Heart of the wolf (5 page)

Turning on her side, Sarah stretched her arms outward. "Do it.
Now."

Wolf's olive-green shirt stretched across his powerful back and his broad shoulders as he strained against the makeshift lever. Sarah blinked as the muscles bunched beneath the lightweight fabric. The man was like the Rocky Mountains she loved so much—hard, craggy, and powerful.

The tree began to move. Wolf grunted, digging his boots into the mud and pushing harder. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief as he forced the trunk slowly upward, inches at a time.

"Can you get out?" he rasped.

"Not yet! It's moving, though." Sarah saw the muscles in his face
tighten,
saw sweat pop out on his brow, giving a sheen to his darkly tanned skin. Suddenly the roots gave way, releasing her.
Now!
To Sarah's dismay she couldn't move her legs. Desperately, she lunged forward, gripping the muddy bank and hauling herself out from beneath the twisted tree, dragging her numb body.

"I'm out!" she gasped.

Wolf didn't dare risk a look over his shoulder. "Sure?" he gasped. If she wasn't completely clear when he let the trunk go, she could be pinned again. And the sudden weight could break her legs.

Struggling to get farther from the trunk, Sarah cried, "Let it go! I'm free!"

Wolf leaped away as he released his powerful hold on the lever. The fir crashed into the earth, splattering mud in all directions. In one smooth motion, he turned on his heel. Sarah lay on her belly in the mud, her brow resting against her crossed arms. Skeet was nearby, wagging his tail and looking at her anxiously. Wolf felt that way, too, as he made his way to her side.

Leaning down, he closed his fingers over her small shoulders. How tiny she was in comparison to him.
Delicate, like a small bird.

"Don't move," he told her gruffly. "I'm going to check you for broken bones."

Sarah lay in a haze of pain. The circulation had returned to her legs with a vengeance. Part of her wanted to remain on guard toward Wolf Harding, but the gentle way he explored her legs for injuries shattered her resolve. Despite his size—one of his hands must have equaled two of her own!—he was amazingly careful. If he was one of
Summers's
men, he could have snapped her neck by now.

Closing her eyes, Sarah groaned as Wolf's hands closed around the hiking boot on her left leg. When he carefully moved her foot, Sarah bit back a cry.

"Hurt?"

"Yes. . ."

"Not broken, though. That's good." He checked her right foot. Both of the sturdy leather shoes were badly cut and scarred. "You're lucky you didn't break both your ankles," he said when his inspection was complete.

"Can I turn over?" Sarah chattered. Even his warm coat was becoming damp in the mud.

"Let me help you," Wolf said, coming to her side. "My guess is that you have torn muscles or damaged ligaments. Either way, too much movement on your own will worsen your injuries."

Sarah jerked up her head as Wolf slid one hand beneath her left shoulder. "Easy," he crooned, and with one smooth motion he brought her onto her back and into his arms. Then he helped her sit up.

Though she felt his intent gaze on her, Sarah evaded his glittering gray eyes. They were like shards of clear, transparent sapphire, hard and probing. He'd lifted her into his arms as if she were a baby, cradled her for just a moment and then settled her on the drier ground. A deluge of emotions broke loose within Sarah, and she bowed her head, allowing her straggly curtain of dirty-blond hair to hide her expression from Wolf.

"Listen," he told her after a moment, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. "I need to get you to the hospital in Philipsburg. If I take off those hiking boots, your feet will swell like balloons. You need to have your feet packed in ice—"

"No!" Sarah lifted her chin. "I'm not going to the hospital!"

Wolf studied her intently. The jut of her lower lip confirmed something he'd sensed all along about Sarah Thatcher: She was stubborn as hell. "You'd better have one good reason why—"

"I don't have to have a reason, mister. It's what I
want,"
Sarah retorted. "Just take me to my cabin.
It's
five miles down this road. I'll take care of myself once I get home."

He eyed her. The silence was brittle between them. "Look, you've got serious injuries, Sarah," he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his tone. "You need professional attention. The doc will probably put you on crutches for several weeks to let you heal up."

Frustration mingled with an inexplicable desire to simply throw herself into Wolf's arms and be held. Sarah was stunned by her reaction. Wolf Harding was an utter stranger to her. Combating her heart's idiotic yearnings, she gritted out, "Please, just take me home. I'll do everything else."

Grimly Wolf watched as her face paled even more. Shock was probably the cause of her poor decision. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he said firmly.

"No!" The cry was animal-like.

Wolf's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed.

"You don't understand!" Sarah cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Summers!
If he knew I was hurt, if he knew I was in the hospital, he'd jump my claim. I can't stay away from it. If he knows I'm hurt, he'll steal it from me. I can't risk it! I
can't!"
Sarah threw herself over onto her hands and knees. Making a supreme effort, she awkwardly flung herself upright.

A cry ripped from her as excruciating pain shot up through her legs. Her knees buckled, and blackness engulfed her as she felt herself falling, falling. . .

Wolf caught her as she crumpled into a heap. With a curse, he scooped her up. Her small form was diminutive against him. Her head lolled against his chest, and her lips parted, telling him she was unconscious.

"Little fool," he whispered, starting down the slope toward his pickup. Wolf debated with himself. Should he take her to the hospital as good sense dictated, or take her back to her cabin? Skeet leaped to Wolf's side as he negotiated the slippery slope covered with pine needles.

Wolf knew a lot about injuries. Torn muscles and ligaments were not unusual in traversing the mountains and jungles. And judging from the black-and-purple bruises showing on Sarah's thin ankles above her hiking boots, her injuries were extensive.

Settling Sarah on the plastic-covered seat of the forest-service truck, Wolf ordered Skeet into the rear of the vehicle. He always carried a wool blanket for emergencies, and now he covered Sarah with it. Hurrying back up the slope of the mountain, Wolf retrieved both rifles and slid back down to the muddy, little-used road.

Hospital or cabin?
Wolf's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he turned the vehicle and headed back out. The forest blocked out the stormy sky. The trees reminded him of soldiers standing stiffly at attention. Thunder rolled ominously, and it began to rain again. The already muddy road became worse. The truck didn't have four-wheel drive—and that was exactly what he'd need to make it the eight miles to the main highway.

"
Dammit
," he whispered, glancing down at Sarah. Her hair, the color of sunlight, despite the mud, lay limply around her face, her thick braid curving across her shoulders. Once again he was stuck making do with little help. It seemed that every time one of his friends got wounded, there wasn't a prayer of a helicopter rescue or a nearby hospital. And this was no exception. The road was turning ugly, and Wolf knew he couldn't make it many more miles without getting stuck. It looked like Sarah would get her wish. At this point they'd be lucky to make it to her cabin—a hell of a welcome for his first day on the job. He reached for the radio that would link him with headquarters in Philipsburg. Maybe he could get someone out to rescue them. To his dismay, the radio didn't work. Apparently the unit had shorted out.

Wolf slammed his palm against the steering wheel in disgust,
then
gingerly began turning the truck to head for Sarah's cabin.

Sarah resisted pulling awake until a combination of pain and the crash of thunder forced her to open her eyes. The bare hardwood beams on the ceiling of her cabin met her gaze. Slowly, heeding her stiff, sore body's complaints, she moved one arm from beneath the blanket covering her. Frowning, she realized she was dressed in one of her long cotton nightgowns.

"The
thunder wake
you?" Wolf asked, rising from the hand-hewn oak rocker nearby. He watched Sarah's drowsy state turn to terror and then
subside
into a guardedness when she recognized him. Why was she so fearful? What was going on?

"You!"

Wolf nodded and halted by her bed, which occupied a corner of the cabin. He placed his hands on his hips.
"Why not me?"

Sarah refused to meet Wolf's cool, steady eyes. "How did I get here?" she demanded, her voice scratchy. Then she realized that not only was she in her nightgown, but she'd been cleaned up, as well. Her hair was wrapped in a towel that smelled like mud. Her alarm growing, she met Wolf's unreadable gray gaze. "And who cleaned me up? And how did I get into my nightgown?"

"Guilty on all counts."
Wolf crouched next to her and carefully removed the blanket covering her feet. "You were out like a light, so I did the best I could to clean you up. Your hair still needs to be washed." He noticed that the swelling had gotten worse since he'd removed her boots two hours earlier.

"I don't care about my feet!" Sarah struggled to sit up in bed, her every movement excruciating. "You
undressed
me!"

"I didn't have a choice," Wolf said in a quiet tone, holding her blazing blue gaze. "You were going hypothermic on me. I had to get you out of those clothes and into something warm. But first I had to clean you up."

"You had no right!"

"I had every right,
dammit
. Why don't you say thank you for saving your neck instead of chewing me out? In case you don't know it, that
One
of thunderstorms across the mountains is still hanging around. You could've frozen to death out there tonight."

Chastened, Sarah picked nervously at the quilt covering her. Her mother had made it for her long ago. "You didn't have to undress me completely." Even her lingerie had been removed.

Exhaling tiredly, Wolf got to his feet after covering her legs back up. "Women all look the same. Hell, I've helped deliver babies, so don't pretend I've done something wrong."

Sarah watched him stalk out of the room. Looking to her right out the nearest window, she realized it was dusk. Another thunderstorm was lashing the cabin, and above the firs she could see lightning dancing across the gray, turbulent sky. Pulling her covers aside, Sarah examined her feet, which were tightly bandaged. Her mouth dropped open. He'd torn up one of her bed sheets to wrap them! She only had two sets to her name.

The aggravating pain increased as Sarah lifted her legs and swung them across the bed. Her feet barely touching the shining hardwood floor, she groaned.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wolf demanded, appearing at the doorway.

Sarah glared at him. He was carrying a bowl of soup and a cup in his hands.
"Getting up.
What's it look
like?"

"Get back into bed. You try and stand up again and you'll faint again. Is that what you want?" Wolf walked toward Sarah, glowering. He didn't want to growl at her. Why couldn't she be civil?

"No," Sarah muttered belligerently, her fingers digging into the sides of the mattress. "I don't want to faint again. Not ever."

"Well," he drawled, setting the bowl and the cup on her pine dresser, "then I suggest you stay put. You've probably got a few torn muscles in both legs. If you're smart, you'll stick to bed rest and take the help offered."