Heart of the wolf (16 page)

"Why did you like the Marine Corps?"

His mouth pulled into an unwilling grin. "Are you always this nosy?"

Sarah matched Wolf's grin with one of her own, drowning in his light gray gaze. She could read so much in his eyes: fear, joy, desire—and that haunted expression. "When it's important, I am," she flung back archly.

"I'm not important," Wolf growled, getting serious.

"To me you are."

Wolf shook his head. "You're young and full of idealism, Sarah."

"And you aren't?"

"I feel a hundred years old, and no, I don't have any idealism left in me. It got kicked out of me a long time ago."

"By the marines?"

"By life, honey."

Sarah enjoyed Wolf's tender touch, feeling the ache in her feet lessen as he deftly bandaged her feet. "Are you implying that because I live in isolation here in a very unpopulated area of America that I'm naive?" she retorted.

Wolf finished his task and rested his hands on his thighs as he held her challenging blue gaze. The fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth, touched him. "I see you as naive, yes."

"I don't know whether that's a compliment or an insult, Wolf."

Wolf slowly straightened, rising to his feet. The pleasure of talking with Sarah was going to make him late for work. He retrieved a sack lunch he'd packed earlier. "It just is what it is," he told her softly.

"You think I'm like a child. Is that it?" Was that why he'd pushed her away? Did he see her as immature?

Wolf groaned and held up his hand. "No, I don't see you as a child."
Far from it.
If Sarah could look inside his heart, she'd find out how badly he wanted to know her better. "You're a beautiful young woman. And in some ways, because of where you live, you are—" he groped for the right word "—untouched by the world at large."

"Untouched?" Sarah demanded, frowning. Wolf saw her as protected from real life? Oh, come on!

Glancing at his watch, Wolf gave her an apologetic look. "Sarah, I'm going to be late if I don't get going. Let's continue this conversation tonight, all right?"

Her lips compressed, Sarah watched as he quickly slid the breakfast dishes into the soapy water. "You're getting off lucky, Harding," she said, half serious, half teasing.

The urge to walk over to Sarah, lean down and plant a very long kiss on her petulantly set lips was almost Wolf's undoing. The fire in her eyes, he knew, reflected her sensitive roller-coaster emotions. Sarah's world was one of strong, passionate feelings—a world Wolf desperately wanted to explore. A world he knew he must forbid himself.

"I've got to go. Do you want me to leave Skeet at home with you today?" Worry gnawed at Wolf. He'd left Maria undefended, and— Swallowing, he added, "Skeet's a good guard dog."

Home.
The word struck Sarah hard. Yes, this was a home. The discovery was bittersweet. "No, I'll be fine. Nothing will happen to me here." She saw the concern in his darkening gray eyes. That haunted look was back. Why? Sarah gave him a confident smile and waved. "Get going or you'll be late for work, Wolf."

"I've got a roast pulled out of the freezer, thawing. Will you—"

"I'll take care of it. Although I'm overly protected, young and naive, I think I can handle putting a roast in the oven so we have something to eat for dinner, Wolf."

His mouth worked into an unwilling grin. "Anyone ever accuse you of having a dry wit, Ms. Thatcher?"

"Only naive men like you, Mr. Harding."

With a laugh, Wolf waved goodbye to her, Skeet at his heels. As he walked onto the back porch and out into the morning sunlight, Wolf thought he had never felt happier. Sarah was far from naive, and they both knew it. As Wolf opened the door so that Skeet could
bound
into the cab, he smiled. He didn't deserve Sarah. He didn't deserve the feelings of joy coursing through him, but he couldn't help himself. After nearly a year of darkness and despair, Sarah's
smile, her feisty courage, were
helping him to heal.

As he backed the pickup out of the driveway, Wolf worried about Sarah's safety. He tried to tell himself that she would be safe at his home. Sarah wasn't Maria. Sarah knew how to fight back, how to survive. Still, as he'd put the truck in drive and headed down Broadway, his gut was tight with foreboding.

Sarah decided to leave the damnable crutches in the corner of the porch as she hobbled to the faceting machine. She'd rather endure the pain. Morning sunlight flowed strongly through the screened-in area, and robins sang in the trees surrounding the small, green lawn.

Faceting was second nature to her. She fitted the jeweler's loupe over her eye and inspected each stone minutely. Many of the rough sapphires had too many inclusions. No matter how carefully they were polished and faceted, those stones would always have a dull look to them.

The time sped by as Sarah found fifteen rough sapphires worthy of being faceted. She became lost in the process itself, unaware of the hours passing. The radio was playing in the living room, the music softening the grinding noise that the faceting machine made as the hard surface of the sapphire was polished away.

Sarah's stomach growled ominously. Glancing at her watch, she smiled.
Noon exactly.
Hobbling without the aid of the crutches, Sarah made it to the kitchen and peeked into the refrigerator.

As she made herself a tuna sandwich, she realized with a start that she felt incredibly happy. Ever since her father's death, she'd felt as if she were in a cocoon of grief.

Sarah sat down at the table, a glass of iced tea in hand, the sandwich on a plate. She frowned. It was as if she could still feel Wolf's presence in the small kitchen. Despite his height and size, he moved deftly around the area, never knocking into anything.
As she began slowly chewing the sandwich, Sarah's heart centered on Wolf.

Why had he been so worried about leaving her alone? She knew
Summers
well enough to know that the bastard would never openly attack her and risk eyewitnesses. No,
Summers
was careful, waiting until she had her guard down.

Suddenly Sarah wished Skeet had stayed with her. It would at least give her someone to talk to—even if he couldn't answer her back.
The wish that her mother was more aware of her made Sarah sigh.
Right now she wanted to talk to her about all these crazy feelings alive within her, clamoring for attention. Philip had never made her feel like this. But then, she reminded herself grimly, Philip hadn't really loved her.

Deciding she had more questions than answers, Sarah cleaned up the kitchen and went back to work. As she hobbled through the living room, the phone rang. She hesitated, wondering if she should answer. After all, this was Wolf's home, not hers. But what if it was Wolf calling to see how she was?
If she didn't answer, he'd panic and come back to check on her.
Or would he?

Sarah muttered under her breath. Her imagination was getting the best of her. She meant nothing to Wolf. Moving toward the ringing phone, Sarah reached out and picked it up.

"Ranger Harding's residence."

"You're dead."

Sarah froze. Her fingers automatically tightened around the phone, and she gasped. Then anger followed quickly on the heels of her shock.

"Who is this?" she demanded.

No answer.

Sarah's breathing became erratic. She knew that whoever was on the other end hadn't hung up.
"You bastard!
Who do you think you are threatening me? Go to hell!
" She
slammed the phone down.

Shaking, Sarah stood with her arms wrapped around herself. Her heart pounding, she looked anxiously around the small house. The dainty white lace curtains moved slowly as a summer breeze stirred through the living room.

You're dead.

It had to be
Summers
! He'd hired someone to call her. To threaten her! Anger and fear warred within Sarah as she stood on her throbbing feet, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. Her first instinct was to call the ranger station and tell Wolf. No. She couldn't begin leaning on him. She had to handle this herself.

Gnawing on her lower lip, Sarah shivered involuntarily. This was the first time she'd ever received a threatening phone call. There was no point in calling Sheriff Noonan to report it. Her stomach was tight with terror.

Forcing herself to move, Sarah went back to faceting, far more alert, far warier, than before. What should she do? What
could
she do? Every particle of her being cried out to tell Wolf. Her hands shaking badly, Sarah repositioned the stone on the machine for the next facet.

"No!" she whispered forcefully as she gently set the stone on the grit-layered wheel. Turning the machine back on, she watched it for a long moment.
Summers was
just like that grit—he was wearing her down a little at a time. Sarah raised her head, tears stinging her eyes. Everything was closing in on her. The only good thing in her life was Wolf. Her father was dead, and her mother was, too, in a sense. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, tears running hotly down her cheeks. She couldn't stand if Wolf was hurt or killed defending her. No, she just couldn't put him in that kind of jeopardy.

Wolf noticed that Sarah was jumpier than usual when he got home that evening. During their dinner of pot roast, baked potatoes, gravy and carrots, the phone rang. Sarah
jumped,
her eyes huge. Wolf answered the call— from the ranger station telling him about a change in his assignment the next day. When he sat down again, he noticed how pale Sarah had become.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, slicing into the thick, juicy pot roast.

"Yes, I'm fine.
Fine."

"You're as jumpy as I would be if I found myself in the middle of a minefield," he noted dryly.

Sarah forced herself to begin eating again, her heart banging away in her throat. "Ate you always this alert?" she muttered.

"It saves lives," he answered darkly, and shoved a piece of potato into the gravy.

Lives.
Her life.
Maybe Wolf's.
Sarah choked down a small piece of beef, not tasting it. The very thought of

Wolf being hurt because of her put a knot in her stomach.