shouted, “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Is that an answer or a commentary?”

  “An answer…don’t talk, Hunter…please, please, please.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  February 14, 2002

  I feel like a queen. Here we are in Tahiti! Another surprise from Michael.

  He hadn’t said a word about going anywhere for Valentine’s Day. But last Tuesday I woke up with this big bulge under my pillow. It turned out to be plane tickets to Tahiti along with a beautiful note from my darling husband.

  “My precious one,” it said, “I want to spend the most romantic day of the year in another tropical paradise with the most wonderful wife in the universe. All my love forever, Michael… P.S. Pack that sexy red gown and those red high-heeled shoes.”

  At breakfast I said, “Michael, you keep giving me these marvelous trips and all I’m giving you is a box of chocolates.”

  He laughed and said, “You give me much, much more, darling.”

  “But the trips are so expensive.”

  “I’m more than getting my money’s worth. In fact, I think I’ll collect right now.”

  And he did, right there on the kitchen floor. Oh God, this is the most wonderful man on earth. I can’t believe I almost lost him.

  I know, I know… I shouldn’t dwell in the past. And I don’t. Not really. Every now and then, though, I startle awake in the middle of the night and reach to the other side of the bed to see if Michael’s still there.

  I wish I would quit that. The last time it happened (Sunday night after we’d sat up till one watching a particularly scary movie), he said, “Anne, you’ve got to quit doing this.”

  “This is the first time in a long time,” I told him, and he said, “I hope it’s your last.”

  I guess that’s the closest we’ve been to having a quarrel since he came out of the coma. I take that as a very good sign. In fact, I’ve slept soundly ever since. Maybe I won’t regress.

  It’s not that I want to forget what happened. I don’t. Remembering how I almost lost him has given me a keen appreciation of each moment. I mentally catalog each detail of our day, no matter how mundane.

  I can look at the tops of daffodils pushing up through the earth and remember walking through the gardens of Belle Rose holding hands with Michael. I can hear a mocking bird welcoming the day and remember my husband bending over me with a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his dear face. I can see a sunset and remember standing on the white sands of Waikiki embracing my beloved.

  He’s asleep on a hammock swing just outside our beachfront cottage (another one! I’m getting spoiled by this). I’m going to join him as soon as I finish writing in my diary.

  Emily’s blooming in her pregnancy. She and Jake are staying at Belle Rose while we’re in Tahiti. They both wanted to spend Valentine’s Day there. I understand why. It’s a house made for love, truly romantic.

  Daniel is still high after the concert tour with Skylar. She introduced him at the end of every concert, made him get up on the stage so she could sing the last song for him. The audience loved it, he said, and so did he. Skylar’s getting ready to do another music video. When she told me, “This one is going to be a little bit tamer,” Daniel chimed in on the extension and said, “I hope not. I’m counting on you to keep the excitement high in this marriage.”

  They are wonderful together… Jake and Emily, Daniel and Skylar.

  It’s Hannah I worry about. She and Hunter are in New York now… Ithaca. She flew them up in her plane so they could avoid some of the crowds.

  “Things are going smoothly for Hunter,” she told us right before we left Belle Rose. (Was it only two days ago?)

  “Tell us everything,” I said.

  “His cousin George couldn’t be nicer. When no trace of Hunter was found after seven years, of course he was declared legally dead and George inherited everything. By law he doesn’t have to give Hunter a penny. Fortunately, he’s a kind-hearted, generous man.”

  “He’s going to give everything back?”

  “Not the money he spent on taxes and upkeep of the Wolfe mansion, of course, but the bulk of the estate…yes. Hunter will never have to worry about making a living.”

  “That’s great,” I said, but Michael told her, “A man needs to feel useful, Hannah.”

  “We’re working on that, Dad. I’ll let you know in a few days. Meantime, we’ll be here until the courts reverse his legally dead status.”

  Naturally, I’m delighted that Hunter is adjusting so well after twenty years in the wilderness, but my main concern is Hannah. When I asked her, “How are you?” she said, “I’m fine, Mom.” But that didn’t tell me a thing.

  Michael says I worry too much about my children, that we did a good job with their upbringing and now we should sit back and watch them fly. I know, I know. He’s right.

  That’s what I’m trying to do. It’s easier now that Michael is back. He’s not only my lover and my best friend, my rock and my safe port in a storm; he’s also the best time I’ve ever had. Lord, the way we laugh and carry on you’d think we were teenagers instead of fifty-something.

  Last night while we lay in our hammock watching the stars I said, “Darling, I love being in this pink cocoon with you. Just the two of us. Do you think we can keep it this way?” And he said, “Always, my precious. Always.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Wolfe mansion was on a twenty-acre wooded estate that overlooked Cayuga Lake. Hannah was staying in one of the guest suites in the east wing. And that’s exactly how she felt…like a guest.

  She’d seen Hunter every day, of course…to take care of business, a phrase he had adopted from Elvis. Except for their many business outings and the meals they’d shared, she’d had no contact with him. He didn’t come to her at night, he didn’t come in the early morning, he didn’t suddenly appear during the daylight hours while she was busy tapping away at her computer.

  She missed him so much her teeth hurt. Every bone in her body ached for him.

  This separation was a good thing, she kept telling herself. It meant she’d done her job well. It meant that Hunter was adjusting to his new circumstances without any problems. It meant he could resume his life, and she could resume hers.

  But, oh, she missed her wolfman. She missed the totally uninhibited man who expressed his every emotion whenever it occurred. She missed the almost-savage who heeded the call of the wild, the pull of the moon.

  The Hunter she knew and loved was a force of nature. Had she gone too far with his education? Had she tamed him too much?

  She switched off her computer. There was no use trying to work while her mind wandered. Besides, it was time to dress. George was giving a reception in the Wolfe mansion to introduce Hunter to his friends.

  Hannah switched on the TV, as much for company as to hear the evening news. Funny how an independent woman could get so used to having someone else around that silence felt lonely.

  She was in panties and garter belt when the news broadcast caught her attention.

  “Today Hunter Wolfe petitioned the courts of New York to declare him legally alive. Wolfe claims to be the son of Conan and Margaret Wolfe, who died nearly twenty years ago when their plane crashed into a remote region of Denali. No trace was ever found of their nine-year-old son, Hunter. He was presumed dead…until today.

  “What happened during those twenty years? Where was he?”

  Film of Hunter and Hannah leaving the courtroom flashed on the screen. Reporters swarmed around him, shoving microphones in his face as the voice-over continued.

  “Wolfe declined comment and all interviews. More on the mysterious reappearance of the Wolfe heir tonight at…”

  The shrill ringing of Hannah’s cell phone drowned out his last words. She had barely said hello, when Jack shouted, “I thought you told me he was dead.”

  “I did.”

  “Obviously you lied… God, Hannah… I’m hoping you can give m
e a very good reason for robbing me of the biggest story this magazine has ever had.”

  “It’s personal, Jack.”

  “Personal? Is that all you have to say?”

  “Yes, that’s all I have to say.”

  “Then you know what I have to say, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  “God, Hannah…you’re the best damned photojournalist I’ve ever worked with…you don’t leave me any choice.”

  “I understand. If I were in your shoes I’d fire me, too.”

  “Dammit, Hannah, how am I ever going to explain this to my board…you were right there, and this magazine has diddley on Hunter Wolfe.”

  Hannah didn’t see Hunter until she felt the phone being lifted out of her hand.

  “Jack…this is Hunter Wolfe…that’s right… I’m the wolfman… I’m giving an exclusive interview to Hannah… I thought so… I’ll tell her.”

  He ended the connection, then tossed the phone onto a bedside table.

  “Jack says to tell you he’s sorry. He looks forward to getting your story.”

  “How dare you!” Hannah stomped to the window and glared at the lake, then whirled around with her hands on her hips and her chin outthrust. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I don’t need or want you or anybody else to do it for me.”

  “You agreed to do the interview.”

  “I did not.”

  “I recall it vividly. You said, yes, yes, yes.”

  “I was talking about coming to New York with you…wipe that wicked grin off your face. I will not exploit you, and I will not be sidetracked by you.”

  She was lying, of course. His eyes gleamed silvery with passion, and her body responded like a seasoned racehorse. To make matters worse, she was standing around in next to nothing with nowhere to hide.

  Not that she would. She’d be darned if she would retreat. Hunter might intimidate many people, she was not one of them, regardless of his size.

  When he saw where her treacherous eyes had strayed, he grinned even more.

  “Don’t think you can ignore me for days, and them come in here and I’ll fall like a ripe plum.”

  “I was thinking more of peaches. You taste like ripe peaches, Hannah.”

  He was irresistible…almost. Languid with desire, Hannah moved in slow motion to get a robe.

  “The party will be starting soon. You don’t want to be late.”

  “I haven’t lived with a clock for twenty years. I don’t plan to start now.”

  “Well, I do. George has been extremely nice. He deserves every courtesy.”

  “Hannah…come here.”

  Their eyes locked and held. Suddenly they rushed into each other’s arms. Hunter buried his face in her hair and inhaled.

  “I’ve missed you, Hannah.”

  “I know. I’ve missed you, too.”

  His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, then moved softly into the neck of her robe. How could he tell her all he was feeling? How could he convey his confusion, his uncertainty?

  He couldn’t. It was that simple. He couldn’t keep using Hannah to keep the rest of the world at bay. He couldn’t continue to use her as a sweet hot shield against reality.

  He had to find his own way. Until then…

  He pulled back and smiled down at her. “You’re not going to throw me to the wolves again, are you?”

  “You did all right the first time.”

  “Think how many people you will help with a story of my survival. Think of all the young readers who might someday find themselves lost in the woods.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “I know.”

  “I took a noble savage and turned him into a shark.”

  “You’ll do the story, won’t you? You’re the only one I trust.” Watching the play of emotions on her face, he knew the exact moment when she changed her mind.

  She nodded yes, then said, “I liked you better when you were running around in a bearskin.”

  He held her a moment longer, tethered to sanity by her soft fragrant skin.

  “So did I.” He left quickly, while he still could.

  Hannah stood near the French doors watching Hunter charm the crowds that followed him. From the moment he’d walked into the room, he’d been surrounded. She’d have had a hard time getting close even if she wanted to.

  Give him room to breathe, she kept telling herself. Give him space. And then, Give him freedom.

  If she were seeing him for the first time she would not have guessed that he had never attended a cocktail party, let alone been the life of one. He was easily the most self-confident man in the room. Or so it seemed.

  Only when she looked closely did she see the haunted look in his eyes. He missed Denali. More than missed it. A part of him seemed to be dying without it. What had she done?

  “Hannah.…” George came up beside her holding two glasses of wine. He was twenty years older than Hunter, a distinguished man with graying hair at his temples and wire-rimmed glasses. He had an air of quiet reserve and sincerity that had drawn Hannah to him immediately.

  “Drink?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “He’s quite a success, isn’t he?” He nodded toward his cousin. “Thanks to you.”

  “I can’t take much credit. He’s brilliant, and obviously very adaptable.”

  George shook his head. “I still can’t believe he’s alive, after all these years. He doesn’t talk much about what happened except to say he learned a lot about survival.” He laughed. “I guess I’ll have to wait and read your story.”

  “He told you I was doing a story?”

  “Yes, this morning at breakfast.”

  Hours before she’d agreed. Hannah felt a secret flash of pride at his self-confidence. For that, at least, she liked to think that she deserved some of the credit.

  “I want you to know that Sarah and I really appreciate everything you’ve done for Hunter.”

  George’s wife smiled at her from across the room. She looked like a young, blond Jackie Kennedy, tall and regal, the perfect hostess for her successful investment banker husband. She was also a successful career woman in her own right, a stockbroker, which in part accounted for the excellent state of Hunter’s bank account.

  “It has been the most unforgettable experience of my life. To say I’ve enjoyed it would be an understatement.”

  Heat flushed her face as memories flooded her. She hoped George didn’t notice.

  “He told me this morning that he wants Sarah and me to keep the house, that he has no intention of living here. I tried to decline, but he insisted.”

  Hannah’s heart jumped into her throat. If not here, then where? Mississippi? Did she dare hope?

  “He didn’t say what his plans are,” George added. “I thought you might know.”

  “I don’t know where he plans to live. All I know is that he has a private showing in the Clifford Gallery in New York next month.”

  “I told him he always has a home here. So did Sarah. She’s become very fond of Hunter.”

  So had she. More than fond. Hannah was in love with him…and it was tearing her to pieces. To tell or not to tell? What if he left because he thought she didn’t love him? Or what if he left because she did, and it stifled him?

  “Will your story be out by then?”

  “Yes.” Her spirits lifted. All those interviews. She’d have to be with him a while longer.

  “That ought to jump-start his career as an artist…if that’s what he wants.”

  Hannah watched Hunter across the room. His natural charm and easy manner conveyed nothing of his real feelings. Who knew what Hunter wanted?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hunter was surrounded by a pack of yapping females with painted faces, and he wanted to run. Or else bare his teeth, growl at them and scare them away.

  The only thing that kept him from embarrassing his cousin George was Hannah. She was across the room from him, a cool
oasis in a desert of confusion. Dressed simply in black, she stood apart and above the other women. She needed no ornamentation. Her face was enough.

  She was stunning. Her beauty had always appealed to him, but until now he’d had no basis of comparing her with other women. She was head and shoulders above.

  And she was the only thing that kept him sane. Wherever he moved, he kept her in sight.

  “Did you learn to howl?”

  The inane question, prompted no doubt by tonight’s television broadcast, was put to him by a silly woman with too much makeup. Hunter started to ignore the remark, then changed his mind.

  “Yes, I like to spend my free time that way.”

  That sent her off at a fast trot. People stopped to chat as he worked his way toward Hannah. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a handsome young man with an insincere smile join Hannah, then lean too close—much, much too close. The man said something that made her laugh.

  Hunter wanted to take him by the scruff of the neck and throw him into the lake.

  “Excuse me, please,” he said, then stalked off to claim his mate. She was his. Let the man who challenged him beware. He would fight to the death for her.

  As he passed a silly Greek statue that he didn’t remember from his childhood, two women started toward him, took one look at his face and scurried away. That gave Hunter pause.

  He must look every inch the savage. What was he thinking? He was at a cocktail party in Ithaca, not the wilderness of Denali.

  The rules here were different. Here you didn’t make a woman yours simply by mounting her then taking her to a place where she would be safe from her natural enemies. Here the courtships sometimes took years, as in the case of George and Sarah. Then you had to have other people pronounce your union legal, with a document as further proof of your commitment.

  The next level of complication arose in the matter of where you lived. Safety wasn’t enough. Judging by the way Sarah and George had refurbished the Wolfe mansion, ostentation and excess seemed to be the guiding principles.