by Sharon Sala
Caufield fell onto the bed, exhausted in every bone. Stakeouts sucked. According to the rooster clock on the wall opposite the bed, it was midnight, but it would be three hours earlier in L.A. Time to check in with the boss. Time to tell him what was going down.
Bourdain was coming out of a restaurant when his cell phone rang. He saw who was calling and made his excuses to the people he’d just dined with, handed his ticket stub to the parking valet and stepped away to answer the call.
“Tell me it’s good news,” he said.
Caufield snorted. “Of course it’s good news. Isn’t that why you hired me?”
Bourdain’s heart leaped. “You have him! Tell me you have him!”
“Hell, no, I don’t have him. No one will ever be able to take him down. Haven’t you figured that out yet? He cannot be taken.”
Bourdain cursed, then realized where he was and stepped farther back into the landscaping, away from the front door of the restaurant.
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“He has a woman.”
Bourdain stilled as understanding dawned. “Do you have her?”
“No, but I will.”
Finally Bourdain began to believe it could happen.
“When? Tell me…no. Wait. I want to be there. Yes! Yes, I have to be there. Then, when the confrontation goes down, I can explain things to him. I can tell him about the riches he will have. The power that will be his for the taking.”
Caufield rolled over on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking back over the events of the past few days.
“Gray Wolf already has more power than you or I will ever see.”
“I’m talking money! Fame! The world could be his.”
“If he wanted that stuff, he could already have had it,” Caufield said. “However…if you’re so damn set on being here, then get your ass packed. This is Thursday. The only time she’s ever away from Gray Wolf is when she’s in town at work. I’ll take her then and leave him to trail us.”
“Don’t leave too many clues,” Bourdain said.
“We don’t want to make it too easy for him. I want him to worry about her just enough not to push me when we come face-to-face.”
Caufield thought back over the stories going around about how Gray Wolf had caught the man who had been stalking his woman. Leaving Gray Wolf clues wasn’t necessary—not when he could track like a damn bloodhound.
Bourdain was still rattling on, but Caufield was tired. It was time to end the conversation.
“Just get here by noon tomorrow or you’re gonna miss all the fun.”
“No. Wait! Why so soon?”
“Because the weatherman is predicting another snow, and I didn’t bring my dogsled.”
“Sarcasm does not become you,” Bourdain muttered.
The line went dead in Caufield’s ear.
Bourdain slipped his phone in his pocket, handed a twenty-dollar bill to the valet who’d just driven up with his car and then drove away, wheeling through the L.A. traffic like a madman. He didn’t have any time to waste.
Later, after a quick check of the map, it was obvious that flying in to Little Top wasn’t going to happen the normal way. There wasn’t a landing strip between there and Charleston. In fact, there wasn’t much between there and Charleston except mountains. It was too far to drive and get there in time, which left him with only one option.
He would take his private jet to Charleston, then charter a helicopter. It would be a hell of a trip, but he could get to Little Top by noon. Then, if the weather held and everything went according to plan, they would all be back in L.A. within a couple of days. If he could make Gray Wolf see reason.
No. Not if. When.
He picked up the phone. It was late, and he knew making calls at this time of night was going to cost him big-time, but it would be worth it.
The next morning dawned gray and dreary. There was a hint of more snow in the air. Jonah made a mental note to go by Middleton’s Feed Store and get another load of feed when he took Luce to work.
Hobo was outside with his nose to the ground, checking for signs of all the nightly visitors they’d had while he’d been inside asleep.
Jonah reached for his coat, then changed his mind and walked out onto the porch without it. There was a part of him that reveled in the chill and dampness. Being comfortable with nature in all its phases was part of who he was.
Hobo barked once when he saw Jonah, then continued on his morning prowl. A squirrel scolded from a tall pine on the far side of the cabin. Hobo ran to investigate as Jonah stepped off the porch and walked into the yard.
He lifted his head, inhaling deeply of the cold mountain air, smelling the wood smoke from their fire, as well as a dozen other scents of the forest. He could tell without searching that no one had come to the cabin overnight except those on four feet. He looked up to see a lone eagle circling high overhead, scanning the landscape for a sign of movement from something hunt-worthy. Not the rabbits or the foxes—not even a tiny wood mouse who could hide in the smallest of spaces—would be safe from a raptor with that kind of eyesight and strength.
A cold blast of wind suddenly circled the cabin, blowing smoke into Jonah’s eyes. He squinted against the sting, then turned his back to the force. As he did, he felt himself being watched.
Then he smiled to himself. He knew that scent.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
The golden cougar walked out of the trees toward Jonah with its head up and its tail low, signs of ease and friendship.
Hobo smelled the cougar, yipped once in panic, then bounded onto the porch.
“It’s all right,” Jonah said softly. “He means you no harm.”
The cougar walked straight up to Jonah, and when Jonah lowered his hand, the big cat head-butted his palm, as if begging for a scratch.
“So…we meet again, Brother Cat,” Jonah said, as he dug his fingernails through the pelt to that itchy spot just behind the cat’s right ear. “Let’s see what’s bothering you there. Ah. A tick. Even in winter. That’s no good.”
An odd kind of snarl that sounded more like a gurgle came out of the big cat’s mouth as Jonah pulled at the tick.
“Got it,” he said, and held the tick down toward the cat’s nose.
It sniffed Jonah’s fingers, then, satisfied by what it smelled, lay down on Jonah’s boots and rolled, until it was belly up.
Jonah squatted down beside it and began to scratch the cat’s belly, talking to it as he would have to any human. Discussing the weather and family, and how successfully the cat’s last hunt had gone.
It wasn’t strange to Jonah that he knew all the answers. Even though the cat didn’t speak, Jonah heard him just the same.
Then suddenly the cougar was on its feet, sniffing the air. Jonah stepped back.
“It was good to see you, my friend. Hunt well. Just leave the big dog alone.”
The cougar chuffed once, then was gone.
Jonah turned toward the porch, only to find Luce standing in the doorway, staring at him.
“I saw it, but I still don’t believe it,” she muttered.
Jonah grinned. “He had a tick he couldn’t reach behind his ear. He just needed a little help.”
Luce just shook her head.
As Jonah hurried up the steps, she added, “Hobo is inside. He may never speak to you again.”
Jonah laughed. “Oh, sure he will. He knows my heart. He just doesn’t approve of all my friends.”
“That’s the understatement of the day,” Luce muttered. “Do you want breakfast?”
“No. I’ll eat later. I think we need to leave now, or you’re going to be late for work.”
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Let me wash my hands, and then I’ll go get the truck.”
Luce couldn’t quit watching him. Even after he’d stopped by the fireplace and made peace with Hobo, she kept staring off into space, remembering how the cougar had licked Jonah’s fing
ers and rolled at his feet.
It was at times like these that she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what kind of man this was to whom she had given her heart.
He was more than just mortal. He was more than just a man. And yet he walked among them with the same hopes and dreams, yearning for love and a place to call home.
He had her love. It remained to be seen where home might be, but she knew that wherever Jonah Gray Wolf went, she would follow.
Jonah drove up to the diner, but instead of just letting her out as usual, he parked, then killed the engine.
“Are you coming in?” she asked, surprised that he wasn’t planning to drive on.
“I want to talk to Harold a minute,” he said.
Luce sighed. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” he said, and reached for her hand.
“Come on. It won’t take long, and I promise not to embarrass you.”
Luce rolled her eyes, then got out and walked ahead of him into the diner with an extra twist to her step.
Jonah grinned as he watched her go, thinking that if Lucia was a bird, she would be like one of Bridie’s little brown hens, the ones that ruffled up their feathers when he reached for their eggs. At the moment, Lucia’s feathers were definitely ruffled. She just didn’t understand the depths to which Bourdain would go. After what had happened to his father and the countless men Bourdain had sent after him over the past ten years, he knew Bourdain and his thugs would do anything for money.
Lucia had already disappeared into the back room when Jonah went in.
“Hey,” Harold said, when he saw Jonah. “Come to eat some good cooking for a change, have you?”
Luce came out with her apron on and fire in her eyes.
“I heard that!” she said, and stuffed an order pad in her apron pocket.
Harold grinned, then winked.
Luce made a face, then began filling salt and pepper shakers, and making sure that sugar packets and creamers were on every table.
“I need to talk to you,” Jonah said to Harold.
The older man waved him over. “Sure. Have a seat.” He poured Jonah a cup of coffee, then sat down beside him at the counter. “What’s up?” he asked.
Jonah curled his fingers around the cup, then turned to face Harold.
“Lucia is still in danger.”
Harold jerked. “What? Did Ahern escape? I was told that they took him out of town this morning.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard,” Jonah said, then added,
“Good, that means the media will go with him.”
“Oh, I think they’re already gone. Junie Sanders had been renting out her upstairs to a couple of them. I was talking to her last night, and she said they pulled out just after the evening news. You’d think they would have waited for daylight to drive.”
“News waits for no man,” Jonah muttered.
Harold nodded. “Yeah. Guess you’re right about that. Now what’s the deal with Lucia being in danger?”
“It has to do with me,” Jonah said, ashamed to admit it.
Harold frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Jonah took a small sip of the coffee, then started to explain.
“There is a man who’s been after me for many years. Ten years ago, he killed my father, trying to get to me.”
“Lordy be,” Harold muttered, then clapped Jonah gently on the back. “I’m real sorry for your loss, but I don’t see how this puts Luce in trouble.”
Jonah’s gaze locked on Harold’s eyes. “You know what I can do.”
Harold swallowed, then nodded. “I’ve heard. It’s hard to imagine, but I know the people who witnessed it. They aren’t crazy, and they don’t lie.”
Jonah nodded. “Then, if you believe them, can you imagine why someone would want to control me? To have complete power over me and my abilities?”
“Oh. Yes. I see what you mean.”
“So in loving Lucia, I’ve put her in danger.”
“So, you telling me that you’re leaving? I guess I can understand it, but I sure will hate to lose Luce.”
“No. I won’t drag Lucia into that kind of life, and I can’t leave her behind. This is it. I’m not running anymore. We may not stay here permanently, but I’m not running from anyone again. They’ll come for me again. In fact, I’m sure someone is already here in Little Top waiting for the opportune moment.”
“Then you need to tell Sheriff Mize. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but he’s your new best friend.”
Jonah almost smiled. “I could tell him, but what would I say? I don’t know what the next hunter is going to look like. I don’t know how or when it’s going to happen, but when he makes his move, he’ll go for Lucia, not me.”
“Then I’m your man. As long as she’s under this roof, she’ll be safe. That I can promise you.”
“No, you can’t promise that. No one can. But look out for her just the same, will you?”
“Count on it,” Harold said.
“I’m going to work now,” Jonah said. “I’ll be back later.”
He got up and started toward the door, then turned around, looking for Lucia.
“Lucia…”
She came out of the kitchen, carrying a small brown bag.
“Two sausage biscuits—with grape jelly,” she added, and handed him a cup of coffee to go.
Jonah arched an eyebrow. “My favorite! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Luce said, then stood on her tiptoes long enough to give him a quick kiss goodbye.
“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked.
“Probably,” she said.
Jonah grinned. “See you this afternoon.”
“Yes…see you,” she said.
Luce stood at the window, watching him eat the biscuits as he drove toward Middleton’s Feed Store.
Harold eyed her nervously.
She put her hands on her hips and glared. “I’m fine. Go make your gravy.”
He escaped to the kitchen as Luce turned over the Closed sign on the door to Open.
With that, their morning began.
As Jonah worked his way around the feed lot, mending the fence, the chill in the air was even more prevalent than it had been earlier.
A small fox had come up to the barn, only to pause near where Jonah was working. His little black nose was twitching, as were the whiskers over his eyebrows.
Jonah frowned. “No chickens here for you, Brother Fox…and no mice, either. Try the next farm, please.”
The fox stood for just a moment, then turned and slipped back into the forest the same way he’d come out.
Jonah nodded with satisfaction. Bridie’s little brown hens and Brother Mouse were safe for one more day, at least.
A lone snowflake drifted past his nose as he tied off the last bit of broken wire; he tried not to let it concern him. It would be just like one of Bourdain’s hired goons to take advantage of bad weather to make his play.
He dropped the wire cutters into the toolbox, then loaded up the scattered fencing equipment. He was in the truck and on his way back to the shed to unload when he heard a high-pitched scream, then saw Bridie come running out of the house with her dress on fire.
There was no time for shock to set in.
No time for remorse.
He had to get to her before her heart stopped beating.
The tires spun on the damp ground as he stomped the accelerator; then they finally caught traction, sending him toward the house at breakneck speed.
By the time he got there, Bridie was on the ground. Her legs were jerking as if she were having a seizure, and her tiny hands were beating at the air, as if trying to put out the flames. Even before he got out of the truck, he was sick to his stomach, thinking of the torture she was enduring.
Seconds later he was at her side, beating out the flames with his hands. After they were out, she lay moaning and shaking, begging to God to let her die.
“Not t
oday, sweetheart,” he said softly, then clenched his own hands, healing the blisters that had already started to form. Moments later, he laid his palms flat on Bridie.
Her eyes were rolling back in her head, and there was a fleck of bloody foam at the edge of her mouth.
“Bridie! Bridie! Look at me, honey! Look at me!”
Jonah’s voice drew her from the edge of insanity to the intensity on his face. Then they locked gazes, and somehow the pain began to fade, like a bad memory in the middle of the night.
Jonah grasped her face with both hands as he willed her to a place where this horror did not exist. When she had ease, he began scanning her body for the extent of the damage. She had third-degree burns on her left leg and up the left side of her body to that same arm, and then up the left side of her neck.
She was going into shock. There wasn’t a second to waste.
He laid his hands on her chest.
The silence on the farm was telling. Somehow the animals knew that their mistress was in terrible distress.
Jonah inhaled, letting his mind slide past the scent of burning cloth and flesh, and then he closed his eyes. Moments later the air thickened, charging with an energy not unlike the power of a lightning bolt being born within a storm.
Then the earth began to tremble.
One of the pumpkins on Bridie’s front porch teetered, then rolled off the hay bale onto the ground, bursting open and scattering seeds as it fell.
Brother Mouse buried his little nose beneath his tail, while every living thing on Bridie’s farm seemed to hold its breath.
Then the healing came, spilling from Jonah into Bridie in a flow of brilliance that pulsed with a rhythm matching that of Jonah’s heart.
Nerve endings reattached. Blood veins that had exploded and fried became whole again, while layer after layer of burned flesh sealed over, healing completely, until Bridie Tuesday’s skin was smooth and whole. The hair that had singed on her head became soft. The eyelashes that had been melted grew anew.
Bridie was still on the ground when the next flakes of snow began to fall, feeling as if she’d been born again under Jonah Gray Wolf’s hands.
Jonah knew when it was over, because he felt a surge building in her lungs. She opened her eyes at the same time that she took a deep breath. The scream hanging at the back of her throat never came out, as she found herself looking into Jonah’s face.
