Healer (Shifter Island Book 5) (2 page)

Of course he’d noticed.

How could he help but notice the way the healer always stammered a little when she spoke to him, and fumbled whatever she was holding if he took her by surprise?

It never lasted long—no more than a minute or two, at most, and usually not even that long—and he was quite sure that if he asked her about it, she’d claim that absolutely not, his presence didn’t make her respond as if she were still one of the young ones, a female who’d yet to have her first coupling.

But it was sweet, and very flattering, that he could fluster her like that, even after all this time.

They’d both grown up on the island, and had known each other reasonably well since their childhood. Even then he’d thought she was beautiful—her hair was as strikingly different as his own, several deep shades of brown with a narrow streak of white at the temples, and her eyes seemed as deep as a well.

He’d pursued her for a while, teasing her by nipping and growling at the air and dancing around her until she blushed, just as the other young males did, and he seemed to remember leaving a gift or two at her parents’ door.

But no one had ever really thought they’d end up together.

Everyone had known she’d end up with Victor. That she and Victor were meant to be together, that they were bonded even as children. Neither of them even tried mating with someone else, and they were sealed on a beautiful spring day when they were both just past their time of Involvement.

If that hadn’t happened, Jed reflected—if the gods had been more sensible, and had chosen someone else for her—she’d be better off now.

She wouldn’t be a widow. Her son wouldn’t be fatherless.

And she wouldn’t be clinging to the memory of her mate as if it were a tangible thing, something she could carry around like she’d been trying to carry all those vegetables.

She’d be happier. More at ease.

Maybe she’d…

“Good morning, Jed.”

The sudden greeting almost made him fumble the vegetables, just as Deborah had done back at the gardens. He should have brought a basket or a sack over there, he chided himself—even though he hadn’t planned to start off his day by carrying a heap of food through the settlement.

He tried not to frown as he rearranged his burden, then pieced together a smile for his neighbor, Rachel.

“Good morning to you,” he said, trying not to let a tomato slip out of his grasp.

She reached in and tucked the tomato more securely into place. “There. I hope you’re not going far.”

“To the healer’s. These are hers.”

“Ah. I have a basket, if you—”

“I’ll be fine.”

He hoped Rachel was, too. She’d had a rough time of it recently. Her older son, Luca, had been attacked in the woods just a few weeks ago, stabbed with a poisoned blade and left for dead. Luca had recovered in time to see his younger brother married to the human woman Abby—but then Luca had decided he needed to go back to the mainland to find and claim his mate… another human girl.

No one had any idea whether Luca would ever come back. His family had no idea where he was, or even if he was safe.

Still, Rachel had a new daughter now. Her younger son, Aaron, was blissfully happy, and he and his mate were already talking about adding a new babe to the pack. The girl seemed to get along well with Rachel, and she was gradually fitting in with the rest of the pack—even the stubborn ones.

So, things were both good and bad.

Jed looked deep into Rachel’s eyes, searching for clues to her mood. Nothing in her scent said she was any more upset today than she’d been over the past few days, even in the aftermath of the storm. Her home hadn’t been damaged, then, he guessed; that was good.

And maybe she’d decided to trust the gods where Luca was concerned.

“I wonder—” she began.

“Do you?” Jed teased.

She shook her head at him. “Aaron is thinking he’d like to add another room onto the cabin. His mate says everything is fine, but he’s thinking ahead. Better to have the room built now, rather than rush later on.”

“That’s a good plan.”

“If you’re able, he could use some help.”

“I’d be glad to.”

“You’re among the best of our builders, Jed. I know if you help, they’ll have a warm, secure room.”

Jed looked off in the direction of the cabin Aaron and Abby had moved into, even though he couldn’t see it from here; it was a good half an hour’s walk away, on the other side of the island. It was a tiny structure that the pack had formerly used for the time of Separation. It had been standing there for some twenty years, and no one had ever thought of it as a real home.

Now it had a new roof, a better kitchen, and, of all things, a toilet room attached to the house.

“Any news?” he asked Rachel lightly.

“Not yet.”

He’d meant news of a little one, and realized too late that Rachel might think he was talking about the departed Luca. A shadow passed through her eyes, but it disappeared quickly, and she too looked off in the direction of the cabin.

“I don’t like having them so far away,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s their special place.”

“I’ll do my best to make it even more special.”

“Thank you, Jed.”

If his arms had been free, he would have embraced her. She was one of the nicest members of the pack, a woman who was unfailingly generous and kind. At least once a month, she invited him to share a meal with her family, and it was always a pleasant experience.

The only problem was, she sometimes used their friendship as a reason to keep prodding him to choose a mate.

One who wasn’t Deborah.

But maybe…

Such things could easily backfire, he told himself. Matters involving a mate—particularly if a bond was involved—were best left in the hands of the gods. Meddling with the natural course of relationships had left more than one wolf broken-hearted… or worse.

Look what had happened to Luca.

Still, this was all moving much too slowly. Deborah had lost her beloved Victor almost eight years ago. Her son—who was growing more and more sullen and troublesome by the day—had no father. Deborah herself was noticeably lonely, even in the company of her closest friends.

And the pack was right: Jed needed a mate. He was far too old to go on pretending to be what the humans called “a carefree bachelor.”

“I’ve been wondering too,” he said quietly to Rachel.

“About what?”

“If you could—” He pulled in a deep breath. “If the occasion is right, of course. If you could put in a good word for me with the healer. Only if you feel comfortable about it. I wouldn’t want—”

“Everyone in the pack praises you to the skies, Jed.”

Was she chiding him? Telling him to leave this alone? Again, Jed searched her eyes for a clue. But no, there was no criticism in her expression. Instead, she seemed resigned.

Resigned, perhaps, to accepting that a certain thing was useless.

That prodding Deborah was useless.

Because her hands were free and she could do such things, Rachel gripped his elbow and squeezed it. “We all see the problem, Jed,” she said. “Victor was her true mate. They were bonded from earliest childhood, and that’s a rare thing. I’ve never seen two wolves more closely aligned. It’s one of our greatest tragedies that she lost him—and I’m speaking not just of what I’ve observed in my own lifetime, but going back through the whole history of the pack. Taking him from her is one of the cruelest things the gods have ever done.”

She was so matter-of-fact that all Jed could do was bow his head and nod in agreement.

What was he thinking?

How could he dare hope that Deborah would set aside the memory of her beloved mate in favor of accepting him?

Damn.

He began to step away, intending to leave the vegetables on Deborah’s table as he’d promised and then go off into the woods to prowl for a while—to shift into his wolf form so that the animal could take control and push aside his human thoughts and needs and regrets. An hour, maybe two—no one would begrudge him that, even though there was plenty of work still to be done after the storm.

Then he’d walk up to the cabin and see what sort of new room Aaron and his mate had in mind.

But Rachel said softly, “Jed.”

He wanted more than anything to simply bid her good day and walk away, to put an end to this conversation. But she hadn’t let go of his elbow, and he couldn’t shake her off without tossing the vegetables all over the road.

“She sees,” Rachel said.

“Who? Sees what?”

“Deborah. She lights up when you come near. She speaks of you sometimes, when you’re not around.”

That piqued Jed’s curiosity. “What does she say?”

“How much you’ve helped her and Gregory. That you’re a fine wolf, an asset to the community.”

“An asset to the community,” Jed echoed. “That will certainly allow me to sleep more deeply at night.”

“It’s code, you fool.”

“It is?”

Rachel clucked her tongue. “Of course it is. If you feel it’s not safe for you to express your feelings, you… say something else. Every wolf in this pack knows you’re an asset to the community. The healer is saying you’re an asset to
her
. That she’s grateful for your help and attention in ways she can’t put words to.”

“There’s some distance between that and… what I feel, Rachel. A very impressive amount of distance.”

Shaking her head, Rachel once again adjusted the tomatoes so that they were a little less likely to go tumbling to the ground. “Give it time,” she said as she worked. “The flame may be small now, but small flames can grow. You need only take care not to blow them out.”

Then she patted his arm, wished him a good day, and went on her way.

Most of the time, visiting Sara’s cottage for tea served two purposes for Deborah: enjoying her friend’s companionship (and her excellent tea), and checking up on Sara’s health. Several of the wolves on the island were some years older than Sara, but Sara was human. She was less resistant to disease and took longer to heal.

For the most part, her health was very good—allowing for how old she was—but nevertheless, Deborah felt an obligation to watch for small signs of pain or illness that Sara might be more careful to hide when she was out among the pack.

To her surprise, she realized this morning that Sara was keeping an eye on her as well, and probably had been doing so for some time.

“I think these came out quite well,” Sara said as she held out a plate of freshly baked honey biscuits. When Deborah hesitated, she urged, “Go ahead. If you don’t eat at least two, you’ll be contributing to my getting fat.”

“And instead, I’ll be the one—”

Sara chuckled at that. They both knew that a fat wolf was a rare thing indeed. The only one Deborah could remember was old Hiram, who’d had a leg injury that had prevented him from moving at anything faster than a shuffle. Deborah’s teacher, the island’s previous healer, had been unable to repair the injury, and Hiram’s natural healing ability had taken him only from being bedridden to shuffling.

Human doctors could do more for someone who was ailing or injured—but they also had more to contend with. Serious diseases that were unknown among the wolves. Poisoning from the chemicals in their food, bad water, bad air. It was a trade-off, Deborah thought.

“You’re very pensive today,” Sara observed as she settled into her favorite chair in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea in her hands.

Deborah had already taken the other chair, one that was so comfortable she sometimes was afraid she’d drift off to sleep and not wake up until a day or two later.

“The storm,” she said. “Some of the older wolves are saying it’s the first sign of a bad winter.”

“Could be.”

“They’re seldom wrong.”

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” Sara said, then took a sip of her tea and was clearly pleased with it. “Hmm. Yes. The honey is delicious this year, isn’t it? So flavorful. Maybe a harsh winter is the price we’ll pay for that, along with the good results in the gardens.”

“Everything has its price, doesn’t it?”

Deborah hadn’t meant to sound so downhearted. It was a beautiful morning, after all, and no one had been hurt last night, despite the treacherously high wind and all the lightning. It could be that today would be quiet, that after she’d looked in on Elsbeth, she’d only need to check on the two females who were pregnant and another who thought she might be. There might be a child with a scrape or cut, or an older wolf in need of a poultice to relieve an ache or pain, but beyond that…

She’d be free to spend the day thinking about… well, Jed.

And what in the world she ought to do about her son.

“I’m always here, whenever you need me,” Sara said.

“I know. Thank you.”

Sara clearly expected her to say something more, but there was really nothing more to say.

Was there?

Curtains. They could talk about curtains.

Not about Jed. Or about Sara’s grandson Micah, who was still under close watch after what he’d done to Luca. It was the most horrible thing anyone in the pack had ever seen—a wolf attacking another wolf so savagely, and leaving him for dead, over the love of a woman.

Daniel, the watcher—the pack’s version of a policeman—seldom let Micah out of his sight. Micah was no longer allowed to spend the night with his grandmother, and could only shift into his wolf form if he was accompanied by Daniel or at least one of his guards.

It was true, Deborah thought: the bountiful summer might well have brought with it a price none of them would want to pay.

“Here you are,” Sara said a few minutes later as she deposited the bundle of curtains into Deborah’s lap. “And here are the scraps I told you about. I thought the green might look good. Or yellow?”

“I’m sorry,” Deborah blurted.

Sara took a step back. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I can’t—I’ve tried not to—”

The older woman set the curtains aside on the table, then pulled her chair closer to Deborah’s, sat down again and took Deborah’s hands in her own. “You’ve been upset all morning,” she said sympathetically. “I know you think you’re responsible for everyone’s wellbeing, but your own is just as important. What’s bothering you this morning? It can’t just be Jed.”

There’d be no getting away from her now. She was all but holding Deborah prisoner in the chair.

Maybe it would be better to talk.

“I’ve dreamed about him,” Deborah murmured. “My Victor. Four times now in the past few weeks. He comes to me in my dreams.”

“Does he speak?”

Deborah shook her head. “I wish he would. I try to get him to say something, or at least come closer, but he’s always off in the distance. So far away. I can’t reach him, even though I try. If he’s trying to tell me something, I don’t know what it is. How—how could I, if he won’t speak?”

“Have you considered that it’s
you
who’s trying to tell you something?”

“That I miss Victor with every beat of my heart? I know that already. I don’t need a dream to tell me.”

Something hitched inside Deborah’s chest: the wolf, stirring from the slumber it had been in all morning, roused by her grieving for Victor. If anything, the wolf missed him even more desperately than she did, so its presence was generally of no comfort to her. At the worst of times, its desperation made her want to pray for a way to separate the two of them, so she could allow the wolf to run away.

If she was meant to be alone, then let her be
truly
alone.

“How can you go about your life so easily?” she said so shrilly that Sara drew back a little.

Sara was a human, but she’d been mated to a wolf. She’d been drawn out here to the island by a bond so strong that she had walked away from every part of her life on the mainland and had never looked back.

Maybe it was different, Deborah thought, when only one of you was a wolf. Maybe humans could forget about a bond more easily.

Maybe…

“Things aren’t always what they look like,” Sara said. “I dream about Paul all the time.”

“Does he speak?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does he come to you? Embrace you? Do you—”

No
, Deborah told herself fiercely. She would not cry. She wouldn’t give in to that sort of weakness. She was the healer; the entire community depended on her to be strong and capable. Falling to pieces would be of no help to anyone—not the sick and injured, not her son, and certainly not herself.

“I need to visit Elsbeth,” she stammered, squirming away from her friend. “I need to tend to her hand. Then I have—I have other responsibilities.”

To her relief, Sara didn’t try to keep her there in the chair. She rose to her feet and stepped away. “I’ll have the curtains done in a day or two,” she promised. “I think we’ll try the green for the trim?”

“That’s fine,” Deborah said.

“May your day be a good one, then. Remember that my door is always open if you need to talk.”

“I need to work.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Deborah rushed out of the house before Sara could change her mind, breathing deeply in an attempt to erase her need to cry. The time for crying had come and gone long ago, she told herself. Now she was simply a widow, as others had been before her, as Sara was now.

There were widowers among the pack, too—Caleb, their alpha, was one of them, and though he had dearly loved his mate, he never resorted to tears.

Or did he?

The thought made her gasp out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. Of course Caleb didn’t cry. Sara didn’t cry. They had mourned their loved ones, and now they were getting on with their lives. Doing their work. Contributing to the community. It made no difference that their mates had been lost long ago, long before Victor had died. They were simply better at handling their grief.

Rather than seeing to Elsbeth, whose wrist would be no better and no worse in a few hours, Deborah took the path toward home. Jed might have left those vegetables in a mess on her table, and she liked to keep a neat kitchen. A neat home. She couldn’t go about her day if those vegetables were strewn all over the table.

No, she didn’t hope he’d still be there. He wouldn’t be; he wouldn’t have lingered at her house if no one else was there.

She’d have the house to herself.

She’d have enough time alone to bathe her face with some cool water, brush her hair, and put on a clean blouse. The one she was wearing was dirty from her work in the gardens and from holding all those vegetables.

Yes, a few minutes alone was just what she needed.

But as soon as she opened the door and stepped into her house, she realized that she wasn’t alone.

Her son was there, and he was angrier than she’d ever seen him.

“Why are you not in school?” she asked, knowing even as she spoke the words that his response was likely to be even more anger, no matter what the original cause of his mood had been. Rather than face him directly, she went into the kitchen, where she found the vegetables neatly lined up on the table, not a mess at all.

Gregory didn’t answer her, and she turned to find him glowering in front of the fireplace.

“School?” she prodded.

“He was here again,” Gregory said in a tone much too sharp for her liking, with an expression to match. It would have shocked her if she hadn’t already experienced it a hundred times. “Why does he come here all the time? Do you invite him?”

Jed.

Gregory must have been here when he’d arrived with the vegetables.

“He was helping me,” she said.

“I can help you. I’m not a child. I can help you with whatever you need. You don’t need someone else.”

Except that when she asked for his help—which she seldom did, any more—he always found a reason that he couldn’t. A need to rush to school. A promised meeting with a friend.

Or he simply wasn’t around in the first place.

“He’s—”

“He is
not your mate
,” Gregory snarled.

That startled her so much that she could think of no way to respond other than to snarl back. “And neither are you!” she thundered, allowing the wolf—now at full attention—to pull her up to her full height, which was several inches more than Gregory could manage. “I am your mother. Your parent. You will not address me in such a way, do you hear?”

“You dishonor my father,” Gregory countered.

It was all she could do to hold back the wolf. If she surrendered even a little bit of control after her child had made such a statement…

But Gregory was right.

She had one true mate. She and Victor had claimed each other for life, and for all of what lay beyond.

There was no room in that for Jedediah.

“Go to school,” she told her son. “You’ve already missed enough lessons these past few days.”

“I’m old enough to choose.”

“I see. Are you choosing for me to speak to the elders, then? Because that’s what I’ll do next if you continue to disobey. Go ahead: see how much patience they have for your disobedience.”

Gregory glowered at her. He was breathing in deep huffs; more than likely, his wolf was pushing close to the surface. Part of the lessons he insisted on skipping were meant to guide him toward being able to control the wolf—without them, he was risking allowing the animal to take over completely.

To Deborah’s great relief, part of him seemed to understand that.

Still scowling, he turned halfway toward the door. “You dishonor him,” he muttered.

He slammed the door as hard as he could on the way out.