Sherry's Wolf (8 page)
Authors: Maddy Barone
Stag shrugged evasively. “A friend’s.”
“Where is he? He must be around; the fire is burning and the house is warm. Does he mind that we’ve just barged in?”
Stag sat in the other chair and looked into her eyes. “He’s not around. We have the place to ourselves for a week.”
“Oh, that’s ni … A week?”
Stag nodded solemnly. “We need some time to get to know each other without anyone bothering us. We’ll stay here for the next week.”
“
A week
?” Something in her throat ballooned, cutting off her breath. “Do you mean stay here for a week? In this house? By ourselves?
Alone
?”
He nodded, watching her with an odd look on his face, like a naughty little boy who knew he was in trouble but hoping he could talk his way out of a spanking.
“I’m supposed to be in the kitchen tonight!”
“Des is taking care of it.”
That’s what he said this morning when he invited her to go for a ride. “Oh. My.
God
!” She jumped out of the chair, her jelly legs forgotten until she stumbled and almost went down. She jerked away from Stag’s steadying hands. “Don’t touch me! Did you plan this? We weren’t just wandering around out there, were we? You brought us right here on purpose!”
“Yeah. We need some time alone.”
She backed so close to the fireplace she felt a spark land on her. She jerked forward, and when Stag stood and reached for her she stepped to the side, holding her hands out to warn him off.
“Don’t touch me! You lied!” She couldn’t believe he had practically kidnapped her. “I want to go back. Now.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “No.”
“What?” When had Stag ever told her no? When had he ever refused to give her what she asked for? “I want to go back,” she insisted.
“No,” he said again, mildly, firmly.
Sherry stared, stunned. “But you have to. It’s too dangerous out here. Anyone could find us and kidnap me!”
She searched his face for some sign that he would give in. She found none in his calm, unyielding expression.
“Oh, wait,” she snorted disdainfully. “Someone already has.”
Stag unfolded his arms, drawing her attention to his bare, perfectly sculpted chest. “The house is being guarded by Taye’s Pack. You’re safe here.”
“Reeeeally.” The sarcasm she’d used all her life to defend herself burst into full bloom. “Safe from what? Huh? Safe from
you
? From where I’m sitting, that’s not what it looks like, boyfriend.”
Stag’s shoulders stiffened. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Reeeeally,” she repeated. It wasn’t a question; she loaded all the insulting doubt she could muster into the word. “Then take me back right now.”
He crossed his arms over his chest again. “No.”
Sherry mimicked his arms-crossed-over-the-chest pose, anger clenching her muscles tight. “What have I ever done to make you treat me like this?”
He ticked reasons off on his fingers. “When I first claimed you, you called me a monster. In the Clan’s camp you refused to even look at me. You refused to talk to me. When I brought you to Taye’s den to live with his Pack, you refused to stay there. At Christmas you demanded I give you time to see the counselors and promised you would talk to me afterward. But when I returned, you demanded
more
time. You are going to keep your promise, Sherry. We have a week to talk and get to know each other better.”
“Talk? Just talk?” Sherry was careful not to look at the only bed in the place. “I’ll go crazy with nothing to do.”
He nodded to the chest of drawers by the bed. “I had them pack your knitting.”
Tears threatened. “How can you do this? I want to go back. If I scream for help the wolves will come rescue me.”
Stag stepped closer but stopped when she retreated. “No. They’re here only to be sure no strangers come close. But I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to love me and accept me. Why would I hurt you?”
“Because you’re a man!” she lashed out. “There’s only one bed. Where are
you
going to sleep?”
“In the bed. With you. But that’s all we’ll do. Sleep. I’m not gonna tie you up or force you to do anything.”
When she’d been making out with him in the pantry she thought he was overwhelming, like a steamroller flattening anything in his path. She hadn’t known the half of it. “Stag,
please
take me back.” She allowed the tears to well over. “
Please
.”
Stag turned away. “You know I can’t bear it when you cry.”
Duh. Why else was she doing it? A girl had to use what weapons she had. “Please, Stag.”
“No. I don’t like it when you cry, but if you need to cry, go ahead.”
Outrage smothered the tears. She glared holes into Stag’s back as he strolled to the kitchen area. “What will it take to get you to take me back? Huh? A couple hours in bed? Fine! Let’s go!” She tore at the buttons on her wool flannel shirt, furious enough to be reckless. She had the shirt open before she realized he wasn’t even paying attention.
“I hate you!” she screamed at him.
His back was rigid. “That’s what Lady Amber told Dante,” he sighed obscurely. “But I hope you’ll change your mind.”
He turned, and at the sight of her shirt hanging open his eyes popped wide. “Sherry? What are you doing?”
She jerked the shirt off her shoulders. “Whatever I have to.”
With the curiously elegant speed all the wolves had, he swept to stand in front of her, hauling her shirt back up. “Sherry, no.” He fumbled to fasten the top button.
“Don’t you want to sleep with me?” she demanded. By the look of the front of his breechcloth, that question was a no brainer.
“Not like this,” he answered grimly. “I want you so bad it hurts, but I want you to want me too, and right now, you don’t.”
He was right, but he could change that. Having him so close that his scent flooded her nose reminded her what a fine looking man he was. Her lips were only inches from his throat. It would be so easy to touch her tongue to his firm brown skin and lick her way up his neck to nibble his earlobe. But she was mad at him. Yeah, she was angry enough to want to hurt him. “How do you know I don’t?” she taunted. “Maybe I can’t wait to feel your mouth on me again.”
“No, you don’t. I can smell when you’re aroused and right now …” He trailed off, inhaling like a man sniffing a fine wine. His hands stilled on her buttons, eyes widening. “You
do
want me!”
Sherry jerked angrily away. “Guess again.” She buttoned her shirt with fingers made clumsy by embarrassment and anger. “I’m not turned on, I’m pissed off. There’s a difference, okay?”
“Okay,” he placated. “Come help me get supper started.”
* * *
What remained of the afternoon was awkward. They moved carefully around each other in the kitchen while preparing and eating supper, and then cleaning up afterward. Sherry was acutely aware that she was locked in a tiny cabin with a drop dead gorgeous man who wanted her. She’d spent the last two months struggling against her attraction to him. But she would not give in, no matter what he did to her.
She spent the first hour of the evening planted in one of the chairs in front of the fire, knitting in morose silence while Stag, as always, watched her with unnerving attention. When her tired hands needed a break from knitting, she counted the flagstones in the hearth. Stag was unnervingly content to gaze at her in silence.
Finally, she snapped, “You brought me here so we could talk and get to know one another, right? So talk!”
He did. He told her about his training to be the Clan’s next wicasa wakan. Sherry gathered a wicasa wakan was like a cross between a medicine man and a priest. She asked him to spell it, and he just blinked at her, as if she’d asked him how many miles it was to the moon. It was a guttural word, with soft, slurred consonants. As he spoke he touched the small leather bag he always wore around his neck and told her it held items that had personal and sacred significance to him. She actually found herself listening closely to him as he tried to explain to her what a wicasa wakan was, because he plainly was passionate about the topic in spite of his quiet voice. Sherry tried to understand what he was saying, but frankly, she didn’t understand the Lakota religion. It seemed nebulous, without the hard and fast rules she found so comforting about her Catholic faith.
Stag’s religion, in comparison, didn’t seem to have a lot of rules. While he was trying to explain it to her, he used so many Lakota words that he said didn’t have English equivalents that she was reduced to just nodding now and then. She realized that he was telling her all this, which was very private, because he was trying to let her get to know him. Part of her wanted to tilt her nose in the air and ignore him. Another part of her was touched that he was willing to share something so personal. When he asked about her faith, she found herself telling him details she had never spoken of before.
“My grandparents weren’t religious. I was pretty young when I left, but I remember that not many people in Korea were religious. When I came to America, I was dragged along to Sunday School and church every Sunday and to the children’s missions program most Wednesday nights.”
Why was she telling him this? Her childhood was an uncomfortable topic. But he had told her personal things, so she felt like she should do the same. “My dad was a deacon at the First Baptist Church. He was real proud of that. But you know what? He was a complete hypocrite. I was his illegitimate child, living proof of his adultery. But he just ignored all that. Taking me in just to show off what a good Christian he was. Everyone in that church seemed to think he was a good man. But living in his house was like living in Hell.”
Stag reached a hand toward her, but she stared firmly at her knitting. “Sherry, not all Christians are hypocrites.”
“I know. Some of the people in that church were really nice.” They convinced Sherry that true Christians did exist. But her father wasn’t one of them. His church said that children were a gift from the Lord, but he treated her like garbage. “I became Catholic partly out of rebellion and partly because there’s comfort in the rituals of the church. Whether I go to Mass at St. Joseph’s in Missouri or St. Anne’s in New York, I feel at home. I know where I stand. That’s important to me.”
Stag listened to her with flattering attention. Except for the first few months they’d been together, LeRoi barely bothered to pretend to be interested in anything she had to say. If Stag weren’t such a stubborn, overbearing, high-handed, sexist bigot, maybe she’d be more willing to accept him.
There was no clock in the house, but Sherry felt the yawns coming on so she knew it must be bedtime. She glanced covertly at the bed. Of course Stag noticed. He noticed everything she did.
“Tired?” he asked casually.
“I’ll sleep here in front of the fire,” she announced.
He frowned. “The floor will be too cold.”
“Then you sleep in front of the fire.”
He got that calmly stubborn look on his face. “I told you, we’ll share the bed. I won’t touch you. I promise you that.”
Sherry eyed the bed, gauging whether there was room for both of them to lay in it without touching. Would arguing do any good? “I’m not comfortable with that.”
There, Dixie would be proud to hear her articulate her feelings in such clear, non-argumentative words.
His eyes looked a darker blue than usual. “If it would make you feel better, I could let my wolf out. He won’t try to kiss you or grope you. He doesn’t think of you like that. And he’d lie on top of the blankets.”
Sherry took a step back, feeling her breath choke her. A big, furry wolf with sharp teeth, in bed with her? “No!” she shuddered.
Stag shrugged. “Then it’s me under the blankets with you. I’ll walk you to the outhouse.”
It was cold in the outhouse, so Sherry shivered while she fumed. For entire chunks of time this evening she had almost forgotten she had been kidnapped. Stag was surprisingly easy to talk to. But that didn’t excuse him for kidnapping her and forcing her to stay here, not to mention making her to sleep with him.
She finished in the outhouse and stalked past Stag to the house, carrying the lantern. The duffel bag that someone had packed contained her toothbrush, comb and a towel as well as both her changes of clothes, a couple sets of underwear and socks, and a thick flannel nightgown. She brushed her teeth and washed her hands and face in the kitchen in ice cold water. Then she imperiously demanded that Stag leave while she changed for bed. When he stepped back outside, she tore through the bag of clothes. She put the nightgown on, and then pulled a pair of pants with a drawstring waist on underneath, and a pair of thick socks. Not bothering to heat the wash water might have been a mistake. Her hands ached with cold. The fire had already been covered to preserve the coals for morning so instead of going there to warm her hands, she shoved them under her armpits.
But hey
, she thought with dark humor,
if Stag gets a little too friendly, all I have to do is grab him in a sensitive place. My hands are icy enough to cool him off in a hurry
.
But any fears she’d had about Stag’s intentions proved unfounded. When he came back in he was wearing drawstring pants like hers. She’d never seen him in anything but his breechcloth and leggings or jeans. After peeling off his moccasins, he waved her to get into the bed first. After she settled herself, stiff with embarrassment and trepidation, on her back at the far side of the bed, he blew the lantern out and joined her.
