Wolf Prey (Wolf Cove Book 3)

by Nina West

  “Me, too. Abigail.” He adds, a little more softly, “Abbi.”

  I hesitate. “Henry asked me to meet him in France in three weeks. I’m going.”

  Resignation fills his face. “I’ll be here to take care of things.”

  For the first time in months, I walk away from Jed with a genuine smile.

  Mama and Daddy are at the kitchen table when I step inside.

  “Morning.”

  Mama gives my outfit a side-eye, while my dad’s gaze shifts to the clock. It’s just after one.

  Henry’s plane would have just taken off.

  I push that thought aside.

  “Jed said another chunk of the roof came off. We really need to get that fixed.”

  My dad sighs. “We should be able to scrape together enough for materials by early October. And your mother has been talking to a few people at the congregation who might be willing to lend a hand.”

  “I was actually thinking we could hire the Dorset Brothers to do it sooner.”

  “We don’t have the money for that.”

  “I can pay for a new roof.”

  “You?” Mama’s eyes narrow. “Or him?”

  “I made a lot of money in Alaska.” Not that much, but they don’t need to know that.

  Mama’s already shaking her head. “No, I won’t have that man paying for our farm. The next thing we know, he’ll be trying to convince us to sell the land for condominiums! Or a hotel!”

  “Which is exactly what we’ll be doing if we don’t start putting some money into the upkeep of this place!” my dad argues. “If Abigail says she has the money, then we need to use it and be thankful. I’ll call Dorset just before dinner, when he’s bound to be home.”

  Mama opens her mouth.

  Daddy slams his good arm on the table. “Enough, Bernadette! She’s with him, end of discussion.”

  Awkward silence hangs in the air.

  I break it with, “I’m going to France in three weeks. Just for a few days. Jed said he’d take care of things while I’m gone.” May as well get it all out there while we’re fighting.

  Mama heaves herself out of her chair and marches for the den. The rocking chair groans in protest under her weight.

  “France,” my dad murmurs. “That’s exciting.”

  “It is.”

  He nods, though his smile is sad. “She’s not gonna interfere none anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “It’s your life. You should live it how you want to.”

  I plan on it.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Farm Girl Soap Company?”

  I’m sitting in our kitchen with my laptop open, frowning at the concept documents that Zaheera emailed me at the start of this meeting.

  “It sounds organic and natural, but also fun. And it has a touch of personal flair, too. You live on a farm, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s a perfect fit. You aren’t limiting yourself to specific blends and scents. I mean, Sage Oils is fine and all, but it makes your consumers think that they’re predominantly getting, well… sage. But from the information we got, I see that you also have mint, and lavender, thyme… even some lemon. I’ll need you to fill in some holes but for now, if you’ll flip to page two, you can see some of the concept packaging we’ve come up with. Are you scrolling?”

  “I’m scrolling.” She’s barely taken a breath. I think that’s her way of stopping me from asking questions or disagreeing with her.

  “So for packing, we wanted something contradictory. Simple paper wrap and twine, but balanced with upscale labelling. Natural, but balanced with a touch of class. The kind of stuff you might find in a high-end boutique hotel with personality. Also, great for gifting. Do you see the image?”

  “I do. They look… great, actually.” They’ve designed round embossed labels with “Farm Girl” in fancy font, the F and G much larger than the other letters. In her drawings are four square packages, each a different color. Even the colors she’s chosen are striking. Considering I currently wrap my bars of soap in plastic wrap and buy small, plastic bottles from the Dollar Store for my moisturizers and oils, this is a huge step up. “How much will all this packaging cost though?” I can’t see myself charging two dollars more per bar of soap to old Peggy Sue, just so she can rip the fancy packaging off.

  “A lot less than you’d expect, especially as your production runs get bigger.”

  “Production runs?” I made a dozen lemon and thyme bars last week. Is that what she means?

  “Yes. Don’t worry about any of that right now though. First, we need to get the best product. And we were told you’re eager to get started.”

  I roll my eyes at Henry. Everything is breakneck speed with that man. Then again, getting my mind involved with this will keep it busy while I wait for France. “Well, I definitely am looking to keep busy.”

  She laughs. “You will definitely be busy with this. Are you with me so far?”

  I smile. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Okay, this is what I need from you….”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Here, let me fix that.” I lean over to pull the wheel of my dad’s walker out of the crack between the porch boards. He’s only just started using it in the last week, but it’s good to see him mobile again.

  He chuckles. “Who’s gonna do that while you’re away?” He must see my face fall as a pang of guilt hits me. “We’ll figure it out. May will be here more than we need, I’m sure.”

  I rope my arms around his neck to give him a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “You’re only gone a week, Abigail. The trip will be over before you know it.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I carry it down the three steps to the stone walkway. “Okay, well....” I glance to the door. Will Mama even come out to say good-bye? We’ve been on cool terms since the incident, our conversations polite but strained. I don’t want to fly to Europe and leave things like this.

  A moment later, the door creaks open and she wanders out, a cup of tea in her hand. Her blue and green smock dress hangs just a little looser on her, I notice. Probably because she’s cut back on the coffee consumption, and my dad’s been requesting fruits and salads for meals, forcing her to eat healthier, too. I don’t know what happened after I left that night I discovered those pill packs in the trash, but I figure the two of them had an enormous fight. Regardless, Mama has been making an effort.

  “Thank you, Bernadette,” my dad murmurs, settling into the porch swing. “Abigail is leaving now.”

  “Yes, I see that. Have a safe flight.”

  The woman can hold a grudge with the best of them. If this is what she needs.... I’m not going to let her make me feel bad for being happy. “I’ll text when I’ve landed in Paris, and send emergency info when I have it.” With that, I turn and head toward the car Miles arranged for me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with parking and traffic.

  “Buy me something good,” Jed jokes, standing by my truck, his arms folded.

  I toss him the keys.

  His eyes light up with recognition. “Seriously?”

  “Don’t go putting it up for auction while I’m away,” I warn.

  “Heck, no.” He grins. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you. Never thought I’d admit this but you really have been a godsend, Jed.” Since our little truce, I’d actually call us friends again. I drop my voice a little. “May’s gonna check in every day but can you keep an eye on them, too?”

  He chuckles. “Relax. You’re only gonna be gone for a week. Not even.”

  “I know.” I roll my eyes at myself.

  “So... excited?”

  I nod. Excited, nervous, worried, terrified. How many words can I find to describe how I feel right now?

  It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Henry. We’ve talked when we could, but the time difference and his extra busy schedule ha
s been a major hindrance. And then there’s the fact that my parents are home, so video calls are out. At least, the ones Henry wants to have.

  I’ve felt the separation. I’m trying to believe it’s just the distance but, honestly... I don’t know.

  I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  “Thanks, Jed.” I throw my arm around his neck. “See you in a week.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “What do you mean, you lost my luggage?”

  “I am very sorry, miss,” the attendant says, her French accent polished and beautiful. Her words are the last ones I want to hear after flying all night and standing at the luggage carousel for a half hour, watching everyone else on my flight collect their baggage while mine, full of new clothes for this trip, never appeared.

  “Well… do you have any idea where it is?” And, more importantly, when will I be getting it back?

  She clicks a few keys on her machine. “It looks like it’s in Madrid right now.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Henry just left Spain to come here. His jet should be landing at a private airstrip just outside the city any minute, where he’ll wait for me to board so we can continue to Corrèze. “We will have it transported on the next possible flight and bring it to your destination. Bon?”

  I sigh, looking down at my leggings and t-shirt. I went for comfort over looks. I honestly think the flight attendant wanted to kick me out of first class for it. Either way, I have some toiletries and an outfit to change into for today, but that’s it. “Will that be today?”

  “It is hard to say. We will call and notify you.”

  “Thank you for your help.” It’s not her fault, I remind myself. She didn’t lose my luggage.

  She gives me a sympathetic smile and then quickly moves on to deal with another distressed customer.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” I mutter to myself as I rush for the closest restroom to change and freshen up. “They’ll find it and they’ll deliver it and everything will be fine.”

  The important thing is that I’ll be in Henry’s arms within the hour.

  My stomach stirs with butterflies at the thought.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Well, why don’t I just wait for you at the airstrip then?”

  “Because you could be sitting there all day.”

  “So?”

  “No. Your driver is taking you straight to Margo’s. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  My head falls back against the headrest of the limo. First my luggage, now Henry’s plane has been delayed because they’ve closed the runway he’s taking off from for emergency maintenance, with no ETA for being finished. So far, this trip is not going as planned. Now I get to sit in a car for four hours, wondering what the hell I’m going to say to Margo when I see her.

  “That means I’ll have to be alone with her.”

  “Come on. You loved her before you found out about our past.”

  “Yeah... and there’s that other part.” The part where she and her boyfriend had sex in front of us.

  “You’ll have no issues with her. Just make yourself comfortable. Maybe have a nap so you’re not so fucking cranky by the time I get there.”

  I scowl at the phone, even though there’s humor in his voice.

  “I haven’t seen you in three weeks, Abbi. Keep your mind on what I’m going to do to you.”

  My cheeks flush and I glance at the driver, hoping he didn’t hear that.

  “And who knows? I might be there by the time you get there.”

  I hope so. “See you soon.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Bonjour. Mademoiselle Abigail Mitchell est ici,” the driver announces into the intercom.

  The large iron gate creaks open and the airport limo crawls along the road, banked with a lake on the right and a crop of trees on the left.

  “There is a lot of history here,” he says as we round the tall stone wall and I see Margo’s place for the first time.

  My mouth drops open.

  I’ve seen castles like this shown on TV, but for some reason I didn’t believe that they actually existed. While it’s not quite the same size as Wolf Cove, it’s overwhelming in an entirely different way.

  I’m in awe as we approach the massive, sprawling stone building, at its highest points four stories not including the numerous turrets.

  “How old is this place?” I hear myself murmur.

  “It was built in the 1400s. It is authentic in its design. Even the battlements.” The driver points to something.

  “What are those?”

  “You know. The... how do I say... crenel and the merlons.”

  “The what and the what?” I know I sound like an idiot but I’ve never heard those words before.

  He chuckles. “The top of the wall. The way it dips and rises in that pattern.”

  “Yes. Okay.” He must be talking about the squared openings.

  “Those are the original battlements, where archers hid and shot at invaders trying to steal the castle. Many died here.”

  My eyes roam the peaceful acreage. All I see are rolling green hills and trees. “It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Oui. You are very lucky to be staying. Are you friends with Mademoiselle Lauren?”

  “No, but my... uh... boyfriend is.” That’s the first time I’ve ever dared call Henry by that. Would he care?

  “Oh, oui. Monsieur Wolf. I have met him once.” The driver smiles, but says nothing else. I can’t help but wonder what kind of impression Henry made on him.

  Margo is already waiting by a set of solid wooden doors. There’s no mistaking her, not even from a hundred feet away. Just the way she stands seems like a signature, her left hip thrust out slightly, her right arm raised as she leans against the frame, her gauzy white dress making her look like an angel. I know she’s anything but. It’s such a striking contrast to her shiny raven bob.

  The driver—I was too frazzled about my luggage to remember his name—lets me out and then, with a nod at Margo, ducks back in his car and is gone.

  Leaving us alone.

  Henry said Margo would have other friends here, but I see no sign of them.

  “Bonjour Abigail,” she croons in that beautiful accent, seeming at perfect ease, even though the last time I saw her, she was naked and having sex with her boyfriend in front of Henry and me, all while eye-fucking Henry. Is she at all embarrassed by what happened at the club that night?

  “Henry’s plane was delayed,” I blurt out, because I don’t know what to say this woman.

  She approaches slowly. “I heard. Henry called and told me.” She leans in to air kiss both of my cheeks, just like she did last time, her light floral perfume catching my nostrils. It’s a delicious scent and I want to tell her that I like it and ask her what it is, so that maybe I can match it with soaps, but I hold back.

  She slept with Henry.

  I don’t want to like her, or compliment her.

  “And they lost your luggage, too?”

  I sigh. “Yes. Hopefully they’ll find it soon.” How often does Henry talk to her? Is it simply because we’re on our way here?

  “If they do not, I’m sure we can find something for you to wear.” Her gaze drifts down, over the black one-piece jumper outfit thing that the girls in the department store convinced me to buy. “Size four?”

  “Yeah.”

  She eyes my chest blatantly. “36D?”

  I frown. “How can you tell?”

  A tiny smile touches her lips. “I’ve been in the industry for more than a decade. You learn bodies well.”

  “Of course.” She’s been modeling clothes for ten years, Abbi.

  She reaches up to touch a few strands of my hair, rubbing them within her thumb and forefinger. “You colored your hair.”

  “Yeah.” Months of sun and washing had leached the vibrant copper and auburn highlights out of my hair, leaving it that dull ginger again. So I took a big risk, going to Pittsburgh to have it done again. I even showed them a picture
of what that stylist did in Wolf Cove, praying that this woman could match it. While it’s not exact, it’s pretty close.

  “It is beautiful.” Something about the way she says that feels oddly intimate. “Come, let me show you to your room. Henry suggested that you take a nap.”

  I roll my eyes, earning her melodic laugh.

  I trail her through the main hallway, a wide corridor with arched white plaster ceilings and dark brown paneled walls, and many antique furniture pieces on either side. The air carries an odd scent to it. Impossible to describe, other than to call it “age.”

  “I will give you a tour later, when Henry is here. For now, this is the main hallway. It will lead to most rooms. The guest rooms are on the third and fourth floors. There are fifteen of them. A few will be in use this week.”

  Wow. “How long have you owned this?”

  “My family purchased it one hundred and fifty years ago, and it has been passed down through the generations. I inherited it four years ago, when my grand-père passed away.”

  She reaches into a desk drawer for an old-fashioned wrought iron key, then begins climbing a set of steps, collecting the skirt of her gauzy dress as she goes. “Five of my dearest friends and Joel will be joining us this week. I’m sure you will get along. Here, this will be yours.”

  She’s panting lightly by the time we reach the landing on the fourth floor. I trail her down another long hall, this one more narrow but just as aged, with the same ceiling details and gold gilded artwork lining the walls. I feel like I’ve been transported back in time.

  I wish my parents could see this. Even Mama would have to appreciate it.

  Margo uses the key to open the door. “There really is no need for you to lock it while you are here, but should you choose to, it is here.” She hangs it from a hook just inside the door. “What do you think?”

  In the far corner is a massive four-poster bed framed by pale blue and white toile curtains. The draperies match the wallpaper that covers the entire room everywhere except the enormous white plaster fireplace. A stylish but not entirely comfortable looking blue settee sits on a rug, centered on that fireplace. Above us, an intricate pattern of beams and moldings decorate the ceiling.

  To my left, is a bay of glass.