Never Cry Wolf

by Patricia Rosemoor

  This was starting to make sense.

  Calming himself, he asked, “You drove all the way from northern Wisconsin to ask me where to find that scoundrel?”

  “Then he’s not here. In Chicago, I mean.”

  “He wouldn’t step foot in a big city unless he was hog-tied and forced,” Skelly muttered.

  “You’re wrong,” she countered, a frown puzzling her forehead. “Your brother has been here. Quite a lot over the past few months, as a matter of fact. But a little more than a week ago, he up and disappeared without so much as a goodbye.”

  Raymond could see the lass was truly worried. He stepped back, even knowing his pleasant evening was about to come to an abrupt end. Donovan always had had a way of spoiling things for everyone.

  Swinging the door open wide, he grumbled, “You’d better come in, then.”

  NOT EXACTLY the reception she’d been looking for.

  Thinking of Donovan, Laurel swallowed her renewed reluctance and entered the stately old home with its twelve-foot ceilings, parquet-floored foyer and handworked wood. She stuffed her earmuffs and gloves in a pocket, then followed Skelly into the living room where several more sets of eyes immediately focused on her.

  Laurel stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, no, I’m interrupting a party…”

  “Family dinner,” Skelly amended, then gave her a mocking smile. “But don’t worry about it. We could use a little excitement. Life has been too tame lately. This is Laurel Newkirk,” he told the others. “Have a seat, please.”

  Laurel took the chair he indicated, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit intimidated as her gaze swept the flawlessly appointed room with its antiques and obviously real artwork. Her own furniture was merely old, if well-polished—what else should she have with so many animals?—the art on her walls nicely framed wildlife and nature posters, reflecting her interests. Two different worlds, as far apart as she was from the other females present.

  The fair-haired woman wearing exotic jewelry and a loosely constructed jacket in jewel tones must be Aileen. Donovan had told her his younger sister was a healer, a massage therapist, and as unconventional as they came. The one with dark red curly hair and freckles in a flowing yellow silk dress she recognized as his cousin Keelin, an herbalist whose gift—and curse—was the ability to dream through another’s eyes. And, of course, the classic blonde wearing a soft blue maternity suit had to be Skelly’s wife Rosalind Van Straaten, heiress and chic businesswoman who’d masterminded the wildly successful Temptress Day Spas.

  That the whole family was present seemed like a sign. Surely one of them would be able to relieve her mind.

  “According to our guest, Donovan’s missing,” Skelly was telling them all.

  “How would anyone know?” Rosalind asked with a laugh.

  Focusing her attention back to the purpose at hand, Laurel frowned at the other woman. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s not like any of us has seen him for years,” Skelly explained as he sat next to his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Roz has never even met my errant brother.”

  “Nor have I,” put in Keelin’s husband.

  Errant? Years? “But he’s been in Chicago…”

  “When?” Aileen demanded, sounding hurt. “Where?”

  Confused, Laurel stared at her. Donovan had told her his family was close-knit. If so, why did she seem to know more about his doings than they did?

  Arms crossed over his chest, Raymond stood guard over his family when he said, “So, you met him here.”

  “No. In Wisconsin.” Nerves slid her hands over the brocade chair arms. “At an ecology workshop about timber wolves.”

  “He actually gave a workshop?” Aileen asked, hurt turning to amazement “To other people?”

  “Well, no…I mean he wasn’t giving the workshop, but that doesn’t matter.” This wasn’t going at all as she’d imagined. She felt their doubt…as great as her own. Mouth dry as cotton, fingers digging into the chair arms, she continued. “What does matter is that we became…friends.”

  “In Wisconsin,” Skelly said.

  “No, here.”

  “You’re telling us my son is living in Chicago?”

  She shook her head as much to deny the suspicion gripping her as to answer. “He had his work in Wisconsin, but he visited when he could. Actually, it became quite a bit.” The details were awkward and not something she wanted to share. Especially not now when she felt as though she were the center of an inquisition. Finding a loose thread in the brocade, she fingered it “Then, a little more than a week ago, we had a slight disagreement and he disappeared.”

  “A lover’s spat?” Aileen asked.

  Lies, Laurel thought. Donovan had lied to her about his relationship with his family. But why?

  “He asked me to marry him and I…didn’t say yes.”

  “So the boyo up and disappeared again!”

  “That’s Donovan.” Aileen shook her head. “I just can’t believe he’d be sociable enough to come out of his woods for a woman in the first place. No offense.”

  “None taken.” But she was offended, if not at that exact comment. “And he’s very sociable.”

  “Donovan? Sociable?”

  Laurel knew she was being defensive when she insisted, “He’s charming. And funny. And sweet.”

  “You are talking about Donovan Wilde, right?” Skelly asked. “The loner who’s…plainspoken.”

  His nice way of saying rude? Laurel wondered. Reality was spinning away, further and further from her grasp. She lunged out of the chair and felt something give. Her fingers were still gripping the loose thread. Appalled, she stared down at a seam beginning to split open, then quickly moved away from the chair before she could do more damage.

  “I don’t understand.” She could barely make her throat work, barely get out the words. “You make him sound like a complete stranger…and after everything he’s told me about all of you.” She glared at the McKennas who gave each other wide-eyed looks.

  “He doesn’t even know us anymore,” Skelly insisted. “Never wanted to in the first place. Not even when we were kids.”

  Were they talking about the same Donovan?

  Hovering near a table loaded with framed photographs, she searched for the Donovan she knew. When she couldn’t immediately place him, a sick feeling filled her. A hand reached past her, picked up one that had been relegated to the rear.

  “This is my younger son.”

  A photograph taken nearly twenty years before, Laurel noted, undoubtedly a high school shot How odd that his own father didn’t have anything more recent. And how deeply estranged they must be, she thought, staring at the boy in the picture. He was wiry, had dark hair and pale eyes that closed him off from the photographer.

  He could be her Donovan. Had to be.

  Nodding, she said, “Yes, that’s…” But in truth couldn’t finish. “I think.”

  “I’m not liking this,” Raymond said.

  Neither was she.

  “I’m going to call his mother.” Stalking out of the room, Raymond said, “Don’t leave.”

  Not that her legs would even support her if she wanted to go. She clung to the table’s edge.

  Why would Donovan have lied to her? Or had he? He’d told her about the various members of his family, about how they’d come to each other’s rescue when one of them had been in trouble…but had he actually painted himself in the picture? She’d thought so…but now she wasn’t certain.

  “Question,” Aileen said. “How can you be so close to my brother and not know how to find him?”

  “His job takes him all over northern Wisconsin…wherever the wolves are. Wolves don’t have addresses or phone numbers. He always contacted me.”

  And she’d assumed that he’d stayed with his family while in the city…at least the first several weeks that they’d seen each other. But she’d been wrong. Now she knew he wouldn’t have been welcome with any of them.

  What if
he’d spent his whole life on the outside looking in? Raymond McKenna had three children, each of whom had a different mother, Donovan’s being the only one he hadn’t actually married. From the first, she’d sensed Donovan was troubled behind the quick smile and devil-may-care attitude. Maybe this was why—his being a stranger to his own family.

  Laurel’s mind spun, searching for some plausible explanation for the lies.

  They didn’t know him at all. Not like she did. They didn’t want to. And he’d never wanted to admit it. That had to be it. He’d wanted her to believe that he was part of a big, close-knit family because that’s what he’d wanted for himself.

  Or was it because he’d known that’s what she’d wanted for herself?

  At the moment, Laurel wanted to flee from this house, from the people who had excluded a member of their own family because he wasn’t really “one of them.” But more, she wanted to know that Donovan was all right, so she waited until Raymond returned.

  His expression didn’t reassure her.

  “Veronica hasn’t seen him, not for weeks. Not that that’s unusual. He doesn’t go into town unless he needs supplies.”

  “Town?” Laurel echoed. “As in, one particular town?”

  “Iron Lake. His mother owns the café there. He moved back to be near her when he left Idaho. I know he can’t get utilities living in that shack in the middle of nowhere, but you’d think he could afford a cell phone!”

  A shack, perhaps, but a place Donovan called home…more lies. Laurel was past stunned. She was speechless.

  “Something is amiss,” Keelin said.

  Tyler asked, “One of your visions?”

  “No need to see this…’tis the legacy and she’s the proof.” Her haunted eyes were fixed on Laurel.

  The room went still and Laurel’s flesh crawled. She knew nothing about any legacy…but obviously everyone else in the room did.

  Skelly broke the silence. “Donovan is the next in line.”

  “We’re bound to be repeating it,” Keelin whispered, voice trembling, “over and over till one of us doesn’t survive.”

  Tyler knelt before his wife and took her hands. “Don’t get yourself all worked up, sweetheart. Remember the baby.” He gently touched her stomach.

  “Aye, the bairn.”

  But Laurel could tell Keelin couldn’t swallow her upset so easily, and she didn’t think it was the pregnancy alone that was making the other woman so emotional.

  “First Keelin, then Skelly and Kathleen, now Donovan,” Aileen said brightly, as if this family legacy were a positive thing. “You all know what that means. He’s about to commit himself to the love of his life.”

  Again, every set of eyes in the room turned toward Laurel. She shifted uneasily. Donovan had committed himself…

  The weight on her shoulders grew.

  Keelin insisted, “He needs warning.”

  And no one argued.

  “I’m going to find him and do just that,” Raymond said grimly. “Now.” He was already heading for the foyer.

  “Dad, you can’t drive all the way up there alone.”

  He paused to glare at his daughter. “I’m not feeble yet.”

  Before she could consider the ramifications, Laurel assured Aileen, “And he won’t have to go alone. I started this.” As confused as she now was by the lies Donovan had told her, she meant to carry through. “I can’t leave it until I find him.”

  Raymond protested, “I don’t need anyone—”

  She cut him off. “Well I do,” she said truthfully. “My car’s a beater. And if you won’t let me come with you, I’ll just have to follow you and take my chances that I won’t break down somewhere along the road.”

  Raymond stared at her, as if trying to gauge her mettle. His nod was as curt as his invitation.

  “Then you’ll be needing to hurry.”

  LAUREL’S OFFERS to take a turn driving fell on deaf ears both times they stopped for gas. And since Donovan’s father didn’t seem inclined to. talk, there was nothing left for her to do but think. Or sleep.

  Sleep grew more and more alluring…

  She awoke to utter darkness—country darkness—but for the green glow of the dash. The moon seemed to have done a disappearing act. They’d left the highway behind and were wending their way along some narrow, ice-patched back road that cut through a thick stand of winter-barren trees.

  “Where are we?”

  “In his woods.”

  “Literally? Donovan owns them?”

  “Lives in them like his damned wolves.”

  Not exactly an invitation to ask more questions. Laurel had the distinct impression that Raymond McKenna approved neither of his son nor of his son’s charges. So, why was he rushing into nowhere to find Donovan in the middle of the night?

  Why was she? What was she trying to protect Donovan from?

  Venturing to find out, she asked, “What’s this about some family legacy?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Not if you don’t explain.”

  She didn’t think he would, so she concentrated on the path the car’s high beam cut before them.

  Twisting…turning…desolate.

  When Raymond said, “My mother Moira was an unusual woman,” he surprised her. “A bean feasa they called her before she died. You see, she had certain…gifts.”

  “Like Keelin’s.”

  “Yes. Not that they helped her keep her family together. We betrayed each other when we were young and foolish—my brother, sister and I. My mother didn’t want the same fate for her nine grandchildren. She left them a legacy of the heart…but one that went hand in hand with danger.”

  Even as a shudder coursed through her, Laurel said, “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  “I’ve lived long enough to see many things come to pass that people don’t want to believe. Keelin’s the proof. And Skelly. And their cousin Kathleen, as well. My God, I almost lost one son…”

  Donovan in danger. Laurel feared it could be true.

  Was that the reason he’d seemed so troubled beneath his smiles? And the real reason he’d disappeared? How arrogant that she’d assumed she had been responsible.

  Mesmerized by the ribbon of road ahead, she wondered what she would say to him when they came face-to-face…so absorbed in the drama of it that a sudden movement from the woods startled her into crying out.

  “Watch it!”

  Even as a deer bounded across the road mere feet in front of them, Raymond wrenched the wheel to the right. “Hang on!”

  The car pitched, jolted, then slid, veering off the icy pavement. He slammed on the brakes. The vehicle jerked and pulsed, tipped and twisted, before finally coming to a shuddering stop.

  “Are you all right?”

  World cockeyed, hand pressed against the dash to steady herself, she gasped, “Yeah.” And, thank heaven, so was the deer, who escaped certain death. “You?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  He turned on the interior light and put a hand to his head. His fingers came away dabbled with blood.

  “You are hurt!”

  “A bump, no more,” he insisted. “Not enough to stop me.”

  “But this ditch may be,” she muttered.

  Several minutes of his trying to ease the car out of the culvert proved her right. Between the pitch of the vehicle’s nose and the icy snow under the wheels, they weren’t going anywhere.

  “Now what?” she asked when he stopped trying and cut the lights if not the engine and heater.

  “We can’t be far from my son’s cabin.” Raymond pulled a flashlight from under his seat “I’ll find it.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. Stay.” He indicated the car’s cell phone. “Call for service. Tell them we’re on the old paved road three miles or so north of town. I’m thinking it’ll take hours for them to get here. When I find the cabin, I’ll fetch you. In the meantime, you stay comfortable and warm.”

&n
bsp; “But—”

  “Don’t be arguing with me, woman!”

  With a sense of misgiving, Laurel watched him wade into the snow and cut through the woods—until he and his thin beam of light were shortly sucked up by the surrounding dark. Dutifully, she called for help, not as simple a task as she might like, considering she couldn’t pin down their exact location. But satisfied that someone would be looking for them, she told herself to relax, though it was hardly possible when she was focused on the dash with its digital clock.

  Five minutes passed.

  “Good move, Laurel, letting a through-and-through city person go out there alone.”

  The sound of her own voice soothed her…

  …until five minutes stretched to ten.

  “Like he knows these woods,” she muttered, thinking she ought to go find him. “As if you do.”

  When nearly twenty minutes had passed, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “And him having smacked his head…”

  She had to go after him.

  Fetching her keys from one of her jacket pockets, she checked the miniature flashlight that hung from the ring. The beam was limited in nature, but steady. She killed the engine but left the keys in case Raymond somehow returned to the car first. Then she slipped into her earmuffs and gloves and out of the car.

  The cold was shocking. Though she’d dressed sensibly enough for Chicago, northern Wisconsin was another matter, no matter that it was late March. More layers of clothing were called for. And something on her head. Her exposed face was already growing stiff. Her breath froze white on the icy air.

  Ignoring the strange night sounds of the deep woods—cracking and shushing, undoubtedly both products of the wind—she set off.

  The congressman’s tracks were easy enough to follow. Younger and lighter, she could move faster and expected to catch up to him handily. But she hadn’t gone far when his tracks first crossed then joined with another set. Assuming these were Donovan’s tracks, she paused and vaguely studied the pattern made by his soles against the snow.

  Donovan.