Spirit of the Wolf Page 4

  Leaning over the saddle horn, she stroked Misty’s neck. “You’d tell me if there’s a pack of wild mutts around, wouldn’t you?”

  Yes, she concluded. Misty would be trying to buck her off so she could gallop away from danger.

  Newly alert, Cat straightened. Compared to the hills around her place, Matt’s looked as if they’d been sanded. Instead of sharp angles and rocky spires, these had a muted quality. She’d be surprised if there were any caves.

  Heat attacked the back of her neck, making her regret not having worn a hat.

  Riding was getting to her unrestrained breasts, or rather the unaccustomed freedom stirred her awareness of herself as a woman—that and Matt moving ahead of her. His cell phone chirped, cutting through the music of birds and wind. “We’re almost there,” he said into it. “Me and Cat.” He was silent. Then, “Guess we’ll find out.”

  “What was that about?” she asked when he’d returned the phone to his pocket.

  “Beale asked how you’d react.”

  The carcass was a mess. The calf had been dead long enough that its legs were rigid. Despite that, its eyes remained big and black and, to her mind, scared-looking. Beale, a pistol strapped to his side, sat nearby while his mount, minus its bridle, grazed a short distance away. Cat was proud of Ginger’s reaction. Although the mare’s head stayed high and her ears kept moving, she continued walking until Matt reined her in. Misty needed knee pressure against her sides to venture close. Warned by Misty’s shudders, Cat remained alert for sudden panic, something horses—that at the core were prey animals—were known for.

  Matt dismounted and wrapped Ginger’s reins around the closest bush. Instead of reminding him that the mare ground tied and had no need of a restraint, she decided not to distract him. Besides, Ginger had, to her knowledge, never come face-to-face with a violent and bloody death. After dismounting, she did the same with Misty, taking time to tie a secure knot.

  By then Matt was standing over the dead calf with a somber-looking Beale beside him. Beale glanced her way. His attention slid to her breasts. Eyes wider than they’d been a moment ago, he frowned.

  “Even before I found the calf, I had this feeling,” Beale began. “I can’t explain it, just this sense that I didn’t want to come here.”

  “Why did you?” she asked. A look from Matt reminded her, too late, that she was suppose to be a bystander.

  “’Cause I had to,” Beale said. “It’s my job.”

  If Beale was twenty-one, he hadn’t been for long. He had the not-quite-settled look of someone who wasn’t done growing, but his family had been in the ranching business for generations. Obviously Matt had hired him for his upbringing, not for the breadth of his chest.

  Matt squatted next to the calf, pushed back his hat, and ran his hand down the animal’s neck as if looking for a pulse. Now that she’d had time to steel herself, she acknowledged that the calf had been disemboweled. In addition, the wounds in a hind leg left her with no doubt that it had been hamstrung.

  “I’m not much good at reading prints,” Beale told Matt.

  “You are. I was careful not to walk around much and tied my horse”—he pointed at the roan gelding—“where it wouldn’t mess things up.”

  “Good.” Matt stood, walked over to the calf’s rear legs, and crouched again. The first time, his touch had been gentle. Now Cat saw only a clinical approach, a man searching for the facts. Mindless to the gore, he pulled at the ruined skin.

  “What are you looking for?” She kept her voice at a whisper.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “Figuring out how many attackers there were.”

  By the time she’d assimilated his short explanation, he’d returned to his study of the carcass. Remembering the pain that had lurked in his eyes, she realized that beneath the hard exterior, Matt was a man who loved his animals. Although she wished he would share what he was learning with her, she kept her questions to herself. After examining what was left of the calf’s belly, he slowly and gracefully stood and circled the carcass. He kept his head down and several times leaned over for a closer look at something.

  Finally he returned to where she and Beale waited. “This wasn’t done by a dog.”

  How can you say that? she came too close to blurting. Instead she clenched her fingers to keep from touching him. He looked not just grim but also tense.

  “I didn’t think so,” Beale said, “but I didn’t want to say anything until you’d come to your own conclusions. Too clean for curs, right?”

  “Yeah.” Matt rammed his hands into his back pockets. “Damn, I wish I’d brought a camera.”

  “I have one.” Beale nodded at the gelding. “My girlfriend keeps asking me to show her what I do.”

  “I’d like to borrow it.”

  Looking pleased to be able to do something for his boss, Beale hurried toward his mount.

  “Who are you going to show the pictures to?” she asked.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  Although Matt had met her gaze during the short exchange, she sensed his attention was elsewhere. He had the look of a man backed into something he wanted no part of. Different from before.

  And the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

  What is this reaction about? she pondered as Beale demonstrated how the digital camera worked. Matt’s rugged quality had been a huge part of his appeal to her. He was no less rugged and untamed today, but there was a new layer. Mysterious. Dangerous?

  Not rushing, Matt took at least a dozen shots of the sad remains. He even aimed the camera at the sky and captured the buzzards circling overhead. That done, he stepped away from the kill site and started walking in a slow, contemplative circle. He stared at the ground, occasionally brushing grass aside with a boot. Although she hoped the activity—she guessed he was looking for tracks—would calm him, tension continued to ride his shoulders.

  “You ever seen something a pack of dogs has gotten to?” Beale asked her.

  “No.”

  “It’s ugly. They don’t know what they’re doing; hunting’s been bred out of their DNA or something. They rip and tear until not much is left. This”—he jerked his head at the carcass—“is the work of a real predator.”

  “Cougar?”

  “No,” Matt responded. “Cats go for the throat.”

  Matt knew or suspected more than he was saying. So, she gathered, did Beale. Much as she needed to know what that was, she’d wait for them to explain. Watching Matt lean down and snap a picture of something on the ground, she acknowledged that the prickling at the back of her neck hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t just the carnage or even the men’s moods—not that she had a handle on Matt’s.

  Their surroundings contributed.

  Were they being watched?

  Going by Matt’s actions, she surmised he’d found the trail made by whatever creature had killed he calf. She didn’t understand why he found it necessary to take shot after shot. Before he’d finished, he’d covered nearly a hundred yards. Rubbing the side of his neck, he started back. Then he stopped, new tension evident in the lines of his body. Unfortunately, he wasn’t close enough for her to read his expression.

  To her surprise, he turned ninety degrees to the left and took a dozen slow, long-legged steps. Stopping, he drew his rifle from his back and stared at the ground. Didn’t move a muscle. The better part of a minute later, he squatted, holding the rifle in one hand and the camera in the other. She couldn’t see what he was doing beyond studying something on the ground. Everything about him called to her. He was no longer the determined cowboy who’d recently turned down a corporation’s offer to buy him out. That man had been replaced by a creature ruled by instinct.

  After standing, Matt took more pictures, using one hand this time. Done, he slung the rifle over his shoulder but made no move to rejoin her and Beale.

  “Damn,” Beale muttered.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Last time he acted like that, a storm was about to hi
t in the middle of calving season.”

  “But this was just one calf.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to calm, maybe both of them. “He can’t be thinking the rest of the herd’s in danger.”

  Instead of agreeing with her, Beale started toward Matt. Although she wanted to see what had captured Matt’s attention, she couldn’t make her legs move. Reaching out, she patted Misty’s side.

  At length, Beale reached his foreman. She didn’t think they said anything before Beale knelt as Matt had done. A few seconds later, Beale stood. His hand hovered over his sidearm. Even at this distance, she knew the man inside Beale had been replaced by the child he’d been not long ago.

  They started back toward her, walking side by side, looking all around instead of where their boots landed. Shadows caused by their hats hid their expressions, yet their body language said a lot of things she wished they didn’t.

  “You know what did this, don’t you?” She glanced at the calf.

  “Yeah.” Matt fingered his rifle.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  The two men exchanged a look. “Wolf,” Matt said.

  “Wolf.” She took a calming breath. “Then the rumors . . . They’re here, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  Years ago, wolves had been reintroduced to Yellowstone as an experiment in restoring the balance of nature that had existed before man declared wolves a menace and all but wiped them out in the United States. She loved the idea of having the predators back in the wild.

  The original pack had grown, divided, moved. The first wolf had appeared in eastern Oregon a few years ago, but because wolves were territorial, they’d continued to head west. Once a pack became established in an area, the alpha pair chased off the juveniles, forcing them to claim new turf.

  Central Oregon’s ranchers had known that time was coming. Why, then, did Matt and Beale appear so shocked?

  “All the scat’s a day old. There’s no reason for me to stay here,” Matt announced.

  Surprised, she opened her mouth, but he knew his world better than she possibly could.

  “What do you want me to do with the carcass?” Beale asked.

  As Matt explained that it needed to be buried to discourage wolves from returning, she noted how few words had been exchanged between the two men. Instead they seemed to be communicating via locked gazes.

  “That’s that, then?” she asked. “You don’t have any concerns for the rest of the cattle?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why Beale’s staying here, with my rifle. And why I’ll get one of my men to get my dogs up here.”

  That made sense, especially since Matt had trained his two Australian shepherds to protect and herd livestock.

  “I want to upload the pictures tonight,” Matt said. “I’ll get your camera back to you after that.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Squaring himself, Matt looked from Beale to her and then back again. “I don’t want either of you saying anything about this until I give the word.”

  Nodding soberly, Beale stared at what was left of the calf.

  “You can’t be thinking about keeping this to yourself,” Cat blurted. “The other ranchers have a right to know—”

  “I know what I’m doing, Cat. Believe me, I have damn good reasons for it.” Grabbing her upper arm, he propelled her toward her truck. “Time for us to go.”

  4

  Driving took up only a small part of Matt’s attention. Mindful of Cat sitting beside him, he occasionally took in his surroundings. Although he’d known how the calf had died the moment he spotted the carcass, seeing that first wolf print had sent a chill through him.

  Things had changed.

  Maybe the life he’d fought so hard for had been upended.

  Damn, he didn’t want to feel like this. From early childhood, the predators had fascinated him. Unlike him, wolves were strong, resourceful, independent. On the few occasions when he had access to research material, he’d soaked up everything he could about them. Back then he hadn’t seen his fascination for what it was—escape from the real world. He did now, not that self-analysis had lessened his interest. Wolves were unique, intelligent and deadly, complex and, in their own way, loving. As pack animals, each member had a well-defined role. They relied on each other, raising pups as a group, watching each other’s backs, hunting and killing together.

  If wolves and wolves alone had been out there, he could live with that. He’d contact the authorities and spread the warning through his fellow ranchers. He’d even speak to the media, because that was what a responsible man did.

  However, that last paw print had turned everything on end. Maybe short-circuited his mind.

  To his disbelief, he no longer felt comfortable in his own skin.

  “A pack’s moved into the area, hasn’t it,” Cat said. “I wonder how many there are.”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Matt, I have a right to know something. Are you considering not telling Fish and Wildlife?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Don’t.” She touched his arm only to jerk her hand back and hug her side of the cab. “I hate it when you give me a nonanswer. Telling us not to say anything—I don’t understand your thinking.”

  Me either. “This is my call. Let it be.”

  “The hell I will. I can’t.”

  Although he didn’t look at her, her glare bore into him. Even with her waiting for his response, he couldn’t give it. Damn it, she was right. A responsible man would have already dialed 911. Let people swarm over his land.

  Maybe that’s what it all came down to. His land. Not wanting anyone on it. Leaving the wolves—and the other thing—alone.

  Maybe.

  If only he could pull his thoughts together.

  The truck and trailer filled him with movement and sound. The woman beside him . . . Hell, he didn’t know what to think of her, so he buried himself in the act of driving through land that had become his parents and family, his life, his soul.

  One mile became another and then a third until he spotted the ranch and outbuildings. The horses whinnied, obviously looking forward to getting out. Usually he felt the same way, because being confined in a vehicle made him more than a little claustrophobic. Today he didn’t know what he wanted.

  Fighting the urge he didn’t have a name for, he pulled Cat’s truck close to the wooden corral and turned off the engine. Faced her. She sat with her head resting on the seat back and looking at him.

  “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what happened and the way you’re acting,” she said, “but maybe it’s a fool’s mission.” Sighing, she straightened. “You turn me on like I’ve never been turned on. I’m not telling you something you don’t know.” Another sigh. “I tell myself you feel the same way and we’re riding this whatever-it-is for all it’s worth, but this is crazy—you know it is.”

  Her words were a song, sounds brushing over grass. His attention was drawn to her neck and throat. And her breasts. She was female, he was male. Heat speaking to heat.

  She continued. “I’m going to take a break from us. Get my feet back under me. Figure out who I am because I sure as hell can’t figure you out.”

  Now the words came at him one at a time and disjointed, meaningless. In a wolf pack, only the alpha pair mated. They were the strongest, the leaders, and passed on superior genetics. Unlike humans, who hooked up for countless and often meaningless reasons, wolves did what they did for one reason: to maximize the creatures’ chance of survival.

  He was strong and healthy. So was Cat.

  Something primal had brought them together.

  Even with the windows down, the air inside the cab started heating. Sweat bloomed on Cat’s temples.

  “I give up,” she said, and reached for her handle. “There’s no talking to you today. If—”

  His hand, which no longer felt as if it belonged to him, snaked out and clamped onto her knee. “Stay!”

  “Stay? Matt, I�
�m no—Hey, that hurts.”

  Her sharp tone barely registered. Teeth clenched, she dug her nails into his wrist. “What the hell? Let me go!”

  Pain triggered something in him. Growling, he slid from behind the steering wheel and shoved her against her door. Eyes wide, she glared at him. Was that fear behind the glare? Didn’t matter.

  “Let me go.” Her every word had a drumlike quality. “This is so damn not funny.”

  Although she trembled, she made no move to try to free herself, only looked at him as if she’d never seen him. The day had heated her bare arms, and what he could see of her chest looked sunburned. Cotton covered her breasts. He’d expose them and handle what belonged to him. Take her hard and fast. Leave his imprint on her. Remind her of his superior strength and great need.

  “Matt? Can you hear me?”

  Her lips remained parted. Behind them, he glimpsed straight, white teeth. They’d kissed, of course, but not much and not for long, because they’d always been eager to get to sex itself. As a consequence, he knew little about her mouth.

  Time for that to change.

  Leaning across her while still gripping her upper arms, he aimed. To his relief, her features went out of focus. This way he no longer had to face her questions, her disquiet. Fighting the force trying to break free inside him, he managed a light touch of lips against lips. In contrast, his hold remained firm.

  She turned her head to the side. “What the hell is—”

  “You know you want this.”

  “Damn you.” She swung her head back toward him. “Damn you for—”

  He cut off her words with another kiss, this one stronger and less in control. His muscles contracted and expanded, and his heart pounded.

  Another shudder struck her. Then, breathing quick and unsteady, she returned his crude attempt at a kiss. Dimly aware that it was getting even hotter in the cab, he increased the pressure. His suddenly erect cock pressed against his jeans to hammer home the fact that she was his mate, the female fate had chosen to accept his seed. The animal taking over inside him didn’t care whether she wanted the same thing.