He was offering her a broad set of shoulders to lean on. Sniffling, Laurel snaked her arms around his waist, and in that moment, felt more for Donovan than she’d ever felt for the man who’d stolen his identity. Shocked, she wondered how that could be. She hardly knew this wolfman, and yet she clung to him like a lifeline.
The urge to cry quickly abated.
The shaking stopped.
And a confused Laurel began feeling other things, more intimate things, even as she had for those few seconds when he’d pressed her into the mattress.
“Better?” he asked, voice gruff.
She nodded and murmured, “Mm-hmm.”
Aware of his hand stroking her back, Laurel closed her eyes and concentrated on sheer physical sensation. For a moment, she lost herself in the soothing touch of his palm, in the strength of his fingers, in the hard heat of his body pressed up against hers.
Just as Donovan must be losing himself in her, if his repeated, “Oh, hell!”—though softer this time—was any indication.
So quickly that she didn’t have time to protest, he bent his head and possessed her mouth in a deep, searching kiss that left her instantly weak-kneed.
And, as if it were the most natural response in the world, she kissed him back.
Mouths melded…tongues touched…bodies butted against each other.
A perfect fit.
No other way to describe it, she thought hazily, mentally surrendering to the inevitable. No man had ever had such an instantaneous and total affect on her, no matter the emotion. Whether fear or anger or desire, he had her every time.
His hands cradled her head as he angled his mouth…as if he wanted all of her.
Her fingers tangled through his long hair, loosened from the leather tie…as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
She yearned…burned…ached.
All the things previously denied her in relationships with other men.
Donovan trailed one hand down her spine, leaving in its wake flesh that quaked for more of his touch. And when he cradled her bottom, she couldn’t help herself. With a sigh, she rocked her hips into his, her center brushing his.
And then she was abruptly set aside.
Her eyes jerked open. Laurel blinked, confused, reluctant to face reality.
Realizing the material of his pullover was fisted in her hands, she let go, murmuring, “Oh…sorry,” though she wasn’t really.
She’d needed comforting and Donovan’s arms had done the job. They’d felt so right around her. His lips had done an even better job, drawing her to the brink before launching her toward free fall. He’d offered exactly what she’d needed, Laurel told herself.
For the moment.
She was reluctant to analyze further or to think ahead. Not now. Not with Donovan’s gaze burning into her, making her self-conscious.
Making her insides flame with a hunger she didn’t understand.
He broke the spell, saying, “I’d better take a look around outside.”
Though the growl was back in his voice, she ignored it and said, “I’ll go with you.”
Her lips felt strange. Swollen and sensual and tight and angry. Her breasts did, too. And the secret place between her thighs. His effect on her was too powerful to deny.
“You’d slow me down,” Donovan said as he headed for the front door. “Besides, you just got out of the shower. I won’t be playing nursemaid to your pneumonia.”
Her irritation with him escalating, she followed. “As if I would want you to!”
How could he kiss her as he had, then pretend nothing had happened between them?
“Stay put,” he ordered, donning his deerskin jacket.
“Stop ordering me around!”
Despite the intimacy shared only a moment ago, he gave her a look meant to intimidate.
Laurel’s pulse jagged, but this time it wasn’t because of him. At least not due to a reaction to him.
Somehow she understood what he wasn’t saying, as if he could speak to her without words.
And try as she might, she couldn’t totally repress her growing fear that came with understanding. She watched in silence as Donovan slipped his hands into gloves and threw on his headgear, then fastened the leather belt securing a sheathed knife to his waist.
A knife.
A weapon!
While he’d worn it before, she’d thought of the knife as a tool he used in his work, but now it seemed to have a more ominous intent.
Donovan’s amber eyes met hers briefly, as he said, “Get dressed…just in case.”
In case what?
Before she could find the voice to ask, he left the cabin, flashlight in hand.
Already feeling too alone, Laurel told herself there was no reason to panic. He hadn’t taken his snowshoes, so he couldn’t be going far. As per his order, she started pulling on clothes—thermal underwear, jeans and sweatshirt—while dancing from window to window to keep an eye on him.
The night was bright, and she watched Donovan check the ground for tracks. He obviously wasn’t finding anything that concerned him. Only when he was directly outside the back door—she was hopping on one foot to pull her boot on the other—did he stoop to get a closer view. Then he stood and shone his flashlight along the ground in a slow if direct sweep away from the cabin. As she knew he would, he followed the beam of light toward the trees.
Laurel’s apprehension began escalating when he didn’t seem inclined to stop. Fearing he would soon be out of sight, she told herself to stay calm, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Her heart thudded against her ribs, and her chest tightened. The air in the cabin suddenly threatened to suffocate her.
What if something happened to Donovan…and her without a clue?
He could be lying out there, helpless, while she’d be a sitting duck.
Not if she could help it!
Hesitating only a heartbeat, Laurel ran for the jacket he’d lent her and threw it on. Even as she pulled the hood over her still-damp hair, she flew out the back door. She focused on the path he’d taken.
No trace of Donovan but his tracks.
The night grabbed her with icy fingers, but Laurel ignored the cold. Fear alone was enough to keep her warm. She raced along the path Donovan had taken, wishing only that she had some form of protection—though she abhorred the thought of carrying a weapon.
“Big threat I’d be,” she mumbled, as usual taking comfort in her own voice. “I can see it now. Me holding a gun—‘Get your hands up, buddy’—him having a good laugh because he can tell I would never use the damn thing!”
The moon was nearly full and was thus bright enough to light the way. She kept her gaze moving, searching, seeking out danger. But the land lay around her in pristine innocence, as if nothing sinister could ever mar it.
But something sinister had nearly touched her, Laurel thought. Had it not been for Donovan’s quick thinking…Thrashing through a stand of pine trees, she reached another clearing and a small incline.
Donovan!
Anxiety abating as quickly as it had gripped her, Laurel stopped dead in her tracks. She suddenly felt weak-kneed and foolish.
For, as hardy as she’d ever seen him, Donovan stood on the rise, face tilted toward the moon, cupped hands around his mouth. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life!
“Awroo-oo-oo-oo-oo…”
His primal howl sent a shudder through her.
Lowering his arms, he balled fists on his hips and stared out into the night as if looking for something. The villain who’d invaded his home? Laurel almost called out to him, but instinct stopped her. Not that she was trying to hide her presence. A sense of something about to happen—something that had nothing to do with the leghold trap—rooted her to where she stood.
“Ruu-aww-aww-woo-oo-oo-oo…”
A response. Flesh crawled along her spine at the mournful wail. She waited for the others to follow.
None came.
Donovan ripped off an answering c
all. “Ow-ow-ow-wwww…”
After which the night grew eerily still.
Laurel strained to hear over the sound of her own labored breathing. She concentrated hard, eventually imagining she heard the quick, precise movements of an animal…
To her left, a silhouette slid from the shadows. A dark, shaggy body topping spindly legs and large paws. A bigger animal than her largest dog, he had to weigh close to a hundred pounds, a lot even for a wolf.
She could hardly believe it. Most people—even trackers—never actually got to see a wolf in the wild. She shot a glance toward Donovan.
He didn’t seem to be the least bit impressed…or wary.
As a matter of fact, he was acting as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
As if he’d done this before, dozens of times.
Her pulse raced with excitement at the scene unfolding before her even as she remembered the speculation between the grizzled men in the café…how she’d silently defended Donovan…denied that any human could have control over a wild creature.
Donovan hunkered down to the level of the black wolf, who, in return, lowered his body, ducked his head and flattened his ears as he shot forward and up the incline, straight toward the human. He whined before lifting his nose to Donovan’s face and giving the wolfman’s lips a lick in greeting.
Active submission.
Laurel’s eye widened and she continued watching, mesmerized, in silent awe. She’d seen this behavior with dogs and their masters, including her own.
But a wild wolf recognizing a human as its alpha?
The concept stole her breath away.
She backed off, choosing to leave without his ever knowing she’d witnessed what he’d surely meant to keep private.
“YOU’RE DOING the right thing, Donovan,” Laurel murmured the next morning.
She slipped by him and followed his mother into the lobby of Nicolet General Hospital. They’d passed a couple of reporter types, who luckily didn’t seem aware of the new arrivals.
Donovan entered last and with great reluctance. He’d been done with the place until his mother had insisted he escort her there. He’d known she was manipulating him and he’d let her, maybe because he’d recognized the expression deep in her eyes as one of panic. Even now, she wasn’t herself—not the same steady woman he’d depended on all his life. Now he had to be there for her.
Pale and unusually silent during the entire drive to the hospital, she’d seemed vulnerable—a description that had never fit her well before—as if Raymond McKenna meant more to her than just being the father to her son.
To top off his morning, Laurel had had the temerity to tag along after announcing she would not be mentally or physically coerced onto that bus out of town. How had he guessed he wouldn’t rid himself of the city woman so easily?
How badly he really wanted her gone was another question—a bag of worms he was not willing to open. No matter that he tried, he couldn’t put that kiss out of his head. Not even the bitter cold of the night before had done the trick.
He only knew that when he’d come back into the cabin and found her on the couch pretending to be asleep, he’d wanted to take her in his arms and hold her all night. Instead, he’d grabbed a sleeping bag and had stretched out on the floor between her and the stove.
The bed with its gouged-out mattress and lingering, if faint, scent of stink bait had been truly unappealing. He’d consider locking his doors from now on if he didn’t know locks wouldn’t stop a man with a mission.
As the tracks had confirmed…
He’d had hours to think seriously about the trap that had been set in his bed. Surely the intruder hadn’t figured he’d be green enough to pick up the bait without first checking things out. He’d come to the conclusion that the incident had been more of a warning—perhaps a challenge—than an actual threat.
Arriving at the reception desk brought Donovan back to the present. He introduced himself and asked for the location of the intensive care unit.
“Dr. Graves would like to speak to you before you see Congressman McKenna,” the receptionist said instead.
“Why?” his mother asked anxiously. “Has something happened?”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I’m just passing on the message.”
“There shouldn’t be any problem with our going on to the ICU waiting room,” Laurel said. “Right? Mr. Wilde’s sister is probably there now. Alone.”
“Oh, of course. And I’ll tell Dr. Graves you’ve arrived as soon as he’s free.”
The receptionist gave them directions to the intensive care unit, located on the second floor.
Once in the elevator, Donovan could see that his mother was becoming more agitated. He took her hand and squeezed it.
And as they walked down the second-floor corridor, she whispered, “You don’t think Aileen will object to my seeing your father, do you?”
“It would be out of character for her,” he said, his own discomfort growing.
Aileen was the only McKenna who’d tried treating him like one. She was all right, but he’d never allowed himself to get too attached. After all, Aileen was LaVerne’s daughter—LaVerne being the woman his father had married even while his mother had been pregnant with him. As far as he was concerned, getting close to his half sister would be like slapping his mother in the face.
When they entered the waiting area outside the intensive care unit, the first thing Donovan saw was Aileen curled up in a love seat, bright raspberry coat thrown over her like a blanket. But as if sensing their presence, she sat up abruptly, strawberry-blond hair tousled around her sweet face.
A face that crumpled when she saw him. “Donovan!” She raced for him and threw herself into his arms, not giving him a chance to escape her desperate hug. “You came,” she sobbed. “I knew you would! I told Skelly…” She took a big breath and looked up at him through wet eyes. “You heard what happened, right?”
His heart stilled and he went cold inside—his first thought being that their father had died during the night. “What?” he asked, his gripping her too hard the only trace of the emotion that suddenly pierced him.
Eyes widening in understanding, she shook her head. “Donovan, no. He’s all right now. But earlier this morning, the drainage tube they’d placed through his skull to release excess fluids somehow got knocked out. Thank God the ICU nurse caught the problem before the pressure built up and there was any real damage.”
As Donovan took a relieved breath, his mother murmured, “I have to see him.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, you will.” He let go of Aileen. “Did they say how it happened?”
She shrugged. “An accident.”
No doubt what Dr. Graves wanted to discuss with him, perhaps to circumvent the threat of a malpractice suit. Not that he would be the one to make such a decision…
“So many people go in and out of ICU to check on the patients,” Laurel said with the ring of authority. “Nurses, respiratory therapists, lab technicians, doctors. Any one of them could have disturbed the drain without realizing it.”
Donovan determined Laurel looked about as stressed as he felt. He remembered her saying she’d lost the people she’d loved and wondered exactly how personally involved she’d been in their tragedies. From the knowledge she displayed—from her very nature—he’d guess quite a bit. A lot to take on for someone so young. Undoubtedly being here was nearly as difficult for her as it was for him…if in a different way.
And noting how exhausted Aileen appeared, Donovan wondered if she’d left the intensive-care area since she’d arrived.
Where the hell was Skelly, anyway? How ironic that his father’s favorite couldn’t be bothered to show his face where it was needed. And after all the praise the old man had heaped on him, too. He’d used every chance he’d had to praise Skelly, making certain Donovan knew who counted and who didn’t So, why wasn’t Mr. Wonderful here, not only for his father, but for his sister?
“When was th
e last time you ate?” he asked Aileen.
“I don’t know. A nurse gave me some orange juice—”
“Food.”
She shrugged.
What? She didn’t know? Didn’t care? Maybe both? At this rate, she might as well check herself in.
“Laurel,” he said, thinking of a way to distract them both for a while, “would you mind keeping Aileen company while she gets some breakfast?”
“I really shouldn’t leave,” his sister protested. “What if something—”
“I’m here, and you need a break. And I’ll know to find you in the cafeteria.”
“C’mon,” Laurel said, taking the ball and running with it. “I could use a good cup of coffee myself. That stuff your brother makes is mud.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow as Laurel placed an arm around Aileen’s shoulders and led her back toward the elevator. Earlier, she’d slugged down half a pot of that mud.
Then he turned to make certain his mother was all right, only to find she’d done a disappearing act on him. He waited a moment before rounding the corner to the nurses’ station, a hub in the center of half a dozen patient rooms.
“I’m Congressman McKenna’s son,” he told the only nurse behind the counter. “My mother—”
A buzzer went off.
“Can it wait a minute?” the harried-sounding woman asked.
“Sure.”
She hurried to the room on the far left.
He glanced at the chart hanging adjacent to the door on the right. Samuel Pearson. The next chart read Wayne Holt. Still no nurse by the time he arrived at one of the center doors. He didn’t have to check the paperwork—he heard his mother’s voice.
“…can’t stand seeing you like this…”
Donovan stepped into the room but didn’t announce himself.
“I remember what a fine figure of a man you were,” she murmured, her tone enticing in a nonsexual manner. “Straight from the old sod. Proud. Handsome. Strong.”
She sat by his father’s bed, her fingers lightly touching his free hand. The other was taped to a board, an IV protruding from the back, and one of his fingertips was cuffed for vitals.
Never Cry Wolf Page 9
