And right now, he could continue eavesdropping on their answers to her questions about the glaciers.
“Your bad luck,” Shaun said. “So, bro, you’re drinking beer tonight?” He elbowed Patrick gently in the ribs as they reached the bar. “I thought you were on the wagon.” Of course, Shaun knew what was what. A few hours earlier, with Shaun keeping watch nearby, Patrick had drunk some of the highly classified and extremely potent Alpha Force elixir.
Combined with an artificial light he traveled with, the elixir allowed beings like him to shapeshift at will, not just under the full moon. Plus, it ensured that he kept all his human awareness and thinking abilities. Invaluable.
It had all but worn off now, but major alcohol consumption so close to that elixir wasn’t a great idea.
Still, a bottle of beer could be nursed for a while. And part of Patrick’s cover was to act like the itinerant drifter he was supposed to be. Someone in his position wouldn’t hesitate to have a beer. Or two.
And maybe get a little outspoken as a result…
“Aw, leave him alone,” Wes said. He had no knowledge of what Patrick really was. To him, Patrick was to be treated mostly as another hired musher, despite being on an undisclosed military mission.
Major Drew Connell had been right. Patrick did have a great cover here. He liked working for Wes and his dad, Toby. Even more, he enjoyed working with dogs and had brought his own—well, his cover dog, since theoretically Duke, one hell of a great shepherd-wolfhound mix and trained as a scent and security dog, belonged to Uncle Sam.
Once they had their beers, the guys elbowed their way from the bar again, Shaun in the lead. He was a good guy whose hobby happened to be wrestling, and he had the beefy, muscular physique of a winner.
They stopped at the edge of the crowd. Patrick took a stiff drink while pretending to look for an empty table—a useless task in this mass of people.
Instead, he was still listening. His senses, while he was in human form, were nearly as good as while he was wolfen, especially this soon after he’d changed. Despite the clinkety-clink piano music, the irritating yet soft sound of people stepping on peanut shells, the off-key singing, all the other background noise, he heard everything being said at Mariah’s table. Nothing especially useful yet, but he would continue to listen. And to keep an eye on her. Not a hardship.
It grew easier to hear when the music stopped. He glanced toward the piano and saw that the other woman from the table, Carrie Thaxton—daughter of the man who was Patrick’s objective tonight—approached the musician, handed him a tip. “Play ‘Jingle Bells’ for me,” she said.
“Gladly.” Soon an enthusiastic rendition of that song reverberated throughout the bar, sung not only by the pianist but by patrons in various stages of inebriation.
Great. This way, Patrick wouldn’t learn anything much since conversations wouldn’t flourish.
But he had an idea. As soon as the song was over, he picked up his beer bottle and went to the pianist himself.
The piano was an upright that had seen better days. Its light wood was scuffed. But it sounded all right. “Hey, your music is great,” he said to the guy who sat there. “I’m Patrick Worley. I’m new around here, work at the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch. What’s your name?”
“Andy Lemon.” He was pale, maybe late forties, and obviously pretty nearsighted, judging by the thickness of his small, black-framed glasses.
“You been playing here long?” Patrick asked.
“Not very, but it’s a great place.”
“Sure is. And right now, Andy Lemon, I’d love for you to play some nice, soft, romantic songs for the next ten minutes.” Patrick whipped out a twenty-dollar bill in emphasis. “There’s a woman here I really want to get to know, and I’d like to put her in the mood to get to know me, too. Okay?” He nudged the guy, who grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth.
“You got it, Patrick. Good luck.” He played a few melodic riffs, then began a schmaltzy, low instrumental rendition of Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Motioning for Shaun and Wes to follow, Patrick approached the table where Mariah Garver sat with Emil Charteris and his family members.
“Hi,” he said, looking down at her. “Mind if we join you?”
“There’s not a lot of room,” she said, “but if you can find some chairs…” She looked around at the others she sat with, and none, fortunately, objected.
Shaun and Wes had already fulfilled the assignment she’d given, although Patrick wouldn’t ask how they’d managed to liberate three chairs so quickly. Soon, they were all seated at the table.
“This is Patrick Worley,” Mariah said, introducing him to the others. Lord, did she make him feel warm and uncomfortable in his sweater and jeans, just by looking at him with her luscious, luminous—and incisive—blue eyes. “Dr. Emil Charteris and the Thaxtons. I’m interviewing them for the article for Alaskan Nature Magazine I’m writing—the one I also need the dogsled ride for as research.” She explained the scientific backgrounds of the three scientists.
Patrick in turn, introduced Mariah and her friends to his dogsled ranch companions.
“So what’s the scoop about the glaciers?” Patrick hoped his tone sounded entirely conversational. His ploy to finally talk to Emil Charteris seemed to be working, even though these people generally kept to themselves. “We got here only recently, Shaun and I, but from what we heard we may not be able to take people out on dogsled rides much longer, the way they’re melting.”
“Wish I knew what to tell you,” Emil Charteris said. “But that’s part of why we’re here—to see if there’s something even worse going on than global warming, which is usually bad enough.”
“I’m most concerned about how this trend may harm the wildlife around here,” Mariah said. “That’s Jeremy’s expertise.”
Patrick’s interest was focused almost entirely on the glaciers, not the wildlife. Still, he found himself listening to Mariah’s melodic voice, inhaling the surprisingly spicy scent she wore considering her down-to-earth demeanor…. Hell, he had to stop this. He had come over here hoping for information helpful to his investigation, and she was turning the discussion in a different direction.
“Do you know, Mariah said she saw a wolf on top of Kaley Glacier right after it calved?” interjected Carrie Thaxton. She gave Patrick the impression she didn’t like anyone else to be the center of attention, especially another woman. “I think that’s wild, don’t you?”
“Wolves do tend to be wild,” her husband said drily. The look Jeremy gave his wife was both condescending and caring. His scent suggested he used a lot of antiseptic hand cleanser.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She gave him a gentle shove.
“One interesting thing about the wolf was that it appeared to be alone,” Mariah said. Patrick had the impression she was trying to keep the peace at the table as much as get the discussion back on the topic of her interest.
“They’re usually pack animals, of course,” Jeremy confirmed, “but you only glimpsed that one. Could be the rest of his pack was somewhere you couldn’t see from the water.”
“We’ll check that out tomorrow when we take the dogsled onto the glaciers, right, Patrick?” Mariah asked.
She sounded so enthusiastic that he could do little but agree with her. “Absolutely,” he said.
Mariah wasn’t sure how much she should look forward to her outing with Patrick Worley. He would be a real distraction to her research, if she weren’t careful. He was tall. Broad shouldered beneath his blue sweater—good thing he’d taken off the jacket that obscured that delicious view. Sharp, handsome features etched into a long face.
And why had he sat down here? She’d had the initial impression he wasn’t happy to see her.
“How’s your salmon?” Thea Fiske had come over to the table, bringing a basket of fresh rolls.
“A little dry,” Carrie said. “Otherwise, it’s okay.”
“No
t just okay,” Mariah contradicted after noticing Thea’s hurt look. “Mine’s delicious.”
Their hostess gave her a broad grin, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Hey, those mushers—they’re good company on cold Alaskan nights, honey. And that new guy, Patrick—looks like he wants to get to know you. I can tell.”
Mariah felt herself flush. “I doubt it,” she responded softly right back. “And if so, he can hope all he wants.”
Thea just straightened and winked. Which only made Mariah feel all the more uncomfortable—especially since, when she glanced again at Patrick, he was watching her. She had the unnerving impression that he knew exactly what Thea had said.
But his attention wasn’t entirely focused on her. Unlike his two friends, engaged in a muted conversation together, Patrick seemed interested in her companions at the table.
“So tell me your theory so far on the melting of the glaciers, Emil,” he said to Dr. Charteris, who had just taken the last bite of his meal.
“Still working on it,” he said.
“Of course,” Patrick agreed. “But—”
“We’ve got a big day tomorrow, Dad,” Carrie Thaxton interrupted. “You finished eating? We’d better run.”
Her husband was still chewing, but Emil agreed with Carrie and motioned toward Thea for the check.
“Oh, no, this is on me,” Mariah said. “I appreciate your talking to me, and hope I can schedule another interview with you soon—maybe after I’ve gotten my dogsled ride on the glaciers and had a chance to observe any wildlife on the ice. Okay?”
“Of course,” Emil said. “Anytime.”
Mariah had the impression that his daughter and son-in-law were less enthused by the idea, but neither objected. Of course, she’d have to see if they’d actually agree on a time and place for a follow-up interview.
Thea Fiske came over with the bill, and Mariah pulled out her credit card.
“See you soon,” Mariah said as Emil and the others left. She turned back toward those remaining at the table to find Patrick watching Emil and his family wend their way through the crowd. There was an expression on Patrick’s face that she couldn’t quite understand—as if he was angry at their departure.
He must have sensed she was watching. He turned back toward her and smiled. “Dessert? Something else to drink? My treat.”
She was getting tired. And a bit uncomfortable after Thea’s observation and her own much too substantial interest in Patrick. He was not her type—no matter how sexy he was. After past bad experience, she had no interest in men who weren’t focused on genuine careers. Stable.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll be leaving now, too. See you around, everyone. And, Patrick, I’ll definitely see you at the dogsled ranch tomorrow for my ride.”
“I was just thinking of heading out, too,” he said. “I’ll walk with you.”
Not a good idea, Mariah thought, but didn’t immediately come up with a tactful way to tell him to get lost.
She didn’t need to be tactful with him, she realized. Even so, she didn’t want to tell him to stay away—not if she wanted him to remain available for her dogsled ride.
“You up for another beer?” Shaun said to Wes. He nodded, and they stood. She wasn’t even going to get the comfort of having a crowd come along as she left.
She rose. “Why don’t you join your friends?” she asked Patrick.
“I’ve had enough.” He helped her maneuver through the crowd to the door, and walked outside with her.
In a moment, he looked down at her in the light from the streetlamp. The shivers that swept up and down her spine like the fingers of the musician on the piano inside were not entirely from the chilliness of the night air.
Something in Patrick’s light brown eyes looked…well, feral—but most definitely sensual.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“Oh, just down the street, but no need to—”
“I’ll walk you there,” he said.
Opening her mouth to protest, she was amazed to hear herself say, “I’d enjoy the company.”
Chapter 3
The sounds of bar conversation accented by piano music receded quickly into the background as Mariah walked beside Patrick along the sidewalk toward her B and B. In the chilly late fall air in this small Alaskan town, there were few night sounds—a car or two driving by, the buzz from other gathering places—and her concentration was engulfed by Patrick’s presence.
Despite her heavy jacket and boots lined in faux fur, she felt the cold and wondered briefly what it would be like to walk closer to Patrick, sharing his warmth.
And nearly laughed aloud at her foolishness.
Especially since the silence between them seemed to expand exponentially. Why had she agreed to allow him to accompany her at all?
“So you live in Juneau?” he asked, obviously attempting to relieve the strained discomfort.
“That’s right.” For the same reason, she kept talking. She briefly explained her background: growing up in Chicago, a degree from Purdue in Natural Resources and Environmental Science. A love of wildlife enhanced by working summers at a state park.
No need to go into more personal history, like coming from a wealthy family that lost it all by risky—and worse—investments in bad economic times. Or how that affected a recent relationship she had briefly and painfully thought to be true love.
Nor would she mention her last job writing incisive articles on people, not animals—sometimes amounting to near sensationalism. That was in the past.
“A job as a staff writer for Alaskan Nature Magazine is a dream come true,” she finished. “There’s no place else in the U.S. with so much unique wildlife in an unexplored and pristine habitat. And how about you? How did you decide to work on a dogsled ranch?”
His turn to break the silence.
“I needed a different direction for my life, and Alaska seemed like a good place to start.”
She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. All she heard was the sound of their footsteps crunching on the salt strewn on the sidewalks to melt ice. Their way along the town’s main street, Tagoga Avenue, was illuminated by the occasional streetlight as they walked by closed businesses that sold everything from the heavy clothing needed for the upcoming winter, to hunting gear—which made Mariah shiver. She was not a vegetarian, but her love of wildlife caused her to cringe at the thought of killing the beautiful and majestic creatures in Alaska’s wilderness. As a resident of this glorious state, though, she had come to terms with it, as long as hunting was done for food and not simply for trophies or fur. And the culling of predatory animals like wolves to protect game, like caribou—not something she could buy into.
The silence grew uncomfortable again. Mariah wondered why Patrick wasn’t saying more about his background, especially after all she had spewed out to him about herself.
Was he hiding something?
She was a magazine writer, not an investigative journalist—or even a paparazzo—now, but she still enjoyed tossing controversy into her stories where appropriate. She reveled in her curiosity and cultivated the knack of prying out of people details of their interest in, and treatment of, wildlife—good and bad.
She wasn’t about to allow Patrick to get away with his reticence.
“So what did you do before that required a change?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“This and that.” Hearing amusement in his voice, she looked up to find him smiling at her. And what a smile. Despite the wary ruefulness she read in it and his body language—hands stuffed stiffly into the pockets at the side of his rustic jacket—the guy was gorgeous. Sexy.
Intriguing.
She wanted to know more. A lot more.
But they had just turned the corner onto Kaley Street. Her B and B was on this block, and Patrick apparently knew that. He picked up his pace. “What this and what that?” She tried to make her demand sound like idle chitchat, but she wanted answers.
<
br /> “Isn’t this where you’re staying?” Patrick had stopped in front of a three-story redbrick building that was, in fact, Mariah’s B and B—Inez’s Inn. A bright yellow light illuminated the large, closed white door with a stylized, smiling moose face hung at the top.
“Well, yes,” she said. “But I’d really like to know—”
Before she could insist any further, he leaned down. Grasped her arms.
And lowered his face toward hers.
Quite unexpectedly, the thought that crossed her mind earlier, sharing his warmth, turned into reality as he melded his body against hers. He covered her lips with his, expertly insisting on her kissing him back. His kiss was fiery in the briskness of the surrounding air, his tongue searching, suggestive of even more sensual delights.
She shivered, leaning against him, her body suddenly and sensitively primed for more.
A sound of voices erupted from inside the building, and in moments Patrick stood several feet away. He looked bemused, then another expression—anger?—washed over his face.
He looked into her eyes almost challengingly. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Garver.”
He strode away into the night as the door opened behind her.
It was ten o’clock the next morning. The time Mariah Garver was scheduled to appear at Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.
Toby Dawes was off to his meeting in Nome. Wes was out with the tour group. Most of the ranch’s other employees were also already hosting tourists, except for Shaun.
Patrick stood inside the main house, keeping an eye on the antics of the dogs in the fenced-in area below, including his own dog, Duke.
Mostly, he watched the driveway, certain Mariah wouldn’t appear. He hoped fervently that he’d chased her away with that kiss last night, not that it had been his intention at the time.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what he had intended. Oh, sure, he’d wanted to keep her from asking more questions about his background. He had a cover story, of course—one that Shaun and he had developed, with input from others on Alpha Force. Wes Dawes, with his military background, knew one version—some unspecified covert assignment. But the rest of the world was to be fed quite a different story.
Alaskan Wolf Page 3
