From the Mists of Wolf Creek

by Rebecca Brandewyne

  “It’s all right. I understand. I’m just glad you’re all right, that you don’t think I was trying to hurt you or anything.” Trace paused. Then he continued. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but as I said, I can’t leave you locked inside the car. It’s got so hot outside now, that I don’t believe even cracking the windows would help. I still think you’d be dead in a matter of minutes.

  “Further, although I know Wolf Creek’s a small town and so has very little crime, I was also very much loath to leave you asleep with the car windows rolled down. Anyone might have snatched your purse, at the very least. I know some of the teenagers around here are from the wrong side of the tracks and so probably wouldn’t hesitate to resort to that.”

  “Yes, you’re no doubt right about that. Where’s Aunt Gwen?”

  “She’s already gone inside the bed-and-breakfast to collect her belongings. I told her we’d be along in a minute, once I’d woken you. She’ll need help with her baggage.”

  “Yes, I remember now. You said Lucy Bodine’s grandson wasn’t anywhere around. He’s the de facto bellboy, I take it.”

  Finally pulling herself together, Hallie unfastened her seat belt and picked up her purse, hesitating only when Trace offered his hand to assist her from the vehicle. As though well aware of her brief discomfiture, he flashed a sudden, sardonic—and, to her, wolfish—grin.

  “I assure you, Ms. Muldoon, I don’t bite,” he drawled.

  “Mr. Coltrane, I think perhaps you do,” she blurted thoughtlessly.

  Hearing that, Trace threw back his head and laughed heartily, while Hallie blushed furiously, thoroughly mortified at having said such a thing.

  “All right. I confess that under the right circumstances, I might be tempted to indulge in a nibble or two,” he told her, still grinning impudently. “But, somehow, the parking lot of Ms. Bodine’s bed-and-breakfast doesn’t exactly conjure the proper mood—especially with her peering through the front window at us!”

  “Good grief!” Hallie frowned, dismayed. “She must be as nosy as she is featherbrained! There’s one of the drawbacks to rural living, Mr. Coltrane. Everybody in town knows everyone’s else’s business. In big cities, nobody cares.”

  “That’s right. They don’t. You can be brutally murdered in broad daylight on a busy street, and people will simply step over your corpse to get wherever they’re going.”

  “Well, I suppose there is a grain of truth in that,” she conceded, giving him her hand at last, so he could her help from the car.

  Trace’s fingers, warm and strong, closed around her own, sending a sudden, unexpected wild tremor coursing through her as he pulled her from the vehicle to her feet. For a moment, she swayed against him giddily, inadvertently making contact with his broad, muscular chest. In that minute, it was as though lightning leaped between the two of them. His hand tightened on hers.

  “Steady…steady there, Ms. Muldoon.” He spoke, his voice low and husky. “I wouldn’t want you to trip and fall. I don’t think this gravel would be very good for those gorgeous long legs of yours.”

  “I wasn’t—I wasn’t aware you’d noticed my legs, Mr. Coltrane,” Hallie said, swallowing hard.

  “Believe me, Ms. Muldoon, I’ve noticed. I generally don’t miss much—particularly when there’s a damsel in distress involved.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Coltrane, I’m neither a damsel nor in distress.”

  “Aren’t you, Hallie? Well, we’ll see. And it’s Trace. As I told you before, I don’t hold with standing on formality.”

  “All right, then…Trace. Why don’t you go and help my great-aunt with her luggage? You see, I’ve always found it’s best not to mix business with pleasure, that there’s a definite line that ought to be firmly maintained between employer and employee.”

  At that, sighing ruefully, he reluctantly released her.

  “Well, I reckon I’ve got sense enough to know when I’ve been put in my place,” he observed, mockingly tipping his black Stetson hat to her. “Thank you so much, ma’am, for reminding me I’m only the hired help.”

  With that shot, he turned to swagger into the bed-and-breakfast, leaving Hallie to follow in his wake, her heart thumping far too fast in her breast.

  Dammit! She did not want to be attracted to Trace Coltrane!

  She had already made one dreadfully stupid mistake by marrying Richard Forsythe—who had ultimately proved to possess every single fault Great-Aunt Agatha had so direly predicted. Hallie certainly did not now wish to make another poor error in judgment, especially when she was just recovering from that initial heartbreak, bent on becoming her own woman again.

  That was one of the reasons why, upon her divorce, she had resumed her maiden name, Muldoon. She wanted no painful reminders of the past.

  Equally, she wanted no enticing promises of a future that might eventually prove just as disastrous.

  She was much older and wiser now, she hoped, than when she had first met Richard. And so, no matter how physically attractive Trace Coltrane might be, Hallie had sense enough to realize that a man who, by his own admission, was nothing more than a drifter was not the sort of stuff that ought to be considered prime marriage material.

  Had she wished to indulge in a summer fling, she had no doubt he would fit the bill just fine. But Hallie had never been one to engage in frivolous affairs for her own amusement. When she gave of herself to a man, it was honestly and wholeheartedly, and she was not willing to settle for anything less in return.

  Something told her that for all his apparent easygoing outlook on life, Trace Coltrane had erected barriers a mile high around his heart, and that these would not be easily demolished. She did not want to be the one to engage in the futile attempt.

  No, even though he had taken offense at her words, she was glad she had made the situation between them perfectly clear.

  After they had got Aunt Gwen and her baggage loaded into the car, they headed for the discount store, where Hallie succumbed to the elderly lady’s urging and purchased a sun hat. They did the bulk of their grocery shopping there, as well, then, on the way home, stopped in at the old corner market that had been a hallmark of Wolf Creek for as long as Hallie could remember.

  Much to her surprise, as they made their rounds, she realized the small town had not changed nearly as much as she had surmised it might have. The large grassy square at the heart of Wolf Creek still looked the same, as did the town hall and courthouse that bounded the green on two sides. Several old businesses had disappeared, of course, but new ones, including a cyber café, had sprung up to take their place.

  The entire while, Aunt Gwen chattered brightly, pointing out this and that as Trace drove through what eventually turned into rush-hour traffic—although, to Hallie, it seemed the streets were hardly crowded at all.

  “Now, that’s Kiley Ebersoll’s hair salon, Prime Cut, Hallie,” the older woman said. “She’s a real sight! She’s always got pink or blue or green hair, and she’s got so many holes pierced in her ears, I don’t know why she doesn’t just put one big one in her head and be done with it. Still, that’s where all the young women your age go to get their hair done—not that I hope you’re going to color yours bright burgundy or purple or any of these other unnatural shades so many young people these days seem so fond of, of course.”

  “No, I’m happy with what God gave me. Still, I’ll need to have my hair trimmed now and again. So it’s nice to know there’s somebody here in Wolf Creek who’ll be able to give me a good cut. Thanks, Aunt Gwen, I’ll remember that place.”

  The corner market was scarcely any different at all from how Hallie recalled it. It still boasted the same old gravel parking lot and faded gasoline pumps out front, a wide wooden porch punctuated with an assortment of battered chairs, rockers, a checkerboard and an ancient, bright red Coca-Cola machine, an ill-fitting screen door and, inside, a big, old-fashioned pickle barrel and rows of apothecary jars filled with hard candy.

  Hallie had used to come here with
Gram early in the mornings, to fetch rashers of bacon and plastic cartons of milk for breakfast. At the thought, memories of her grandmother beating batter for pancakes crept into her mind, and she felt her mouth water, suddenly wishing she had a stack a mile high, dripping with maple syrup and butter.

  For all its modern conveniences, the discount store could never compete with this old corner market, Hallie mused, with its narrow, cramped aisles and hodgepodge of stock seemingly crammed at random on the shelves. The corner market had time and personality on its side.

  “Hallie…oh, Hallie, dear, I want you to meet Jenna Overton.” Aunt Gwen interrupted her reverie. “I don’t know if you remember her from your childhood or not. She works for Judge Newcombe, over at the courthouse.”

  “No…no, I’m so sorry. I can’t say as I do,” Hallie replied as she turned to greet the woman politely. “I’m Hallie Muldoon. Were you a friend of my mother’s?”

  “Not a close friend, but we attended school together, of course, so I’d known her for many years before she died,” Jenna explained, gazing hard at Hallie in such a strange way that it began to make her feel uncomfortable. “Please forgive me for staring,” the woman went on, as though she had sensed Hallie’s sudden discomfiture. “You resemble her so very much that it’s almost like seeing a ghost!”

  “Oh, of course, I didn’t realize…I suppose I must initially have the same effect on people who knew my mother that Aunt Gwen had on me when I first saw her. She looks so much like Gram that for a moment, I mistook her for my dead grandmother.”

  “Yes, it really is a bit unnerving, isn’t it, to think you’re seeing someone you had thought long dead and buried?” With one plump hand, Jenna idly pushed her rather greasy, shoulder-length black hair back from her round, pudgy face. “Well, I need to get going. It was very nice meeting you, Hallie. Thank you for introducing us, Mrs. Lassiter. You ladies both have a nice day.”

  Clutching the sacks full of candy she carried, Jenna trundled through the crowded aisle toward the cash register up front, paying for her purchases, then exiting the corner market.

  “She’s such a queer duck,” Aunt Gwen remarked as they glanced after the departing woman. “Hennie used to say that’s what came of Jenna, having worked in that musty old courthouse since she was a practically a teenager, buried in reams of files, constantly at the beck and call of that pompous old goat Judge Newcombe!

  “And of course, because she’s apparently been heavy ever since she was young, all the children used to make a great deal of fun of her and of her last name, I understand, calling her ‘Over a ton’ instead of Overton, and other such unpleasant monikers. Kids can be so very cruel, you know.

  “As a result, I don’t think she’s really at all good with people to begin with, and I believe that seeing you really did give her quite a turn. As you know, I never met your mother. So I’ve only the pictures I’ve seen of her over the years to tell me how much you look like her, Hallie. I guess I should have realized it would be different for those persons who actually knew her.”

  “Yes, I’m certain it must be. Anyway, I didn’t think Ms. Overton was nearly as odd as some of the other people in town whom I’ve met today.”

  The elderly lady laughed.

  “That’s true. I suppose every small town has its own fair share of real characters. I know there are those in Wolf Creek who thought Hennie belonged in that category!”

  Hallie grinned.

  “Gram really was a character, Aunt Gwen—as well you know. Still, I know she derived a great deal of amusement from her own eccentricities. Half the time, I think she did things just to see how people would react.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  “As much as I hate to break up this little tête-à-tête—” Trace joined the two women in the aisle “—I’ve finished gassing up the Mini now. So we’re good to go whenever you’re ready.”

  “I think we’re just about ready now.” Hallie indicated her shopping basket, practically filled to overflowing. “So we’ll cash out and join you in the car.”

  “As you wish,” Trace said.

  “Don’t tell me—The Princess Bride?” she suggested impudently, smiling. “I take it you’ve seen that, as well as The Italian Job? Funny. You just don’t strike me as a moviegoing sort of man, Trace.”

  “Oh, I like a good film as well as the next person,” he drawled, his blue eyes gleaming in a way that, had she known him better, would instantly have put Hallie on her guard. “Maybe one of these nights, if you and Mrs. Lassiter would be interested, we can all take in a movie at the local cinema—my treat.”

  “Why, how very kind of you to offer, Trace!” Aunt Gwen cried, obviously as delighted as a child by the idea. “We’d enjoy that very much, wouldn’t we, Hallie?”

  “Yes…yes, of course,” Hallie had no choice but to reply, realizing then how deftly she had been maneuvered into an outing she would otherwise have refused on principle. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she hissed to Trace once Aunt Gwen had walked on toward the cash register up front. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear earlier.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Muldoon. You did.” He grinned at her in that cynical fashion that somehow reminded her eerily of the huge black wolf. “However, I was not under the impression that didn’t mean we couldn’t even be friends. And if you ask me, Hallie, you could badly use a friend right now—perhaps even more than you realize.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked a trifle defensively.

  “It means that as I told you earlier, I don’t usually miss much, and that for all the brave face you’ve put on everything, I think that deep down inside, you’re really rather a lost lamb at the moment…uprooted from some big city, transplanted to a small town you haven’t seen—maybe haven’t even thought of—in years, grieving for your dead grandmother, determined to tackle the farm that was her legacy to you and set it to rights. That’s a great deal for anyone to have on her plate. Under the circumstances, it would be quite natural to feel just a bit overwhelmed.”

  “I guess that I do,” Hallie reluctantly confessed. “And so I apologize if I’ve seemed, well…as—as prickly as a porcupine.”

  “There’s no one besides your great-aunt to whom you could turn for help? No Mr. Muldoon, for example?”

  “Muldoon’s my maiden name. And no, I’m not married—at least, not anymore—if that’s what you’re asking. How about you, Trace? Have you got a wife and kids someplace? Did they get to be too much for you, so you just upped and left, drifting on down the road?

  “That’s what my own father did, you know,” she continued, a faintly bitter note in her voice. “He simply packed his bags one day and disappeared, leaving behind a couple of scrawled lines to Mom that having a wife and baby wasn’t his cup of tea, after all. So I never even knew him, have no memories of him at all, merely images of a stranger in old photographs.”

  “That’s real tough on a kid, I know. But, no.” Trace shook his head. “I can’t count abandoning a family among my many sins. I’m footloose and fancy-free—and have been for many long years now.”

  “Not ever even been tempted to settle down?” Hallie queried lightly, hearing her earlier suspicions about him not being marriage material confirmed.

  “Oh, once or twice, I suppose. But somehow things just never seemed to work out quite the way I hoped and planned. In the end, I was never the right man, or she was never the right woman, or it was simply never the right time or place.”

  “Hey, you two,” Aunt Gwen called, interrupting their dialogue. “I thought you were ready to go. Are you just going to stand there gabbing all afternoon, or are you coming? I don’t know about you, but I’ve been up since early this morning, so I could really do with some lunch right about now. I figured we could have the rest of that fried chicken and the cold salads I made for your supper last night, Hallie.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Aunt Gwen, and yes, we’ll be right there,” Hallie said. Then
, turning back to Trace, she went on.

  “Remind me when we go home to have you take a look at the power. There hasn’t been any at the farmhouse since the thunderstorm last evening, and Aunt Gwen assures me it was never turned off after my grandmother died. She thinks maybe a fuse has been blown or something. I forgot to check it out myself earlier, and I’m not sure whether the house still has one of those old fuse boxes, either…you know, with the kind of fuses that have to be replaced by hand.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get it fixed first thing,” Trace assured her.

  Then, after Hallie had paid for her purchases, they returned to the car and headed toward Meadowsweet.

  Chapter 8

  Of Pickles and Pantries

  O n the way home Hallie thought she glimpsed the great black wolf racing amid the tall rows of corn once more. But because she could not be sure, she made no comment to either Aunt Gwen or Trace, not wishing to alarm the former and somehow certain the latter would only favor her with some insolent look or remark.

  After all, it was not as though one ought not to expect to see wolves now and then around their namesake, Wolf Creek.

  Still, normally, they were animals who ran in packs, so it was exceedingly rare to spy one on its own, without its mate, cubs or other companions. She wondered why it was alone. Given its obvious size and strength, she thought it was unlikely it had been driven from its pack, as young males who sought to challenge the dominant male generally were. So it must have left of its own accord.

  Or perhaps, as anomalous as the idea seemed to her, it had never been part of a pack at all, had always been on its own—footloose and fancy-free.

  As that thought occurred to her, Hallie glanced covertly from beneath her lashes at Trace, firmly ensconced in the driver’s seat, his hands strong and sure upon the steering wheel. She still could not shake the notion that he and the wolf had too much in common, right down to their scarred left cheeks, for it to be mere coincidence.