“Saturday night at the wolf ecology workshop,” she began, “we were out in the woods, broken into several groups for a howling. Afterward, when we were heading back to the center, I was straggling behind a little. One minute I was alone, the next he was just there beside me.”
“And that’s the first time you saw him?”
“Actually, I’d noticed him at the back of the room during one of the lectures that afternoon. He kept to himself, then disappeared before we broke for dinner. I asked him about it. He said he wasn’t officially part of the workshop. He introduced himself as Donovan Wilde and claimed he was a field biologist studying wolves.” She tried distancing herself from the hurt, but she wasn’t good at burying her emotions. “I had no reason to disbelieve him.”
“If he wasn’t part of the workshop, how did he justify his being there?”
“He claimed that he’d dropped by to check in with a friend who was part of the staff.”
“Did he mention a name?”
She shook her head. “And there were more than a half-dozen WRIN volunteers present. Of course, that’s assuming he was telling the truth about knowing someone. I never saw him talking to anyone else.”
Which should have been her first clue that something was wrong, Laurel thought. Had she been purposely blind or merely naive? She couldn’t help ragging on herself. City smart, she wouldn’t give a guy who tried picking her up on the streets of Chicago the time of day, no less believe his line. But put her in the middle of the woods and, rather than being honed, her sense of self-preservation was shot to hell.
She sipped at her lukewarm coffee.
Repositioning the other armchair close to hers, Donovan threw himself into it. “What happened after this guy introduced himself?”
“When we arrived back at the center, he asked if I’d like to go into town for a beer. It was still early. Barely ten. I figured…what could be the harm.”
She never imagined the chain of events her accepting a simple beer would set in motion—that she’d be responsible for a man being injured. Or worse.
“So, you spent the night with him?”
Was that his judgmental face? Laurel wondered, biting her tongue to keep herself from snapping at him.
Instead, she said, “I spent a couple of hours with the man,” and emphasized, “talking,” so that he would be clear on how she’d been lulled into trusting a stranger.
“About?”
Maybe he hadn’t meant anything by the question, after all. “Come to think of it,” a relieved Laurel said, “the conversation was pretty one-sided. He wanted to know all about me…didn’t talk much about himself. Not then, anyway. He walked me to my car and said he’d call. I took the beer at face value and figured he was being polite.”
How could she have suspected he’d had some dark agenda?
“How long did it take him to follow up?”
“A couple of days. He said he was coming into Chicago to visit family and wanted to see me.”
“When was that?”
“Mid-December. At first, I figured he was around a lot during the holidays because of family. Then January rolled around, and he still made it into the city for a couple of days here and there. He made it clear that he was coming back and forth just to see me.”
“Why you?” he murmured, echoing his mother.
Thinking of her rescuer theory, Laurel was reluctant to share something so personal with this hard-edged man. “I suppose he figured I was gullible.”
“Or he knew you lived in Chicago…”
As had Raymond McKenna and Donovan’s siblings, she silently finished. “You think he was trying to hook me up with your family?”
“Something to consider,” he said thoughtfully. “Did you ever visit him here in Wisconsin?”
“I was never invited. He talked about being too busy with the wolves to pay me proper attention… But I should have known something was wrong when he couldn’t give me a telephone number where I could reach him.” Then it hit her. “Although you don’t have a phone. Why not?”
“Out here?”
“Cell phones work practically anywhere.”
“An abominable thought,” he said before switching the conversation back to the imposter. “What did this guy look like?”
Abominable because he didn’t consider cell phones appropriate with nature? Or because it would make him too accessible to the outside world?
Noting his impatient expression, she said, “His description would fit you, at least superficially. Tall, medium build, dark hair, light eyes—though his were gray. He didn’t really look like you, though. Fairskinned, medium nose, pointed lips, small cleft in his chin.”
Her Donovan had been far more handsome, if in a conventional sense. But Laurel was beginning to think she preferred the real Donovan’s more exotic looks. The way his edgy features reflected his inner strength, as well as the deep-seated anger he’d never dealt with.
At the moment, he was as intense as she’d ever seen him. Brow furrowed. Mouth set in a grim line. Amber eyes burning—not at her this time, but turned inward.
Taking the advantage, Laurel stared, soon realizing something weird was happening to her. Pulse accelerating. Breath shortening. Chest tightening.
She set the mug of coffee away from her. Either she’d had too much caffeine…or too much of him. She’d prefer the first option.
No way was she ready to admit an attraction to another man. Not when she couldn’t trust her own judgment.
“It’s not coming,” he finally said.
“What?”
“That description you gave. I can’t attach a name to it. I don’t even know the guy.”
“Sleep on it. Maybe it’ll come to you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my memory,” Donovan countered. “If I had seen him, I would remember.”
Deflated, fearing they were on the wrong track, Laurel said, “Then this doesn’t make sense—a man you don’t even know pretending to be you.”
“Maybe he owed someone else a favor. Or money. Or maybe he was hired to do some mischief.”
Could that be what had been troubling the fake Donovan? Laurel wondered. Doing someone else’s bidding for whatever reason…and not liking it?
Perhaps getting to know her had made the imposter back out of the plan. His conscience catching up to him would explain the vanishing act.
Oddly enough, the thought made her feel a little better. A bit less foolish for getting involved with a man who’d set out to trick her. Even now she couldn’t think of him without the hurt that came of caring. She could hardly believe it, but other than being angry and depressed, her feelings hadn’t done a one-eighty. They’d merely grown more complex.
Fearing that unless she made an effort she’d be swamped by tears, Laurel forced herself back to her brainstorming session with the real Donovan.
“Who might want to see the recovery program ruined?” she asked. “Other than Ham Gault.”
“Another hunter…a farmer who lost livestock…someone who wants this land?”
The last startled her. “The land? Doesn’t it belong to the state?”
He shook his head. “It’s being held in trust. The late owner, Matthew Lemley, was dedicated to the wolf recovery program. He made great contributions to WRIN, even headed the organization for a few years.”
WRIN—Wolf Recovery Information Network—the organization that had sponsored the workshop.
Donovan continued, “Lemley built this cabin, moved from town to be closer to Mother Nature. In the meantime, the wolves’ numbers were increasing. They were spreading out. Coming closer. Lemley always hoped a couple of dispersers would move in with him.”
“Lone wolves?” she mused. Like Donovan?
“No such animal, at least not by choice. Dispersers are wolves who aren’t content to remain part of a pack where they have no authority. Unless they want to be a bider—wait for the opportunity to move up to alpha status—they leave. They look for thei
r own territory and a mate from a different pack. It’s nature’s way of renewing those gene pools so the wolves aren’t all inbred.”
Laurel remembered the basics from the workshop. No wolves bred but the alpha male and female. The rest of the pack usually consisted mostly of yearlings, in addition to the new pups. Once in a while an older wolf or one from another pack would hang around for years waiting for a chance to be top wolf. And then there was the bottom wolf. The omega. The screwup. Picked on. The last to feed.
At the moment, she was feeling a bit omegaish herself.
She said, “Mr. Lemley must have been thrilled when his dream finally came true.”
“Mere months too late. He died before he could see it happen.” Donovan’s expression relayed his regret. “He left this property in trust as an animal preserve, at least until the year 2000. He specified that, if no wolves had made the land part of their territory by then, it would revert to his estate.”
“But the wolves are here now.”
“True. But if they were to be driven off because of the danger to humans…”
She got his point. “So, who benefits?”
“Lemley’s niece. After she was widowed, Karen Tobin lived with and did for her uncle for several years. That’s when he was still in town, of course. But eventually she decided she missed her son too much and moved to Sheboygan to be near him. I was in Idaho at the time, so this is all hearsay. And I only met the woman once—late last fall.”
“But you must have formed an opinion.” She could see it in the disapproving pull of his mouth.
“Lemley’s niece wasn’t pleased with the trust and didn’t make any bones about saying so. She also threatened to break it—said she and her son wouldn’t be cheated. But Lemley was of sound mind and had a good lawyer, so I didn’t take her too seriously. So far, she hasn’t succeeded.”
“That’s legally,” Laurel mused. “Do you think she’s capable of working outside the system?”
“Maybe. It’s certainly something to keep in mind.”
DONOVAN STARED DOWN at the open journal in his lap. Every night, he faithfully recorded his observations of the day, anything having to do with the wolves. This was the heart of his research, the basis for the papers that he wrote for professional journals.
But tonight the words wouldn’t flow.
Karen Tobin wouldn’t get out of his head.
He closed the journal and set it on the coffee table.
The thought that she might be behind the strange happenings that put the wolves in a bad light had never occurred to him before. And why should it now? He couldn’t imagine her creeping around the property and spying on him, although she might try to bulldoze her way in.
The son David, however, remained a question mark.
Judging by Lemley, who’d been close to eighty when he’d died, his niece was probably in her fifties, which meant her son could be in his late twenties or early thirties. His own age or close enough. And Sheboygan was only a two and a half hour drive from Chicago, easy enough for someone to get back and forth on a regular basis…
But was David Tobin clever enough and devious enough to get away with pretending to be a wolfman?
And to fool Laurel into believing it?
Even if wolves weren’t his thing, Tobin must have picked up some knowledge from his grandfather.
And Laurel Newkirk was too naive, too trusting, too openhearted for her own good. Obviously, no one had ever taught her to think with her head.
Not that anyone had taught him, either. He’d learned the hard way at the age of eight. What a rude awakening that had been.
The sound of the shower running caught him, sparked his imagination, whet appetites that he’d been ignoring for more months than he cared to count. He could almost envision the rivulets of soapy water fingering her flesh…
Laurel.
He’d had his share of women, but he’d kept his relationships casual and short-lived. His work was his life and he hadn’t met the woman who both attracted him and understood what he was about. The last one actually had the gall to say that she didn’t have the patience to compete with those disgusting creatures of his. That had been it for him.
And he hadn’t met anyone who’d stirred his blood since leaving Idaho the year before.
Until now…
But there was no percentage in it, Donovan told himself. Laurel needed someone stable. Down to earth. Committed.
And he needed…
Donovan didn’t know what he needed, other than a soft body to fill his arms and nights. Laurel wouldn’t even be that. She’d be gone tomorrow. Besides, she was too angular for his taste. All long limbs and a decided lack of curves.
But when the bathroom door opened a few minutes later, and she stepped into the room wearing nothing but the T-shirt and socks he’d lent her as night wear, his body told him otherwise. While loose enough to bag around her nearly to her knees, the white cotton also clung in places to her damp skin. Not that she seemed to realize it.
Raising her arms, she unwrapped the towel from her wet hair…and in the process, stretched the thin material across her breasts.
Her nipples puckered against the damp cotton.
“You’re sure about the sleeping arrangements?” she asked.
Unable to rip his gaze from the intriguing if modest sight, he muttered, “Positive.”
Liar. His groin insisted that he really wanted to be sleeping in his bed, all right. With her.
“That couch would fit me better than you,” she continued, provocatively rubbing wet strands of her hair with the terry cloth.
“We’ve been over this,” he snapped, then felt a bit reprehensible when he sensed her withdrawal.
Expression tight, she backed up. “Fine.” Then she whirled around and into his bedroom. As she retreated, she gave him a pulse-pounding view of her derriere.
Fine didn’t quite cover it.
Thank God she disappeared from sight, giving him a chance to cool down.
But a moment later, when, voice sounding odd, she called out, “Donovan, is this some kind of joke?” he shot out of the chair like an arrow released from a deer hunter’s bow.
He reached the doorway to see her bending over the bed, the center of which was decorated with a piece of the stink bait he used to trap wolves. Hardly having time to consider the situation, he acted on instinct.
“No!” he yelled, flying from the doorway even as her fingers were about to close around the bait. He tackled her, jerking back her arm.
A metallic thwunk accompanied her cry of, “What’s wrong with you?”
They rolled together over the mattress, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed.
He landed on top.
Her expression at once angry and confused, Laurel gasped and ineffectually tried to push him off. “If you wanted the damn bed,” she snarled, “why didn’t you just say so?”
He found himself by saying, “Actions speak louder than words.”
Startling himself by making a joke.
Up close and personal, Laurel wasn’t wanting in any department. She’d fill his arms just fine. Long legs tangling with his as she squirmed beneath him, she set off a five-alarm fire that Donovan knew only one way to quench.
But this wasn’t the time, not when the intruder had taken things a step further, had invaded his space while they’d been checking the traps. For all he knew, the bastard could be lurking…watching even now…waiting to see if his warped plot had come to fruition.
He fought his natural urges so that he could focus on the situation.
And release a breathless Laurel.
“Mind telling me what that was about?” she murmured as she grabbed the T-shirt in a white-knuckled hand, loosening it from her still-damp body.
“We had an uninvited guest.”
One look at her soft expression, one glance from eyes hiding banked fires, and Donovan knew that Laurel had been turned on as much as he had. Obviously trying to hide the fact, she s
hifted her gaze away from him and to the bed.
Knowing what he’d find, he threw back the spread to reveal the mystery of the missing wolf trap.
Chapter Six
Laurel trembled inside. The reaction spread and she began to shake. A sudden chill stole through her, chasing away the heat of her recent body contact with Donovan. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, as though that could warm her. But the cold wasn’t coming from the room—it was coming from deep inside. She hadn’t been so frightened since she’d realized her grandmother was dying six years ago.
“Omigod…he meant to hurt me, didn’t he?”
“Whoever set this trap couldn’t have known I wouldn’t be sleeping in my own bed,” Donovan assured her. “That was meant for me, not you.”
She stared at the sprung leghold trap. How cleverly it had been concealed. The perpetrator had dug a hole out of the mattress large enough to sink the device. Had Donovan not acted so quickly, the steel jaws would have clamped onto her arm instead of thin air.
She knew the trap was meant to be harmless to wolves—while it would surround the animal’s thin leg, the opening was made too narrow to pull the much larger paw free. That way, the device would hinder the wolf from loping off, without actually doing any damage.
A human arm was far thicker than a wolf’s leg, however. Laurel visually measured the opening against her own arm and found it lacking.
“That th-thing would have b-broken a bone.” Even her voice was shaky now. “Th-thanks.”
“You’re not going to start crying on me, are you?”
Though she felt the sting at the back of her lids, Laurel shook her head. “N-no, of course not.”
“Because I hate it when women cry.”
“M-me, t-too,” she said, twin tears escaping despite her best efforts to contain them.
“Nothing attractive about a sobbing woman with red eyes and a runny nose.”
She nodded in agreement and unsuccessfully tried to choke back a sob.
“Oh, hell!”
Grabbing her upper arm, Donovan whipped her against his chest so fast that Laurel didn’t have the presence of mind to stop him…even if stopping him had been what she wanted.
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