He waited until the others were out of earshot before asking, “What’s up?”
“I thought you ought to know why it took Skelly so long to get here.”
“Not interested.”
“Stop being so judgmental and listen to me!” She grabbed his arm, startling him into paying attention. “It was his wife, Roz. She’s pregnant with triplets. She was pretty upset over the news about Dad, and it looked like she was going into preterm labor. Skelly rushed her to the hospital in time to stop it, at least for now. He came as soon as the doctor assured him Roz and their babies would be all right.”
Donovan was thunderstruck. He’d known his brother had married—of course he’d ignored the wedding invitation—but he hadn’t had a clue that his wife was pregnant. And to think Skelly had been torn between their father and his unborn children who’d simultaneously been in jeopardy…
He felt like an ass.
What he said was, “I didn’t know.”
“Because you didn’t want to, Donovan.” Aileen’s watery, red-rimmed eyes accused him. “You’ve always wanted to think the worst of us.”
“Not you. Never you.”
“We’re just people,” she continued, lumping herself with their brother and father as if he hadn’t distinguished her as being special. “Human beings with human failings. We may not be perfect, but we’re not monsters, either, for heaven’s sake.”
Not giving him the opportunity to argue the point, she rushed over to the guard sitting in front of their father’s door. “You can let him in. He’s family…whether he likes it or not.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then she rushed past him, back the way they’d come.
He reluctantly entered and stopped next to the once-powerful man in the bed. The past few days had been harder on him than he’d wanted to admit even to himself. Should his father die without anything being resolved between them, he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.
Donovan found himself hanging on to a hand he hadn’t intentionally held since he was eight years old. And he could hardly get past the lump in his throat.
“Hey, old man…Father…you can’t die on me yet. Give us a chance to work it out, would you? For once in your life, try not to disappoint me…and I promise I won’t disappoint you. I swear I’ll track down whoever did this to you.”
His father’s eyes slowly opened, and Donovan would swear they focused on him. Just as he would swear he felt a slight but definite pressure from the fingers in his hand. His father blinked twice, as if trying to say he understood, before he drifted off once more.
For a moment, Donovan stared at the parent whose disregard had ripped apart his life. Was there any compromise for them? he wondered. Trying to believe there had to be some way they could learn to get along, he left his father’s bedside.
When he reentered the waiting room, however, the women were nowhere in sight.
That left him with Skelly, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Had Aileen gotten on his case, as well?
“Where’d everyone go?”
His brother stood. “The cafeteria. They’re expecting us to join them.”
“Wait…about before…I guess the stress was getting to us, right?”
Not exactly the apology he deserved, Donovan knew, but good enough that Skelly did a double take.
His brother nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was.”
“Truce?”
“Truce. C’mon,” Skelly said, starting for the elevator. “Let’s not keep the women waiting. They’ll think we’ve killed each other or something.”
“As I remember, we came close a few times. Or you did, anyway.”
“I don’t know. You might have been younger and smaller, but you were tougher, too. You never gave up, no matter how much you were hurting. You’re just like the old man.”
“I’m nothing like him.”
Skelly got one of those who-are-you-trying-to-kid looks on his face that used to drive Donovan nuts.
Before he could argue the point, the elevator doors slid open. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a large red-haired patient, who was trying to sidle by them with his face averted.
Donovan turned for a double take.
He whirled around and yelled, “Gault?” The newspaper man wore a robe over a hospital gown. “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?”
Addressing him with obvious reluctance, Ham Gault said, “Don’t yell at me like that, Wilde. You’ll give me a heart attack for sure.”
“You may think you’re smart getting yourself up like that, but you’re not getting in to see my father.”
“I’m here on my own behalf.” Palm on his chest, Gault rubbed the area over his heart. “I’m a sick man.”
“You’re sick, all right. But it’s your ethics, not your physical being, in question. You’re the worst kind of bottom feeder. Skelly, call one of the sheriffs men.”
“No problem.”
But Gault stepped in front of his brother before he could get away. “Now hold on a minute.”
“For what?” Donovan asked. “More of your lies?”
A nurse coming down the corridor asked, “Is there a problem here?”
“You bet,” Donovan agreed. “This is Hamilton Gault, the owner and publisher of the Iron Lake Herald. He’s here for a story, and he’s trying to sneak into intensive care to bother our father.”
“I’m a patient!” Gault insisted.
Donovan glared at the man whose motives he had every reason to question. “He’s lying. And I want him thrown out. Now.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the doctor to release him,” the nurse said calmly. “Mr. Gault was held overnight for observation.”
“Overnight?” Donovan echoed, his mind immediately spinning with questions. “Are you sure?”
The nurse drew herself up. “He came in around midnight, complaining of chest pains.” She turned to the newspaperman. “Now, Mr. Gault, you really should get back to your room until Dr. Graves checks you out thoroughly.”
“You’re right, of course.” The big man turned on the helpless act. “Do you think you could accompany me to my room? I’m feeling a little light-headed again.”
She immediately clutched his arm. “Slowly now.”
And as she led him off, Donovan called after them. “So he didn’t actually have a heart attack, right?”
“False alarm,” the nurse agreed.
Watching them go through narrowed gaze, Donovan muttered, “False alarm, my—”
“I take it you know this character,” Skelly said.
“Better than I’d like to.”
“Uh, by the way, I used to be one of those bottom feeders myself.”
“Used to be, huh? I thought you still were.”
If his brother took offense, he ate it.
On the way down to the cafeteria, Donovan brought him up to speed on Ham Gault’s determination to kill the wolf recovery program in the county.
“I can’t help wondering if that’s the only thing he means to kill,” Donovan said as the elevator doors opened. “Is Gault really here to get a story…or did he have some darker deed in mind?”
KILLING A MAN who couldn’t help himself should be a hell of a lot easier.
Twice now, others had interfered.
Three strikes and you‘re out. Or in prison.
A concept that didn’t appeal.
There would be a third chance…there had to be…as soon as they let down their guard. But what if that didn’t happen before the old man came to?
So many people around now.
Reporters. Cops. Government types.
Getting lost among them was easy. So was getting information.
Every detail of the congressman’s welfare was discussed and dissected. Every nuance of his care. Every aspect of his protection.
He would have to be somebody important.
Congressman Raymond McKenna. One of the good guys.
; How had things come to this? An unplanned incident turned into a nightmare?
If only he would awaken, memory gone for good… Interesting idea. But plausible?
Unfortunately, the congressman wasn’t the only one with a memory. She had one, as well.
Why hadn’t she left?
The leghold trap should’ve done the trick. Now more drastic measures were called for.
She’d brought it upon herself.
Chapter Ten
The list of suspects was growing.
Laurel wondered if they would ever sort it out.
Skelly had promised to find out what he could about Hamilton Gault’s hospital stay—whether or not something was really wrong with the man or if he’d used “heart troubles” as an excuse to get near their father.
How surprised she’d been when the brothers had walked into the cafeteria looking as if they’d never had a disagreement. A temporary cease-fire, she was sure, but better than no accord at all. Even more surprising, Donovan had promised to make it back to the hospital the next day.
At the moment, he was planning to take a shower. She’d already had hers and was wearing his socks and undershirt with a baggy sweater thrown over it to keep the chill away. A shower and something hot and laced with liquor would help them both unwind after a tense day.
The tea was already brewing.
Pacing, trying to find something to do with herself, Laurel stopped before his workbench. There she spotted the journal he’d taken out of the knapsack earlier.
Curious to see what observations he’d made on the wolves, she turned back the leather cover. The pages flipped open to the middle of the book, revealing a folded sheet of stationary. Not one to read someone’s private mail, she was about to page past it when the signature Moira McKenna jumped out at her.
A letter from his grandmother…
She couldn’t help herself.
As she heard the shower start, Laurel read the missive.
To my darling Donovan,
I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday—enough time to know what you are about—you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours.
Your loving grandmother, Moira McKenna
P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good, lest you destroy yourself or those you love.
Flesh pebbling along her arms despite the sweater, she slammed the journal shut.
The McKenna Legacy…bandied about at his father’s home…something she’d discussed with the congressman himself on the drive here…a prophecy of love that went hand in hand with danger. His family believed in it. And Donovan was next in line. In all the turmoil, she’d forgotten how the idea had spooked her…
Realizing she couldn’t hear the shower anymore, Laurel shoved the journal away from her and set it back in place next to several professional periodicals. Wanting a safer distraction, she looked over the publications and recognized one particular copy.
Her imposter had claimed he’d authored an article inside.
Armed with the periodicals, she threw herself into a chair near the stove. One by one she flipped through them, saving the most important for last—the entire issue being devoted to the study of the eastern timber wolf.
Laurel skimmed the contents: “Predators Versus Prey” by William Bancroft; “Endangered Species Bouncing Back” by Rachel Kolnicki; “The Timber Wolf in Wisconsin” by Dick Thiel; and “Alpha to Omega” by Donovan Wilde.
She turned to Donovan’s article and was just getting into his observations about pack hierarchy, when the bathroom door opened. Closing the publication, she set it on the coffee table with the others.
The sight of Donovan in worn jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt and bare feet instantly mesmerized her. He lifted his arms to dry his hair, the action showing off his breathtaking musculature. He wasn’t even near her, yet her pulse quickened and heat slithered through her.
…dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart…
Trying to shove The McKenna Legacy and all its implications from her mind, she found her voice. “I have the tea if you have the whiskey.”
“Will brandy do?”
“Even better.”
He flipped the towel onto a chair back and finger-combed his hair away from his face so that it framed his bold, sensual features. Loose, damp black tendrils trailed his neck and spread over his shoulders. Watching in fascination, she caught herself wanting to touch the strands.
The danger part of the legacy was evident…what about love?
She rushed to take care of the tea.
After turning on the radio, filling the room with the familiar low hum, Donovan fetched the bottle, while she half filled the mugs with the fresh brew. He topped them with generous amounts of brandy.
Too aware of the man for her own comfort, she lowered her gaze and clinked her mug to his. “To your father’s recovery.”
“To his speedy recovery.”
Laurel’s first sip was enough to make her sit up and take notice. She felt as if steam should be escaping through her nose and ears. Not enough to make her immune to him. The second hit went a bit easier on her system. The third made her want to slide down on the couch, which she promptly chose to do.
Only Donovan joined her there.
He was staring at her through slitted eyes, making her scramble for a distraction.
His article!
Somehow finding her voice, she asked, “How did you get interested in studying wolves in the first place?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have all night.”
“Not that long.”
“Then tell it, already.”
He took a slug, as if he had to fortify himself first. “I was eight. School was out for the holidays, and he surprised me by showing up.”
He. His father. Why couldn’t Donovan just call him that?
“You mean Christmas?”
He stared intently into his mug as if he were checking out his memories. “Seemed he meant to take me back to Chicago for the festivities and Mom agreed to it. She was always trying to make me accept him. I didn’t want to go, so I ran. I wasn’t thinking straight and headed into the woods. I don’t know how far I went before exhausting myself. I started getting cold and scared and realized I didn’t want to be that alone.” Pausing, he dramatically added, “And then I heard a wolf howl. The first time is always the most powerful. When I close my eyes, I can still hear that cry, still imagine my hair standing on end.”
Her own pulse was pounding and her scalp tingled, but whether from the story…the brandy…or him… she couldn’t say.
“You must have been frightened.”
“Then I saw him. Black and shaggy with glowing yellow eyes.”
“Terrified,” she amended, thinking of her own reaction to Magda’s Sam. And she was an adult.
“Actually, I became very calm,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I wasn’t alone anymore. ‘If you talk to the animals they will talk to you and you will know them…’ I accepted him, as he did me. He kept me company through the night. And just before the search party found me at daybreak, he disappeared back into the shadows of the forest.”
“Black with glowing yellow eyes,” she murmured, her own memory charging. “Could he be a descendent of the wolf I saw you with the other night?”
“Why not the same wolf?”
Now he was pulling her leg. “Oh, please, even I know a wolf doesn’t live to be that old.”
“You’re right. Real wolves don’t.”
She frowned at him over her mug. “What are you saying? That he’s some kind of animal spirit?”
“My Ojibwa ancestors would say so. And probably so would my Irish grandmother, who was said to have the gift,” he added, reminding her of the woman’s legacy to him.<
br />
“But what do you believe?”
“I believe in facts,” he said, setting down his mug. “That by 1960, the wolf was extirpated in Wisconsin. That it didn’t make another appearance until the early seventies, when wolves began migrating from Minnesota into the northwestern part of the state. That I first saw the black wolf before there should have been one this far south. Beyond those facts, I don’t know anything for certain, but I leave myself open to possibilities.”
Another chill rippled through her. She drained her mug and set it next to the periodicals. “No wolves…but you saw one.”
“More than saw. Bonded with him in a way that I can’t explain. Since that night, he’s always been part of me. He in me and I in him. I’ve seen through his eyes. And he’s always near in times of trouble…”
He’d been in trouble as a child…and he certainly was now.
Still, Laurel wondered if he could be teasing her. If this was the changed Donovan—the one who had found his sense of humor—speaking.
“How much of that brandy have you had?” she asked lightly.
“Go ahead and joke. I can only go by my own experience. You asked why I didn’t collar the black wolf. I ask you what good would it do? No one else has ever seen him but me—”
“And me.”
“—until now,” he concluded, voice becoming more seductive. “And I’ve been trying to figure that out. How you were so privileged. Only one thing came to mind.”
“What’s that?”
“We must also be connected, you and I.”
Was he talking about the legacy? Was that something he could believe in? she wondered.
Or, as in the case of the black wolf, did he leave himself open to possibilities…?
The way he was looking at her annihilated all her resources. Left her helpless. Pliant to his touch.
And, oh, did she long for him to touch her.
He reached out a strong, work-roughened hand to smooth her hair back from her face. Her eyelids fluttered in reaction to his stroking her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. Then he cupped the back of her head and caught her mouth in a slow, sensuous kiss that made the rest of her thrum.
Never Cry Wolf Page 14
