Charmed by the Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  Penelope turned around. Breathless, she stared into warm, decadent eyes the exact color of Hershey’s dark chocolate.

  Oh, she loved chocolate. Faithful and true, it never failed to bring up her spirits, which was why she indulged in eating a piece, or three, more often than she should considering every bite she swallowed ended up padding her backside.

  Something flickered in his gaze, something predatorial. Something primal.

  In a blink, it was gone.

  “Let’s check out what’s under your hood.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Already headed to the front of the car, Tristan walked with a loose-limbed swagger that resonated confidence, strength and sex.

  Blatant desire flooded her, head to toe, and she grew damp in places not already glistening in the morning humidity.

  Penelope didn’t usually have this reaction to strangers. Usually not to the men she dated, either—at least, not this overwhelmingly. And certainly not on the first meeting.

  Thankfully, Tristan was bent over the engine and didn’t see her jelly-kneed walk.

  “When is the last time you had the car serviced?”

  “A few months ago, maybe.” Penelope avoided driving in downtown Atlanta traffic as much as possible, riding the MARTA to work and taking the bus for errands.

  “A few as in three? Six?” He glanced sidelong at her. “A year?”

  “Definitely less than a year.” She nodded confidently.

  Tristan hmmphed. “The battery posts are corroded.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Definitely not good, but it’s something I can take care of for you.” Tristan went to his truck and came back with a toolbox, a can of Coke and a bottle of water.

  After using a wrench to remove the battery cable connectors, he popped the tab on the cola. Instead of drinking it, he poured the contents over the corrosive buildup.

  “How’s that going to help?”

  “Trust me, it works.” While the soda worked its magic, Tristan checked the oil. “Looks clean, but it’s a little low. You should take the car in for service. Soon.” He fished a business card from the toolbox and handed it to her. “Ask for Rafe. He’s the owner. Tell him Tristan sent you and he’ll take care of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tristan set to work, scrubbing the connectors and posts with an old toothbrush. “Why the name Penelope? Was your mom into Greek literature or something?”

  “Yeah,” Penelope answered, stunned. “She loved The Odyssey by Homer. How did you know?”

  “My mom did the same to me. Ever heard of Tristan and Isolde? It’s not a Greek legend, but—” He flashed her a quick smile that sent her heart racing.

  “At least your name is easier to pronounce. Kids used to call me Penny-lope.” Antelope and cantaloupe were also among their taunts.

  “Ever go by Penny?” He poured water over the battery, rinsing away the gunk.

  “No. My mother never allowed anyone to call me that. She said I wasn’t a piece of currency shoved in a piggy bank.” Penelope dabbed the back of her hand along her moist brow.

  “I see her point.” Tristan wiped the battery down with a blue shop towel. “Penelope was a queen. Your mother wants no less for her daughter.”

  Penelope’s heart tweaked that a stranger had made a connection she had never seen herself. “Something simpler, less formal, would’ve been nice, though. Especially growing up. Penelope is quite a mouthful.”

  Tristan reconnected the cables. “That should do it.” He cleaned his hands and dropped the towel and wrench into the toolbox. “Crank her up and let’s see if she purrs.”

  Penelope slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life. No expensive car repair in the immediate future. Relief and gratitude nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  Tristan closed the hood and strolled to her, toolbox in hand. “Do you know your way?”

  “I have GPS.”

  He squinted against the bright sun shining in his face. “Reception can be quirky. Why don’t you follow me? I’m headed to the resort anyway.”

  “Great!”

  He gave her a quick nod and turned toward his truck.

  “Tristan.”

  He swung around.

  “Thanks. For everything.”

  “My pleasure, sweet cheeks.”

  Sweet cheeks?

  Penelope wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or appalled.

  But he did just fix her car, so she’d let it slide this time.

  Tristan stowed his toolbox behind the second seat and climbed into the truck. He backed out of the driveway and waited for her to follow.

  They drove about thirty minutes before arriving in the picturesque town of Maico. He turned down Sorghum Avenue. Tooting his horn, he stuck his arm out the window, pointing at Wyatt’s Automotive Services.

  Yeah, yeah. She got the hint.

  Across the street was the town square—a quaint little park with huge canopy trees. Surrounding the square were a dozen or so mom-and-pop stores, including a market. The crowning jewel, though, was the large, Colonial-style courthouse.

  “I have to paint that,” she said. Getting her car serviced didn’t seem like such a chore if she could sit in the park with her sketchbook.

  Another ten minutes and they pulled into the entrance to the Walker’s Run Resort. Unlike the posh, contemporary-style resorts in the city, this one looked like a huge log cabin, with its giant wood pillars and rafters, and natural stone accents. Penelope loved it immediately.

  Tristan waved her toward the valet service, while he parked a little farther away, in a spot designated for resort security.

  When she stopped, her door opened and a handsome twentysomething’s face ducked inside. “Welcome to Walker’s Run.” He offered her hand to help Penelope out of the vehicle. “Are you checking in?”

  “Sort of. I have a meeting with Cassie Walker. I’m supposed to start working here.”

  “Penelope Buchanan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll take her in.” Tristan waved toward the doors. “After you,” he said to Penelope.

  “My car?”

  “Jimmy will take care of it.” Tristan’s hand rested against her lower back.

  Oh, boy.

  Hopefully the bones in her legs wouldn’t melt before she reached Cassie Walker’s office. Penelope would hate to meet her new boss while imitating a puddle at Tristan’s feet.

  He held open the heavy wooden doors for Penelope to enter. The lobby was just as charming as the outside, with polished wood floors, richly colored rugs and tapestries, and dark leather couches and chairs in the seating areas. And, her instant favorite, an indoor totem pole with the faces of three wolves carved into it, so lifelike they appeared to be jumping out of the wood, and topped with a fierce-looking bird—its wings spread as if to protect them.

  I love it. I love it. I love it.

  Tristan chuckled softly.

  “Oops. Did I say that out loud?”

  “No. Your face is very expressive. Makes it easy to read your thoughts.” He winked. “Every last one of them.”

  The waggle of his dark gold eyebrows did not bode well for her.

  They stopped in front of a windowed office, the blinds partially closed. Tristan rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame of the open door before stepping inside the office, Penelope in tow. “Hey, Cassie.”

  A petite woman with striking red curls pinned back with a silver clip looked up from her computer. “Tristan, hi. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a meeting with Gavin?”

  “I do, but I wanted to introduce you to Penelope first.”

  “Penelope Buchanan?”

  Penelope nodd
ed.

  “Oh, I’ve been expecting you.” Cassie stood.

  Tristan’s phone buzzed. He quickly answered, “On my way,” then shoved it back into his pocket. “Gotta go.” He clasped Penelope’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “It’s been a pleasure, Nel.”

  “Nel?” First sweet cheeks, now Nel. Had he really forgotten her name already?

  Smiling, he leaned close, his lips brushing against her ear. “Like you said, Penelope is a mouthful—and a bit formal, considering you’ve seen me naked.”

  Chapter 2

  “Penelope?” Cassie stared at her curiously. “Are you all right?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  Tristan was no longer in the office, but Penelope’s body still registered his heat next to her.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”

  “Tristan has that effect on women.” Cassie laughed softly.

  “Not on you?”

  “I’m very happily married and Tristan, well, he’s family.” Cassie waved to a chair in front of a simple but solid wooden desk.

  Penelope took her seat, swallowing her question as to Tristan’s marital status. She hadn’t seen a ring, but these days lack of one didn’t necessarily indicate the man was unattached, and asking her new boss personal questions about a stranger seemed unwise.

  Casually, Penelope glanced out the glass interior window of Cassie’s office and glimpsed Tristan nearing a side corridor. He turned, his gaze locking on hers. A current passed through her body, warm and exhilarating. He tipped his head and disappeared down the hall.

  Several seconds passed before she breathed again.

  “Please don’t get your hopes up.”

  Penelope snapped her attention back to Cassie. “Excuse me?”

  “Tristan is a great guy but a huge flirt. I don’t want you to be hurt or misled.”

  “I assure you, my heart is quite safe from his charms.” She wasn’t foolish enough to invest serious hope in a man out of her league.

  “Good.” Cassie withdrew several forms from her desk drawer and fastened them to a clipboard. “As we discussed on the phone, the resort is experimenting with new programs this summer. Originally, we planned to hire you as an assistant to the children’s arts-and-craft teacher. However—” An apprehensive grimace replaced Cassie’s smile.

  “You’ve decided not to hire me?” Penelope swallowed her disappointment.

  “Oh, we want you to work for us.” A loose curl bounced free from the silver clip in Cassie’s hair. “But we do have a slight change. The instructor you were going to assist left unexpectedly. Instead of assisting, you’re now in charge of the program.”

  Excitement and fear wrestled in the pit of Penelope’s stomach. “Um, what do you mean by in charge?”

  “You will plan the daily activities and teach the workshops.”

  “I’m not an art teacher, per se.”

  “According to your résumé, you are an elementary school teacher, and in our phone interview you mentioned that you are an artist.”

  “I said I like to paint.” Having never shown her work to anyone, Penelope wasn’t sure she could claim to be an artist. “I may not have the right skill set, since I’ve never taught an art class.”

  “I have faith in you,” Cassie said. “We aren’t asking you to turn these kids into prodigies. Simply help them have fun creating handmade souvenirs.”

  “Is there a curriculum?”

  “Here’s what Linda had planned.” Cassie handed Penelope a three-ring binder.

  She flipped through the pages of activities, supplies needed and the link information to online how-to videos.

  “The hours are the same, seven-thirty to noon, Monday through Friday. And, instead of a suite inside the resort, we can offer you a cabin on the property. I thought you might like the extra space and solitude to paint in your spare time.”

  “I like how you think.”

  “Is that a yes?” Cassie rested her folded hands on her desk.

  “Yes.”

  “Fantastic!” Cassie picked up the clipboard. “I need your signature on these forms, then I’ll show you the activities room.”

  Penelope reviewed the documents and signed in the appropriate places. Handing the clipboard back, she knocked over the silver frame on Cassie’s desk. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She picked up the picture of a striking black wolf. “This is a great picture. Do you know the photographer who took it?”

  “I did.” Cassie reached for the framed photo and smiled lovingly at the picture before placing it back on her desk. “The Walker’s Run Cooperative, of which the resort is a subsidiary, runs a wolf sanctuary. That’s my husband’s wolf in the picture.”

  “Your husband owns a wolf?”

  “No one owns the wolves. Brice is his wolf’s handler. Co-op members are tasked with safeguarding the health and well-being of individual wolves.”

  “Is his wolf tame or did you use a telephoto lens?”

  “The Co-op wolves aren’t tame, but they aren’t dangerous, either. Unless you threaten their families.”

  “Could I go into the sanctuary to take some pictures? I’d love to expand my portfolio to include wildlife.” So what if she didn’t exactly have a professional portfolio. Never even considered one, since showing her work to anyone had been something she hadn’t dared.

  Only learning to paint after her parents’ deaths, Penelope had received art therapy as part of her own recovery. She fell in love with turning swipes of color into pictures and dreamed of being a professional artist. But Penelope’s aunt and uncle had convinced her of the impossibility of such a foolish notion when she was without a modicum of talent.

  “For the safety of the wolf pack, only Co-op members are allowed access.”

  “How does someone become a member?”

  “One is either born into the Co-op or marries into it.”

  “That exclusive, huh?”

  Cassie offered a sympathetic smile. “There are great scenic views in the area and your cabin is up the mountain near a river. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of inspiration.” She flipped through the signed papers. “Everything looks good, but I’ll need a copy of your identification.”

  As Cassie turned away to scan Penelope’s driver’s license and social security card on the printer behind her desk, Penelope used her phone to capture a snapshot of the wolf photo. If she couldn’t get into the sanctuary to photograph the animals herself, at least she could use the one in Cassie’s picture for inspiration.

  “I heard Tristan call you Nel. Would you prefer that on your name tag?”

  “Sure.” Why not? It would be easier for the kids to say and remember.

  “Welcome to the Walker’s Run Resort family, Nel.” Cassie returned the identification cards to Penelope. “I hope your time with us will be memorable.”

  Considering that, in her first few hours in the area, she’d met a naked man with the face and body of a Greek god, Walker’s Run already had the memorable part down pat.

  * * *

  “I wanted to be the first to tell you.” Behind the large mahogany desk, Gavin Walker leaned back in his leather chair and stroked the short-cropped white beard framing the unhappy curl of his mouth. His dark brows, a contrast to his snow-white hair, frowned.

  Tristan’s stomach instinctively clenched and the feel-good high the encounter with Nel had given him plummeted.

  “Jaxen’s release from Woelfesguarde is being finalized this week. I’m granting your father’s petition for Jaxen’s reinstatement into the pack.” Gavin paused, as if expecting Tristan to respond.

  At the moment, it wasn’t possible. Tristan’s brain was emulating a train wreck. With the jumble of thoughts and emotions crashing and exploding in his head, coherent words weren’t possible.

&n
bsp; Jaxen Pyke was a criminally minded, narcissistic bully. He was also Tristan’s blood-kin. A cousin. The only one on his father’s side. Both Tristan and the majority of the Walker’s Run pack had heaved a good-riddance sigh when Jaxen was eventually booted from the pack. The time on his own apparently hadn’t fostered any remorse or a need for reconciliation, because Jax eventually took up with a rogue pack and continued his merry criminal path. Until three years ago when an assault charge landed him in Woelfesguarde, a wolfan-owned-and-operated penitentiary.

  “Do you understand?” Gavin continued. “Jaxen is coming home.”

  “When?” The single word sounded clipped and tight and full of hostility to Tristan’s ears. No doubt the Alpha heard it, as well.

  “Saturday.” Gavin’s calculating gaze seemed to target every twitch Tristan’s jaw made as he ground his teeth. “I am allowing him to reenter the territory, but he’ll need to earn back his place in the pack.”

  “Does Aunt Ruby know?” Tristan rubbed the furrow between brows. Of course she didn’t know. Ruby’s first call would’ve been to Tristan. His ears would still be ringing from the tongue-lashing she served every time something happened concerning Jaxen.

  Gavin affirmed with a shake of his head. “I wanted to tell you before Cooter and I pay her a visit this afternoon. I’ve asked your father meet us there.”

  The Alpha and the pack’s chief sentinel delivering the news would leave Tristan with one less worry on his mind. He eased into his next breath, thankful he’d have time to psych himself up before dealing with Jaxen’s arrival.

  “If that’s all.” Tristan stood.

  “There’s something else.” Gavin leaned forward, rested his arms on the desk and steepled his fingers.

  There always is.

  Tristan remained standing. “Yes?”

  “Considering Jaxen’s history, he’ll need someone to help keep him out of trouble.”

  “I agree.” Wholeheartedly and without reservation.

  “Notify me immediately if he inches one paw out of line.”

  “Wait—” Tristan stepped forward. “You’re putting me in charge of Jaxen?”