Never Cry Wolf

by Patricia Rosemoor

It had been there all along, right before her eyes…she might even have seen it the day before…

  A photograph of the imposter!

  DONOVAN TRUDGED INTO Veronica’s Vittles later than he’d meant to. The dinner hour had long passed and his mother’s current employees—a dishwasher and waitress who worked evenings and weekends—were already leaving.

  Laurel and his mother were the only ones left in the café.

  He expected to be given a hard time, if not outright railed at, and so he approached with caution. They sat together, one more grim faced than the other. Gut tightening, he stripped off his gear and prepared himself for bad news about his father.

  “Which one of you is going to give it to me?”

  Neither said a word. Laurel’s hand was white-knuckled as she handed a picture frame across the table.

  “That’s him.”

  He glanced down at the photograph taken in this very café. His mother and that guy—Billy something—who used to work for her until recently. “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s him!” she repeated emphatically.

  “Him, who?”

  A long look into Laurel’s eyes gave Donovan an answer he didn’t like. He shook his head. Her nod practically knocked him into the chair opposite.

  “He told me his name was Billy Barker,” his mother said. “And that he applied for the job because I reminded him of his mama.”

  “What else? Where was he from? Around here?”

  “Around,” his mother echoed. “Drifting. Said he’d lost what was due him and had been having a hard time getting work. That he wanted to start over. Wanted a new life.”

  “Mine?”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Laurel said. “Whether he latched on to your identity out of envy because he learned so much about you from your mother…or if he came here with that purpose in mind.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Nothing good about this, Donny. I’m scared for you.”

  Thinking Laurel might have told his mother about the trap in his bed, he looked to Laurel and was certain the subtle shake of her head meant she hadn’t said anything.

  Weird how they could communicate without words at times…not so different than he did with the wolves.

  “What now?” his mother asked.

  “We find out more about Billy Barker—if that’s even his name.”

  “I have a call in to one of the workshop volunteers, Rebecca Kinder. She’s the one he went to see.”

  Things were starting to fall into place.

  “Lost what had been due him…” he mused, repeating his mother’s words. “That would fit. Mom, have you ever met David Tobin?”

  “David…that wouldn’t be old Matt Lemley’s grandnephew, would it?”

  “The same.”

  “I don’t believe I have, at least not since he was a boy. I knew his mother some.”

  “So you have no idea of how old David is or what he might look like?”

  “I’m sure he’s only a few years younger than you. And I remember that he was a nice-looking boy. But now?” She shrugged. “How does he fit?”

  “The land. Karen Tobin threatened to break the will, said she and her son wouldn’t be cheated.”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “So David might think he’d lost what was due him.”

  “If Billy is really David,” Laurel said, “then he came to Iron Lake looking for a way to kill the wolf recovery program in this area. With the property reverting back to the estate, he and his mother would be in the money. That would give him a new life, all right.”

  “Works for me,” Donovan agreed, noticing his mother wasn’t equally enthusiastic. “What’s wrong?”

  “It just doesn’t sound like Billy, is all. I never got the idea that money motivated him.”

  “You can’t judge a con man by his cover.”

  She shook her head again. “I felt I had his genuine affection.”

  “His specialty,” Laurel said.

  Donovan could imagine how she was feeling.

  Lied to. Betrayed.

  He could imagine because the same thing had happened to him, the villain in his drama being his own father.

  Her obvious pain made him remember…

  As if his mother knew what he was thinking, she changed the subject. “I called the hospital a while ago. Raymond responded to another voice. He opened his eyes again.”

  “With Aileen in his face, I’m not surprised.” His sister could be pushy when it suited her.

  “Not Aileen. Skelly.”

  Skelly. His nemesis. The son who could do no wrong.

  “Of course.” Suddenly he felt as if the room were stifling. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

  “Without eating?”

  “I grabbed something on the way.”

  At least he’d eaten enough to hold him until he arrived at his mother’s place. But any appetite he’d had for her cooking had vanished.

  She patted his hand. “I’ll pack something for you to bring home.”

  “And I’ll get our things,” Laurel said, heading for the back room.

  Knowing his mother was set on feeding him, Donovan figured arguing would be a losing battle.

  Instead, he asked, “Hey, where’s Josh?” The man usually showed before she locked up. “Aren’t you seeing him tonight?”

  “He had some errand to run, something that wouldn’t keep. That’s all right. I need to get to sleep early, anyway. I’m going to visit Raymond first thing in the morning. Elvira said she’d open for me and take care of things until I could get back here.”

  Elvira was a former employee and friend who’d retired at her new husband’s insistence. But husband number three couldn’t stop her from getting out when she was needed. His mother could count on Elvira.

  And more often than not, she could count on Josh’s showing up if for no other reason than to walk her to her door. Donovan couldn’t help but wonder about this supposed errand. Did the man really have something to do, or had he made an excuse to save face?

  Josh had been sweet on his mother nearly longer than Donovan could remember. His wife had died young, and he’d turned to the Wildes for the family he didn’t have but still wanted. Fondness had grown into love, at least on Josh’s end, and he’d wanted to remarry and start again. That the object of his affection had steadfastly refused him hadn’t stopped the man from choosing to be with her rather than another woman.

  He imagined his mother’s attention to another man—especially one in a hospital bed—was provoking. Josh probably had no stomach for a one-sided competition.

  Donovan shook his head. If his mother weren’t careful, she was going to lose the only man who’d ever remained true to her.

  “Here you go.”

  A bulging sack suddenly appeared on the table before him. And Laurel had returned with their outerwear.

  His mother started pulling on her jacket. Rising, he helped her into the garment, snaking his arms around her and hugging her in the process. She patted his back in a return of affection. Meeting Laurel’s gaze, which had softened on them, he immediately stepped away.

  “You two had better get outside before you overheat.” He took the keys from his mother’s hand. “I’ll lock up.”

  As the women complied, he slipped on his jacket, then hefted the sack from his mother. Despite his mood, he smiled. From the bulk and weight of it, he guessed she’d supplied him and Laurel with enough to eat for days.

  By the time he left the café, Laurel was in the Tracker and his mother was standing by the open door talking to her. He’d insist on giving her a ride home, whether or not she wanted it. Ready to lock up, he hesitated when the payphone on the back wall began to ring.

  Thinking it was Josh—figuring the man would catch his mother at home—he turned the key.

  The click of the lock was punctuated by an angry shout.

  “Wilde! Wait up, you bastard!”

  Donovan recognized the
voice as belonging to Andrew Deterline, the farmer most unhappy with the wolf recovery program. He’d lost both a cow and two of his dogs in the last few months. Not in the mood for a confrontation, he knew he couldn’t walk away from this. His gut telling him he had a real problem brewing, he turned to face it.

  “What’s up, Deterline?”

  Coming from the bar opposite, the farmer floundered as he crossed the street, Nate Hopkins in tow. Neither man seemed in any shape to walk a straight line.

  “I lost another animal to wolves last night,” Deterline informed him irately. “South pasture.”

  “Your south pasture directly abuts a deeryard.”

  Which meant the wolves had easy pickings—deers weakened by a season of hunger. Why would they go for more difficult prey?

  “I left the carcass there for you to see for yourself—if anything’s left of it, that is.”

  Another unusual incident…

  “I’ll be out first thing in the morning,” Donovan promised. He’d go now if he thought he could make a determination in the dark. “Don’t worry, if you’re right, you’ll get your reimbursement.”

  “Of course I’m right, just like last time.” Deterline spit, the wad landing inches from Donovan’s feet. “I warned you about them wolves of yours.”

  Gaze narrowing at the crude man, Donovan kept his voice reasonable. “As I’ve told you before, they’re not my wolves. These are wild animals. They belong to themselves.”

  “Hah! I’ve seen that power you have over them.”

  “When?”

  Deterline didn’t seem inclined to answer. Had the farmer been the one on the property? To spy on him?

  Before Donovan could press the issue, Nate added, “Them wolves don’t let no one else near ‘em.”

  “Unnatural, that’s what it is. What do we need wolves here for, anyhow?” Spittle shot from the drunken farmer’s mouth. “Why can’t you just ship ‘em up to Canada—to the real wilderness? Unnatural,” he said again, “mixing wolves with people.”

  Donovan had heard it all before. The conversation was going nowhere and would continue to degenerate into something ugly if he stuck around.

  “If you’ll excuse me, boys…”

  He started for the truck, where his mother and Laurel silently watched, but Deterline got in his face, alcohol-laden breath making Donovan hold his.

  “I’m not warning you again.”

  He merely stared at the troublemaker.

  “Next time I see one of them wolves,” the farmer threatened, “I’m gonna shoot it dead.”

  “You do that and be prepared for the consequences—killing a timber wolf is in direct violation of the Endangered Species Act.” At least it was so far “The state fine can be as high as five thousand dollars, and the feds can get you for one hundred thousand.”

  “That’s only if you catch me.” Deterline’s teeth bared in a macabre grin. “A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. You don’t think a little thing like the law is gonna stop me, do you? I don’t let nothing stand in my way when it comes to my rights as a citizen of a free country. Not no one, either—especially not an interloper like you.” He punched his finger against Donovan’s chest. “You just remember that.”

  Prepared to defend himself, Donovan clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists.

  But the farmer backed off, laughing. He threw his arm around Nate’s shoulders and the drunken men stumbled down the street.

  Leaving Donovan watching after them…and wondering exactly how far Andrew Deterline would go in the name of his civil rights…

  Chapter Eight

  Allowing the engine to lull her, Laurel lay her head back against the seat. She’d overheard those same men in the café, had thought they were crazy about Donovan’s controlling the wolves until she’d seen it for herself.

  Wishing she could make her mind a blank, she closed her eyes, but other memories surfaced.

  Billy…David…whoever he was…somehow she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

  Didn’t it beat all that she still cared, if not as a woman for a man, but as one human being for another?

  She’d finally come to realize the difference between simple human caring about a man and being in love with him. After all, thinking about him and Rebecca together hadn’t bothered her. Never having been in love before, she’d assumed what she’d felt for the imposter was enough.

  But, added to her instincts about the man, perhaps it was that lack of something vital—the very thing she’d felt with Donovan more than once—that had stopped her from saying yes when he’d proposed.

  And he had been troubled, she remembered.

  Because he’d been manipulated into doing something that went against his grain?

  She wanted to believe that.

  For, even if her imposter turned out to be David Tobin—his goal being to secure the land that his mother thought should be theirs—she couldn’t make herself believe he was evil. Misguided, perhaps, and overly loyal to a materialistic mother, but surely not past saving.

  If he were past saving—truly evil—what would that say about her?

  Both she and Veronica couldn’t be wrong…

  Still, the notion made her stop and examine whatever was going on between her and Donovan.

  What was to say she would have any better judgment where he was concerned?

  Physical attraction was one thing—and she was feeling plenty of that, all right—but she was also feeling something deeper. Scarier. She’d only known the man for a few days, and she already had to rein in her imagination about what might lay between them.

  She had never connected with a human being so deeply before.

  A few minutes later, when Laurel opened her eyes, they were already driving through the heart of the woods.

  Her mind wandering back to Veronica, a woman whose experience with the world and people outshone hers, Laurel asked, “Are you really going to let your mother go to the hospital alone?”

  If Veronica thought the congressman was worth fighting over, then Laurel had to think he was, too.

  “Tomorrow’s a busy day for me.”

  She stared out into the dark as if it could provide her with answers about why Donovan was being so stubborn. More than once, she’d had glimpses into his unspoken feelings for his estranged parent. She wondered if he knew his own heart.

  “We can always find excuses to fill our days,” she said softly.

  “I don’t need excuses.”

  “No. You don’t need excuses. And you don’t need people.” The fact that that bothered her so much set her on edge. “What is it you do need, Donovan?”

  “Peace and quiet!” he growled.

  Appalled that his sharp response made her teary eyed, she gave him what he wanted.

  UNCOMFORTABLE WITH Laurel’s continuing and un-customary silence, Donovan broke the moment he stepped foot in the cabin behind her. “What’s wrong with being self-sufficient?” he demanded.

  Laurel shrugged out of her jacket and threw it on a peg. “Nothing. Everything. It depends on how you use it. We only have so much time on this earth.” Expression serious—pitying?—she met his gaze directly when she said, “None of us knows how much. Seeing time wasted because of stubbornness makes me angry.”

  “You’re looking at the lowest common denominator,” he insisted, shedding his own gear. “Trying to oversimplify. Some things are more complicated than others.”

  She wouldn’t understand. How could she?

  “Love can be complicated,” she admitted. “You don’t even know how complicated until you lose the person. How long are you going to wait, Donovan?” She paused, but when he didn’t take the opportunity to answer, pressed him. “Will you wait until your father’s gone before admitting you care?”

  He could wait as long as Raymond McKenna could. Never once in his life had he felt his father’s love.

  “He’s not going to die. He’s going to recover. Ask my mother.”

  �
�This time he’s lucky.” She picked up the sack he’d left on the floor and began unloading the contents into the refrigerator. “But what about next time, when the next killer comes along.”

  He turned on her. “No one’s going to try to kill him! He got in the way, is all. He won’t again.”

  “Some killers a person can’t walk away from. Accidents…disease…old age…”

  Even knowing that Laurel was speaking from personal loss, he said, “People recover from all kinds of terrible traumas every day.”

  “Some do…others die.” Her smile was sad as she said, “And those of us left behind always wonder if there wasn’t something else we didn’t say or do that we should have.”

  “You’re talking about survivor guilt.”

  “Which has to be even worse when you purposely leave things unsaid,” she insisted. “By the way, did you want something to eat or not?”

  “If I find my appetite, I know my way to the refrigerator,” he snapped.

  Laurel closed the door and leaned back against it. She stared at him steadily, calmly.

  “I would do anything to be in your shoes, Donovan, to have time. Just…more time.”

  She couldn’t hide the catch in her voice.

  That got to him, flung him back to the second when he’d recognized his father lying so still on the ground…when he’d momentarily feared he was dead. Then he remembered the way he’d felt so sick inside standing over the old man hooked up to so much equipment. And when his father had opened his eyes for those few seconds, a weight had lifted.

  Still…

  “There are just some things a person can’t forget or forgive.”

  “Maybe not forget,” she agreed. “We can’t control our memories. But almost anything can be forgiven. We’re human. Mortal. We make mistakes.”

  Donovan figured Laurel was thinking about herself being sucked in by a con man.

  He was proven wrong once again when she said, “I’m not sure how young I was when Mama first developed breast cancer. I only knew she was sick and that my Daddy had started drinking. The sicker she got, the more he drank. Then one day he announced he was leaving before he drank himself into the grave.”

  Donovan started. “Your father abandoned you?” He left off the “too.”