Heart of the wolf (18 page)

Sarah nodded, not trusting her voice yet. She was wildly aware of Wolf's massive body, his powerful arms encasing her, his hand gently moving up and down the length of her arm, soothing away any last vestige of pain. His voice was shaky, and so was she. Wolf's male scent entered her awareness, and she inhaled deeply.

Realizing that she'd trusted—completely surrendered to—Wolf, Sarah lay in his arms, confused. Her head was screaming at her to move away from him. But her heart, which had held so much fear and grief alone for so long, begged her to remain within his embrace. As Sarah slowly opened her eyes, she remembered their previous embrace, and how Wolf had pushed her away.

Not this time, her heart whispered. But her head won the struggle, and she started to move.

"Stay," he rasped, his arms tightening momentarily. Wolf held his breath. He knew he had no right to ask such a thing of Sarah. He hadn't earned this privilege, but he couldn't help himself. Sarah somehow flowed around all his rational reasons, leaving him helpless to deny her anything.

Sarah capitulated, still raw from weeping, in need of human care and love. Her eyes opened.
Love?
Where had that word come from? And just as swiftly as the thought had come, Sarah rejected it. Love meant trust, offering her heart to be trampled and destroyed. She sniffed and pressed her hand to her eyes, feeling a fresh flow of tears welling.

Wolf reached over to the bedside table and pulled several tissues from the box there. "Here," he said, placing them in her hand.

"Thanks. . ." Sarah said brokenly.

"Bad dream?"

Sniffing, she nodded and bunched up the damp tissues, loath to leave Wolf's embrace. "I—" she bit back the truth about the phone call. "I-it was a violent one. . ."

Wolf nodded and stilled his hand against her arm, content just to hold Sarah. "Yeah, they're all too familiar to me."

"You?"

"Pretty frequently."
His voice grew wry. "I almost think I'd miss them if they suddenly went away some night."

Twisting a look up at his deeply shadowed, harsh features, Sarah blinked belatedly remembering the terrible scars she'd seen on his chest and back. "You never told me
          

Bare inches separated their faces, their lips. Wolf placed a steel grip on his desire. Sarah was wide open and vulnerable. It was wrong to take advantage of her.
Completely wrong.
He held her wounded-looking gaze. Her eyes were dark with fear. "I don't usually admit to having them," he told her huskily.

Sarah became lost in the turbulence of his gray eyes, at a loss about whatever terror-filled past still remained alive in him. She was too raw herself to deal with whatever Wolf carried, anyway. "They're awful," she managed.

"Yeah, but eventually they lose some of their punch," he said, and captured a stray strand of her hair, moving it away from her face. "
It's
nightly therapy," Wolf joked.
"Cheap and free."
It was a lousy joke, and he knew it. The anguish on Sarah's face made him grimace. He didn't want her worrying about him; she needed to focus on her own needs.

"The best therapy," he said, clearing his throat, "is talking."

"Interesting theory, coming from you," Sarah noted in a scratchy voice.

"The shoe's on the other foot, honey. It's your turn. What was the nightmare all about?"

Honey.
Sarah melted every time the endearment crossed his lips. It touched her heart, tugged at her lonely soul. She lowered her lashes, unable to hold his burning gaze. He seemed to see right through her. Relaxing in his arms, she sighed and whispered, "Ever since my dad was killed in that explosion—I've never cried."

Wolf's brows moved upward.
"Never?"
His arms tightened briefly around Sarah. Wolf, too, had hidden his tears, pretended they weren't there or that he was tough enough to take it. But there had been unbidden times when the tears had refused to be held back—and, exploding with rage and helplessness, Wolf had cried alone.

"N-no.
I had to be strong for Mom."
For myself.
Sarah sniffed and wiped her nose. "It was such a shock," she went on in a hoarse tone, "my dad dying and all. H-
he
always dreamed of finding that one huge cornflower- blue sapphire that would haul us out of poverty and make us millionaires." Sarah closed her eyes and absorbed the feel of Wolf's hand briefly grazing her cheek, where fresh tears flowed. "Dad loved us very much. He was my idol. He was an honest man. He worked sixteen hours a day during the summer to make enough money to tide us over during the winter."

"He sounds a little like my father," Wolf said, thinking fondly of his own dad.

"My dad gave me my work ethic, Wolf." Sarah opened her eyes and lifted her head to meet and hold his warm gray gaze. "He taught me to go after what I wanted." Swallowing hard, Sarah dropped her gaze. "After he was murdered, my whole world fell apart. I—I didn't realize how much my mother depended on my dad until she had that stroke. I just didn't realize. . ." Another sob escaped her.

Wolf nodded and pressed a kiss to her hair, wishing he could take away the fresh pain that had surfaced. "Maybe you weren't aware of the love they had for each other when you weren't around."

Sarah gave a small, helpless laugh. "I guess you're right, Wolf—I'm naive. After Mom had the stroke and I put her in the nursing home, I had to clean out a bunch of drawers at the cabin to take her clothes to her." She picked at the damp tissue still wadded in her hand. "In one drawer I found a whole box of letters my dad had written to her when he was serving in Vietnam."

Wolf felt Sarah tremble and realized intuitively how much she needed to share this with someone—even him. "Tell me about it," he urged gently, stroking her hair with his hand.

The touch of Wolf's hand upon her hair broke the dam that had held back Sarah's grief. "
Th
-they were love letters—" She choked softly and pressed the tissue to her eyes. "There must have been a hundred of them. When I first discovered them, I didn't know what they were. I opened one and read it. What my Dad wrote was beautiful. When I realized it was from the sixteen months he'd spent in the army, I sat down on the floor and read every one of them." She sniffed. "That was when I realized just how much they loved each other."

"That must have been healing for you," Wolf murmured, looking down at her flushed features, her bright, tear-filled eyes.

"It was and it wasn't. I just didn't know, Wolf! I never saw them kissing or stuff like that. I never saw my dad come up and put his arm around my mom, or reach over and hold her hand. Nothing. . ."

"They came from a generation that believed in showing their love behind a closed bedroom door," Wolf reminded her quietly.

"I don't ever want that! I want my kids to know I love my husband. I want them to see us kissing, touching and holding. I want them to be hugged, to be touched and held—" Sarah broke off, realizing what she'd said. Sniffing, she muttered, "I'm not getting married, anyway. It's not worth it, Wolf."

"Why not?"

"Marriage is too risky."

"You mean, loving someone?"

With a quirk of her mouth, Sarah gazed up at him. In that moment, he appeared so wise and understanding. He seemed to see beneath her painful words. "
Yes.
. .I guess so."

"Why?"

"Because—because if you give your love, it's taken away." Sarah realized how lame that sounded.

Wolf nodded. "Your love for your dad was ripped from you?"

"Yes."

"And then, in a way, your mom abandoned you, too.
Right?"

Wolf's insight was startling. Sarah eased out of his arms. She stood up and moved a few feet from the bed. Sarah tried to smooth the wrinkled cotton gown. The silence deepened in the room. Sarah knew she couldn't evade Wolf. He didn't deserve that from her. Finally she clasped her hands in front of her and looked over at him.

"I know she didn't do it on purpose," she admitted in a broken whisper. "But—Mom's gone. All that's left is her body. She rarely ever recognizes me anymore. I'm—" she choked "—a stranger to her."

Rising, Wolf slowly approached Sarah. He placed his hands on her slumped shoulders, hoping in some small way to absorb her anguish. "Love is risky," he admitted thickly. "No guarantees, Sarah. Not ever."

She touched her heart with her hand, feeling the pain. "I—I just don't have any more to give, Wolf."

"I understand better than you think," he rasped. His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Feel like trying to go back to sleep? It's 3:00 a.m."

Sarah heard that awful anguish in his voice again and looked up, seeing clearly the haunted look in his gray eyes. Someday she'd get him to share that pain as he'd convinced her to share hers. . . .Suddenly, exhaustion descended upon her like a heavy blanket. Her eyes, burning from her many tears, felt heavy-lidded. She nodded, realizing she had to sleep. When Wolf removed his hands, she felt alone as never before. Searching his harsh, unreadable features, she asked, "Will it come back?"

"The nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Probably not."
He gave her a slight smile meant to buoy her. "But if it does, just scream and I'll be here for you.
Deal?"

She smiled a little, remembering the deal she'd had with earlier him, and their handshake. Her lower lip trembling, she whispered, "Deal."

Sarah awoke the next morning. It was nearly 10:00 a.m.! With a start, she sat up in bed, her head aching from all the crying she'd done the night before. With a groan, she touched her brow. Slowly her conversation with Wolf floated back to her and, more importantly, his tenderness toward her. Taking in a ragged breath, she tried to push away the feelings he'd aroused. She had to keep her distance—it was a matter of survival!

After washing and dressing in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved yellow blouse, Sarah hobbled—without the crutches—to the living room. The house was quiet. How she missed Wolf's larger-than-life presence. Skeet was gone, too.

In the kitchen, she found a note near the automatic coffeemaker.

Sarah—