Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  To my dismay, he let go of my hand. “We’ll talk soon,” he promised.

  As the rest of the book club trickled in, I tried to get my head back in the game. We discussed the role of truth and lies in The Great Gatsby, Nick’s frequent inebriation throughout the book, and whether Daisy and Gatsby would have had as much appeal without their fortunes.

  I glanced at Jonas. His face was twisted in distaste as he responded to the group leader’s commendation of Tom Buchanan. Of course Jonas would have no time for Tom. Tom Buchanan was the type of louse I was pretty sure Jonas would beat up in real life.

  Jonas was such a multidimensional man. A farmer who was always open to trying new methods of doing things. A caretaker who sacrificed his time and looked out for others without question. A student whose mind could never be satiated.

  I wanted to hold his hand again.

  * * * *

  When we got to the truck, Jonas’s mom called and asked if he could pick up some Sprite on the way home.

  “She must be feeling sick again. It’s the only thing she’ll drink when she’s sick,” he said, his grip tight on the wheel.

  We ran into the tiny convenience store in town for the Sprite. Usually when we wound up at this particular store together, we’d start reminiscing over how the old Coke machine would give free drinks if you pounded on it just right, or how the owner used to stock the favorite candy bars of each kid in the neighborhood. But today we shopped in silence. On the way home, Jonas could barely string three words together. This was no time to question him about the conversation he’d promised me.

  When we reached my parents’ white house, Mom came out to the truck and gave Jonas a warm greeting. Jonas didn’t talk long, and as soon as I stepped out of the truck, he took off.

  I tried to explain his abrupt behavior. “His mom’s sick.”

  Mom grimaced. “I feel so bad for her. She’s so young for all this.” She dusted her dirty work gloves together. “Say, would you have a minute to come out back and help me set something up?”

  “You mean your windmill? You’re already working on that? But Tyler and Katrina just got in this morning.”

  “Wind turbine,” Mom corrected me. “And Katrina’s been snappish today, so Tyler’s anxious to get outside.”

  Snappish was probably an understatement. Katrina was not a good patient, and being placed on bed rest had probably been demoralizing for her.

  “Sure. I’ll just run in to change and check in with Kat, and then I’ll come out.”

  Mom’s long blonde curls were twisted into a bun, and her face was sprinkled with quite a few more freckles than my own. My eyes traveled from her gloved hands to her flare-leg jeans, then finally to her scuffed boots that had weathered a lot of snow and rain. I felt a wave of gratefulness. I used to think Mom was fickle and unappeasable. Now I saw that she was determined, hopeful, and brave. She pushed to do hard things, and she never ran into a situation she didn’t try to tackle head-on.

  In fact, if I turned out exactly like her, I would stand proud. I pulled Mom into a tight hug.

  She laughed. “What brought this on? Are you trying to get out of helping me?”

  “Nope—I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just happy you’re my mom.”

  She beamed. “And I’m thankful you’re my daughter, Belinda Jade.” She yanked a hat onto her head. “Now, let’s get cracking.”

  * * * *

  I grabbed a couple of Katrina’s homemade cinnamon rolls before heading up to meet her. I found her curled up on the guest bed, her oversized stomach resting on a body pillow. She was watching a rerun of Dr. Phil, which by extension meant that she was shouting at the poor people who were unburdening their hearts on-screen.

  “I can’t believe you would say that to your wife,” she said, gesturing wildly at the TV. “Your wife!”

  I had no idea what the man had just said, but I knew it wasn’t important. The real issue at hand was that Katrina was attempting to cope with her powerless state by bossing around people on TV.

  I’d picked up a few psychological skills myself.

  “Sis,” I started, handing her a cinnamon roll, “I need to talk.”

  This was always a surefire way to calm Katrina down. There was nothing she liked better than to have a deep, soul-sharing discussion with someone.

  “What’s up?” she asked, taking a huge bite of the roll. She was definitely eating for two.

  “Jonas wanted to talk with me about something, and it seemed important, but he wasn’t able to work his way back around to it. He had to get home to his mom because she was sick.”

  She struggled to sit up. “You think he was going to ask you something more personal? I mean, he did bring you that refurbished bike, and he went to visit you in Greenwich…you never know. Are you hopeful he’s going to get serious?”

  “I don’t know. He’s…different…from the other guys I’ve dated.”

  She snorted. “You mean he’s not a jerk.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. But then there’s Stone—”

  “You’ve described him so vividly.” Katrina’s voice was a bit swoony. “It’s like he’s a modern-day Gatsby, throwing those billiards parties and hobnobbing with all his rich, disaffected friends.”

  I hadn’t even made the connection with Gatsby before, but Katrina had a point. And I wondered—would Stone Carrington the fifth hold the same appeal if he didn’t have his fortune? If he wasn’t such a little boy lost, the only child of wealthy parents who didn’t have time for him?

  Although he never flaunted his money, I had to admit that part of Stone’s appeal was that he fit so perfectly into the shiny, opulent life that Greenwich represented. The bottom line was that I simply couldn’t picture the man anywhere else.

  And yet at this very moment, he was probably wearing burlap clothing and chanting mantras in Bhutan.

  However, to be fair, normal people couldn’t afford to jet off to Bhutan for an extended yoga retreat any old time they wanted. Even dressed in burlap, Stone couldn’t escape his wealth.

  Katrina’s eyes fixed on me. Dietrich had once artistically described Katrina’s eyes as “foggy green,” which was quite accurate. He’d also said my eyes were a “bronze-dusted deep green.” I had since conjectured that if he were painting them, they’d probably turn out some awful shade of bile.

  “What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?” she asked.

  I fell back into the bed. “Besides thinking about eye color, I don’t know. I suppose I was comparing Stone and Jonas. Is that bad?”

  “Perfectly normal,” she said.

  I waited for her to elaborate and tell me what to look for in a good man, but she didn’t. I hoped things were going okay between her and Tyler—we all loved Tyler—but I decided not to pry. Most likely, her hormones were a little out of control at this stage of pregnancy.

  “Could you scratch my back there?” she asked abruptly, pointing to an area near her spine.

  “Sure.”

  As I started scratching, she seemed to relax. “So, do you want to talk about that freak who tried to kill you?”

  The repetitive scratching movement was somehow therapeutic for me, too. “Carson. His name is Carson White.”

  My voice cracked as I said his last name. Apparently, I wasn’t ready to unpack his thwarted murder attempt just yet.

  Katrina twisted around and took my hand, her eyes fierce. “I wish I could’ve been there for you.”

  I knew that if my sister had been there, she would have figured out a way to kill Carson with her own two hands before the cops ever had a chance to reach us. Katrina was not the kind of woman to be trifled with, and she was like a roaring mother lion with those she loved.

  “Thanks, sis. I do, too. Come and visit me in Greenwich sometime, okay?”

  “I plan to, as soon as things settle down aft
er Jasper’s birth. Do you think you’ll keep up your pet-sitting?”

  I knew I’d have to get back into pet-sitting, but I’d decided to take a little break first. “I will, but I’m going to work on getting a Twitch stream going for my gaming—it’s like a video channel.”

  She stretched and yawned. “Sounds like just the kind of thing you can throw yourself into—safely. Go for it.”

  Tyler came in, bearing another cinnamon roll for Katrina. “Great minds think alike,” I said, standing. “Is Mom still working on the windmill? She’s probably wondering what happened to me.”

  “It came together faster than we thought it would,” Tyler said. He brushed his strawberry-blond bangs out of his eyes, and I thought again what a lovely contrast he made with Katrina, who was pale and dark-haired, like Vivien Leigh. “She might need a little help with the cleanup,” he added, allowing his gaze to fall on Katrina’s face. His look went from casual to PG-13 plus in a split second.

  “I’ll head out there now,” I said, rushing out the door. As I pulled my boots on, I wondered, just for a moment, how nice it would be to have someone around who worshiped me the way Tyler seemed to worship Katrina. But then again, was that even the kind of guy I needed?

  * * * *

  Church on Easter Sunday was relaxing, even though quite a few of Mom’s friends asked me pointedly if I was dating yet. Most of the aforementioned friends had bachelor sons, so I was cagey in my answers, insinuating there was someone I was interested in.

  After a ham dinner, Tyler and Katrina bid us farewell and headed back to Albany. Dad had an emergency house call and Mom was tired, so I headed out on the four-wheeler for some fresh air. Without thinking, I drove straight through the fields toward Jonas’s house.

  I could see that he’d added to his beehives that ran along the woods. He was the kind of farmer who was always trying out unique new sources of revenue, selling everything from pumpkins to Christmas trees in season. I whisked along the outskirts of his yard, assuming he was either in the house or out milking cows at this time of day. I was wheeling around to return to my parents’ when I saw him jogging toward me.

  I geared down and stopped. “Hey there—happy Easter! Would it be okay if I came over tomorrow to see your mom?”

  He shook his head, and my stomach dropped. “I only wish you could. She was admitted to the hospital today. I just ran home to grab some of her things. Her white cell count has dropped.”

  “Do you want me to go back with you?” I asked.

  “No need. As it turns out, my brother is on his way home from Alaska—he’d planned to surprise us for Easter.”

  So the wandering Levi had made his way home. I hoped he would be a moral support to Jonas and his mom.

  Jonas dropped his hand on my shoulder and his fingers inched toward my collarbone, jolting me out of my musings. “Belinda, I really do want to talk with you. I know you’re heading back tomorrow, but promise you’ll call me when you get to Greenwich.”

  “Okay.” I hated being so helpless to ease his pain. “Anything you need, just call my parents’ house, okay? Also, do you still leave your back door unlocked? I’ll drop some ham off tonight for you and Levi—we have tons of leftovers.”

  “Yes, I’ll leave it unlocked. Thanks, Belinda.”

  I gave him a brief, awkward hug, then climbed back on my four-wheeler and headed for the field. I flew through the tall grass, tears nearly blinding me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to catch the most resistant and deadly killer of all—cancer.

  27

  Bluebell was a little wheezy as I pulled up to the carriage house, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to take her in for more repairs. Once I’d paid my April rent and utilities, the money I’d earned at the White Pine Wolf Preserve wasn’t going to stretch as far as I had hoped.

  Val greeted me at the security booth. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “I did,” I said, noting the huge smile wreathed across his face. “What’s new?”

  “Nothing,” he said, his smile stretching wider.

  “You’re obviously hiding something,” I said.

  He turned away from me, adjusting the computer screen in front of him. “I’m just glad to see you’re back,” he said.

  “Yeah…right,” I said, slowly pulling into the open gate. Something was up.

  It took only one glance at the manor house to figure it out. Stone’s yellow Lamborghini sat parked right outside the front door.

  Was Red taking it out for a spin? Given Val’s weird behavior, that didn’t seem the most likely explanation.

  I parked Bluebell in my driveway, grabbed some custom-roasted coffee I’d brought back from The Coffee Shoppe, and stepped onto the Carringtons’ front lawn. My plan was to offer the coffee as an Easter gift, then sniff around a bit to see if Stone the fifth was back.

  As I reached the halfway point, I saw a tall man with longer, dark hair emerging from the house. Stone the fourth wasn’t that tall, and his dark hair wasn’t that long.

  It had to be Stone the fifth, back from Bhutan.

  As if sensing my presence, he glanced my way, then gave me a vigorous wave. He tossed a couple of tennis rackets into his passenger seat and ran over to meet me.

  He flung his arms wide for a hug. “Belinda! You’re back! Val told me you were up at your parents’ for Easter.”

  I walked into his arms, immediately overwhelmed by the proximity of his masculine scent. “I just got home.” I pulled back, examining his stubble beard and longer locks. He was even tanner than usual, and when he pushed his sunglasses up on his head, his eyes crinkled around the edges.

  He looked healthier than I’d ever seen him.

  “The yoga retreat was good for you,” I observed.

  He laughed. “Actually, I left the retreat before the second week was over. I couldn’t handle the vegetarian food, and I couldn’t do half the poses anyway. I checked into a hotel and ordered myself a steak to clear my head. Then I decided I’d concoct my own regimen, which included a personal trainer every morning and a masseuse every night. During the days, I trekked up mountains or swam in the outdoor pool. And I didn’t do a lick of work.”

  He extended an arm and flexed, revealing a honed bicep. “Check it out! Impressive, isn’t it? I’ve never been so ripped before. Wait till Dietrich sees me!”

  I couldn’t hold back my laugh. Stone was as giddy as a teenage boy. And goofy, too. “So you paid all that money for a retreat you didn’t even attend?” I asked.

  “They gave me my money back,” he said. He focused his stunning aqua eyes on me. “You should travel with me sometime. We’d have a blast. Have you ever gone paragliding?”

  “I haven’t.” It sounded fun, but right now, I was in the mood to retreat from danger, rather than charge into it.

  He studied my face. “That was thoughtless of me. I’ve been going on and on about myself, but I know you’ve had an eventful time right here in Greenwich. Red told me a few things about your wolf-sitting venture, but he didn’t go into detail. I feel like we need to catch up.”

  I felt tired, unable to describe the horrors I’d experienced at White Pine. And I needed to think my story through, so I didn’t spill the beans about Red’s near-fatal protective shooting incident. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow night and we’ll talk,” I said. “I can make dinner.”

  Stone shook his head. “I won’t hear of it. You just got back. Lani will be happy to make something special for us.”

  Lani was the Carringtons’ sweet Hawaiian cook, and she loved nothing more than to dote on Stone the fifth, since she’d been with the Carringtons since Stone was just a tyke.

  “That would be wonderful,” I said, looking at his Lamborghini. “So, what are you up to today? Tennis?”

  He nodded. “Would you believe the police are finally removing the Breathalyzer device from my car? So now I w
on’t feel like an idiot driving around town. Once I’m free of that thing, I’m going to hit the courts with some buddies of mine.”

  I was thrilled at the progress Stone had made. “Stone, I know you kicked your alcoholism last year, but how’s your dad doing with his? He wasn’t around much while you were gone.”

  “He’s doing fine, as far as I know. Lani said he asked her to sweep the house for liquor and dump it all down the drain—even his prized Rémy Martin cognac.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  Stone glanced at his car. “I’d better get going. But see you tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, why don’t you come around seven—and be sure to bring the food.” I grinned.

  He swept into a bow. “’Twill be my pleasure to do so, m’lady.”

  * * * *

  Veronica called me the next morning, wondering if I could help her set up a website. “I’m going to blog about the wolves at White Pine,” she said. “Kind of as a penance, you know? There I was, ready to throw them under the bus for the murders, but they were just as much victims as you were.”

  When I asked how Dahlia was, Veronica didn’t give me a straight answer. “Evie’s been doing a lot to manage things right now,” she said. “She’s been really happy lately, chatting with her parents about her move back to Britain. And Marco’s come in every day. His nephew Antonio is helping out, too, and I think they might hire him full-time.”

  “And Carson?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  “Lawyered-up, as you’d imagine,” she grumbled. “But Jacob says they have some DNA evidence on him, so I doubt he’ll be able to get off scot-free.”

  I was pretty certain Veronica wasn’t supposed to share that information with me, but I was pleased she had.

  We agreed to meet the next day at the library so I could help set up her site. As I hung up, I was thankful that it sounded like the White Pine Wolf Preserve would go on, even with Dahlia limping along at the helm.