by Becky Flade
Gotta love small towns, Aidan thought wryly.
He’d vaguely heard the chimes over the market door ring, but as lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t realize the ebb and flow of Alice and Betty’s daily debate had ceased. He’d nearly filled his basket when he sensed someone was standing behind him, just to his right. A second before she spoke, her scent filled his nostrils, honeysuckle and something he couldn’t place.
“Am I still CIA?” She asked in a hushed whisper. He smiled despite himself and simply nodded once. “Well, I’ve been called worse. Have a good day.” As soon as she’d moved down the aisle, Aidan hurried to the register.
“Is that all today, Aidan?” Betty asked as she rang up his groceries in her slow way, making sure she mentally catalogued what he was purchasing. She did that with everyone—it was how she got a lot of scoops on Alice. A married man buying condoms indicated an affair; a mother of five picking up yet another pregnancy test meant baby number six could be on the way; and so on. Aidan silently willed her to hurry.
“Yes, thank you, Betty. Give Barry my best.” He picked up the sack before nodding to his neighbor Alice. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, and against his better judgment turned to look down the aisle. Her head was bent over the fresh fruit display and her dark auburn hair had fallen forward shielding her face from view. Absently, she ran her hand through her hair, her fingers tucking it behind her one ear, opening her profile to his line of vision. Limited by the beast’s monochromatic vision, he had wondered about her coloring. Her features were delicate but strong, a contrast Aidan found appealing. The wolf’s perspective had not done her justice.
The pug nose and smattering of freckles said Irish, as did her last name, but the bone structure suggested a Native American ancestry. She tilted her head up and toward him then, as though she’d heard his thoughts or sensed his perusal somehow. Their gazes met. Her chestnut eyes, already dominant in her small face, seemed to devour him as they spread in surprised recognition. Alarm bells sounded in Aidan’s head, and, cursing himself, he pushed the door open and strode quickly towards his truck. He heard the chimes over the market’s doors ring as they opened and closed behind him. He heard her shout, “Wait!” But he didn’t look back or slow down.
Aidan nodded to Clancy, hopped behind the wheel of his truck, and pulled out of the spot as fast as he dared without causing more gossip. His eyes went to the rearview mirror and he saw her standing in the street midway between the General and the feed store, frustrated confusion etched across her beautiful face. He focused on the road and tried, unsuccessfully, to forget how she’d looked at him and how he’d felt when she had.
• • •
Maggie stood there watching his tail lights until they’d disappeared from sight. She struggled to make sense of what she thought she’d just seen. He was a strikingly handsome man. Tall and slender with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he had a lean, rangy build. His hair was the color of wet sand and it was cut in a short, neat style her mother would’ve approved. His features were just rugged enough to avoid being pretty. But his eyes were what had shaken Maggie, had her standing befuddled in the street. She’d seen them before. Only they’d belonged to a wolf.
An impatient horn brought Maggie back to reality and she returned to the market with purpose. She recovered the basket of goods she’d left on a shelf near the door and headed straight to the gossiping biddies that even now were twittering and openly staring at her.
“Who was that?” Maggie asked the duo.
“Aidan Gael. Semi-reclusive, lives outside town, very shy,” Betty spit out in rapid fire succession, obviously trying to beat her friend to the punch.
“Gay,” her friend announced definitively.
“Alice Black! You don’t know that for sure. He’s shy and very private with his business, personal and otherwise.” Betty said.
“Yeah, gay.” Alice insisted. “He’s my neighbor, Betty, and I’ve never seen a woman on his lands, or coming and going from them for that matter, in all the years he’s been living there. You ever seen or heard of him with a woman?” Betty simply ignored the question.
“How about him turning down every single woman between fifteen and fifty that is driving distance from his front door?” Alice kept pushing.
“You ever seen or heard of him with a man?” was Betty’s defense. Maggie just listened and absorbed. She’d learned long ago that listening was a much better tool than asking. People told you more than you wanted to know, generally, if you just let them.
“So, he’s discreet.” Alice countered.
“Who’s to say he isn’t just discreet with his female companions?” Maggie had to admit that Betty’s logic was sound. “Face it, Alice, you’ve got nothing.”
“The only female to drive past my place in ten years’ time is this one.” Alice jerked her thumb in Maggie’s direction and both women turned considering eyes on her.
“I just asked you who he was, remember? I know you ladies don’t know me but take my word for it, I know a man’s name before he knows my body.” Betty Barnes’s cheeks flushed and she took to ringing up Maggie’s purchases faster than she normally went about it. But Alice smiled and winked approvingly.
“I’ve been driving past your lands, ma’am?” Maggie asked.
“You been parking on them actually, and please, call me Alice.”
“Thank you, and I hope I haven’t been bothering you any, Alice.”
“Not a bit, dear. When hunting season comes around, you’d be shocked at how the out-of-towners treat private property. You’ve been real respectful and I appreciate that. You ever need anything, just come on up to the house and knock. Door is open. Especially if you run into any trouble out in those woods.”
“The Gael spread is probably closer, Alice.” Betty chimed in, obviously past her embarrassment. “That’s gonna be thirteen thirty-three.” Maggie paid, made her goodbyes and headed to the inn she was currently calling home. As she slowly navigated the stairs, she wondered how long it would be before the town was rife with gossip about the torrid fling she was having with the local gay recluse.
Quickly storing the perishables in the room’s mini-fridge, Maggie tossed the rest on the bed, sat at her laptop, and opened Internet Explorer. Jeremiah Bledsoe, Red to his friends, ran the local press and was quick to point out that even in the country they were up with the times; he’d archived online every edition of the local paper since he’d taken over his father’s business. Twenty minutes later, she rolled her shoulders, stretched her back, and reviewed what she’d learned about Aidan Gael. Red did a large piece on Aidan Gael when he’d bought up what was known as the Cherry Farm. Public records made up the rest.
He was thirty-six-years-old, never married, and had no siblings. His mother had raised him alone and she’d left him an orphan while he’d been in his second year of college. Poor thing, Maggie thought. His mother’s family had money and Aiden inherited it all when she’d passed. He spent some time in Europe before coming back to the good old U.S. of A. And he’d spent a couple more years roaming this continent before buying up land in the heart of Minnesota. Every birth, marriage, divorce, and death made it into the local paper, as did a lot of the gossip Betty and Alice scrounged up, in addition to actual news. But after that large piece when he had first moved to town, there was precious little in the local rag about Aidan Gael. He didn’t seem to be involved in any organizations or attend many events in town. No announcements about changes in his family status. His ranch was large. He raised horses, and had one full time groom, Sly, whom lived above the stable. She found only the occasional ad looking for day labor at the Cherry Farm when needed.
She had better luck with public records for more recent data. He ran an internet stock trading start-up and had done quite well for himself. He also donated large sums of money to wildlife and wilderness protection groups and refuges. He’d never been sued and had no liens. She had a call in to an old friend who worked for a major cre
dit reporting agency. But Maggie figured the man’s credit was likely to be golden. As far as she could tell, he lived quietly and within his means, drawing no attention to himself, making what amounted to no significant connections in a town after ten years of living among them. No wonder Alice Black thought he was gay. Maggie had different ideas.
Based on the timeline of wolf sightings she had, it looked like her wolf had joined the community within six months of Aidan’s purchase of the Cherry Farm. His land abutted the forest and he hadn’t run a fence line. She wondered if anyone had ever seen him, really seen him, after nightfall. And she wondered how best to inquire about him without tipping off her story or furthering the gossip Alice Black and Betty Barnes were sure to have begun to spread. Checking her watch, Maggie calculated she still had few hours of daylight to burn and, grabbing her notebook, headed out into the streets to get whatever information she could about Aidan Gael.
Chapter Three
Maggie drove past what she now knew to be Alice Black’s place where she’d been parking along the forest line and continued out to the Gael spread. She slowed and gazed over the lands—they were beautiful for sure, but she didn’t see a cherry tree anywhere. She wondered if he’d had them removed or if they’d ever been there in the first place. The meadow rolled up into a hillock, and she could see the top of a structure rising over it. She stopped when the house was in full view.
A beautiful sprawling single story home made nearly entirely of wood and glass sat with its back open to the meadow, providing what must be a spectacular view of the forest come daylight. The hillock only blocked the view of the house from the road; there was nothing but flatland between the house and the forest. There was a large deck with what looked like an attached Jacuzzi. Maggie sighed as she thought how it must feel to sit in the hot, bubbling water under the moonlight. Then she wondered if its owner had any idea what that felt like. Putting the car back into drive she continued along the road until she came to the pull off for the driveway. The property’s roadside had a fence, she noted. She had to get out of her car and open a metal gate in order to drive up to the house.
Maggie briefly considered the possibility of being met with a shotgun, but she had a feeling that this close to nightfall, that was unlikely. Plus he had to have heard her coming; there wasn’t much traffic along this particular stretch of road. Her footsteps crunched loudly on the drive, and she thought it fairly odd to have a crushed shell drive so far from the ocean. But then, there wasn’t much chance of being snuck up on that way—plus it was pretty. The house was even more breathtaking up close. The sheer number of windows must make the need for lights during the day pretty obsolete. She smiled to herself. Bet he doesn’t use any at night either.
Her bag in hand, complete with notebook for questions about the wolf wandering his land—should he actually be at home and not a werewolf preparing for his nightly jaunt—Maggie rang the bell and waited. Several minutes passed before she rang it again. And again. The truck she’d seen him drive away from town in—flee from her was more like it—was parked next to her rental, so ostensibly, he was home. The light began to fade and without needing to check her watch, Maggie knew the sun was going down. She ripped a page from her notebook, scribbled a quick note, and left it under his door. As she drove away, dusk fell all around her.
Maggie walked to the same location she’d sat in the four previous nights, set her things out, and then moved to the indented grass she’d discovered earlier that day. She knew it would be empty, either because he hadn’t begun his watch or he’d hidden when she approached. Regardless, she did exactly what she had set out to do and placed a dog’s chew toy in the clearing. Smiling to herself, she returned to her familiar little camp and sat down to wait. She took her notebook back out. She’d spent the afternoon and early evening researching and interviewing. Now she wanted to write down her impressions from the market before they became vague.
No one she’d spoken to had anything bad to say about their quiet neighbor, Aidan Gael. She heard he was gay, rich, eccentric, reclusive, but she also heard he was kind, generous, polite, and amiable. Maggie got the definite impression that he was never, as a rule, seen in town after sunset. If she wanted to learn anything else, she was going to have to talk to the man. Provided she could keep him from running away from her or maybe get him to answer his door. At the very least, he was a private man who wouldn’t want to talk to a reporter, any reporter. At most, and she knew how farfetched this was, he was the werewolf she was researching, in which case he’d carefully guarded the secret and talking to her would be antipathy.
Maggie wasn’t aware how much time had passed while she sat contemplating ways to get Aidan Gael to talk to her. Without warning, something dropped over her shoulder. She muffled a squeal of fear and looked down to see what was now sitting in her lap. The chew toy she’d placed in the clearing smiled up at her ridiculously. She suppressed a smile and slowly turned to look over her shoulder. Not a foot away stood the wolf that had saved her several nights ago. He stared at her with wary and, she thought, amused green eyes, the same startling shade as those belonging to Aidan Gael.
“Hi. Guess you didn’t like the present?” Maggie spoke quietly in a tone the she hoped relayed she meant no harm. “I couldn’t figure out what would say ‘thank you for saving my ass from the big, scary bear’ better: a meaty bone or a chew toy. I decided on the chew toy, well because I didn’t think giving you meat was the smartest move—you know, self-preservation and all.” She would’ve sworn the animal smiled. “I bet you understand self-preservation, dontcha? But you weren’t too concerned with saving your own hide the other night when you threw yourself between me and that bear. That was so incredibly brave. I really didn’t want to shoot, but I would’ve and with my luck it would’ve just pissed him off. Of course, getting trapped in my sleeping bag didn’t freaking help.”
She watched as the wolf sauntered closer. She followed him with her eyes as he passed by. He really was insanely large. She guessed him at nearly four feet tall and probably near six feet in length. His pelt was beautiful, thick and gray with the occasional fleck of black and silver. The urge to reach out and run her fingers through his pelt was intense, but Maggie thought it would be rude, so she simply watched in awe as he settled down about a yard in front of her. Laying his massive head on his paws he cocked his head to the side and watched her.
“Would you have known I’d been to your little clearing if I hadn’t left the chew toy? Wolves have very sharp hearing and sense of scent; you would’ve been able to smell that I’d been there, right? You’ve been watching over me, haven’t you? That’s really sweet but very human behavior.” The wolf snorted. “Did you think that was funny, offensive, or did you simply get some pollen up your nose?
“This is bizarre; I’m interviewing a freaking wolf, like you can answer my questions. What are you going to do, stomp your foot four times?” This time she saw the humor in the eyes and heard the chuckle. “So you were laughing at me the other night.
“I’m assuming of course that you can understand everything I’m saying to you. Maybe I’ve finally lost what little sense God gave me. Or, I could be sleeping. That is very possible. I tend to have very vivid dreams. Of course, if I were dreaming, you’d probably be answering me with a vague Australian accent not unlike Hugh Jackman’s.
“Well, dream or not, I guess I should introduce myself. The name is Maggie, and if it’s not too much trouble could I feel your fur? I mean, not like pet you. You’re far too beautiful and free to be treated like a pet; you were very National Geographic the other night. But your pelt just looks so soft . . . ” Maggie trailed off, rather embarrassed by her rambling to a creature that wasn’t likely to understand a word she was saying. She started puttering around her small camp and was looking down at her hands trying to figure out why she felt embarrassed when his muzzle bumped her under her elbow.
Despite his size he had moved silently across the forest floor; she’d not even realiz
ed he’d stood let alone crossed the few feet between them. But here he was, those startling green eyes only inches away, inviting her to touch him. Maggie ran her hand along his side and felt the muscles corded underneath the silky fur. “Wow,” she said as she threaded her fingers through the strands. She’d repeated the motion several times when she heard a low rumble in the wolf’s throat. The closest comparison Maggie could make was a cat purr. “You like that?” In answer, the wolf licked her cheek with his dry, raspy tongue. Maggie laughed. “Who said I kiss on the first date?”
The wolf sidled away, back to his original position. Maggie pulled out her notebook and a pencil. The wolf sat patiently watching her as she sketched him. She chatted occasionally about nonsensical things, but mostly the time passed silently. When she’d finished she turned the book around. “What do you think?” she asked. The wolf stood and moved forward. “I don’t even know if you can see two-dimensional images—not that it matters, I’m only passably good at this.”
Maggie couldn’t tell if the wolf knew what she’d said, but he appeared to be looking at the sketch. Suddenly his ears cocked and his head turned to the right, eyes staring off into the darkness beyond them. His eyes turned back to hers, and she thought he was trying to impress upon her that everything was okay, then he leapt through the bushes and into the night.
“God, I hope he’s chasing a rabbit and not another bear,” Maggie mumbled to herself as she flipped to a new page and began sketching him again, this time trying to capture the light of intelligence she saw in his gaze. She considered packing up and leaving for the night in case there was danger she was unaware of, but surely he’d not have left her if there had been any, and the chance to interact with the lupine again was too alluring. After several sketches, her favorite being of her hand working through his pelt, she turned to another fresh page and began recording the night’s events. She had seen or heard nothing to lessen her suspicion that the wolf and Aidan Gael were one in the same. Of course, she had her doubts—what sane, educated person wouldn’t? But she had this gut feeling, and Maggie was a woman who believed in following gut feelings. Particularly her own.
