Her steps were firm, and her heart beat fast with excitement, fresh mountain air cleared the cobwebs from her mind. The gravel and earth under her feet rolled and crunched as the road narrowed to a rutted path through the trees.
Joey had never felt quite so aware of the wilderness as she did now. The rich scent of the trees was delicious, birdsong seemed sweeter than any man-made music. The contentment she felt seemed to have no logical source, but for once she didn't ask for logical explanations
By the time she'd been walking for several hours, Joey was beginning to feel less elated than tired. She'd determined to hold out until she reached the lake, just beyond the halfway point of her journey, according to the map, she should be close. Her stomach was rumbling with a reminder that strenuous physical activity required plenty of fuel, and for once she was more than happy to comply with its demands.
The first glimpse of water brought Joey to a halt where the path curved to begin its passage around the lake Lac du Loup—Wolf Lake. Considering how many times the subject of wolves had come up over the past few weeks, Joey wasn't surprised.
In the past Joey had considered one wilderness lake very like another, but for some reason she found herself regarding this one with considerably more appreciation.
The noon sunshine sparkled like diamonds on the pristine blue surface, Joey had no doubt that the old cliché was completely appropriate. It was a large lake, and the far shore was no more than a greenish-brown haze of distant trees, flanked by the ubiquitous mountains.
Somewhere beyond the other side lay her goal, Luke's cabin. Joey squinted as if she would somehow be able to make it out, and then gave up in favor of searching for a good spot for a picnic lunch.
She wandered some distance along the lake shore before she found just the right place. The trees came nearly down to the waters edge, shielding the lake from the path. A number of large, flat rocks provided an excellent site for laying out her lunch and basking in the sun.
With a groan of satisfaction, Joey eased herself down onto one of the rocks and shrugged off her knapsack. A quick search of the contents revealed her sandwiches, only slightly squished and still edible. In fact, at the moment they looked like a banquet.
She was so lost in appreciation of her meal, and of the absolute peace of the lake, that the sudden intrusion of raucous noise came as a considerably unwelcome shock. Freezing in midbite, Joey held perfectly still and listened.
Voices—there could be no doubt of it—male voices. Quite a number of them, making no attempt at subtlety. She could not make out words, but the tone was enough to alert her.
Joey had no reason to believe the voices meant harm. But she found herself finishing the last of the sandwich and quickly packing away the remainder of her meal, tense with the awareness of how alone she was—and how isolated.
She had just stood up to pull on her knapsack when one of the owners of the voices put in an appearance. He was young—probably younger than she was, in his early twenties—and he was clutching a large bottle of beer in one hand as he plunged out of the trees. His hoarse, slurred voice called something unintelligible to his companions, Joey took an involuntary step back, her mind already on possible routes for escape. But she held her ground, refusing to give in to ridiculous and unfounded fears.
Those fears seemed a little more justified when the rest of the voices joined the first. There were five or six of them, young men in torn jeans and T-shirts, all carrying bottles that suggested an obvious reason for their loud conduct. She recognized a few almost immediately, a couple were regulars at Maggie's bar—so regular, in fact, that only now did she realize that in all probability they didn't have jobs. Employment wasn't easy to come by in Lovell. But that seemed small comfort as, one by one, the men focused on Joey where she stood, alone, at the edge of the lake. She stepped back again and felt water lapping at her heels.
There was a long moment of silence as the men regarded her. Some of them seemed far gone in inebriation, but one or two were still sober enough to fix on her in a way that she didn't like. She held quite still in the faint hope that, somehow, they would decide to be gentlemen and leave her alone.
Her hopes were short-lived. One of the more sober ones, a blond-haired man with watery blue eyes, made an unsubtle remark. Joey heard enough of it that she could not quite suppress a blush, one of the other men laughed. A third followed up with a comment that was unmistakably lewd. Joey set down the knapsack carefully.
"Well, what have we got here? If it ain't the pretty American girl," the first man said appraisingly. He looked her up and down and leered "Ain't we lucky to have her visit us."
There was a chorus of agreement from the other men, who moved forward in a ragged clump Joey's eyes slid about in assessment. This was not going to be easy.
"Ah, she don't look very friendly, Billy," the lewd man slurred. "Kinda stuck-up, if you ask me."
"Yeah, she's not very nice, is she?" complained a third. There was general grumbling. Joey tried to convince herself there was no threat in the sound, and failed. "But you know these American-beauty types. Think they're God's gift and all."
One of the men made a suggestion about what kind of gift he'd like to have from Joey. The lewd man giggled. Joey decided she'd either have to make a run for it or try to take control of the situation. The latter had always been her preferred method, even with men—especially with men.
She kept her face serene and her voice level as she said, "I don't want to spoil your fun, guys. I'm just doing a bit of hiking, and they're expecting me back at the lodge in a few hours. So, if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way."
The men looked at each other. For a moment she thought the calm rationality of her voice might have gotten through to them, then one of the men guffawed.
"Ah, if they don't expect you back yet, you've got plenty of time."
"Yeah, we need a little 'feminine company'. You won't be spoiling our fun at all."
"That's right You wouldn't mind partying a little with us, would you, 'Ms Randall'? Just to be friendly?"
Joey listened to the chorus of comments and held back a shudder. "I'm sure you gentlemen understand, but I really have to be going. Maybe some other time."
"Gentlemen! Well, I like the sound of that!" the blond man, Billy, commented with a broad gesture ."Too bad there aren't any here, huh?"
This elicited more laughter, and Joey knew no amount of "reasoning" was going to get her a reprieve from whatever this bunch had in mind. Or would soon figure out.
As if on an unspoken cue, the men began moving toward her again, though one or two showed a little reluctance that might have been hopeful if there hadn't been just enough of them to encourage a mob mentality. Joey saw that they had fanned out in a pattern that would block an escape to the left or right, and that left one direction—back, into the lake. She was considering how best to jump for it when Billy plunged forward. She staggered back, but he caught her arm and held her poised with one foot in water and the other still on dry land.
Joey put all her strength into trying to free her arm, but the man seemed determined to keep it. He chuckled and leaned over to pull her out of the water, his breath hot and foul on her face.
"Not so fast, city girl. Not very friendly at all, are you?" His watery eyes raked over her at close range, lingering on the front of her shirt. "But you sure are pretty. Very nice. Huh, boys?"
There was a chorus of agreement, and Billy tugged her back. Joey dug in her heels and resisted. With his free hand he grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled. Buttons popped free, and Billy was sufficiently distracted by what was revealed that he lost his momentum. His hand moved down to grab at her chest.
That was all the motive and opening Joey needed. She brought every bit of self-defense she had ever learned into play and threw her weight against Billy, using him for support as she brought her knee up against his groin. His reaction was instantaneous and very satisfying. With a grunt of agony he doubled over and dropped his ho
ld on Joey. She was ready. While he struggled to right himself, she plunged backward into the lake. Joey was a strong swimmer, and she'd hoped to get a good lead on her tormentors. Floundering through the warm shallows, she made for deeper water, but even over her splashing she could hear pursuit. Her boots dragged her down, but she didn't dare to take the time to remove them. Water soaked through her jeans, slowing her further.
With a final burst of despairing energy, Joey dived forward as the lake bottom dropped out from under her feet. Too late Something caught at her ankle, she tried to kick it free, but it clung stubbornly, and a moment later Billy's head emerged from the water. Joey didn't have to see his expression under the dripping blond hair.
She struggled fiercely as he clawed at her, winding his hands in her waterlogged clothing and catching her braid. She heard herself screaming in rage—a rage that totally eclipsed fear—and it took several violent moments before she realized the cries she heard were not hers alone.
Her captor realized it at the same moment. He froze, and Joey tensed for escape. But it soon became clear that Billy's attention was no longer on her. She followed his gaze back to the shore as his grip loosened and his mouth dropped open in shock.
There was motion at the lake's edge, frantic motion, signs of struggle and cries of anger and pain. The distance was too great for Joey to make out the words, but it was very clear that something had happened to distract her friends on shore—and Billy as well. She kicked free of him and swam a few yards away, but he did not pursue. He threw one threatening glance back at her, cursed viciously, and plunged back for shore.
Joey's heart was pounding with fatigue and reaction, she watched him go and stared beyond to the disturbance among the trees. Over the lapping of water she could hear the yelling, could see the movement of men running to and fro—and, suddenly, a pale, low shape among the darker forms. Joey blinked water from her eyes. She had seen that shape often enough to recognize it for what it was.
Catching her breath and gathering composure, Joey waited while, incredibly, the men on shore fled back into the woods the way they had come, pursued by a swift gray shadow. Their cries receded, and as silence settled back over the lake, Joey prepared to head back. Men or no men—wolf or no wolf—she couldn't expect to swim in place much longer.
By the time she had dragged herself up on the shore, only discarded bottles and scattered footprints marked the erstwhile presence of her unwelcome suitors. For a moment she sat, shivering, on one of the rocks and stared off into the woods. No human clamor came to her ears, the men were long gone. Joey closed her eyes and gave silent thanks to her unexpected savior.
She forced herself to her feet after a brief rest and began to search for her knapsack. It was not where she had left it; she found an apple core near the rocks and one of the bags in which her lunch and snacks had been wrapped, a little farther on, in a clump of bushes, she discovered her jacket and her empty pack.
With a frustrated sigh, Joey returned to the rock. At least it was early afternoon, not night, even so, it was going to be an uncomfortable walk back to town. Her boots were leaden weights, so she took them off and set them out, with her socks, to dry a little. The sun was still warm enough to keep the chill away from her wet body, the jacket, at least, was dry if a bit the worse for wear.
Her map was gone along with the few pieces of equipment she'd carried. Though she might have continued on by memory, she had no intention of showing up at Luke's cabin looking—and feeling—like a drowned rat. With an angry growl Joey pounded her fist against the rock so hard that it stung.
When the wolf appeared a few feet away, she almost didn't see it. It was a shadow among shadows, a little paler but unobtrusive, part of the landscape. Her wolf. The wolf that she had seen that day on the hillside. Perhaps the same one who had shown up at her window the night of her first dream of Luke. Her unexpected savior.
Joey wished she had something to give it, some way to thank it. As it gazed at her from the cover of the brush, she met its pale eyes and smiled in spite of herself.
"Well, wolf. We meet again .
It cocked its head and lolled its tongue in an expression ridiculously like a grin.
"Looks like I have you to thank for saving me from those roughnecks. I only wish I had some way to repay..."
She broke off when she realized she was talking to empty air. With a shrug, she slid down to the ground and made a makeshift nest against the rock with her jacket. Strange that she felt almost safe knowing the wolf might be near. Secure enough to relax for just a few moments.
Joey woke with a start. The sun had dipped to the west, and shadows stretched across the beach, hinting at the coming of evening. Her clothes and shoes were nearly dry, and she knew she'd have to get moving, she would be lucky to make it home before dark. The thought of being out here at night, alone, was motivation enough to pull her up with a groan and contemplate pulling damp boots over stiff socks.
While she tugged them on, she gazed out over the peaceful waters of the lake. How still it seemed, how unlike those men. She froze in midthought. The water was not quite so still after all. There was something breaking the surface in long, regular strokes, cutting across the lake from the east. It didn't take long for Joey to determine that the form was human, a pale shape against azure. Her heart began to pound again, she searched for an object, any object, that might serve as a weapon.
She was considering a smallish rock as a last resort when the figure rose up in the shallows lapping against the beach. A dark head appeared, then broad shoulders, gleaming with rivulets of water. The lake fell away from a distinctly masculine torso, revealed a muscular belly and Joey blinked. Long legs, quite as bare as the rest of him, strode onto shore.
Joey did not need much time to recognize him. What a strange and unfortunate coincidence, she thought as she wrapped her arms tightly about her chest.
It was Luke Gévaudan.
If Luke was the least bit concerned over his undressed state, he did not reveal it in the bold way he marched up the beach. To the contrary, Joey thought in some chagrin, he seemed totally unaware of the effect he was having on her. She could feel the slow flood tide of heat rising over neck and face as he stopped to look down at her from his imposing height.
Hugging herself even more tightly and shivering with far more than the late-afternoon chill, Joey tried to keep her eyes turned away. Her efforts were not successful. They kept straying, quite against her will, to the muscular legs at eye level calves and shins with their masculine dusting of hair, sturdy knees and corded thighs, and higher still. Joey used every last shred of willpower to keep from staring at that very prominent part of him. It was rather difficult to ignore, as Lukes state suggested he was very much aware of her after all. His total lack of modesty made her own discomfort—and attendant resentment—all the more acute.
With a deliberate façade of nonchalance, Joey allowed her eyes to slide up, linger half-unwillingly on the bunched muscles of his rock-hard belly, and take in the powerful chest and shoulders. Naked, he didn't really look much different than she had expected, what she hadn't expected was that she'd be seeing him this way in the middle of the forest, or that he would make her feel both helpless and incredibly amazingly ravenous. For him. And not just because she needed his help.
Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Joey grabbed control of her raging hormones and allowed her eyes to meet his at last. He had been gazing at her the entire time, unmoving, whatever he thought of her examination of his well-displayed body was not revealed in his pale eyes. They were, in fact, as bleak and hard as she had ever seen them. There was no sign of any desire to seduce her, no will to continue the pursuit he had so suddenly broken off several days before. His expression, in fact, was coldly threatening, and Joey felt herself shiver for yet a third cause.
"You're trespassing on my land," he said, so softly it came out as a growl from the depths of his chest.
So shocked was Joey at this greeting that she momentaril
y lost the power of speech. Then the heat rose in her face again, this time a heat of outrage and emotions pushed to their limit.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr Gévaudan . She bunched hands into fists under her arms where they folded tight against her chest. "It just so happens I had wondered what had happened to you. When you didn't come back to town." She cut off that line of explanation with an angry toss of her head. "The fact is, you had a lot more trespassers than just me. And right now I'm a little cold and tired, and I would like nothing better than to get off your land as quickly as possible." She debated making her point clear by getting up and starting back for town then and there, but something in his eyes held her in place.
"I heard noise on this side of the lake, and came to see what was going on," Luke offered softly. Some of the threatening harshness of his voice was gone, though his expression remained taut and cold. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Joey considered saying nothing just to annoy him, she didn't care for the casual way he commanded her. But she found herself telling him anyway—everything that had happened since she'd arrived at the lake. As she described her confrontation with the town roughnecks, he listened intently, when she told him the gist of what the men had said to her, how they had made their intentions clear, his already icy expression took on a remote savagery that made Joey falter. She could almost see his upper lip curl in a soundless snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Wondering at the sudden alteration, Joey trailed off to silence. His eyes, which had taken on a distant expression not focused on her at all, sought hers again. "Go on," he ordered Joey found herself grateful that the rage she sensed just under the surface of his toneless voice was not aimed at her.
"The wolf saved me," she concluded. "The same wolf, I think, that I met a couple of weeks ago." She paused to swallow and observe Luke's reaction, half-expecting disbelief or derision. But he merely stared unblinkingly at her, as if she had commented on the weather. "I don't know what else to think about it. The wolf appeared and apparently chased all of the men away. After I swam back to shore, the wolf reappeared. It looked at me for a few minutes and then ran off. I haven't seen it since. And the men haven't been back."
PRINCE OF WOLVES Page 10
