Heart of the wolf (20 page)

"It's a private security company run by Morgan
Trayhern
—a man I trust with my life. We work as troubleshooters sent all over the world, and we interface with the U.S. government. I've spent a lot of time in Colombia, Venezuela and Peru."

Sarah was thrilled that Wolf was finally opening up to her. And then she realized humbly that it was because she had offered her friendship to him. She had finally trusted him; now he was beginning to entrust her with his past. "Then you're like a soldier?"

"A mercenary," he said flatly.

"Did
you.
. . did you kill people?"

"My job was to train the police or military of each country. I was an advisor, Sarah."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

He held her gaze. "I have killed."

"In defense of yourself?"

"Myself or others."
Wolf shook his head. "I tried to defend—help—others. I failed sometimes
         
" Just
the admission sheared painfully through Wolf, but he knew it was necessary to give it voice.

"I hope I never have to kill another human being." Sarah shivered at the thought. "You don't have the eyes of a killer. Summers
does
, and so do his hired guns."

"I didn't say I enjoyed killing, Sarah. I've got a conscience." Wolf grimaced. "And it never lets me forget the faces or the situations when it happened."

"And so you quit because you didn't want to kill?" Sarah probed, still not understanding why Wolf was here in Montana. She sensed that something terrible had happened to him, and that was the reason he was here, instead of some more exotic place.

Wolf looked away from Sarah's gaze. The truth tasted bitter in his mouth. The awful need to confide in her was almost overwhelming. But he couldn't tell her—not yet. Sarah was still too vulnerable. He didn't want to dump his problems on her. They had time, and he'd pick and choose when it was right to reveal his past. A terrible fear gutted him. When Sarah found out what he'd done, wouldn't she distrust him? She'd withdraw her friendship—and the hope he saw blazing so strongly in her eyes would disappear.

"I'd had enough killing.
Enough fighting.
I got wounded in Peru, so I came home to heal.
In
a sense, a huge part of me died down in Peru."

"When I first met you, Wolf, I could see such darkness in your eyes sometimes, as if you were lost in a black pit."

"You're not far off the mark," he agreed quietly, staring down at his empty coffee mug. "I wanted a quieter life, a life that hinged on helping living things, not fighting drug lords. I told Morgan that I wanted a job as a forester, and he used his influence to get me into the ranger program. They sent me here after training."

"You wanted to be alone," Sarah murmured.
"To heal."

Her insight stunned him. Just the way Sarah whispered the words made his heart lurch with awareness of her, of her beauty as a woman with an incredibly understanding soul. "Yes."

For a long time, Sarah didn't speak. "Isn't it funny how we met each other? You came to Montana to get away from everything that had hurt you. I was fighting a battle that I knew I was losing an inch at a time." She shook her head. "Wolf, you're walking right back into the fire by helping me. You know that, don't you?"

He smiled at her candor. "In the Cherokee way, honey, walking through the fire is a part of life. Yeah, I know I'm repeating a cycle I've been through before. But you don't deserve to be abandoned." He stretched his arms out before him. "I'm going to try to help you. I've failed before, Sarah.
Badly.
But if you'll take a chance on me, I'll try to be there for you."
Please,
Wolf prayed,
this time, I must not fail.

"How did you fail?" Sarah asked, seeing the haunted look return to his eyes. "You've said that before."

Wolf shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it yet, Sarah."

Sarah sat back. Wolf had divulged far more than she'd thought he would. But whatever terrible secret he carried was still there, eating away at him. A huge part of her wanted to help him—and believed she could. Then Sarah realized just how much of her trust she was willing to give him in order to do it. The thought frightened her, and she retreated. "You don't know
Summers
," she cautioned.

"He's dangerous, and he'll kill." Rubbing her arms, suddenly feeling chilled, she added, "I've got this awful feeling, like he's lying in wait for me. I've been expecting him to raid my cabin, steal my lapidary equipment. Something. . ."

"Maybe the word's got out that you have a big guard dog," Wolf teased gently, getting to his feet. He took the cups and saucers to the sink to wash them.

Terror, shadowy and powerful, swept through Sarah. She looked up at Wolf, appreciating his strong back and shoulders. What burdens had he carried alone on those broad shoulders? He needed to be held, too, to be kept safe from a dangerous world. The desire to get up, slide her arms around him and do just that nearly overwhelmed Sarah, but she fought the urge.

Still, she couldn't shake the terror leaking through her. Should she tell Wolf about the phone call? But what could he do, anyway? Quit his job and make a bristling armory out of his house, waiting for
Summers
to try to kill her? It was stupid, she decided. She had to hope that the phone call was only a scare tactic.

"Let's get your feet wrapped," Wolf said as he finished his duties at the kitchen sink, "and then I've got to get back to the paperwork."

Sarah nodded and handed him the first Ace bandage. "Will you check the cabin before you come home tonight?"

Wolf knelt down and examined her foot. "I always do," he assured her. "You can expect me home around six tonight."

The moment Wolf turned into the fir-lined narrow dirt road that led to Sarah's cabin, Skeet started to whine. The sun had dropped behind Blue Mountain, but pale daylight lingered. Automatically Wolf looked for the cause of his dog's reaction, and as he turned the corner, he got his answer. Two pickups, one black and the other tan, were parked next to Sarah's cabin. The hair on Skeet's neck bristled, and he growled low and deep.

"Easy," Wolf said soothingly, quietly bringing the truck to a halt and pulling off into the trees. Wolf opened the door and got out, leaving Skeet in the cab. He didn't want the dog shot if Sarah's visitors were some of
Summers's
henchmen. As he walked quietly toward the cabin, Wolf put a round in the chamber of his rifle. Hearing voices inside, he moved quickly to the open door. He saw three men dressed in jeans and cowboy shirts standing inside. Before they realized he was there, Wolf had imprinted their faces on his memory.

"You men got business with Sarah Thatcher?" he demanded, moving into the doorway and blocking any possible escape.

One man, heavyset with a black beard, swung around, a startled expression on his blocky face. Almost as quickly, his two cohorts did the same.

The bearded one sneered. "What's a forest ranger doing here?"

Wolf saw that some of Sarah's lapidary equipment had been piled in several boxes on the floor. The men appeared to be ready to haul the boxes out of the cabin.

"Not the same thing you're doing here, that's for sure," Wolf snarled. He kept the rifle pointed at them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Get him!" the black-bearded one yelled.

Wolf sensed someone behind him. Too late! Bracing himself, Wolf whirled and threw out his foot, connecting solidly with another of the men, this one blond. His boot sank deep in the man's gut. From behind, Wolf heard a rush toward him. A fist hit him squarely in the right kidney. Groaning, he staggered forward, raw pain radiating through his back. The rifle dropped from his hands.

"Get the son of a bitch!" Black Beard screamed. "Beat the hell out of him! Show him he can't interfere!"

Wolf staggered and turned, parrying another blow and throwing one
of his own
. His fist connected solidly with the man's square jaw, the tremor jolting up Wolf's arm and into his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Black Beard running toward him. Breathing hard, Wolf tried to keep his footing, but the two men leaped at him at the same time. He slammed to the floor, the breath knocked out of him. And then the fists started to come at his face, two,
three
at a time. Pain arced and exploded through his brain and mercifully, Wolf lost consciousness.

It was dark when Wolf regained consciousness. He was lying on the floor of Sarah's cabin. He vaguely heard the sound of Skeet's nonstop barking coming from the truck. Groaning, he lay very still, getting his bearings and wondering if he had any broken bones. He was thankful Sarah hadn't been here when the henchmen had come. Revulsion and disgust flowed through him as he slowly sat up, every bone and muscle in his body protesting. If Sarah had been here, they might have raped her—or killed her.
Or both.

The metallic taste of blood in his mouth was overwhelming. Thirsty, Wolf lurched to his hands and knees, then woozily staggered to his feet and over to the kitchen counter. Turning on the faucet, he cupped the cold water in his hands, throwing it on his bruised and puffy face. He winced at the cold—startling and soothing at the same time. Grabbing a towel hanging on a nearby nail, he buried his face in the soft folds of the terry cloth and leaned heavily against the counter.

Taking careful steps across the room, Wolf turned on the light. It hurt his eyes, and he squinted. The two boxes filled with Sarah's lapidary equipment were still on the floor! At least the bastards hadn't managed to steal anything after all.

Looking at the watch on his wrist, Wolf took a good thirty seconds to figure out what time it was: 8:00 p.m. Sarah would be worried. Lurching to the phone on the table next to her bed, Wolf sat down. Thankfully, he'd called the telephone company to repair Sarah's phone several days ago. Grimacing, he dialed his home number. The phone rang and rang. He prayed she'd pick it up. Finally the phone was picked up, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Hello?"

Wolf heard the carefully concealed terror in Sarah's voice. "Sarah, it's me, Wolf. . . . Something's happened up here at your cabin—"

"Wolf? You sound awful! What's happened?"

"Honey, it's okay," he mumbled, discovering several loose teeth on the left side of his face. His cheek had already swollen. He must look like a chipmunk carrying nuts. "I'll be home in an hour."

"You don't sound good. Wolf, what's wrong?" she demanded.

"I'll tell you when I get home. Just have some hot water and bandages ready, Sarah."