River Wolf (8 page)

He began to withdraw, then paused. “Are you going?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. Your steak looks good and if you’re not staying, I’m eating it. If you want it, be at the table in the next sixty seconds or it’s fair game.” With that he left her once more and Colby gaped for a moment, then snapped her mouth shut.

Giving her the keys returned the decision to her hands.
Go or stay?

Luc’s a charmer, and a complete pain in the ass—and a good friend.
Everything in his manner softened on those four words. Whoever and whatever else Brett Dalton was, he cared about Luc. Cared enough to be honest with her and to ask her to stay.

“Five seconds,” Brett called.

“Brett Michael, if you touch Colby’s food…” His mother had apparently joined them and at her tone, so utterly maternal and filled with remonstration, Colby grinned.

A drive in the rain or a steak dinner with the man of contradictions? “I’m coming.”

The steak swayed her decision.
Sure it did.
Ignoring her conscience, she took a sip of her coffee and stuffed her keys in her pocket. She could always leave afterward.

W
ith a second to spare
, she abandoned her indecision in the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Had it been only the two of them, Brett would have eaten in the kitchen. His parents, however, liked to sit around a table. The mixture of curiosity and aggravation deepened the headier notes of Colby’s scent when her gaze landed on his mother. Despite her shower or maybe because of it, the oddness he tasted in her scent lingered against his tongue. Though not unpleasant, it kept his attention riveted on her rather than his food. Aware of his parents, he systematically cut into his food and divided his attention equally amongst his guests.

“How is Luc?” Colby asked, and though she was directly across from him and glanced at him repeatedly, she seemed to be focusing on his mother.

“As stubborn as always.” Affection warmed her voice. “He and Brett are so much alike in that department. Neither likes being made to rest or take care of themselves during their recovery.”

Familiar with the verbal jab, he smiled at his mother then took another bite of food.

“We should probably feed him,” Colby hadn’t done more than take a bite or two of the eggs, though her growling stomach had to be as audible to his parents as it was to him. Her concern for Luc irked him. Unreasonable. She came with Luc. Luc wanted her to stay. It made her Luc’s, right?

“He’s sleeping,” Margie assured her. “And will be for some time. The doctor will be in later tonight or first thing in the morning. Charles and I will sit with Luc in the meanwhile. Can you tell me a little more about how you met him? His parents will want to know when they return from the Hamptons.”

Poor guy. Luc’s parents loved the Hamptons in the summer time. How many times had they driven down to the island and dragged Luc with them? Almost as many as he’d escaped and hitched rides back to Hudson River—at least until he was old enough to
borrow
the family car. Damn, those had been good times.

“He had a room on my floor—at the hospital in Maine. Far as I know, he was the victim of a hit and run. Though he didn’t seem to remember anything.” She took a sip of coffee, her fifth since joining them and she still hadn’t cut into her steak.

When Charles gave her a long look, she made a show of slicing off a piece of the meat. Brett took a swallow of coffee to avoid another smile. Alpha or not, when his father gave him that look, he still found himself wanting to obey the older wolf’s dictates. “It’s really good,” Colby said after swallowing the bite. “Thank you for fixing it.”

“You’re welcome.” Benevolence warmed Charles’ expression as he gave her an approving nod. “Now, you were saying Luc was on your floor at the hospital? Are you a nurse?”

Disappointment flickered through her eyes. “Not exactly.” The first bite apparently whet her appetite because she began to eat with vigor. In between nibbles, she said, “I was studying to be an RN when I got into some trouble. Long story short, trusted the wrong people and let them use me. My mistake, won’t repeat it again. I worked at the hospital as an assistant, helped with patient needs, but not actually doing anything medical. Luc was admitted to our emergency room, unconscious—and with the broken bones as you saw. They set them in surgery, I think he might have a pin in his left knee…”

A pin.
It explained the abscess and the infection. His body would reject the foreign matter. Brett caught his mother’s gaze, and she nodded once. Gillian would deal with it when she arrived, but keeping Luc asleep—especially since he shifted—was the plan for the time being.

“Anyway, he was in a coma, I think medically induced, but I could be wrong. He had a bad concussion and his tests came back odd.” Pausing, she took another bite. Delicate motions punctuated her eating, yet she chewed with gusto. The opposing behaviors reminded him of her scent, divergent yet he’d already begun to associate the antithetical nuances with her. “When he came out of the coma, they moved him to our ward and I met him because none of the nurses liked him. He was a real…” Trailing off, she stilled and glanced around the table.

“You can say Luc’s a bastard.” Brett couldn’t keep his amusement contained not even when she slanted a look of disapproval his way. The flare of her nostrils to the way her pupils contracted declared her agreement even as she tried to not agree.

“I would have said difficult,” she admitted.

“No, you would have said bastard, but you didn’t want to offend anyone.” His mother gave him a sharp look, but Brett ignored her and kept his attention on Colby. “Trust me, we’re not offended. Luc can be an ass when he wants to be and I can imagine being in pain didn’t make him any less surly.”

Her losing struggle to avoid agreeing with him played out across her face and ended with her lips compressing into a not-smile. The stubbornness added to his fascination. “Most patients in intense pain are disagreeable, Mr. Dalton.”

Using the formal address pushed him to arm’s length. The effort to shove him away had his wolf prowling forward. Both he and his beast continued to be puzzled by her scent, but they would figure it out. They would narrow the distance, then…

“Luc was no different. He also didn’t care for the hospital food.” The corner of her mouth quirked and humor underscored her words. “So much he actually threw a tray and it narrowly missed hitting me, but did splatter the wall.” Impatience streaked across her eyes while firming her smile. “I’m not a big fan of having food thrown at me, so I cleaned up the tray then told him I wouldn’t feed him anything for the rest of the day. If he wanted to keep terrorizing the nurses he could go hungry. We are more than capable of doing a feeding tube.”

Margie’s sudden bark of laughter jolted him. He’d half-forgotten his parents were there. “Oh my, I would have paid money to see you tell Luc that.” His mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin as though trying to smother her laughter. “How did he take it?”

“Not well. He continued to be difficult for the rest of the day. I checked on him frequently. The other nurses were afraid of him—”

“But you weren’t?” Brett leaned forward, food forgotten. “All his snarling and you didn’t feel even a little fear?”

Slanting a look at him, Colby met his gaze. “Patients in pain snarl. They complain. They become aggressive and unresponsive. He was in a hospital and no one came to see him save for one friend—who I half-suspect was involved in the accident.” Exhaling a huff of breath, she glanced away. Her plate was nearly empty and surprise filtered through her passion. She’d finished her meal while caught up in her tale. “Anyway, there’s a burger place about a block and a half from the hospital, and I liked going there for lunch, so I picked him up a burger. He ate his and then most of mine, so the next day I brought him a couple, and the day after that I brought him a couple on my way in and two more before the shift was over. He likes meat and it seemed to help him feel better.”

His wolf would have needed the meat. Eating large amounts mattered, especially while wounded. “That was very kind of you.” Kind and exceptionally smart. A hungry wolf was a dangerous wolf and she’d not only dealt with the beast, she’d kept it quiet.
Who the hell are you?

Luc said he had to keep her here, and that she wasn’t ready to know or to see—the wolf? Or had Luc found his mate? His continued fascination with the woman who might be Luc’s mate crossed a line Brett wasn’t comfortable with crossing.

“Kindness had nothing to do with it.” The snort dragged another smile from him. “He was being an ass, the hamburgers made him feel better. Eating promoted healing, so it was win-win for everyone involved.”

“That is why he asked you to bring him home?” Charles interrupted, and Brett scowled at his father. Rising, his dad collected the empty plates and no sooner did he move, than Colby stood as well. Standing when she did, Brett took charge of her plate as well as his.

“He asked me to bring him because he knew I was leaving Maine. I’m moving to Florida, and this wasn’t terrifically out of the way.” The first part was truth, the second wasn’t, but Brett didn’t call her on it. He’d already gathered Luc paid her to bring him so it was worth the trip.

They returned to the kitchen and his mother refilled her coffee cup, then Colby’s. “I’m surprised the doctors let him leave. Surprised, but pleased.”

“Not really sure how he pulled that off,” Colby said with a shrug. “He’d already been discharged when I arrived at the hospital. I used a wheelchair to get him to the car, and one of the orderlies helped me load him.”

No way Luc would have allowed a stranger to touch him, but Colby didn’t have the body strength to load him herself. So she had to have help.
And Luc agreed because she needed the assistance. It explained the quiet fury in his wolf. In addition to pain, he’s been helpless.
Protecting Colby would be instinct. Brett’s wolf stretched and raked his claws along the inside of his skin.

They needed to keep her safe. “Thank you for what you did for him,” Brett said, ignoring the speculative look in his mother’s eyes. “We appreciate it more than you know.”

“If you appreciate it so much, why the hell didn’t you come to see him?” The challenge slammed into the quiet balance they’d found. His cell phone chose that moment to ring.

“Life isn’t easy, nor are answers.” Pulling the phone out, he checked the caller ID. Pierce, his Hunter. “Enjoy the coffee. I have to take this.” He glanced at his mother and she nodded. She would take care of Colby. Answering the phone, he said, “Give me a moment,” then walked away from the wild challenge in her amber eyes.

“What did you find out, Pierce?”

“Colby Jensen is a bit of a mystery. Her mother is a woman named Sun-ha San. She’s from Korea, immigrated to the United States about twenty some years ago. At the time, she had a two-year-old daughter, named Xiaolang San.”

“That’s a bit of a leap to Colby.” Brett closed the door to his office. Colby was an Americanized name. Though her Asian heritage was clear, her deeper honeyed skin tone suggested mixed race.

“When Colby was four, her mother married a man named Gil Jensen, contractor of Alba, Maine and the family has lived there ever since. When she enrolled in school, she was listed as Colby Jensen, so either he adopted her or they decided to Americanize her name.” Not a lot so far, but something. “She has a record. She was arrested last year for mishandling pharmaceuticals, received a suspended sentence and probation which put her at the hospital where they admitted Luc. I’m still digging on the family, and we’ll have someone in the area in a few hours to track down more.”

The information was pretty straightforward, nothing terrifically suspicious about it. “Keep me informed.”

“Will do.” A pause, then, “Is there something I’m looking for specifically?”

“I don’t know, but keep looking.” No sooner did he disconnect the call than his phone rang again. The Manhattan office—
no rest for the wicked
. He had to take the call. Trusting his mother would handle their guest, he answered. Instead of taking a seat at his desk, he prowled around the room. The deep shadows cast by the rain stretched across the bookshelves. Outside, lightning continued to flash intermittently, but no thunder accompanied the sound.

“This is Dalton,” he said, then only half-listened to the executive beginning his weekly check in. Hudson River owned interests in several large corporations and he ran a handful privately—investment and real estate. The pack’s money was very secure.

The check ins kept him up-to-date on events, kept him informed, and let him manage issues as they arose. Periodically, he’d surprise them at the office—usually when something was off after one of these meetings. Still, he couldn’t focus on the data. Something was off about Miss Colby Jensen. The hunt beckoned. He wanted to know everything about her.

T
he afternoon vanished
while Charles and Margie took turns entertaining and interrogating her. In many respects, Margie reminded her of Miranda. Like the charge nurse before her, Margie didn’t take bullshit and had a way of honing in on topics Colby didn’t want to discuss. Topics like nursing school, her nursing experiences and plans for the future. Further adding to the mix, Margie suggested a couple of schools in the local area, both of which offered degrees in nursing and to whom she could help her get admission. Tempting, even if she didn’t plan on staying local.

Surprisingly, their taciturn son didn’t reappear. Somehow, the day slipped away from her without another attempt to leave. The lack of sunshine proved misleading and it was only when she was towel drying her hands after washing the dishes from the coffee and snacks Charles served that she even realized how dark it had grown outside.

The older couple had excused themselves when she insisted on cleaning the cups and plates, then didn’t return. Leaving the kitchen, she glanced into the sitting room they’d occupied. The single light burned in the lamp, but no one was present. “Hello?”

Torn between escaping while no one was looking and wanting to at least bid her hosts a polite goodbye, she glanced at the stairs. Not only had the kindly couple kept her from leaving, they’d also diverted her every time she mentioned checking on Luc. He was still her responsibility. Unwilling to search through the large house for her hosts, she snuck up to the second level. Knocking once on the door to Luc’s room, she waited. Not hearing an answer, she knocked lightly again.

Brett mentioned her patient needed rest, and on that they were agreed, but she wanted to satisfy herself that he was indeed okay. Then she could leave. Bargain with herself made, she twisted the knob as quietly then nudged the door open to glance inside. Darkness awaited her. “Luc?” Pitching her voice low enough not to wake him, she pushed the door wider to let light from the hall spill inside.

The mussed bed was empty. The scent of sickness filtered through the air. Frowning, Colby took a couple of steps inside and even glanced behind the door. No way a man in two casts was on his feet, so why the hell wasn’t he in the bed?

“My parents took him over to the doctor’s house. She called. She’ll be there in about an hour.” Brett’s quiet voice behind her sent adrenaline surging through her system and her heart seemed to beat against her ribcage trying to escape. Whirling, she faced him, and put a hand to her chest. She’d never been one of those weak women who screamed nor the blonde bimbo fleeing the monster serial killer in a horror movie. Yet, the urge to scream seemed to be stuck in the back of her throat.

“You need a damn bell,” she snapped.

His eyebrows lifted and so did the corners of his mouth. “It’s my house, Colby. I go where I like.”

Of course he did, and her pulse continued to jackhammer. “Sorry, you startled me.”

For a split second, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his smile grew. “My apologies. You looked more fierce than frightened.”

“You get used to taking care of yourself when you’re on your own.” Blowing out a breath, she glanced at the unmade bed. The scent of sickness continued to linger in the room. “He has an infection.”

“He does.” A hint of surprise deepened his voice. “Dr. Chase is aware, however, and she will take care of it.”

“How did they get him downstairs without me hearing them?” The question wasn’t one she expected an answer for. Hell, Brett carried him up the stairs all by himself. Glancing at her host, she frowned. He was a big man, and carried himself well, but the dress shirt and jeans were loose, comfortable clothes and didn’t reveal much about his physique.

“I am sorry I had to abandon you earlier, I had several business calls to take. I was just going to get a drink when I heard you up here. Would you like some wine?”

She’d love some, but… “I really should get going. I didn’t mean to spend the whole day here.”

“It’s late, and it’s still raining. You mentioned Florida earlier, yes?” He took her elbow and the earlier jolt she’d received seemed to echo through her. A phantom pop or maybe she was just imagining it all. With a hand still on her arm, he guided her from the room, then down the stairs. Falling into step with him, she tried to ignore how natural it felt. The man wasn’t friendly.

No, that’s not fair. He’s lonely.
In some ways he reminded her of the longer-term patients on her floor. The ones, who received fewer and fewer visitors, to whom the nurses became family and friends. They grasped onto those few brief minutes when they had to change their sheets or check their vitals—because when the nurses were done, they were alone again. “Do you live alone?”
Not that it’s any of my business.

“Yes,” he answered as he led her past the sitting room and down a second hallway on the far side of the stairs. The house’s layout was an intriguing mix of old colonial and modern sensibilities.

“You remodeled this place, didn’t you?” It would explain the stairs leading straight up to a second floor, and a hallway that didn’t seem to quite fit with the rest, though the contractor had matched the molding almost perfectly.

“About fifteen years ago.” He opened a pair of double doors revealing a library-like room with bookshelves built into the walls, a fireplace and hearth nearly half his height constructed from deep red brickwork.

It was a magnificent hearth, right down to the fat ledge over it perfect for hanging stockings and other decorations. Two sofas faced each other with a pair of recliners filling out the square and a long coffee table with a shallow top that included a bowl full of fresh fruit—which explained the hints of citrus she detected underscoring a heavier taste of sandalwood and was that fir trees? Or maybe she just had Christmas on the brain. The color scheme surprised her, deep coal gray on the furniture, rich blue in the carpet and walls trimmed in a similar blue. It seemed stormy, yet—open at the same time. A wall of windows overlooked the backyard, not that she could see much in the deepening dusk plunging them straight into nightfall except for the periodic illumination the lightning revealed.

The mirroring double doors on the far side were also lined in panes of glass. Was there a porch outside, allowing visitors to spill out when the room was too full? What would it look like filled with sunshine?

“Do you prefer red or white wine?”

“I shouldn’t have any,” she murmured. “Besides the fact that I plan to drive, I’ve always been a cheap date where alcohol is concerned.” Why the hell had she just said that? The room reflected back at her from the dark panes of glass, so she couldn’t miss the hint of amusement in his smile. The effect was transformative, he really should smile more. Yet even the hint of his lips curving seemed to take an effort. Smiling shouldn’t be difficult.

“Since I’d rather you stayed at least until you’ve talked to Dr. Chase, how about half a glass? We can have something to eat, too. That will mitigate the alcohol.” A man used to getting his way showed her courtesy by asking and not forcing.

Folding her arms, she faced him. “You are all working very hard on getting me to not leave considering a few hours ago, you’d never met me.”

“True.” He opened a bottle of white wine and poured two glasses, each half-full. Yes, definitely someone used to getting his way. Had he pushed away all those who cared? His loneliness remained palpable, even after the presence of his parents earlier.

“Why?”

When he crossed the room toward her, glasses of wine in hand, he prowled. If she were in some art house movie, she imagined the cut would have shown some great predator stalking through the jungle before returning to the man before her. The conjured image filled her mind’s eye—though she couldn’t quite decide whether he’d be a lion or other great cat. Maybe a bear. Though bears were dangerous when provoked, she didn’t imagine them stalking their prey.

“Why what?” he asked, holding the glass toward her. The mottled skin extended from his cheekbone to his hairline, though the puckering seemed smoother in some places than others. Had he been in some kind of accident? How deep had the hurt gone?

“Why are you so insistent I stay—and don’t say it’s because the doctor wants to talk to me.” She shook her head. “Your mother got all the details of Luc’s accident and treatment that I know. I’m a nobody. Just someone who was serving out her community service. There is nothing I can tell the doctor that she can’t or that Luc can’t fill her in on or for that matter she couldn’t simply get from his hospital records.” Their fingers brushed when she accepted the wine glass. The electric charge tingled over her skin, but it didn’t burn or pop this time. Thankfully.

“I didn’t lie earlier when I said Luc wanted you to still be here when he woke. So that’s part of the reason.”

Appreciating the honest answer, she met his gaze and nodded. “Part? So what’s the other part?”

“I want you to stay.” The response startled her. Heat coiled in her belly at the appreciation in his frank gaze. “Will you?”

Needing the wine, she took a swallow. Smooth, sweet and perfectly chilled it moistened her lips and quenched her suddenly parched throat. At least she could blame her stupidity on the wine.
Cause I want to say yes. What the hell is it with this guy?
He wasn’t her usual type. Success seemed to roll off him in waves and money didn’t appear to be remotely a problem. Yet, edginess gave him an almost lonely air—maybe Brett wasn’t a
bad
boy per se, but he wasn’t a white knight either.

“So you’re staying.” It wasn’t a question. Her protest died, however, when he glanced at her wine glass.

Hell.
After another sip, she said, “Maybe.”

The low rasp of his chuckle slid across the surface of her skin. “You are a hard ass, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes you have to be.” Her mother raised her to be a polite, soft-spoken lady who never churned the water. Disappointing her had become something of a habit.

“I agree,” he said, then extended his hand to the sofas. “Would you like to sit here or on the patio?”

“Isn’t it still raining?”

“Yes.” He opened one of the double doors and twinkle lights activated around the patio roof. They were low, golden in color and cast a soft glow over the stone patio with an inset fire pit and more chairs. The soft patter of the rain played like music against the roof.

Accepting his offer, she stepped outside. “It’s beautiful.” More, it soothed her in a way she couldn’t express. “I almost wish we had a fire.”

“We can.” With a light press of his hand to her lower back, he urged her to take another step forward before striding out onto the porch.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you had to…”

At the fire pit, Brett set his wine glass down on a table and glanced at her. “You wanted a fire, I can make a fire. It’s not that big of a deal.” Yet, the way his pupils seemed a little larger and the faint gleam of sweat along his skin despite the chill told her otherwise.

“Does it bother you to have one?” The question escaped before she could swallow the nosiness.

Straightening, he met her gaze and held it. “Because of the burns?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine those were pleasant, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t like fire after going through something…well, what I presume is a fire.”
Shut. Up.
She bit her lower lip and sucked it between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she said finally when he didn’t immediately answer. “I’m usually much better about minding my own business.”

“Fire bothers me. It shouldn’t, but it does. I refuse to let fear rule me, however, so if you would like a fire, I’ll build one.” He added a couple of logs to the pit. “As for being nosy…well, I started it.”

Her unease fled at the self-awareness inhabiting his statements. “You did.”

“So…”

“So?”

The grooves at the corners of his mouth deepened with a wider smile and her heart squeezed. “Fire? Or no fire?”

Draining the wine glass, she tried to get her traitorous pulse to behave. Maybe she would stay till she spoke to the doctor or at least long enough to talk to Luc. Then she had to go. Sexy, damaged host or not…

“I’d like the fire with the rain, but only if you promise me it won’t bother you too much.” One eyebrow was slightly higher than the other, the scar tissue pulled at it. Though he’d been clean-shaven earlier, a hint of stubble shadowed his cheeks and added to the rakish look. When he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, then rolled up the sleeves she tracked the reveal of the same mottled, red skin on his arms. Was he burned all over? How bad of a fire had he been in?

“Tell me a story.” The low murmur of command rolled over her. “Distract me from the fire.”

How the hell could she say no to that? “What kind of story do you want?”

“Your story, but any you want to tell me will do.”

“My story is pretty damn boring.” And she’d need a lot more wine.

“Let me be the judge.” He beckoned to her as he added another log, then added kindling beneath the wood. “Tell me about Florida…tell me what you want your story to be.”

Perching on the edge of one of the chairs, she rubbed her thumb against the wine glass. What
did
she want it to be?

F
ire blazed
on the match tip, the scent of sulfur and accelerant sent ice through his veins. Touching the flame to the kindling, he kept his hand steady even as the contact ignited the twigs. Across from him, Colby watched him. Keenly aware of her observation, he contained the unease his nearness to heat evoked. No one else had noticed, or at least none had dared comment on the subject of pathological aversion he’d developed following the incident with Marco.

Colby? She asked him straight out. As the crackling fire spread through the kindling and began to climb to the lick along the logs themselves, he let the match drop into the pit. The weight of her gaze attracted him nearly as much as her scent. Turning the thought over, he felt the corners of his mouth curve. His beautiful guest roused him from what seemed like an enforced slumber. Beautiful. Intelligent.