Desert Heart (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 4) (18 page)

You have to believe,
Rae whispered, more urgently.

Tina’s wolf reared up inside her. Her canines pushed against her gums, extending for the bite. She leaned closer and closed her eyes, inhaling Rick’s rich musk. Her tongue swiped his neck, honing in on the faint pulse. Finding the spot.

Mate! Mine!
her wolf howled.
Take him!

Forgive me, my love,
she whispered, if only in her mind.
Forgive me.

More gently than any love-struck wolf would think possible, Tina let her teeth sink in.

You have to believe.
Rae’s words echoed in her mind.

She closed her eyes and held him, trying to believe.

Trying. Trying. Trying…

Rick drifted through shadow and flickering light. His chest ached, his arm throbbed. His shoulder cried. His neck was warm and tingly, though, and that made up for the rest. The pain faded in and out, and in the blissful peace in between, an out-of-nowhere slide show clicked through his mind.

He saw the Seymours, rocking on their porch swing. Smiling, shooting the breeze, inhaling the setting sun like the breath of life.

Click. A Thanksgiving dinner from long ago, or maybe lots of Thanksgiving dinners blurred into one massive feast. The mouth-watering smell of roast turkey wafting from the kitchen. Cranberries, sweet potatoes, and the sugary scent of an apple pie, cooling on a windowsill. His dad, smiling while he handed Rick dishes to set the Seymours’ mile-long table. The steady bong of the grandfather clock, making his pulse spike, because the guests would be there soon. Tina would be there soon.

Click. A new image. Riding out into the desert on Blue the brown horse, feeling like the world belonged to him, because Tina was there on Star, and she was smiling at him.

One perfect memory after another flitted through his mind, pushing the pain far, far away, along with that dark fog that hung around the edges of his thoughts. The one that threatened to creep in and steal some part of his soul if he didn’t keep that slide show running, with all its golden images. He couldn’t let the slide show stop.

Click. Sunrise on the veranda of the Seymours’ house. Him and Tina, sipping coffee, watching the pink fade from the sky. He knew damn well it wasn’t a memory, that one. Just a fantasy, and somehow, he wasn’t ready for that yet. So he clicked on to another image. Sunrise, in the apartment over the barn. Something warm and safe snuggled by his leg. His mind made it Tina, cuddled close.

Yeah, that was a good one. He’d stay on that slide for as long as he could.

Which he did a damn good job of, apparently, because even after he’d drifted through what felt like days and finally awoke, it was in exactly that way—with something warm and safe snuggled by his leg.

He cracked an eye open, ready to caress Tina’s glossy black-brown hair.

Damn it, though, his eyes were playing tricks again, because they registered a dog there. Not Tex. Bigger. Darker. A rich, earthy mixture of black and brown, like the most fertile soil in the fields of farmers’ dreams.

A really, really big dog, with really beautiful eyes.

He blinked. Closed his eyes. Drifted for another couple of days. Every time he woke up for a few seconds before exhaustion pulled him back to the slide show, the dog was there. He started petting it, because the poor thing sure looked like it could use some petting, being all sad and tragic as it was. One by one, he walked his fingers across the crisp white sheets of whatever comfy bed he was in, and then buried them in that warm fur, stroking quietly. If he managed to keep it up long enough, he even imagined a purr. A nice, cozy purr that put him right back to sleep.

The fog bank seemed to break up, at least in the weird weather dome that had taken over his mind, with a little sunshine peeking through in patches that came and went. He started hearing voices, too.

“Wounds closing nicely…” said a kind and gentle voice with a tiny shake in it, like a sweet old grandmother or older aunt.

“No sign of…?” asked a second voice, trailing off into uncertainty. Another old lady who seemed terribly worried about something so bad, she didn’t dare say what it was.

A dry, wrinkled hand patted his arm soothingly, like he was the one who’d been worried.

“No sign, thank goodness,” said the first woman. “It’ll be all right.”

He wondered what there was that might have gone wrong, and the fog bank came to mind. The one that was only a distant memory, because the sun was shining in the weather dome.

“How’s our other patient?” the worried one asked.

Patient? Crap, was he back in the trauma ward? What if the last couple of months were all just a dream?

“He’ll survive. They’re tough, his kind. But my goodness, it was close. It’ll be a long, slow recovery.”

Rick wondered who the poor guy was and what kind of accident he’d been in.

Not an accident
, gut instinct told him.
A fight.

He’d have liked to puzzle that one out, but weariness washed over him again, and he slept some more. Lots more, dreaming of bad wolves and good ones and huge, vicious boars. Until his body finally decided that enough was enough, and he woke up. Just woke up, like any other day, stretching his legs and swinging them off the bed while blinking and thinking about coffee and maybe a really, really big steak, and—

“Rick.”

His head snapped up and he squinted around the room.

Not his room. Not his apartment over the barn. Not Seymour Ranch.

When he sniffed, a thousand mixed scents engulfed him as if sweet old Lucy Seymour had just thrown a window open to her garden on the finest day of spring. He would have sat there inhaling it like a good, strong cup of coffee for another hour or two if it wasn’t for that voice.

Tina. She sat at the edge of his bed, and though it tore his heart out to see the dark rings around her eyes, it also made his whole body sing. Like she was the spring and he was the songbird.

Of course, songbirds didn’t lunge into huge, desperate hugs the way he pulled Tina in, crushing her against his chest. Holding her, sniffing her, possessing her. Maybe even growling a tiny bit, because even if he was a little cloudy on what had happened to get him into that bed, he had the gut-sinking feeling it was something pretty bad. Something that could have ripped her away from him forever.

“Rick,” she murmured.

The teary whisper was an echo of a much more frantic cry. He held her closer as images assaulted his mind. The mine. Dale. A shotgun. The beast with red eyes. Tina, screaming…

It all came back in a flood so powerful, he had to voice it, because damn, that had been close. “Dale… The wolf…”

She stiffened in his arms, but he babbled on.

“You were there but then you were gone. And I was looking for you, but there was only a wolf. Not the bad one, but another one and—”

“Rick.”

Her eyes caught his, and he froze. Even his heart stopped for that split second of realization. No way. No way could she be—

“Let me explain…” Her voice was quiet and shaky, but her eyes were resolute. Sad, but resolute. “Let me explain.”

His brain slipped into slow-motion mode, the way it sometimes used to do when he was at bat, focusing on one thing. Except that instead of concentrating on a ball flying his way, he was concentrating on the truth hurtling mercilessly at him. He pictured the scene at Dead Horse Bluff. Remembered turning around to see Tina gone and a wolf standing in her place.

“I have to show you something…”

He really, really wanted that to be something a lot less crazy than what his mind was suggesting right now.

She slid off the bed and started unbuttoning her blouse, though he hardly noticed, because his eyes were on her hair. Brown-black, like the desert at night. Just like the good wolf of his dreams.

He sniffed the air, and something inside him nodded. Smelled the same, too. A perfect match.

A little unsettling, because when had he ever relied on scent to match identities before?

“Please, trust me that this is okay,” Tina went on, sounding so terrified of what she was doing that he nearly pulled her into another hug. But he couldn’t, because she was pushing her jeans down now, absolutely, positively dedicated to the truth.

A truth he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for.

The ghost of old Henry Seymour leaned in and whispered in one ear.
Good folk, all right,
he’d once said, watching the Hawthornes head home late on Thanksgiving night.
But there’s something different about them.

“Please, Rick. Trust me,” Tina whispered.

He stared into her eyes. Then his jaw swung open, because she ducked her head, curved her naked back, and sank to the floor.

“Tina?”

He didn’t quite get her whole name out. Not with Tina blurring gracefully into something else, a little like pulling off a winter coat. Or rather, pulling a winter coat on. A second skin.

Wolf skin.

Tina shook, and the coat shook, too, so realistically he could have sworn the good wolf was back and staring up at him with imploring eyes. Eyes just like Tina’s.

He looked at her, perfectly still. Okay, maybe blinking a little. His mouth opened and closed, and he swallowed hard. His eyes weren’t tricking him. Not this time.

A wolf. He thought he’d be prepared for anything, but…

His heart thumped so loudly, he could swear the roof shook.

The wolf blinked, then drooped in dejection, and what should have been a magnificent creature turned into a quivering mess.

His heart twisted at the sight. “Come here,” a voice whispered.
His
voice, which was funny, because his brain seemed to be mired in mud three feet deep. But it must have been him, because his hand beckoned at the same time.

Step by slow step, the wolf advanced. Crouched. Its eyes were averted, the tail low. Rick’s gut twisted, knowing it was him doing that to her.

Her. Tina.

Dios mio.

He could hear his father’s voice in his mind. But it was an awed kind of call to God, not a frightened call for protection. The glossy fur was Tina’s hair, just spread over more of her body. The gliding step, even in her agitation, echoed her human grace, and the face held all the intelligence of the woman he loved.

How could he be anything but awed by what she’d just done, at what she became? Sports arenas around the world filled with cheering fans who thought that hitting, throwing, or kicking a ball was an amazing trick. He’d been paid seven figures for a couple of seconds at bat a few times a week. But that was nothing—nothing!—compared to
this
.

Tina advanced another shaky step, tall yet wary.

He extended one shaky hand. Slowly, carefully. Wondering what damage those jaws might inflict. But if it was Tina…

Jesus. Tina, a wolf?

When his nose twitched with the urge to sniff, he rubbed it hard enough to make the feeling go away. Instead, he willed his hand forward. Slowly cupped the delicate muzzle as his heart thumped harder then gradually slowed. He stroked the silky nose. Looked into her eyes, and Christ, there was his princess. Maybe not locked in a tower like he’d imagined, but in a different kind of cage.

A cage he wouldn’t have guessed at in a thousand years.

There’s something different about them.

If only Henry knew how true those words were.

Tina blinked sadly, and in her eyes he saw the same hope and fear that tingled in his veins. And suddenly, it all made sense. Her rejections over the years. That
something
that had always held her back from embracing what she desired and deserved.

She looked so…so
rejected
, his heart wept.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, because she was. Tina could turn into a porcupine and she’d still be his perfect princess.

The wolf closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, just the way human Tina had leaned into his hand the few times she’d let herself give in to the pull that drew them together, again and again. He closed his eyes, too, because he didn’t need to feel the hope thrumming through the room. Closed his eyes and let her edge closer and share her warmth with him. She nuzzled his hand, his arm, his shoulder…

He opened his eyes, and it was human Tina again, nuzzling him, jaw to jaw, her eyes closed as if under a magic spell. Then she sighed a little and pulled back shyly.

“Hey,” he whispered.

He drew her back into a hug, because that worried look she wore just wouldn’t do.

“Hey,” he murmured again, taking over the nuzzling now that she’d stopped.

“This is why…” She trailed off.

He nodded into her flowing hair. “Why you always said no.”

She nodded and gulped. “Rick, you almost died.”

He pulled her closer and tried to joke it off. “Didn’t, though.”

She pulled away and kneaded her lips together, trying to find the right words. “Wolves are different.”

He laughed out loud. “No kidding.” Then he smiled at her and traced her eyebrows. “But maybe not so different.”

She shook her head so vehemently, it worried him. What was it she didn’t want to say? Did she and her siblings turn into wolves and become bloodthirsty killers? Somehow he doubted that. The Hawthornes had always had their own honor code; any good cowboy could see that.

“Just you and your family?” he ventured.

She shook her head. “All of us. All of the ranch.”

Somehow, it didn’t shock him. It made sense. The residents of Twin Moon Ranch had always been secretive, and there’d been a lot of wolf howls mixed in with the warble of coyotes under a full moon. Which was unusual for Arizona, but that was just the way it was, and it had been accepted by locals as a quirk of nature for years.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shake. Quirk of nature. Right.

Tina’s eyes were filled with terror, though—terror that he’d reject who she was. He tugged her hand up and brushed his lips over her knuckles. God, she smelled good. Like the scent wafting in from outside, rich with a thousand nuanced flavors he’d barely been aware of before.