Desert Wolf

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “If you only knew,” Grant muttered, parking near the old saloon, where he was greeted by Shirleen and two other packmates holding hammers.

  “Nearly done,” Shirleen announced. “If no one pokes their noses too far into where they don’t belong, we should be fine.”

  Grant nodded, but his mind was distant. The hairs were rising on his arms again. His cell phone was ringing.

  “Yeah, Steffan?” he said, answering.

  After listening to the local sheriff’s brief message, he stared at the truck, already fishing in his pocket for his keys.

  “Breakin at the motel. The manager was missing,” he explained to the others.

  And this, he realized, was too damn close to being a complete farce when it came to the theory of coincidences. He had to get Paxton out of there.

  When he looked up from inside the truck, Shirleen was at the window. “I’ll come along,” she said.

  Grant didn’t have time to mull over the benefit of having company. The local sheriff had given him a heads-up and was on his way to the motel. Steffan was a loyal pack member and had sensed the possibility of trouble that lay beyond the scope of other law enforcement officials, given the strange events that had been going on recently in this desert. The pack knew it took a werewolf to deal with a werewolf. In this case, however, if that bastard was as big as the dents on Paxton’s car, it might take four or five.

  Before he could reply to Shirleen, she was in the passenger seat and speaking. “My talents don’t include hammers, so I’m not much use here.”

  He didn’t argue. Chances were that Paxton might respond better to the presence of another female if the motel was no longer safe and they had to relocate her.

  Was that the case?

  He had to wonder how comfortable Paxton would be as his guest for the night at the ranch where she grew up. Just the two of them under one roof, with the added bonus of a couple of Weres coming and going.

  “I’m pretty sure Paxton is going to argue her way out of an invitation after what almost happened in that motel room,” he said, not stopping to explain to Shirleen about that motel room. “Steffan said she made the call,” he added. Which meant she was all right, for now, and that Steffan would be there in minutes after a call like that.

  Tires spun in the dirt as he backed the truck up and turned toward the road. Chills were climbing his spine with a sensation similar to the prelude to shape-shifting. One lone claw popped on the steering wheel, which he quickly reabsorbed as he fixed his attention on the dark stretch of road between Desperado and the highway. He couldn’t seem to shake off his nervousness and was stuck in a dangerous loop of thoughts.

  “She can stay with me,” Shirleen said, eyeing his hands.

  “With you and Ben getting down and dirty in the next room?”

  That was as close as Grant could get in an attempt to somewhat lighten the mood and ease his own tension, but no one was fooled.

  “I see your point,” Shirleen said.

  Miles flew by. With Steffan the only lawman on duty tonight, there was no one to slow this truck’s speed. Still, it took ten minutes of pushing ninety to reach the motel.

  He saw Paxton before getting out of the truck. She was standing beside Steffan, looking wan. Other motel guests were there, too. Families. Maybe six people, in all.

  Paxton’s gaze found him immediately. Her expression made Grant’s previous chills seem like child’s play. She wasn’t swaying or shaking. Two scares in one night, and Paxton Hall stood her ground, showing grit.

  “I like her,” Shirleen announced as she got out of the truck. “Don’t ask me why.”

  “So do I,” Grant muttered, striding toward the lobby. “So the hell do I.”

  Paxton didn’t rush to meet him. She didn’t take a single step. All the same, Grant felt the extent of her relief to see him. She was glad he had come back. Her beautiful face lost some of its tightness as he got closer to her. Lips he had kissed parted slightly, as if she was about to speak.

  He stared at her mouth, recalling how those kisses had sent them both over the top in terms of temporarily forgetting their differences. He thought about taking her into his arms now.

  When their gazes connected, the same thing happened to him that had happened in the café parking lot. Time seemed to stop. They seemed to be the only two beings at this scene. The only two who mattered.

  Surprised by the sensations slamming into him, Grant hesitated. Paxton was assessing him. Her long lashes hid her eyes only briefly before her amber gaze again met his. Heat replaced his chills. He felt his face grew hot, and also his groin. Although the air he breathed in was fiery with expectation, he could not reach for Paxton. He had to maintain a surface calm so that he wouldn’t frighten her further or appear to be taking more liberties.

  “Steffan.” He greeted the sheriff near the doorway to the lobby, running a hand through his hair to keep from touching the woman who didn’t really belong to him.

  “Grant,” the sheriff returned, holding a pad and a pen he’d been using to take notes.

  “Do we need to worry about this?” Grant asked, his eyes still leveled on Paxton.

  “The lady heard a noise and came down to find the place in disarray,” Steffan said. “Looks like a burglary, except for one thing.”

  “The manager’s missing,” Paxton said.

  Grant shifted his attention to Steffan. “He’s still gone?”

  Steffan waved the notepad. “AWOL, as far as anyone can tell.”

  “That’s unusual,” Grant noted.

  “Highly,” Steffan agreed. “I can’t let you in there until we determine the extent of the damage.”

  Grant nodded. “Others are on the way?”

  “Yep. Had to call them in.”

  “Can the lady go, or do you need her?”

  “There might be more questions, but Ms. Hall is free to leave, as long as she stays in the area,” Steffan said with an unspoken warning about what might have been the cause of this latest disruption.

  For show, Steffan added, “I believe Ms. Hall is new in town and on her own. Do you suppose you can help with that? Put her in touch with another place to stay, maybe?”

  “I can and will, if Ms. Hall agrees to accept my help,” Grant said.

  Paxton was looking at Shirleen now. Grant read the tinge of jealousy that crossed her mind, and that made him feel hotter. She had asked about Shirleen in the café and he’d told her there was no liaison, but here Shirleen was. It would have been hard to explain to Paxton about that.

  He said, “You remember Shirleen?”

  “Yes,” Paxton replied. “Help would be appreciated.”

  “I needed a ride,” Shirleen said, explaining to Paxton about her presence. “Still do. We all can fit in the cab of Grant’s truck, and he can run me home.”

  Paxton’s amber gaze slid back to Grant.

  “Might as well come out to the ranch,” he suggested. “It’s yours, anyway, according to your father’s will. And it’s a long way from motel robberies.”

  “And bears?” she asked.

  “I can’t promise anything in regards to the intentions of any bear that might be roaming around these parts. What I can promise is that you won’t see one at the ranch.”

  Paxton was quiet before nodding her head. “Will we be alone there?”

  “If that’s a problem, I can sleep in the bunkhouse,” Grant said.

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Good.”

  Shirleen broke in. “I’ll go with Miss Hall to her room to get her things.”

  Paxton nodded again without moving toward the stairs. Grant got the impression her legs might not be working properly after everything that had happened to her in a single day. She’d hate it if he tried to carry her, so he took her arm and tugged her away from the door she’d been leaning against. He steadied her when she swayed on her feet.

  “Shirleen, can you pack up her things?” he asked.

  “Done,” Shirleen
replied.

  “Twenty-two. Second floor.” Grant glanced at the balcony. “The door is open.”

  Paxton didn’t protest this arrangement. She didn’t try to evade his touch. Although she appeared fairly calm, the fact that her arm shook beneath his fingers told Grant a lot.

  The sheriff was inside. The motel’s other occupants were heading back to their rooms after assurances that the motel would be watched tonight, and safe. That left Grant alone with Paxton in the small space near the lobby door.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” he said to her.

  “It’s not your fault.” She was looking at his hand on her arm.

  “You’ll be safe at the ranch.”

  “I know.”

  Grant quirked an eyebrow in question.

  “I know you mean well,” she elaborated. “And I know you have your reasons for holding out on any deal I might want to make.”

  “We don’t need to talk about that tonight. Let’s get you to bed.”

  She looked up at him.

  “All by yourself,” he clarified. But the thought of Paxton in bed, in a room at the ranch, made him question the interior quakes that came each time he thought anything about her. Just thinking her name increased his core temperature by several degrees.

  Yes, at the ranch, she would be safe from anything outside. He just wasn’t sure if she would be safe from him.

  *

  The hand on her arm was warm. Grant Wade’s grip was firm, supportive and distressing. If she jumped into his arms, only the two of them would see it or care. She could ditch all the reasons for her concerns regarding Grant and the transactions facing them, and get on with a night that promised pure tactile bliss.

  Why not?

  What was stopping them?

  With a glance to the motel, she said, “I’m fairly sure no bear did this.”

  Grant’s expression changed when he heard those words. She had let the world back in when they had somehow been temporarily removed from it.

  “Seems likely that you’re right,” he agreed.

  His grip on her didn’t ease. He didn’t do her the courtesy of looking away or allowing her some breathing room. Paxton felt heat rising to her cheeks.

  “I’ve been nothing but trouble for you since I arrived,” she said.

  He didn’t argue with that statement.

  “And you have been kind,” she added.

  His penetrating gaze made Paxton want to look down to make sure she was fully dressed. He had the ability to strip her emotions and her body down to bareness.

  “You have returned twice, believing I need help,” she said.

  “Don’t you?” he countered.

  “The truth is that I’m not sure. Weird things seem to be piling up. Is this city usually so creepy? It feels like I’ve become a magnet for trouble.”

  “You’ll be protected at the ranch,” Grant reiterated, his voice filled with an emotion Paxton thought she could almost read. Further truths had to be examined here, she supposed, and part of that was the fact that Grant was far too sexy for her own good. The other part was about her being a fool for not getting a grip on herself.

  “Come on.” He turned her toward the truck. “Maybe a good night’s rest will help.”

  Paxton could have ignored the sound of Shirleen’s little burp of laughter over that last statement if it hadn’t been for Paxton’s notation of how quickly the woman had returned from packing up her things.

  Startled, feeling slightly sick from mounting fatigue, Paxton checked out Grant’s face, thinking he also looked concerned.

  “I know how you feel,” he said seriously. “Let’s get you home.”

  That was the second to last thing Paxton remembered as she felt consciousness slipping away.

  The other thing she remembered was a brief final glimpse of Grant’s hand, where, in her disappearing awareness, every one of his fingers sported something that resembled a claw.

  Chapter 12

  Other images came and went as if Paxton were trapped in a dream sequence. In the dream, she was in the truck, stuffed between two warm bodies, and those people were talking about things Paxton didn’t fully understand in a language that seemed foreign to her.

  The truck jostled and bumped its way over a rough road. She wondered vaguely if her bear would appear in the headlights or if they were driving in the wrong direction to find it.

  Then she was out of the truck and being carried up a short set of stairs. Each breath she took was filled with scents that brought back bits of memory. Wood. Leather. Paint. Dust. Sagebrush. Smells belonging to the West she remembered and that existed nowhere else. Was she a kid again, being carted to bed after a long day? Had a hole in time sent her that far backward?

  There was a sudden softness beneath her and the squeak of bedsprings. Her head fell back against a pillow. Whoever had carried her had laid her down on a bed, and that person hadn’t gone away.

  Grant Wade.

  Reaching up, Paxton took hold of his shirt and held on until his two hands covered hers. The heat in those hands was a further jolt to her senses and served to wake her up.

  “You’re at the ranch after a rough day,” he said, looking down at her. “I’ll find you something to eat and then you’ll feel better.”

  “The ranch?” Paxton’s mind filled in some of the blanks, but not all of them. “What happened?”

  “You lost consciousness,” Grant said.

  “For the whole drive out here?”

  Paxton glanced at the hands covering hers. No claws were in sight. This was Grant, not the bear.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay,” he said.

  “You know that? Because I’m not so sure.”

  Paxton studied the excruciatingly handsome features of the cowboy she’d nearly been on intimate terms with not all that long ago—the perfect chiseled features, wide brow, intelligent eyes and shiny hair. For once, embarrassment about allowing her gaze to linger didn’t enter the picture.

  This guy was a freaking white knight, willing to come to her rescue over and over. And though she never would have imagined it, and had been independent all her life, Paxton knew she temporarily needed his kind of help. Then again, maybe she just wanted to believe Grant had her best interests at heart in spite of their business dealings. One human being to another.

  “I take care of people for a living,” she said. “That’s my day job. You’re good at the same kind of thing.”

  He nodded, accepting her compliment.

  “A blackout like the one I’ve just had isn’t normal,” she said.

  “It is for some of us,” he returned.

  “I have never fainted,” Paxton insisted.

  Her host, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, got up. “Let’s have a drink before I search for food. I know I could use one.”

  He looked around the space, then spoke again. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. I believe this might have been your old room.”

  Paxton followed his gaze to a tall dresser beside the open door. On top of that dresser stood several plastic horses in prancing postures. Her horses. The ones she had placed there over twenty years ago. Surprised, Paxton sat up. Her stomach turned over.

  “I guess your father kept some of your things,” Grant said.

  Was he talking about the same man who hadn’t spoken to her in all that time? Never once showed his face or the least bit of concern for her well-being? That was the person Grant was referring to?

  “There are other things in the closet,” he said. “You might want to have a look tomorrow.”

  Paxton shook her head, ready to deny that her father could have been sentimental in any way and thinking that it was more likely her father hadn’t bothered to clear things out.

  “He stayed here? Lived here for years?” she asked.

  “Your father? Yes, he resided here until a year before his death.”

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Five y
ears, mostly in the bunkhouse.”

  “Why did you come? You were a Ranger.”

  “Somebody had to watch over things around here. Your father was ill and needed help.”

  That news was yet another surprise. She hadn’t known about an illness.

  “How did you meet him?” she asked.

  “Andrew reached out to my family for help with this place. Our fathers were old friends.”

  Paxton said, “I didn’t realize he was sick.”

  “Not many people did. Your father was tough and very private.”

  “I’m well aware of that last part.”

  Grant’s smile made her chest tighten. Though it wasn’t a completely light expression, the smile made his eyes seem even brighter.

  “This was an opportunity to give back, to help others. I couldn’t refuse. That’s why I came,” he said.

  “You’re talking about helping the town’s ghosts?”

  “No. Not the ghosts.”

  He left her with that, walking away with calm, easy strides. Paxton wanted to call after him that he was wrong if he meant there were no ghosts around here, because she felt like they were lining up to welcome her back.

  But what good would taunting Grant do at this point?

  Warily, she stood up, tired beyond what was left of her endurance. Her legs wobbled slightly. She felt lightheaded. But she didn’t want to be in this bedroom. And she wasn’t an invalid.

  Walking cautiously into the tile-floored hallway, running her fingertips over the stucco walls, brought more memories of this place back. She knew each dent and ding in those walls, as though she had lived here long past her early years.

  The big front room of the house was decorated in a Western theme. Brown leather couches and chairs sat in a cozy pattern beside the fireplace. Moose antler lamps lit the tables. A thirty-foot ceiling was shored up by rough-hewn log beams. All of this was familiar, too, minus the fact that no artwork hung above the stone fireplace now, and the mantel that had once displayed pricey bronze statues was bare.

  Moving toward the front door, Paxton thought briefly about what might have happened to those things and why Grant had kept the same furniture configuration when he could have made the place seem more like his own.