“What about the pictures?”
“I suppose they’re still where I left them, in the camera, hidden where no one will ever find them.”
There was a long silence while each of them considered what Wynn had said. Finally Maribel snapped her fingers. Wynn jumped slightly, looking at her in question.
“You left the cabin because this huge cat was prowling around. You snuck away while it went after, umm, a rabbit. Yeah, that would work. You just planned on being gone long enough for it to move on somewhere else but saw Lionel. He was…early? And sneaking toward the cabin. He must have seen your footprints because he came after you. You ran, umm, to the road, managed to get someone to stop for you before he caught up with you, and…and…”
“Yes?” He smiled, but his look was pensive.
“Since Mick wouldn’t have found the camera, he probably presumed you had it with you. You tell him you managed to get it to your father and he and Lionel’s father took care of the rest. What do you think?”
“There are holes in it, but maybe—”
“Think about it, Wynn, because he’s the reason you can’t concentrate on your painting. I’d bet my last dollar on that.”
Wynn chuckled. “You already bet it earlier.”
“So I’ve got two of them, wiseass.” She hugged him quickly. “Will you think about it?”
He nodded. “No promises, but yeah, I will.”
After Maribel left, Wynn began to pace the studio. He knew she was right; his work was suffering because his heart wasn’t in it.
Which is insane. There’s no way Mick could have become so important to me in such a short time that just thinking about him is fucking up my life. My work. I barely know the man. I don’t even know how he feels about me, if he feels anything. Sure, we sort of teased a bit the last time we were together but we were uptight about what we’d planned. It was tension release.
He chuckled. “Or would have been if we’d let it go beyond teasing.”
Going over to his work table, he picked up a sketchpad well buried under the others. Flipping through it, he stopped at one drawing that he’d done soon after he’d returned to the city.
“You’re damned good looking. Not that that’s high on the scale of what matters if…if we’d had a chance to explore possibilities.”
There were more sketches, most of them just impressions—a partial face, a quick line drawing of a full body, but all of them definitely Mick as Wynn remembered him. All done when he’d felt down and lonely and had been thinking about what might have been.
Which has been happening way too often and that’s crazy. I like my life the way it is, the way it was. I’m doing what I want to do, which is more than most people can say. And I’m good at it.
He turned to look at his most recent painting. “No, I was good at it before…” he muttered. “Damn it all to Hell. Why did I have to get pulled into father’s scheme to stop Lionel? I could have said ‘no’. I should have.”
And this isn’t solving the problem. Nothing’s going to solve it short of my going back there. He smiled wryly. And then it might become a moot point that, for whatever insane reason, I’m drawn to him. Mick could take one look at me, shrug, and get back to business as if I was just some man he’d tried to help out in the line of duty—which is undoubtedly the truth.
“Still, Maribel’s right, I have to find out one way or another.”
Chapter 11
“What’s going on with you these days?” John asked, looking hard at Mick as they sat across from each other in a booth at the diner. “It’s like you’re only half here.”
“Nothing’s ‘going on’,” Mick replied harshly. Then he modified his tone. “I think…I don’t know, maybe I’m getting burned out?”
John chuckled. “You’re a small town sheriff. How can you get burned out? Bored, maybe.”
Mick nodded. “Maybe. Either way I’m considering taking some time off. Get away from here and just, hell I don’t know.”
“Go fishing?”
“Now talk about something boring,” Mick replied with a soft snort of amusement.
“Just an idea. When are you doing this?”
Making a decision, Mick said, “I’ll take a week starting Friday.”
“Which is two days from now.”
“Yep, so figure on being in charge until I get back.”
“Damn, there go my plans with Carly.”
“Hey, she married you; she sees you almost twenty-four seven now. I’m sure she’ll survive.”
John smiled happily. “Yeah, she did. Now we just have to find someone for you. Hey, here’s an idea. Go on a cruise. Who knows who you might meet.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Not my thing. Besides which, I’m fine the way I am.”
John cocked an eyebrow in disbelief but remained silent, for which Mick was very glad. He didn’t need his friend telling him, again, that he needed someone in his life. There was only one ‘someone’, in more time than he cared to think about, who he’d thought he could come to care for. And he turned out to be…
His hands clenched into fists.
Not a man at all but something more. Something inhuman. It’s a damned good thing you left, Wynn. Because if you hadn’t…if things had happened between us like I sort of hoped they might…would you have told me what you are?
Mick shuddered. Could I…would I have been able to accept it if you had?
“You can’t be cold, Mick,” John said, breaking into Mick’s thoughts. “It’s over eighty outside.”
“And twenty in here,” Mick grumbled. “Damned air conditioning.”
“Uh-huh, not. Whatever’s going on with you, and from the look on your face a minute ago it’s not good, I hope you work it out before you get back from vacation. We need the whole you, not the half you’ve been giving us recently.”
Mick winced. “I’ve been that bad, huh?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well that’s going to change. I’ll come back a new man,” Mick replied with a small grin.
“Naw, just come back as the old you. Not sure I could deal with breaking in a new sheriff,” John said with a straight face. Then he laughed.
Mick did, as well, and the tension he felt abated. But he knew it would be back if he didn’t do something about it. And the only thing he could do was see if he could find Wynn, if that was possible. Find him and face him down with what he knew, or thought he knew, about what he was. And see what happened from there.
* * * *
As it turned out, Mick didn’t have to go searching for Wynn. He came to town early that Friday morning—not that Mick was immediately aware of the fact.
Sweet, eighty-year-old Ms. Lewis had called just as Mick got to the sheriff’s office. She sounded mad as a wet hen when she told him someone had been in her vegetable garden and had torn up most of her carrots and some of her lettuce. He had the feeling he knew who the culprits were. The rabbit population that summer had grown by leaps and bounds. But he also knew there was nothing to be done but to go out to her place and check it out.
“She just wants some company,” John said with a laugh when Mick told him where they were going. “Mostly your company, ‘cause you’re willing to take the time to talk to her and drink that brew she calls coffee.”
Mick did take the time to talk. He even managed to get down some of the coffee while convincing Ms. Lewis it really had been rabbits and she should get someone to fix the two holes in her garden fence.
On the drive back into town, John was humming ‘Make someone happy…’ Mick shook his head. “You’re not old enough to know that song.”
“YouTube, Mick. Carly’s addicted and I get to listen to what she finds. And let me tell you, she finds some weird ones. Speaking of which, mind if we stop at the diner? I’m starving.”
“At ten in the morning?”
John shrugged. “Okay, so I’m not really starving. I just want some coffee to get the taste of whatever that was Ms. Lewis g
ave us out of my mouth.”
Mick laughed. “I’m with you on that.”
They pulled up in front of the diner a few minutes later, parked, and went inside. Carly came over immediately, giving John a hug, then turned to Mick. “Someone was here looking for you.”
“Now what,” he replied with a sigh. “Who’s done what to who now?”
“Nothing like that. It’s Walt, the guy with the white hair that you were trying to help out.”
Mick barely heard anything beyond ‘Walt’ as his pulse quickened. Willing himself to keep from reacting with more than a questioning look, he asked, “Did he say where he was going?”
“He did. He’s getting a room at the hotel. I told him you were probably at the sheriff’s office. He said he’d check there later.”
“Thanks. I’ll stop by the hotel maybe, but right now we both need some decent coffee and—” Mick glanced at John, “—some lunch?”
“Naw. I’m good with just coffee for now. To go.”
Mick was tempted to press the issue but he had the feeling if he did, they’d want to know why, and he wasn’t about to admit he was afraid—afraid of seeing Wynn again. Afraid of how he’d react when he did. Afraid of the reasons Wynn might have come back. So he waited while Carly got their coffee, and had John drop him off at the hotel.
* * * *
This is beyond insane. Wynn stared out the hotel window. I should leave now before I do something I’ll regret, like make a fool of myself—or worse.
Gazing off at the mountains, he wondered if that was the answer—to go there and let his animal side free. But he knew it wouldn’t work. He’d done that often enough in the past few months and for a brief time he’d manage to recapture the joy of being alive, only to lose it again as soon as he returned to the city and his studio.
How can one man, who’s probably forgotten I even exist, hold such sway over me? How can I let him? Because I’m a fool.
Turning, he walked to the door. A fool, maybe, but still…
He opened the door and froze. Mick stood there, his hand raised to knock.
“I was just…just going to…” Wynn stuttered out.
Mick pushed past him into the room. “Close the door. We need to talk.”
The anger in Mick’s voice shocked Wynn into compliance. He did as Mick had ordered then stood, mute, as he looked at him. He appeared the same, just the way he remembered him—tall, dark-haired, muscular, broad-shouldered, scowling. All right, I don’t remember the scowl.
“Sit.” Mick pointed to the bed.
“I’d rather stand if you’re going to yell at me about disappearing. And I can explain why.”
“Oh I’m sure you can, and I bet the explanation’s a doozy. But whatever you’ve come up with, I know it’s a lie. I’ve seen the pictures of Lionel. Mr. Peters found the camera about a week or so ago and brought it down to give to me.”
Wynn hissed in a deep breath, feeling as if he’d been hit in the gut.
“They were real interesting, Wynn. At first I thought maybe I was reading them wrong.” Mick glared at him. “I thought maybe, just maybe, they were some sort of—I don’t know—fantasy thing, like the drawing I found in your sketchbook. Though I couldn’t figure out why they’d be something Lionel would be afraid of anyone seeing if that was the case. Then I looked at them side by side. The jaguar in the one shot was the same one who was turning into Lionel in the other one.”
Wynn nodded, refusing to look away. “It was.”
“After that, well it didn’t take long to put two and two together. I heard the fight when I came back that morning. I saw his dead carcass.” He clenched his hands by his side. “The cat who rescued Ralphie Peters—he called it a snow cat—that was you. Just as it was you who fought and killed Lionel. It all fit. That’s why you disappeared.”
“Partly, yes. I was wounded. You saw what he looked like. I didn’t look much better and there was no way I could have explained why.” Wynn smiled ruefully. “Somehow I doubt you would have believed I fought a jaguar barehanded and came out of it alive.”
“You’ve got that one right.” Mick swallowed hard, his expression revealing the shock he felt at Wynn’s reply. It was, apparently, one thing to think he knew the answer. It was quite another to find out that what he’d imagined was actually true. He turned away, obviously unable to look at Wynn while he tried to absorb the truth.
“I hoped,” Wynn said quietly, “you’d think maybe Lionel had shown up too early and I’d panicked and ran. And then, well, that maybe you’d forget I even existed once you didn’t hear from me.”
“Not hardly,” Mick replied between clenched teeth. “At first I thought you didn’t call or whatever because you were still trying to get away from him. Then I was scared he’d caught up with you. Later, well, I figured maybe it was just another job for you—get the evidence back to whoever it was supposed to go to, using any help you could get if you needed to and damn the consequences.” He spun around, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand. “Boy was I wrong, you lying bastard.”
“I never lied to you.”
“Not in so many words, no. But everything you didn’t say made what happened a lie.” Mick swung around, going to the window. “And to think, for a while there, I was beginning to care about you.”
Wynn closed his eyes, breathing deeply to keep from saying the wrong thing in reply. “If it could have been any other way—”
He didn’t get to finish because Mick spat out angrily, “Would you have told me? I’m presuming you came back for some reason. To see me? Or maybe to retrieve the camera? You hid it well from what Ed Peters said. Real well. It was just damned bad luck he found it.”
“I came back because I had to see you. I had to find out if…if what I feel is real. Or if what I thought was happening between us was just wishful thinking because I needed someone who could care about me.”
* * * *
Mick almost replied that what Wynn needed to do was to get out of his life and go back where he came from, wherever that was. It was what he wanted to say. It was the smart thing to say.
I mean, hell, he’s some sort of creature out of a bad movie. Trying to pretend he’s human when he’s really a vicious animal.
“But he’s not,” he whispered softly to himself, still looking out the window but seeing nothing but the past.
“I’m not what?” Wynn asked quietly, finally crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed.
“A vicious animal. If you were, you wouldn’t have helped Ralphie.”
“Maybe I thought he wouldn’t make much of a meal,” Wynn replied scathingly.
“Then you would have just left him there and moved on.” Mick finally looked at Wynn again. “You heard he was missing because you were there when the call came in and you went looking for him. Didn’t you?”
Wynn nodded. “The way the weather was, hell, I couldn’t in good conscience not try to find him. I figured I had a better chance than you all did, when it came down to it.”
“Which is true but…” Mick gave a small shake of his head. “Damn it, Wynn, you could have said something.”
“Said what? ‘Oh, by the way, Mick. You know that snow cat? It was me’. You’d have locked me up and called the nearest psych ward and you know it.”
Mick chuckled. “Yeah, probably. Or told you to get your ass out of town and if Lionel found you, more power to him.”
“That too,” Wynn replied with a small smile.
“So, umm, have you always been, you know?”
“A shifter? Yeah. Sort of came from being born to parents who are.”
“Are there lots of you?”
Wynn grinned, relief flooding him that Mick was still there and talking to him. “Nope. I’m just me. I’m not a twin—or a triplet.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Mick grumbled.
“I know. Sorry. There aren’t all that many shifters. We’re not about to overrun the world. There’s a lot of diffe
rent kinds but we all exist in small—well, groups doesn’t work for cats since we’re pretty solitary, though there are canid shifters who do form packs. I have a family; I wasn’t lying about that. But it’s far-flung.”
“Are you the only albino one?”
“I’m not really an albino. I’m a ‘ghost jaguar’, due to what’s called leukism, which has something to do with defective pigment cells. That’s why my eyes are blue, not pinkish-red. And that’s probably more than you wanted to know,” he added.
“I did ask,” Mick replied with a smile. He tapped his thumb to his lips as he studied Wynn. “If it wasn’t for your hair color, no one would think you were any different from anyone else. You’re not all that pale.”
“True. But I don’t tan either. And why are we talking about this?”
“Because I’m interested and trying to understand exactly what you are.”
“Part human, part jaguar—but mostly human, as far as I’m concerned. The fact I can shift is just a strange added perk. Not that I usually object. There’s a definite freedom to letting my animal side out and running with the wind.”
“I can see how there might be. Sort of like getting in a fast car and flooring it. Not that I’ve done that, of course, being a law abiding citizen and the sheriff to boot.”
“Uh-huh.” Wynn arched his eyebrow in disbelief.
“Okay, so maybe once or twice when I was younger.”
“Then you sort of get what I’m saying.”
Mick nodded. “Still, you can be damned vicious too. I saw what you did to Lionel.”
“That was kill or be killed, pure and simple. I didn’t get off on it, any more than you would if you were faced with an armed robber who tried to shoot you so he could get away.” Wynn sighed. “I’m not some feral animal. Most of us aren’t. But Lionel was—or he became one. He went rogue, as we call it, and had to be stopped.”
“Why you?”
“Why was I the one sent after him? Because…” Wynn told him what he’d told Maribel just days before.
Snow Cat Page 6
