The Healer

by Sharon Sala

  When he opened his eyes, Luce was filling his bowl with soup. His hands were shaking as he reached for a hot yellow square of the cornbread, and when he took the first bite of the warm bread and butter, he shuddered.

  Luce frowned. “Are you okay?” Then she rolled her eyes, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, that was a stupid question to ask a man who makes miracles.”

  Jonah swallowed, then looked at her from across the table.

  “It’s just…it’s been a long time since…” Surprised that he was stuttering, he took a breath to steady his thoughts. “I haven’t been inside a home in a very long time.”

  Luce couldn’t help but wonder what had put him on the road alone, as she filled her own bowl. Her curiosity continued as she buttered her cornbread, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Hobo glanced up from his place near the fire just long enough to look at the table, then went back to the bone he was chewing. Every now and then he licked at the place on his leg where it had been caught in the trap, even though it was unnecessary. There was no wound. No pain. Just the memory of it, and the man who’d made it go away. For the dog, it was enough.

  They ate in relative silence until the first pangs of hunger had been assuaged. Luce was the first to start talking.

  “Where are you from?”

  An old pain twisted a knot in his belly as he remembered the hunting camp in which he’d grown up.

  “Alaska.”

  Luce’s eyes widened. “Really? Is it true that they get six months of darkness and six months of light?”

  Jonah smiled. “Pretty much.”

  “Do you still have family back there?”

  Immediately, Jonah’s thoughts went to Adam, and what he’d looked like the last time he’d seen him—lying dead in their kitchen in his own blood. “My father…he was actually my adopted father…was a doctor. A medical doctor. But he’s…dead now.”

  Luce heard the word adopted and keyed in on that.

  “What about your natural parents?”

  “I have no idea,” Jonah said. He didn’t bother to tell her how he’d been told that, for a time, he’d been suckled by a wolf. To stop the questions before they got too personal, he turned the tables. “What about you? How do you come to be here and on your own?”

  “I’m not alone. Thanks to you, I still have my Hobo.”

  Jonah sensed she was dodging the truth and, not for the first time, wondered if she was on the run.

  “Where did you grow up?” he asked.

  Luce’s face lit up. “I grew up in a barrio in L.A. Papa laid tile. Mi madre cleaned houses for rich people. I was the youngest of four children. Our life was simple, but it was wonderful.”

  Jonah felt her sorrow long before she’d finished her tale.

  “Every summer after school was out, we would travel from L.A. to Texas to spend time with Mama’s family. The summer I was fourteen, we were driving through New Mexico on our way to Texas. We were all asleep, so I only know what I was told, but they say a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel, crossed the center median and hit us head-on. Everyone died but me.”

  She swallowed around the knot in her throat, then took a quick sip of water.

  Jonah sighed. Her sorrow was still as deep and fresh as the day it had happened.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

  Luce shrugged. “So am I.” Then she lifted her chin. “I lived with an aunt and uncle until I was almost sixteen, then left. I haven’t seen them since.”

  “Why? Why cut yourself off from your family?”

  A muscle ticced near the corner of her eye.

  “Let’s just say I got tired of dodging my uncle’s affections,” she muttered, then looked away.

  Jonah flinched. “Again…I am sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” She stood abruptly. “Enough of the past. I’m going to do the dishes.”

  “What can I do to help?” Jonah asked.

  “You could bring in some wood for the fire. You’ll find the woodpile just to the left of the porch.”

  The conversation had opened up old wounds for both of them, and so they finished the evening in silence, with Hobo following Jonah in and out of the house with every trip he made carrying wood.

  It began to rain just after dark. The firewood Jonah had carried in was stacked beside the fireplace. He was bringing in the last armful when the first drops of rain began to fall.

  “It’s raining,” he said, as Luce took a stick of wood from his load and added it to the fire that was already burning.

  She looked up at him, saw the raindrops on his face and then the ones glistening in his hair, and had to make herself think past how sexy he was to the conversation at hand.

  “Well, shoot,” she said, as she grabbed the poker and began stabbing at the logs. “From in here, you can’t hear what’s happening outside. I was hoping that the rain would pass us by. Now I’ll be walking in mud all the way to work tomorrow.”

  “You have no car?”

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t do me any good if I did. I never learned to drive.”

  Jonah frowned, remembering that she’d told him she waited tables in the diner in town. He put down the last of the wood, then straightened up and looked around.

  The room did double duty as a kitchen and living room. The furnishings were old but functional. One thing he took note of was that everything was so clean. He hadn’t seen any kind of washer or dryer, and wondered if she had to take her laundry down into town.

  “Do you have to do your laundry down in town?” he asked.

  “No, thank goodness. There’s an old washer and dryer behind that blue curtain on the other side of the kitchen. If you have clothes you’d like to wash, you’re welcome to use them.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Luce sighed. “No, it’s Hobo and I who thank you,” she said, then, without thinking, laid her hand on the flat of his chest.

  There was a moment when all she felt was the thud of his heartbeat against the palm of her hand; then, in the next moment, she thought she’d been struck by lightning.

  She lost her breath and, for a moment, even her ability to breathe. Colors spilled, then blended and ran before her eyes, until it felt as if she were drowning. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. Just as she thought she was losing her mind, a climax rocked her all the way to her toes. Her legs went weak, and her eyes rolled back in her head. If Jonah hadn’t grabbed her, she would have hit the floor.

  Jonah gasped as the shockwave of her climax rocked him almost as sharply as if it had been his own. Whatever was happening between them was an unknown. He’d been with women, but it had been nothing more than sexual release. He’d never had this happen to him before, but it felt as if he were no longer alone inside his own skin.

  Luce was stunned. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, and didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or ask for more. When she looked up, he was staring down at her with an expression of disbelief.

  “What just happened?” she whispered.

  Jonah shook his head. “I don’t know…. I’ve never—” He took a deep breath and then turned her loose. “Forgive me. I did not do that on purpose.”

  Luce ran shaky hands through her hair and then smoothed them down the front of her shirt. Her breasts ached, and the skin on her body was so sensitive that it was painful to the touch. She shuddered and took a step back.

  “Lord,” she muttered, and took yet another step back.

  Jonah was rattled. He was never uncertain. He’d always known things and accepted that as part of his persona. But this…

  He didn’t like the frightened look on her face and held up his hands in a gesture of submission.

  “Please. You have nothing to fear from me. I would never—” He stopped, wiped a shaky hand across his face, then dropped his hands. “I’m sorry. If you have no further need of help, I will go to my room, heartily grateful not to be sleeping
outside in the storm.”

  He walked away before Luce could stop him. She didn’t know for sure how she felt about what had just happened, but whatever this was between them, it was far stronger than the storm.

  Four

  J onah went to bed feeling confused and unsettled. He’d never had a reaction to a woman like he had with Luce. For him, it went far beyond the physical. He’d never believed in the concept of soul mates, but now he wasn’t so sure. And, oddly enough, thinking of the future turned his thoughts to the past.

  It wasn’t often he let himself think of Snow Valley. Some things were too painful to remember. But tonight, sleep had taken him back to the day the world as he’d known it had come to an end.

  If it had been possible to travel back in time, he would never have gotten on the chopper with Harve Dubois and flown in to Wilson Tinglit’s hunting camp. But the message from Wilson had been frantic. One of the men he’d been guiding had been attacked by a grizzly, and the doctor, Adam Lawson, had been two hours away, delivering a baby.

  If Jonah could have known the hell that would come to him from saving the mauled hunter’s life, he would never have gotten on the chopper with Harve. If he allowed himself to wallow in the tragedy, he had to admit that, in saving the hunter, he’d caused his father’s death. Still, there had been no way to know what would happen, and Adam would have been the first one to urge him to help. But when he closed his eyes, it was often his fate to relive that terrible time again and again in his dreams.

  It always started with the cloud of black flies plastered to the screen on the back door. Then came the blood. The coppery scent of it was thick in the air as he walked into the kitchen. Like a slide show, the image in his mind moved from the flies to his father’s body lying on the floor in a pool of congealing blood. Just beyond Adam Lawson’s outstretched hand was a single word, written in the same blood that had been flowing through his veins.

  RUN.

  He could feel the absence of life, and he knew without touching him that his father had been dead for some time and was far beyond anything Jonah could do for him. Before he had time to process the horror of what he was seeing, he heard a sound behind him and turned.

  Three masked men in black were coming at him from the living room. He didn’t know what had happened, or why they were there, but self-preservation and his father’s last message told him what to do.

  He bolted toward the door in an all-out sprint, while his heart was breaking and his world was coming down around his ears. Black flies shattered formation and rose en masse into the air as he hit the screen door with the flat of his hand. He leaped from the porch, with the sounds of the killers in close pursuit.

  “Get him!” he heard one of them yell.

  Jonah heard the shout and sidestepped the gate, then vaulted over the four-foot-high wooden fence surrounding their backyard. His long hair flew out behind him like wings, as he increased his speed. At the same time, he saw the wolves coming out of the trees toward him. He didn’t think to wonder how they knew he was in danger. But at the sight, he realized that their arrival might be his only chance to escape.

  As he dashed past his neighbors’ back door, someone came out and shouted at him.

  “Hey, Jonah! What’s wrong?”

  It was Thomas Klingkit, a man Jonah had fished with off and on throughout his youth. The only warning he could give him was “Get down!”

  He couldn’t stop to make sure Thomas had heeded him, but to Jonah’s horror, he heard a shot, then a cry of pain.

  His heart sank. He knew that his friend had been hit, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help. All he could do was run.

  The wolves were close now. He felt the thunder of their heartbeats in his ears. He knew they would attack his enemies without care for their own safety, but the men were armed, and he didn’t know how to stop this.

  Then another shot was fired and took the decision away from him. The stab of pain in his shoulder was shocking, as was the immediate lack of motor control. He was in the dirt before he knew he was falling.

  Within seconds, the wolves had encircled him. He rolled over on his back, struggling to get to his feet, but they were so close around him that he couldn’t move.

  Moments later the killers caught up, but now that they had their quarry down, they didn’t know what to do with him. Their first instinct was to shoot the wolves, but one of them had already screwed up by shooting at Jonah. If they started shooting wolves, there was every chance that they would kill him, as well, if they hadn’t already. Bringing Jonah Gray Wolf in to their boss was worth big money, but he had to be alive.

  That point was lost on one trigger-happy gunman when a big wolf snarled at him, then leaped toward him. The wolf was in midair when he shot. Jonah felt the wolf’s pain, then the blood spray on his face even before the wolf hit the ground.

  He began screaming at them and waving his hands.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Please, don’t shoot anymore.”

  One of the other men knocked trigger-happy’s gun arm up before he could fire off another round.

  “Damn it, Hicks. You heard Bourdain. Bring him back in pristine condition. What the hell do you think he’s gonna say about that hole you already put in his shoulder?”

  But Hicks was already panicked. His voice rose an octave as he waved the gun at the tangle of wolves.

  “To hell with Bourdain! He’s not the one with a damned wolf in his lap!”

  The dead wolf lay at Jonah’s feet as he struggled to get up. Even as he moved, he could feel the hole in his shoulder closing, the pain ebbing as his body healed itself. Some of the wolves licked at his face and sniffed at his shoulder, while others continued to growl and snarl at the men.

  Hicks pointed at Jonah with his gun.

  “Call ’em off or I’ll start pumping bullets into the whole damn lot of you!”

  Jonah tried to stand, but a big gray male moved in front of him. He had heard the panic in the man’s voice. He already knew what they were capable of doing. He didn’t want more lives on his conscience, but the wolves kept crowding closer until he could feel their breath and the weight of their bodies as they walked on his belly, then on his legs. In the midst of his grief, it was sobering to know they would die to protect him.

  “Don’t shoot,” he begged, as he finally managed to get to his feet. “Please. Just don’t shoot again.”

  Hicks’s hands were shaking. “So call off those damned wolves,” he ordered.

  Jonah’s voice was thick with tears. “You killed my father. Why did you do that?”

  “He didn’t want to cooperate,” Hicks said. “Now, if you don’t want a lot more of your friends to turn up dead, you’ll do what we say.”

  Jonah felt helpless. “Who are you? What do you want of me?”

  “You don’t get to ask the questions. Just start walking.”

  The wolves began to circle Jonah, moving around him in both directions, sniffing at his heels, trying to get between his legs to stop his motion.

  He stopped, then looked down at them and held out his hands. Their noses were cold, their tongues warm, as they all touched his hands, acknowledging him as one of their own.

  “Thank you, my brothers. Now go home. Go now.”

  Their anxiety over leaving him was palpable. They whined and snarled and yipped their displeasure.

  Hicks’s finger tightened perceptibly on the trigger.

  “Get rid of them now, or I swear to God I’ll shoot!”

  Tears were running down Jonah’s face. The pain in his heart was sharper than the gunshot had been. He looked up, staring long and hard at the back of the house—the house that had been his home—and thought of the man lying dead on the floor.

  Because of Jonah’s fear for the others in Snow Valley, his free will had been taken from him. He turned to the wolves.

  “Go!” he said sharply.

  Without a sound, they left as one, slipping back into the trees and disappearing.
>
  Jonah felt the eyes of the Snow Valley community on him as he began walking toward a bright blue helicopter next to Harve Dubois’s old black one.

  A neighbor came out of a house with a rifle in his hand, willing to come to Jonah’s aid, but when he stepped into sight, Hicks shoved his gun against Jonah’s head and screamed at the man.

  “Get back in the house, or I’ll blow his brains all over the ground.”

  The man hesitated.

  Jonah felt his kidnappers’ fears. They’d already killed and would do it again if they had to.

  “Go back,” he said. “Go back.”

  The man hesitated.

  Hicks fired one shot in the air, then jammed the gun so hard against Jonah’s head that he stumbled.

  Helpless against such a threat, the man lowered his rifle and stepped back inside. The rest of the population watched from their windows with their children held close. They watched as Jonah was forced into the waiting helicopter. As it lifted off, they ran out of their homes toward Adam’s house. When they found the doctor dead, they realized that, by doing nothing, they’d let their only other healer be taken away.

  Jonah’s legs twitched in his sleep as the dream carried him deeper into hell. In the living room, Hobo sensed the man’s distress and whined, then got up from his bed by the fireplace and lay down in front of Jonah’s door.

  In the next room, Luce tossed and turned, unable to find comfort in bed. Finally she got up. Dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, she padded barefoot through the living room. Curious to see if the thunderstorm had passed, she opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.

  Tonight, as sometimes happened after a storm passed, fog had settled over the mountain, muffling all but the nearest sounds. Droplets of moisture clung to her face and bare feet as she walked to the edge of the porch. The storm was over, but the threat she’d been living with for the past five months was still there. She shuddered as she wrapped her arms around herself and peered toward the barely visible trees, wondering if he was out there watching…waiting.