by Sharon Sala
Unaware that a camera had been trained on his arrival and had captured their reunion, Jonah finally pulled away.
“Bridie is at Ida Mae’s house. I need to get her before we can go home.”
“Then let’s go,” she said.
Together they drove past the emergency vehicles and patrol cars, weaving through the onlookers who’d gathered at the sides of the road.
It was dark by the time they got Bridie in the truck and started back up the mountain.
At first Bridie was full of her day, and then she saw Jonah’s face and the condition of his clothes. “Are you in one piece, boy?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” Jonah said.
“Then what on earth…?” Bridie muttered.
Luce glanced at Jonah, then patted Bridie’s hand.
“There was an accident. The school bus went over the mountain. Beau Davis was killed.”
Bridie gasped, then muttered a soft prayer.
“Lord, Lord, had he delivered all the kids?” she asked.
“There were nine still on the bus,” Jonah said.
“Oh, no. What about…were they—”
“They’re all okay,” Jonah said.
Bridie shook her head. “That’s a miracle. A plain miracle that none of the children were hurt.”
Jonah just nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Luce saw the exhaustion on his face and began talking to Bridie about her day with Ida Mae, so Jonah could have a few moments of peace.
After they finally delivered Bridie to her house and Jonah was satisfied that she was safely locked in for the night, he started back to the truck to tell Luce he still had chores to do. But she was already out and heading toward the back of the house.
“I did this plenty of times before you came,” she said. “You just tend to Molly. I’ll get the chickens put up.”
Jonah was thankful for Lucia’s help, and since Molly’s milk was slacking off, he was only milking her once a day. For that he was also thankful. It meant he didn’t have to milk her tonight.
As soon as the animals were fed and housed, they headed back home. When they drove up to the cabin, Hobo was waiting for them on the porch. He bayed a welcome as they got out.
Jonah helped Lucia out of the truck; then they walked hand in hand into the cabin. Once inside, Luce began taking off Jonah’s bloody clothes, dropping them right where he stood.
“I can—”
“No,” she said, as he started to take off his shirt.
“Let me.”
He stood, unable to think. Unable to argue.
Somehow Luce knew not to talk. When she had him undressed, she led him into the bathroom, turned on the water in the old tub and then stepped back.
Jonah just stood there, numb to his surroundings.
“Jonah. Sweetheart.”
He blinked, then realized Luce was talking to him and that there was water running in the tub.
“Get in, honey,” she said softly. “You need to wash off all the dirt and blood. You’ll sleep better if you do.”
He looked down at his hands, then shuddered. “Oh. Yes. Thank you,” he mumbled, then stepped into the tub as she shut the door behind her.
Luce quickly gathered up his clothes and threw them, coat and all, into the washing machine. As the water was filling, she went to the sink and washed her own hands, scrubbing them over and over, until there were no traces of the blood left on her, either.
She’d planned on cooking pork chops for their supper tonight, but she knew she would never get that much food down him tonight. Instead, she opened up a couple of cans of soup and began letting them heat while she started the coffee.
By the time everything was done, she went back to the bathroom. Jonah was clean, but he was standing in front of the mirror, staring at his own face in blank confusion.
“Jonah?”
He blinked, then turned and looked at her. For a moment Luce thought he didn’t even recognize her; then he smiled.
“Lucia.”
“Yes, darling…it’s me. Here, I brought your old sweats for you to put on.”
He stepped into them, then sat down on the lid of the toilet seat, as if the act of dressing had worn him out.
Luce grabbed a clean towel and began to dry his hair, rubbing the long black strands between the terry-cloth folds until they were almost dry.
Then she picked up her own hairbrush and began to brush through Jonah’s hair, one long stroke after another, until his hair was smooth as silk against his skin.
“No one has ever done that for me before,” he said, as she laid her hairbrush aside and wrapped her arms around his neck. When he laid his cheek against her breast, she gave him a fierce hug.
“Good,” she muttered.
He heard the possessiveness in her voice and closed his eyes, savoring the knowledge that he was wanted—as much as he wanted her.
Luce felt his strength waning fast. He needed to be in bed.
“Come eat some soup, then get yourself in bed.”
He didn’t want to turn her loose. He hated to lose the contact of her warm body.
“Only if you come with me,” he said.
“I’ll always be with you,” she said.
He ate the bowl of soup, grateful for the warmth spreading inside him, and took a couple of sips of coffee, then set it aside.
“Get in bed,” Luce said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
After Jonah left the table, she quickly washed the dishes, laid some logs on the fire, fed Hobo, then locked up the house for the night.
When she got to her room, she set the alarm, then undressed quickly. She could see that he was already asleep and decided to take a quick shower.
A few minutes later she was back in her room. She pulled back the covers and crawled into bed.
Even though Jonah was asleep, his subconscious felt her presence. He reached for her, and when he felt her warmth, he pulled her to him, then sighed.
Slowly, slowly, Luce felt the tension in his body begin to dissipate. Then his arms went slack, and he slept.
Thirteen
T he alarm went off in Luce’s ear.
“I’ve got it,” she muttered, although her eyes were still closed as she reached to shut it off.
Then Jonah’s sleep-rough voice growled in her ear, “No…I’ve got it.”
Without warning, he rolled her under him and proceeded to kiss every sweet inch of her body. By the time he got to the valley between her legs, her hands were fisted in his hair and she was begging for release.
But Jonah wasn’t ready for it to be over. He rose up on both arms, then stared down at her face. Her hair was a tangle of dark, unruly curls, and her eyes were closed. He wasn’t having any of that.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Luce opened her eyes.
“Yes. Just like that,” he muttered, and slid inside her.
She groaned as he filled her.
When he started to move, she grabbed hold of his shoulders. Then he took her on the ride of her life.
As always, when she made love with this man, the first climax came and went within seconds. The aftershocks were still rolling through her in hard, jolting waves when he started again. He was like a drug in her system—one of which she could never get enough. Minutes later, when the second climax began, she would have sworn that her body was on fire. He was in every pore of her skin. Every muscle in her body was quivering. She was one giant ache. Then he slid his hands beneath her backside and lifted her up just as he thrust down.
She shattered, and as she did, one image after another spilled through her mind: of snow-capped mountains; dark night skies papered with the dancing lights of the aurora borealis; pale-gray pelts on fleet, four-legged wolves chasing elk down the slope of a mountain toward an ice-fed stream; the sound of wind against feathers, flapping, gliding, riding the air currents over a lush green valley far below.
When she felt Jonah stiffe
n, then heard the low, guttural moan rip up his throat, she knew what she’d given to him, as well.
It wasn’t until she was coming down from the ride, clasped tight within Jonah’s embrace, that she thought to tell him what she’d seen.
Jonah listened, and his eyes widened with surprise.
“What is it? What did I see?”
“It was Alaska. My Alaska,” he answered, then moved until he could see into her face. “While I find this connection between us remarkable, I suppose I’m not surprised. What you saw was what was in my mind. It’s my home, and it’s what I think of when we make love. You’re home to me, Lucia. Wherever you are, that’s where I belong.”
Luce was moved by his words, but even more, by what she’d seen. “That place…that valley. It’s real?”
He nodded. “It’s called Snow Valley. It’s where the wolf brought me. It’s where I grew up.”
Luce pulled out of his arms, then sat up. “Why didn’t you ever go back?”
Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “Bourdain.”
She ran her fingers across his forehead until the frown lines were gone. “One day you’ll take me there.”
He sat up beside her, then pulled her into his lap. “Would you…could you…?”
“What?” Luce asked.
“When this thing with Bourdain is over—and it will be over—would you go there with me?”
Luce took his hand, then cupped it between her palms. “Do you know the Bible?” she asked.
“Some.”
“The ‘Song of Ruth’?”
Understanding came, and with it, his vision blurred.
Luce laid her hand in the middle of his chest.
“‘Whither thou goest, my love.’”
Jonah swallowed past the knot in his throat and buried his face against the curve of her neck.
“Ah, Lucia…the last ten years of my life have been hell, but I would live them all over again if I knew it would bring me to you.”
She couldn’t speak for the emotion welling up inside her. All she could do was hold on to the hope that they would survive what the future had in store.
Caufield had been in Little Top for more than four days. The one local motel had been filled by the initial influx of press, but the problem had been solved by some enterprising residents, who’d taken advantage of the influx of media by renting out extra rooms and, in Caufield’s case, a garage apartment once used by a mother-in-law who’d long since passed away. The setup was perfect. There were so many strangers in town, no one paid any attention to one more.
And, after all the fuss and bother, finding Jonah Gray Wolf had been unbelievably easy. Caufield couldn’t help but wonder why, after all these years of hiding and running, Gray Wolf had decided to take a stand. The fact raised a niggle of concern, but not enough to panic over.
The finesse would come in taking Jonah in. After a bit of hobnobbing with a man named Shug, who ran a convenience store at the edge of town, Caufield learned there was a woman in Jonah’s life, which began to explain why he was still here. Now, if Gray Wolf chose to balk, there was yet another screw to be turned, and its name was Lucia Andahar.
Bourdain had been on the phone nonstop ever since Caufield’s arrival in Little Top. Every phone call had consisted of Bourdain demanding results and wanting to know what was taking so damn long. The man was there. Get it over with. The last conversation they’d had, Caufield had gotten tired of Bourdain’s tirades and thrown out a challenge.
“Listen, Bourdain. Over the past ten years, how many men have you sent to do this job?”
Bourdain cursed beneath his breath. “That’s not the point.”
“You’re wrong. That is the point. Before, you were calling the shots, and every time, they failed. I’ve read the file. I know what I’m up against. Now, either back off and let me do the job my way, or come down to Little Top and do it yourself. In fact, that’s a damn good idea. Why don’t you just pack your ass into that fancy limo you own, come on over to West Virginia and get your own damn hands dirty for a change?”
Bourdain flashed on the day they’d brought Gray Wolf into his home. He still had nightmares about that condor taking the man’s head off with its talons, and the thousands of birds that had attacked.
He didn’t want to face Gray Wolf again until he was certain he had the upper hand.
When the phone went dead in Caufield’s ear, it was answer enough. There were things to be done that needed setups, not some steroid-packed mercenary attitude that could get a man killed.
Finesse.
It was all about finesse.
And while Caufield was plotting how to claim a million-dollar bounty, the residents of Little Top were experiencing a revelation.
The Indian who lived with Luce Andahar up on the mountain was a healer. Not a Bible-thumping, laying-on-of-the-hands, “In the name of Jesus, you are healed,” kind of healer.
Oh, no.
According to the witnesses who’d been helping at the bus wreck, he was more like an earth-trembling, light-enveloping, mesmerizing-miracle kind of healer. They were saying that when Jonah Gray Wolf had finished with one victim, he’d moved quietly to the next, and the next, until nine broken and bloody children had been put back together again.
Rocky Jones, one of the rescuers who’d been a witness to the healings, had been a blinding alcoholic for most of his life. That night, after it was over, he’d gone home, taken all the liquor bottles out of his cabinet, carried them to the sink and calmly emptied every one of them down the drain. It had been something he’d done without panic, and he hadn’t taken or wanted a drink since. He swore the urge wasn’t even in him anymore.
Dolly Woodliff, a woman who that very day had been diagnosed with breast cancer, had been standing behind the Indian when he’d healed Travis Mize, the sheriff’s son.
She’d been on her way home, weeping as she drove, convinced she was going to die. Then she’d driven up on the wreck. After that, her personal fears had been put into perspective. But after witnessing the miracles, something within her had changed.
Like everyone else, she’d gone home that night, desperate to get rid of the bloody clothes she was wearing and wash away the horror of the event.
But when she stepped into the shower, her hands automatically went to the lump in her breast. The one she’d been feeling, then ignoring for the past six months. The one that Doc Bigelow had diagnosed that day as cancerous.
Only it was gone.
Horribly there this morning.
Miraculously missing tonight.
She’d made a flying trip back to Doc Bigelow’s the next morning with the news, which he promptly told her was impossible. But after her insistence and then an ensuing fit of tears, he’d agreed to examine her again.
She’d held her breath as Bigelow began, needing to watch his face for the moment when understanding dawned. And she knew it would come. She also knew he was busy and cranky from nursing a head cold. She even forgave him for trying to tell her that her fears had let her imagination go into overdrive.
She knew what she knew.
And before he began the examination, Bigelow thought he knew things, too.
The lump would still be there, as would the small, healing scar where the needle biopsy had been taken. But to his surprise, it was gone. The breast was smooth and supple. No lump. No sign of a biopsy.
He looked, and he looked, then, thinking he’d somehow slipped and examined the wrong breast, removed the sheet from the other side of her chest and checked that one, too.
They were perfectly sound.
He took a deep breath then stepped back and looked at Dolly’s face.
She didn’t say it, but he saw the “I told you so” in her eyes.
At that point, Dolly got off the examining table, put her clothes back on and left without saying another word, leaving the doctor to figure the rest out on his own.
But word was getting around.
Everyone had a story to tell.
Everyone except Jonah. He wasn’t talking to anyone.
After cautioning Lucia about the dangers of trusting anyone who was not a resident of the town, he drove her to work each morning and picked her up in the afternoon.
Due to the influx of media, who’d camped out all over the area, Harold decided to keep the diner open for the supper hour. Luce had been dreading the added work time until Harold assured her that he’d taken care of that and hired himself a second waitress to cover the new shift.
Her name was Dorothy, but she went by the name of Dorrie. Luce had met her for the first time two days earlier, as she was leaving to go home.
According to Harold, who’d gotten his information from Dorothy herself, she was a second cousin twice removed from the Dovell family, who used to own land up on the mountain, and had come to see the old family home, then decided to stay around for a while.
She was tall and skinny, with short black hair, small eyes, thin lips and leaning a bit too much toward the manly side for Harold’s taste, but he figured her looks didn’t matter all that much if she could do the job.
Dorrie was entering the back room as Luce was coming out.
“Hey, you must be Luce,” Dorrie said, and stuck out her hand. “I’m Dorrie, the second shift.” Then she smiled, revealing a set of unusually white teeth.
Luce suspected Dorrie was a victim of an overzealous dentist and a tooth-bleaching job gone bad, and tried not to stare.
“I’m Luce. Nice to meet you.” Then she put on her coat and shouldered her purse. “Have a good evening,” she added, while waving at Harold as she exited the diner.
Dorrie eyed Luce’s curvy body without comment, then smoothed her hands down the front of her long-sleeved T-shirt, well aware that she was lacking in feminine endowments, and tied an apron around her waist. She gave herself one last look in the mirror hanging over a small sink, grinned widely to check her teeth, then wiped at the corners of her lips in satisfaction as she headed into the diner, thinking there was nothing like a nice, white smile.
And after the first day, Dorrie had proven her worth. According to Harold, she could carry four plates at a time to the table without a spill, and she had a good memory, which was a plus for figuring out who had ordered what.
