He gazed at her for a long time before sighing. “Yes, I know.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“You’re right, it isn’t, but there were other issues, like concerns about trespassers. Once your grandfather made a public announcement of his supposed discovery, the Gentrys had to deal with unwanted curiosity seekers. That wasn’t fair to them.”
“Come on. Don’t tell me that was a huge problem for them. With all their money, I’m sure they have a security system to end all security systems.”
“They have a surveillance system, but—”
“Roarke, if I tell you something, can you promise not to take it right back to the Gentrys?”
He hesitated, as if weighing that. “All right.”
“I’d like to see my grandfather sell that land, too.”
“You would?”
“Absolutely. He’s all alone up here now that my grandmother’s gone. That little general store he runs out by the main road is a lot of work but he doesn’t make enough to justify hiring help. The rest of his family moved to Arizona years ago, and now we want him to come down there. It would be so much better for his arthritis and we could keep an eye on him as he gets older.”
Roarke frowned. “So why hasn’t he done that?”
“Bigfoot. He wanted to see that creature just once.”
“And now he thinks he has.”
“Right. And he might have sold out after that, except the Gentrys brought you in to rain all over his parade. Now he says the only way he’ll leave is feet first.”
Leaning back in the booth, Roarke scrubbed a hand over his face. Then he began to chuckle.
“It isn’t funny.”
“Oh, but it is.” Shaking his head, he picked up his mug and took a swallow of his beer.
“Not to my grandfather.”
“No, I suppose not.” Roarke returned his mug to its coaster. “Abby, I regret making your grandfather look foolish, but in a way, he left himself open to it with his flimsy case.”
She felt compelled to defend Grandpa Earl. “If you’d searched for something all your life, and then you found it, wouldn’t you tell people? Wouldn’t you show them the picture, even if it wasn’t a very good picture?”
His green eyes filled with compassion. “You love him very much, don’t you?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m asking you to help repair the damage you’ve done to his self-esteem.”
“How could I do that?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you’d give a talk saying you’ve studied his picture more thoroughly and have decided it could be a legitimate shot of Bigfoot.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Because of the Gentrys?”
“Partly, and partly because it wouldn’t be true.” His glance flickered slightly. “Anyway, Bigfoot doesn’t exist.”
If she hadn’t been fascinated by his gorgeous green eyes, she might have missed that flicker. In her experience with insurance claims, a flicker like that meant the subject wasn’t giving her the whole truth.
She sensed an opening and decided to try a different tack. “I’m willing to agree that it’s unlikely that Bigfoot exists, but the world’s an amazing place, where new discoveries are made every day. I would think as a scientist you’d want to leave yourself open to the possibility.”
“But all the hard evidence—”
“Screw the hard evidence, Roarke. My grandfather saw something, and he doesn’t believe for one minute it was hikers. I challenge you to come by Dooley’s General Store and talk to him about it.”
“He’d probably throw me out on my ear.”
“Not if I’m there to stop him. Come tomorrow morning around ten. Please. This is a delicate situation, but you and I might be able to make it end well for all concerned.”
Roarke turned his mug around in his large hands before glancing at her. “You’ll be there?”
“I’ll be there. I’ll admit that Grandpa Earl has a stubborn streak, so somebody needs to hang around and referee. But I think if you hear him tell the story of what he saw and smelled, you’ll find that ridiculing his sighting won’t be so easy.”
“It’s never been easy.”
She leaped on that. “Because you think Bigfoot is a possibility?”
“Because I don’t like poking holes in somebody’s cherished dream.”
“So why did you?”
He finished off his beer. “It’s complicated. I—” A cell phone chimed and he pulled a BlackBerry from inside his corduroy jacket and checked the number. “Sorry, but I need to go.”
“No problem. But your call reminds me. Would you give me your cell number? I think my grandfather will be available tomorrow, but something might come up and I’ll need to call you.”
“Sure thing.” He took a cream-colored business card from a different inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. Then he levered himself out of the booth and picked up his coat and laptop case. “Unless I hear from you, I’ll be at your grandfather’s store tomorrow at ten. I owe him that much.”
“Thank you, Roarke.”
“Don’t thank me, yet. It could turn out to be a shouting match that won’t solve anything.”
“It won’t be a shouting match.” She gazed up at him. “I’ll prepare him for the visit. I’ll tell him you’re actually a good guy.”
He smiled at that. “You’re making quite an assumption on such brief acquaintance.”
“I’m an insurance claims adjuster. It’s my job to separate the white hats from the black hats. Until today, I thought you were in the black hat category, but now I’ve changed my mind.”
Roarke held her gaze. “I wouldn’t be too quick to do that if I were you.”
A shiver of sensual awareness ran through her. “Are you saying you’re a bad boy?”
“I’ve been known to be.”
She gulped, unable to come up with a single snappy comeback.
“See you tomorrow.”
Her heart racing, she turned to watch him walk away. Oh, baby.
Chapter Three
Although technically the Gentrys lived next door to the Dooleys, it was a couple of miles on the main road from the Gentry mansion to Dooley’s General Store, so the next morning Roarke drove his rented Corvette. There was enough misty rain to need the wipers every couple of seconds and the asphalt was shiny and wet. So far this week the convertible top had been a waste. He had yet to see a sunny day.
Still, the Corvette was a sweet car to drive on a temporary basis. He’d always prefer his Ferrari, but the Corvette hugged the curves and purred like a contented cat. Growing up he’d longed to be a racecar driver, but drivers spent too much time in crowds and on camera. A Were needed a certain amount of privacy because sometimes, shift happened. Ha, ha.
As he neared the General Store, he thought about his phone message yesterday afternoon, which had turned out to be a text from his brother Aidan announcing that Emma was pregnant. So Roarke had spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone with Aidan, Emma, and his parents as they all celebrated the news. Although it was too soon to tell whether the baby would be a boy or girl, Roarke doubted that was the question on everyone’s mind.
Instead of mating with a Were as he’d been expected to do, Aidan had mated with Emma, a human. Would their kid be Were or human? Nobody knew. The baby would look like a human child until puberty, so the family would have to wait for the verdict until then. At puberty a Were child began showing signs of being able to shift.
Aidan’s choice had rocked the Wallace family to its foundation, and although Roarke liked Emma, even loved her as a sister-in-law, he still didn’t approve of Aidan’s decision. Weres mated with Weres, and that’s what Roarke would do. He hadn’t found anyone yet, but he wouldn’t turn thirty until next year. Aidan hadn’t married until he was thirty-two. Roarke had time.
His immediate concern regarding females, Were or human, was what to do about Abby Winchell, who made him think of cool sheets and hot sex. She
was here visiting and so was he, which made for a potential temporary fling, a shipboard romance minus the ship.
Except, as he’d determined yesterday, he didn’t have the time. He sighed as he pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of Dooley’s General Store. Maybe he’d luck out and find the Bigfoot pair this afternoon, arrange for their relocation before dinner, and be free to party with Abby tonight. Dream on, Wallace.
Climbing out of the low-slung car, he took a deep breath of pungent, rain-soaked earth before surveying the store in front of him. Yes, it was a little run-down, the gray siding a tad bit weathered, but Roarke felt welcomed by the covered front porch complete with four rocking chairs. True, the chairs were wet with rain that had blown in. But if Portland ever had a sunny day, and Roarke had been assured there were many sunny days in Portland, those chairs would provide a relaxing spot to watch the world go by.
A row of stained-glass sun-catchers hung in each window on either side of the door. Roarke wondered if anyone ever bought them or if the display was evidence of wishful thinking. Personally Roarke didn’t mind the constant light rain which created such beautiful and werewolf-concealing foliage and washed away incriminating wolf tracks. But he did miss being able to drive with the top down.
A mechanical bird twittered as he opened the front door and stepped inside. True to its label of “general store,” Dooley’s seemed to stock a little bit of everything. Roarke smelled coffee brewing, wood smoke, and the musty odor of canvas. A quick scan of the shelves revealed camping gear, groceries, fishing tackle, kids’ toys, and Portland souvenirs.
At first Roarke thought the place was empty, but then his Were senses picked up Abby’s distinctive aroma. A second later she appeared from the back room and walked toward him. Today she looked more like the woman he’d seen on the outcropping than the one who had appeared at the Rotary meeting. She’d pulled her bright hair up into a ponytail and she wore jeans and a green Kiss me, I’m Irish sweatshirt.
The sentiment on the sweatshirt made him wonder if she was throwing out hints. No need for that. He’d be happy to kiss her whatever nationality she was. But he didn’t have time. Damn.
She looked him over with an impish smile. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your vest and bowtie.”
He glanced down at his jeans and black sweatshirt with the NYU bobcat mascot on it. “You’re disappointed. I should have known the vest and bowtie were a turn-on.”
“Oh, yeah. Especially the vest.” She laughed and glanced out the window. “Is that your red Corvette out there?”
“It’s my rental.”
“I see.” She pursed her lips and gazed at him. “So who’s the real Roarke Wallace? The geeky professor or the laid-back guy driving a red ragtop?”
“Geeky? I’ll have you know that’s my Henry Jones, Jr. look.”
“So you did that on purpose! I wondered.”
“I’m an anthropology professor. I recognize the value of costume.”
Humor flashed in her blue eyes. “So is this your indolent rich boy costume?”
“Something like that. I’m a man of many parts.” Boy, wasn’t that the truth. If she knew about his third costume, she’d freak.
“And a man of your word,” she said quietly. “I appreciate this, Roarke. Grandpa Earl will be out in a few minutes. He didn’t want to appear too eager, so he’s dawdling around back there pretending to be very busy.”
“Just so he’s not very busy loading a shotgun.”
Abby shook her head, which made her ponytail dance. “I think he’s secretly flattered that you want to meet with him. We have a little area in the far corner of the store with a pot-bellied stove and a couple of wooden armchairs. Why don’t you wait for him over there?”
“That’s fine.” Roarke followed her down a store aisle and caught himself enjoying the way her jeans fit her backside as she walked. He should look away. He didn’t.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a small display of condoms on a top shelf, out of reach of little kids. So Dooley’s General Store helped promote safe sex. Good to know. Except buying condoms from her grandfather might not be the smoothest move he’d ever made.
Besides, he wasn’t buying any, because he didn’t have time to have sex with her. He would talk with her grandfather and hear his story. Maybe Earl Dooley would tell him something that would help in his own search. In fact, he should have thought of that earlier.
Abby turned and gestured toward the two battered chairs sitting on either side of an old-fashioned wood stove. A fire crackled behind what was probably the original leaded glass in the door. “Can I get you something? A cup of coffee? Hot chocolate?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.”
“How do you—”
“Black.”
She nodded. “Coming right up.” She headed for the door leading into the back of the store. “I’ll see if I can move Grandpa Earl along.”
The wooden chair creaked as Roarke settled onto it. He figured it was an antique, too, and he hoped it could hold a two-hundred-twenty-pound werewolf. Sitting in the chair beside the fire and surrounded by the organized clutter of the store, Roarke wondered if Dooley would be happy retiring to Arizona, after all. A man needed something to do with himself, an identity of some kind. And clearly he had one here.
But that wasn’t for Roarke to worry about. He had plenty on his plate dealing with the Gentry pack’s crisis. That was his ultimate priority, no matter what he thought of Cameron. Exposing one werewolf pack meant all of them were in danger—the Wallaces in New York, the Hendersons in Chicago, the Stillmans in Denver, the Landrys in San Francisco.
Roarke smelled Abby before he saw her come out from the back room holding a steaming mug of coffee. Every whiff of her was more enticing than the last. He’d be wise to limit his exposure.
She was followed by a tall, thin man with a head of thick white hair. He wore glasses, but they didn’t soften his piercing blue gaze a bit. If Roarke had been hoping for a guy with failing eyesight, Earl Dooley wasn’t about to accommodate him.
Roarke stood.
“Here’s your coffee.” Abby handed him the mug.
“Thank you.”
“And here’s my grandfather.” She stood aside. “Dr. Roarke Wallace, meet Dr. Earl Dooley.”
Roarke’s eyebrows rose as he stepped forward to shake Earl’s hand. “I didn’t realize that you—”
“Ah, I never use the title.” Earl’s handshake was firm. “My degree’s in mythology.”
“That explains your interest in Sasquatch.”
“Actually, Sasquatch explains my graduate studies. I’ve been stalking Bigfoot all my life, just like my father did before me.” Earl gestured to the two chairs. “Have a seat. Abby says you’re willing to hear my side of the story, so you might as well get comfortable. Abby, you take the other chair.”
“Let me get your stool, first.”
“I’ll get it. You sit.”
“Okay.” Like an obedient child, she sank onto the other wooden chair.
“Be right back. Talk among yourselves. Drink your coffee, Dr. Wallace.” With a chuckle, Earl ambled down the aisle toward the front of the store.
Feeling a little like an obedient child himself, Roarke sipped his coffee. “You could’ve told me he’s a Ph.D.”
“As he likes to say, it’s window dressing. He got the degree because his father insisted that he have one since he’s so darned smart, but the only thing Grandpa Earl ever wanted was to help run the store and look for Bigfoot.”
“And with all that time spent studying folklore and legends, he never began to doubt?”
She shook her head, and her ponytail swayed again. “Nope. His father saw Bigfoot once, but he didn’t have a camera at the time. The Irish are great storytellers, though, so he described the event in vivid detail to anyone who would listen. Grandpa Earl listened a lot.”
“I’m beginning to understand his dedication to the cause.”
Abby smiled
. “That was the idea.”
He was also beginning to understand that Abby didn’t do much of anything without a reason, which led him back to the question of why she’d worn a sweatshirt inviting someone to kiss her. It also invited someone, in this case him, to focus on her breasts.
Under different circumstances, Roarke would have been happy to follow up on Abby’s broad hints. Knowing he didn’t dare was making him cranky. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him this much, and what bad luck that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
So he drank his coffee and tried not to think about kissing Abby.
“Okay, kids.” Earl returned with a tall stool and placed it in front of them before perching on it. “You might think I’m doing this so I’ll have a superior position in the discussion, but my damned knees make low chairs booby traps.”
“This climate must not be helping any,” Roarke said.
Earl’s glance sharpened. “Now don’t you start in on me. I suppose Abby told you that she wants me to move to Arizona.”
“She mentioned it.”
“Your friends the Gentrys would just love that. I’ve often wondered if they sit over there with a voodoo doll and a box of pins.”
Roarke stared at him. “Surely you don’t believe in voodoo?”
“I do, and don’t call me Shirley.” Earl chuckled again. “Sorry for the cornball joke, but it still makes me laugh. Anyway, I guess you don’t believe in voodoo.”
“I can’t say that I do.” He couldn’t say that he didn’t, either. The power of suggestion had always fascinated him.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. That’s Shakespeare.”
“I know.”
Earl shifted on the stool. “You’re a physical anthropologist, right?”
“Right.”
“And you graduated magna cum laude plus you were asked to take part in the New York Consortium for Evolutionary Primatology.”
Roarke was impressed. “You’ve been reading my online bio.”
“I wanted to know the credentials of the man who planned to shred my Bigfoot evidence. At least you’re brilliant. That helps me deal with the hatchet job.”
Werewolf in the North Woods Page 3
