by Peggy Webb
The whole idea repelled Hunter. People made elaborate, debt-ridden prisons for themselves, then fortified them-selves with alcohol and told themselves that their lives were good.
Hunter could never live that way. He’d known that almost from the moment he’d arrived in Ithaca to reclaim his birthright. Giving the house to George had not been a sacrifice; it had been a relief.
But what of Hannah? She hadn’t spent the last twenty years in a wilderness. She was accustomed to the elaborate rituals Hunter found so repressive.
He slowed his pace and reined in his urge to do bodily harm. By the time he reached Hannah and her admirer, he gave every impression of being relaxed. Or so he hoped.
“Hello, Hannah.”
The smile that had started in her eyes wavered. She turned quickly to the man beside her and said, “Chester, will you please excuse us for a moment?”
“Certainly.”
When the man bent over to kiss Hannah’s hand, Hunter felt his hackles rising again. There’s no telling what he would have done if the other man hadn’t left.
“Follow me, Hunter.”
“Does my anger show?”
“That…among other things.”
They moved swiftly toward the French doors and outside into the garden. A crescent moon glowed in sharp relief to a black velvet sky. Here and there a star shone through the branches of winter-naked trees.
They skirted a wrought-iron table and chairs, then hurried across the lawn, through the gate in the brick wall and down the long dark path. They didn’t stop until they reached a secluded grove at the edge of the lake. No chattering people. No nosey questions. No prying eyes. Just Hannah and the safe canopy of trees with the water sparkling beyond.
At last Hunter felt as if he could breathe. He inhaled the cold, sharp air.
“Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’ve rescued me once more.”
“Anytime.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.
“You shouldn’t have come out here without a coat.” Hunter pulled off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her. She turned the collar up around her face and snuggled inside.
“You’ll freeze,” she said, and he laughed.
“In Denali this kind of weather would be considered a warm spell.”
“I almost forgot.…”
She broke off and gazed across the water. What was she thinking? Was she remembering the quiet woods by the Mississippi? The long, lazy days when they had laughed often and loved at will?
Was she remembering their first mating beside the river? The way she had curled into him and slept on the forest floor? The raw, wild passion? The unbridled pleasure?
“Hannah?”
He moved close behind her and lifted a strand of dark hair that caressed her cheek. When she turned he saw the dampness of unshed tears in her eyes.
“Hunter…make love to me.”
Without a word he positioned her on the carpet of fragrant fallen cedar leaves. When he entered her, his world righted. Rules vanished, convention disappeared and time faded. There was only the moment…and this…this incredible joining that felt like the merging of two rivers.
Hunter flowed with the tides of pleasure, rode the currents of passion. And when the waves of completion crashed over him, he lifted his head and howled his pleasure to the thin silver moon.
Then he turned Hannah in his arms and lay with her there among the crushed cedar boughs, shielding her against the cold. Neither of them talked. Neither of them tried to explain what had happened and why. They merely accepted the inevitable.
It had always been that way between them.
They stayed cocooned in their soft afterglow until he felt a shiver run through her.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“A little.”
“We’ll go inside the back way.”
“What about the party?”
“You don’t have to go back…unless you want to.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. I’ll brush the forest debris off myself, then go back and make my excuses to George.”
“Will you come to me afterward?”
“I don’t want to use you, Hannah.”
“I don’t feel used.”
He might have asked, “How do you feel? What do you feel?” But the moment passed, and he discovered that it was too soon for him to know. Right now, he had everything he could handle.
“I’ve missed you, Hunter,” she said, mistaking his silence for refusal.
“I’ll be there, Hannah,” he said, and she nodded.
They didn’t talk going back. He led her through a rear gate and up the back stairs. At her room he kissed her once, hard, then hurried off to play the civilized man.
Hannah undressed in the dark then lay down on her bed. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed. Since they had left Mississippi so much had happened so quickly.
Thoughts ran squirrel-like around her mind, but she pushed them firmly away. She couldn’t deal with one more important issue.
She would rest a moment then get up and take a shower, wash the bits and pieces of cedar out of her hair. Hunter wouldn’t be back for another hour. Maybe even two.
She heard the click of the lock, then felt his weight on the bed.
“Hunter?” She heard the rustle of his clothes, then the muted thump as they hit the floor. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. What about the party?”
“I told George and Sarah good-night. The rest of them don’t matter.”
Sensations ripped through her as he circled her nipples with his fingertips.
“Only this matters,” he said. “Only this.”
And then he lifted her hips and drove inside. Pleasure splintered through her, and she covered her mouth to stifle her cry.
“Don’t.” Hunter moved her hand away. “This house is huge and these walls are thick. No one will hear…except me.” He executed a maneuver that brought out another shattered cry.
“I love the sounds you make,” he said, and then drove her to such a frenzy that she set new records in love cries.
It had been so long. So long.
She couldn’t get enough of him. Time and again he spun her toward the stars then brought her crashing back to the earth. And still she wanted him…as he wanted her.
In each other they could deny the truth, hold back time. Reason had no reign in their bedroom. Reality had no meaning. The only thing that mattered was the two of them—together.
Sweat slicked their bodies as they heaved against each other. Hunter rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Lifting her hair off her hot neck, she began a wild ride that shattered them both.
She slumped against him, limp, and he stroked her back in a slow, smooth motion.
“Hunter.…”
“Shhh…don’t talk.”
“Will you stay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up sometime before dawn. His eyes gleamed silver as his hands continued their delicious stroking.
“That’s what woke me?” she murmured.
“Yes. That’s what.” He pressed closer. “And this.…”
She slid under the covers and took him in her mouth…and the magic started all over again.
Under the guise of “being interviewed,” Hunter spent every moment of the next two weeks in her room.
“This is the only interview I’ve ever conducted naked,” she told him.
“Good.”
“I have to get down to the business at hand or I’ll never get the story written.”
“You already know the story.”
“Most of it. There are some gaps.”
Hannah started to put on her robe, but when he said, “Don’t,” she let it slide to the floor.
“I like you without clothes.”
“I’ve discovered I like not wearing them. There’s a certain freedom.…�
�
She couldn’t quite explain it, but he knew. Smiling, he said, “Yes.”
“I’m going to tape you now, okay?” He nodded. “After your parents’ plane crashed and you realized there was faint hope of rescue, how did you feel?”
“At first, trapped, then free and trapped at the same time, and later…merely free.”
Could she make that progression clear to her readers? She hoped so.
“Tell me about your cave drawings…everything.”
“Initially, I used them merely as a way to keep track of the days. After months of hearing nothing but the sound of my own voice, I wrote a few things—my name, the date of the plane crash, the names I had given my wolf friends.”
Suddenly he walked to the window where he stood looking out. Hannah waited. She’d seen the longing that came into his face the minute he mentioned the wolves.
When he turned back to her, he said, “They were family to me.”
I understand, she wanted to tell him, and yet she didn’t. Not really. How could she? Only someone who had experienced the isolation, the terror, the awe of living alone in the wilderness for twenty years could possibly understand.
He sat down again on the floor and began to talk. He told her of killing his first bear, of making winter clothes from the skin, of making weapons and learning to treat his wounds. And he told her of the vast silence that gradually stole all his verbal skills except the few he kept alive…the names of his constant companions.
As she listened, she knew what she would write: the story of a man who came to think of himself as a wolf.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The entire Westmoreland family as well as Clarice gathered in New York for Hunter’s showing at the Clifford Gallery. It would be Hannah’s first time seeing Hunter in two weeks, two very long weeks. During that time he’d been in Ithaca while she’d been in Mississippi gearing up for another assignment, this time in South America. Jack wanted her to do a story on the alarming disappearance of the rain forest.
“That first installment you did on Hunter Wolfe was a sensation,” he’d told her when he called about the rain-forest assignment. “Readers are chomping at the bit for the second installment. Circulation doubled. I’m proud of you, Hannah.”
She was proud of herself, but not because of increased circulation. The magazine had received more letters from that story than any they’d ever done. “Journalism with heart,” a reader from New Jersey called her piece. “I used a whole box of tissues when I read Hannah Westmoreland’s story,” another from Canada wrote. “What we need is more Hannah Westmorelands in the media. Her compassionate telling of Hunter Wolfe’s story gives journalists a much-needed boost in reputation.”
Several readers had written, “I can’t wait to see how the story ends.”
Neither could she.
She hadn’t seen Hunter since the publication of the first installment. What would be his reaction to her story? To her?
“You look pensive, Hannah.” Her mother had joined her in the lobby of the Algonquin where she was waiting for her cab. “I’m worried about you.”
“Quit worrying, Mom. Just keep having fun with Dad. I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just know that you haven’t been yourself since this whole business with Hunter started.”
“You’re right. I haven’t. It’s high time I got back on track.”
“What track is that, Hannah?”
Hannah studied her Mom for a moment before answering. “You should hang out a shingle.”
Anne laughed. “That’s what your father says.” She reached for her daughter’s hand. “Have you told him what you want?”
“If you’re talking about Hunter, forget it.”
“Of course, I’m talking about Hunter. Who else? You’ve finally met your match, Hannah, and I say it’s about damned time.”
“Mom!” She had never heard her mother use that word, or any strong language, for that matter. It was so totally out of character, Hannah laughed.
“I’ve never known you to be timid,” Anne said.
“That stings.” She considered herself to be bold and courageous, but her mother’s words had the ring of truth, and Hannah never ran from the truth. Except where love was involved. In matters of the heart, she was out of her element. An elephant tromping on petunias.
“Hannah, I’ve never met a man who can read minds. Except maybe your father. When you love someone you have to tell him what you want in order for him to give it to you.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I know, but not everybody is lucky enough to have a Michael. The thing is, men want to give you what you want.”
“Hunter’s different.”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
“He’s all man.”
“I rest my case.”
The crowd that filled the gallery amazed Hunter, though he shouldn’t have been surprised, not after Hannah’s story. How many of them had come to see his art and how many had come to gape at him?
He wasn’t long finding out. A woman wearing enough fur to outfit a grizzly approached him.
“Mr. Wolfe? This is the most stunning collection I’ve seen in years.”
“Thank you.…”
“Jenny Vanlandingham. Call me Jenny. Everybody does.” She didn’t look like the kind of woman you’d be on familiar terms with after two years, let alone two minutes.
“I’m glad you like my work.”
“Like it? My dear boy, I’m going to break the bank buying it.” She tapped him on the arm with her program. “Tell me, who is the exquisite woman?”
“Hannah Westmoreland.” He was glad Hannah wanted people to know.
“The woman who wrote that fabulous story!”
“The same.”
Jenny turned to look at the one of Hannah on their tumbled bed. It bore a Not For Sale tag.
“Extraordinary…that painting in particular…she must be very special to you.”
Hunter had not thought about his relationship with Hannah in those terms. She was the one he had chosen. Until recently it had been that simple.
He gazed across the crowd just as she came through the door. She wore a stunning red dress…and an incomparable face. Someone in the crowd recognized her as the subject of most of his art collection and started applauding.
Hannah acknowledged the applause with a smile and a nod. The crowd parted as she made her way toward Hunter.
“She’s very special,” he told Jenny Vanlandingham.
“Better steal a private moment with her while you can.”
Hannah had not had to search the room for Hunter. She’d felt the magnetic pull of his eyes the minute she walked in the door.
Now, as she approached, she felt his body heat, as well. She was glad her dress was strapless, glad she’d checked her velvet wrap at the door. Even so, she felt as if she’d stepped into the middle of an inferno.
“Hunter.” He took her hand, and she felt the jolt all the way to her toes. “You’re a huge hit.”
“So are you…if that stampede coming this way is any indication.”
She glanced over her shoulder and winced. She’d never expected such a reaction.
“Brace yourself,” she told him.
“Not yet.”
He took her by the arm and whisked her up a narrow staircase and into a small room with two stuffed chairs and a sturdy table that held a coffeepot and a tray of mugs. He closed the door, then pushed a chair against it.
“That should keep them at bay,” he said.
“This is your show. We can’t stay here.”
“We can until I do this.” He pulled her close and kissed her until they both lost their breath.
She leaned her face against his chest and inhaled the clean outdoor scent of him. Even after all these months it seemed to Hannah that he still wore the scent of the wilderness.
All the things she’d meant to say to him vanished, an
d in their place stood the simple truth.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“And I’ve missed you.” He leaned back and stroked her hair. “Do you know that your hair looks like the pelt of a very fine dark female wolf?”
She smiled at him, but something in his face constricted her throat.
“I want you, Hannah, but if I start now I won’t stop till morning.”
The idea made her weak-kneed. “I know,” she whispered.
“After the show, then?”
“Yes. After the show.”
“I’ll go down first to deflect some of the attention. You can stay here as long as you like.”
“Hiding is not my style.”
Hunter laughed. “I know that better than anyone.”
He kissed her once more, hard, then strode out the door and closed it behind him. Hannah put her hands over her mouth and sank onto one of the chairs.
Tonight was a turning point for Hunter. He had taken the art world by storm and would soon have them at his feet. Would it hold him? Would she?
Or was the pull of the wilderness too strong?
“What am I going to do?” she whispered.
Muted sounds drifted up the staircase. “Not stay up here and hide, that’s for sure.”
Hannah took a compact from her evening bag and touched up her face. Then she went downstairs to face the music.
Her brother was the first one she saw. He was standing at the foot of the stairway, his tall, muscular frame blocking the rest of the room from view.
“Well, Sis, you always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
She didn’t try to hedge. After all, this was Daniel. The two of them had never kept secrets from each other. Until Hunter.…
“I thought about hiring a plane to skywrite Hannah Plus Hunter, then I decided the paintings were a dead giveaway.”
“Nobody with half a brain will mistake you for a mere artist’s model.”
“Do you approve?”
He grinned at her. “Do you need my approval?”
“No…but I would like to know what you think.”
“I think Hunter’s amazingly resourceful, remarkable and clearly talented.”
“Anyone reading my story and viewing his paintings could have said that, Daniel. I want to know what you really think.”
“I like him.”
