PRINCE OF WOLVES Page 3

  She was too lost in her own musings to immediately notice the sudden hush that fell over the bar. The absence of human chatter caught her attention slowly, and she blinked as she looked around. The noisy clumps of men were still at their tables, but they seemed almost frozen in place. Only the television, nearly drowned out before, broke the quiet.

  Maggie, too, was still, gazing fixedly in the direction of the door. Joey swung around, noting that every other face was turned the same way. There was a man standing just inside the doorway, as still as all the others, a silhouette in the dim light. It took Joey a moment to realize that he was the focus of this strange and vivid tableau.

  Even as the thought registered, someone coughed. It broke the hush like the snap of a twig in a silent forest. The room suddenly swelled again with noise, a relieved blast of sound as things returned to normal. Joey shook her head and stared as the new arrival moved across to the single pay phone in the alcove near the entryway, turning his back to the room. She could just make out the man's height, a certain lean grace in his movements, a head of darkish hair; but nothing about him indicated a reason for the peculiar reaction his entrance had provoked. The stranger picked up the receiver and began dialing, seemingly as oblivious to her scrutiny as to what had just occurred. She turned back to Maggie and met the woman's distracted gaze.

  "What was that all about?" she asked. Maggie was slow to answer, but the moment of gravity was shortlived, and the barkeep smiled again and shook her head.

  "Sorry about that. Must have seemed pretty strange, I guess. But he tends to have that effect on people around here."

  Joey leaned forward on her elbow, avoiding a wet puddle on the counter. "Who's 'he'?" she demanded, casting a quick glance over her shoulder.

  Setting down the mug she'd been polishing, Maggie assumed an indifference Joey was certain she didn't feel. "His name is Luke Gévaudan. He lives some way out of town—up the slope of the valley. Owns a pretty big tract of land to the east."

  Joey slewed the stool around to better watch the man, chin cupped in her hand. "I know you've said people here don't much care for outsiders," she remarked, "but you have to admit that was a pretty extreme reaction." She strained to hear the man's voice over the din but could make nothing out. He kept his back turned to her. "Gévaudan, you said. Isn't that a French name?"

  "French-Canadian," Maggie corrected. "There are a few people living farther out on the slopes and in some of the more isolated valleys. Sometimes they'll come into town, though not so much over the past few years."

  "So he's one of these… French-Canadians? Is that why the people here don't like him?" She studied Maggie over her shoulder.

  "It's not like that," Maggie sighed. "It's hard to explain to someone from outside—I mean, he's strange. People don't trust him, that's all. And as a rule he doesn't make much of an attempt to change that. He keeps to himself."

  Unexpectedly intrigued, Joey divided her attention between the object of her curiosity and the redhead. "Don't kid me, Maggie. He may be strange and he may be standoffish, but you can't tell me that wasn't more than just mild distrust a minute ago."

  She pulled absently on her braid where it fell over her shoulder, examining what little she could see of Gévaudan. There was nothing particularly unusual about his appearance that she could see from here. He was tall and big and dressed in jeans and a green plaid shirt, like any number of the other men in town. She couldn't get a clear look at his face.

  Maggie leaned against the bar and sagged there as if in defeat. "I said it's complicated. I didn't grow up here, so I don't know the whole story, but there are things about the guy that bother people. I hear he was a strange kid. And there's the matter of his lands—he owns a lot of prime timber up there that would make work for local folks. So I've been told." She hesitated. "He's also got a bit of a reputation as a—well, a lady-killer, I guess you could say." She grinned and tossed her red curls. "I'm not sure that's the right word. Let's put it this way—he's been known to attract the ladies, and it's caused a bit of a ruckus now and then."

  "Interesting," Joey mused. "If he's so popular with the local women, I can see why the men around here wouldn't be overly amused." She couldn't help but consider the local men she'd met; some of them had been pleasant enough, but none had come close to attracting her interest. Not that that would have been likely in any case, after Richard...

  "It's not just local women," Maggie broke in, falling naturally into her usual habit of cozy gossip. "Though there were a couple of incidents—before my time, you understand. But I know there've been a few outsiders who've, shall we say, taken up with him." She gave an insinuating leer "They all left, every one of them, after a few months. And none of them ever talked."

  Wondering when she'd get a clear look at his face, Joey cocked an eye at her friend. "I guess that could make for some resentment. He may be mysterious, but he doesn't sound like a very nice guy to me."

  "There you go," Maggie said, pushing herself off the bar. "Consider yourself warned. " She winked suggestively. "The way you're staring at him, I'd say you need the warning."

  At Joey's start of protest, Maggie sashayed away to serve her customers. Joey was left to muse on what she'd been told. Not that it really mattered, in any case. She wasn't interested in men. There were times when she wondered if she ever would be again. But that just wasn't an issue now. She had far more important things on her mind.

  Her thoughts broke off abruptly as the man called Gévaudan turned. There was the briefest hush again, almost imperceptible, if Joey hadn't been so focused on him and what had happened, she might never have noticed. For the first time she could see him clearly as he stepped into the light.

  The first impression was of power. It was as if she could see some kind of aura around the man—too strong a feeling to dismiss, as much as it went against the grain. Within a moment Joey had an instinctive grasp of why this Luke Gévaudan had such a peculiar effect on the townspeople. He seemed to be having a similar effect on her.

  Her eyes slid up his lithe form, from the commonplace boots and over the snug, faded jeans that molded long, muscular legs. She skipped quickly over his midtorso and took in the expanse of chest and broad shoulders, enhanced rather than hidden by the deep green plaid of his shirt. But it was when she reached his face that the full force of that first impression hit her.

  He couldn't have been called handsome—not in that yuppified modern style represented by the clean-cut models in the ads back home. There was a roughness about him, but not quite the same unpolished coarseness that typified many of the local men. Instead, there was a difference—a uniqueness—that she couldn't quite compare to anyone she'd seen before.

  Her unwillingly fascinated gaze traveled over the strong, sharply cut lines of his jaw, along lips that held a hint of reserved mobility in their stillness. His nose was straight and even, the cheekbones high and hard, hollowed underneath with shadow. The hair that fell in tousled shocks over his forehead was mainly dark but liberally shot with gray, especially at the temples. The age this might have suggested was visible nowhere in his face or body, though his bearing announced experience. His stance was lightly poised, alert, almost coiled like some wary creature from the wilds.

  But it wasn't until she reached his eyes that it all coalesced into comprehension. They glowed. She shook her head, not sure what she was seeing. It wasn't a literal glow, she reminded herself with a last grasp at logic, but those eyes shone with their own inner light. They burned—they burned on hers. Her breath caught in her throat. He was staring at her, and for the first time she realized he was returning her examination.

  She met his gaze unflinchingly for a long moment. His eyes were pale—and though in the dim light she could not make out the color, she could sense the warm light of amber in their depths. Striking, unusual eyes.

  Eyes that burned. Eyes that seemed never to blink but held hers in an unnerving, viselike grip. Eyes that seemed hauntingly familiar…

 
; Joey realized she was shaking when she finally looked away. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, straining against each other with an internal struggle she was suddenly conscious of. Even now she could feel his gaze on her, intense and unwavering, but she resisted the urge to look up and meet it again. The loss of control she'd felt in those brief, endless moments of contact had been as unexpected and frightening as it was inexplicable. She wasn't eager to repeat the experience. But the small, stubborn core of her that demanded control over herself and her surroundings pricked at her without mercy. With a soft curse on an indrawn breath, Joey looked up.

  He was gone.

  The shock of it had little time to register. "You there, Joey? Anyone home?" Maggie's voice drew her attention reluctantly away from the place Gévaudan had been standing only seconds before. "I thought for a moment you might be having an out-of-body experience or something." The redhead lifted the half-empty wine bottle in invitation, but Joey shook her head with a sigh.

  "Something like that, I guess. I'm just tired. I should probably turn in so I'll be fresh to start over in the morning."

  She forced her body to move in accordance with her words, but she couldn't shake the disorientation the strange encounter with Gévaudan—or more precisely, with his eyes—had left her with. She slipped off the stool and immediately lost her balance; only a quick clutch at the edge of the bar saved her from a fall.

  Maggies voice floated down. "You all right? Are you going to need some help getting home?"

  The concern in the redhead's voice was a welcome and familiar comfort. Joey grasped at as she righted her-self. "No, I'll be okay." She grinned wanly at Maggie as she searched her pocket for change. "Thanks for everything."

  Maggie waved away the neatly folded bills Joey retrieved from her wallet with an answering grin. "It's on the house. You be damned careful heading home now, okay?" Joey nodded, starting across the room as Maggie's words chased after her. "Don't forget to watch out for strange men, you hear?"

  For once Joey fully resolved to follow well-meant advice.

  Chapter Two

  Luke stalked away from the tavern in a distinctly satisfied mood. It had been a very pleasant surprise to see just how receptive she'd been to his challenge. That had been an added bonus to the confirmation of his earlier observations; she was an attractive woman. The subtle curves of her body had not been disguised by the loose-fitting jeans and overlarge shirt she'd been wearing. Her long, pale hair was worn in a severe and practical braid, but it was not difficult to imagine it loose about her shoulders. Her face was stubborn and serious, but he was easily capable of bringing distinctly different expressions to those sensual lips and sternly arched brows.

  As he walked, Luke ignored the occasional suspicious, vaguely hostile stares of the few people he passed. They were nothing. At the moment he was firmly focused on the woman, and what tactics he might use to catch her. Yes, she had faced him down with surprising courage, but she hadn't managed to hide her inner fire from him. And he was no ordinary man to be so easily turned aside.

  She believed herself safe under that stern, no-nonsense facade. But there was wildness under that calm, collected exterior—a dichotomy that made the challenge infinitely more interesting. "Joelle Randall," he murmured to himself, tasting her name.

  It seemed one more good sign among the others that her first name held the lilt of his mother's native tongue. The sensual sound of it suited her—that hidden part of her that he intended to awaken—though she might prefer the camouflage of her nickname. Before he ended his play with her, her control would be defeated by the passion he sensed rigidly concealed in her heart. And that passion would be entirely his.

  Luke slowed as he left the outskirts of town, automatically searching the darkness beyond the reach of man-made light. His taut smile eased. It wouldn't do to become overconfident like a clumsy cub on its first hunt. He could still scare her away, his natural magnetism would not be complete proof against her practiced wariness. He couldn't expect her to fall as easily as the others. This would require more finesse, and he was more than willing to take the time. He had learned patience long ago.

  The softest whisper of a footfall from behind caught him in midthought, and he turned on his heel to regard the man who had been trailing him.

  "Allan," he acknowledged, making out familiar features in the waning light. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that."

  The older man shrugged. "You have to admit I've gotten pretty good at it, if I was able to come this close before you noticed me." His smile hid an undercurrent of unease; he had good reason to know it was never wise to provoke Luke.

  Sensing this, Luke kept his irritation in check. He allowed himself a faint answering smile. "I was a little careless tonight," he admitted. Anticipation rose in him again. "You might say I have quite a bit on my mind."

  Dr Allan Collier gazed at him in a way few of the other townsfolk would have cared to risk. "Could this very engrossing subject possibly be Miss Joey Randall?"

  Luke's full attention snapped back to his friend. Even Collier shifted under the weight of his stare. "You know her, then," he said softly. "That shouldn't be a surprise. " He looked the doctor over with cold deliberation. "What I don't understand is what possible concern any thoughts I might have about Ms Randall could be to you."

  The edge in his voice should have warned Collier off, as it would have done with anyone else. But Collier knew him better than the others, he knew just how far he could push. Luke had had reason in the past to curse the fetters of his unique relationship with the doctor. It put restraints on him he did not always like.

  As if fully aware of Luke's ambivalence, Collier took a cautious step forward. "I suppose it isn't my business, but I'd like to ask you this one time, Luke, to let her alone. She's got her own problems.

  "What makes you think I would harm her in any way?" Luke growled. "If you know me as well as you think you do, you'll keep to your own affairs." He half turned away in dismissal, but Collier caught at his arm.

  "Oh, I know you wouldn't harm her," Collier said. His hand trembled on Luke's rigid biceps, but he maintained his grip. "No more than you 'harmed' any of the others. You'll play your games and let her go free at the end, but while you do that, you'll disrupt her life and everything she cares about."

  Luke controlled his instinctive response and forced himself to turn slowly. His eyes raked over the hand on his arm until it dropped away.

  "What is your interest in this, Doctor? You never interfered before." His eyes narrowed to threatening slits, and his voice fell to a rasp. Collier flinched in spite of himself but stubbornly stood his ground.

  "I don't want to see Miss Randall get hurt. She's not a plaything for you or anyone else." He held fast under Luke's glare. "Leave her alone, Luke. If I've ever done anything for you that mattered, then return the favor and do this for me." The strained emotion in Collier's voice reached Luke through his anger, and he shook his head in genuine puzzlement.

  "I don't understand you, Allan. And I won't make you any promises. You know my requirements." At the doctor's attempt to interrupt, he raised his hand to forestall it. "I'll promise this much. I won't hurt her. She won't suffer in any way. Quite the contrary—she needs what I can give her."

  He set his jaw and stared at Collier until the other man dropped his head in defeat. It seemed to Luke a hollow victory. Collier turned away, shoulders slumped, looking like a weary old man. Luke snarled a curse—at Collier, at himself, at what he was—and turned back for the welcome safety of the forest.

  A shadow darted out from among shadows and flowed to his side. Luke's fingers found the rich fur and raked through it slowly. He could not maintain his anger for long, there was too much anticipation. The wolf raised yellow eyes to his.

  "Yes, my friend. This will be a difficult hunt, but I think the prey is well worth it." The canopy of trees closed over him as he padded into the forest, the wolf ranging just ahead.

  The day was
half over by the time Joey was able to follow up on her latest lead. A small bell rang overhead as she entered the general store, and the resident Labrador retriever acknowledged her presence with a thump of his tail.

  "Hi, there," she said with a grin, crouching down beside the dog and cupping her hand under the broad, moist muzzle. Tail-thumping became more enthusiastic, Joey obligingly scratched the dog's belly as he rolled over with a languid yawn.

  "I see Gunnar has taken a liking to you," a musical, friendly voice called down from behind the counter.

  With a final pat Joey pushed herself to her feet and transferred her smile to the storekeeper. Mr Jackson supplied most of the essentials to the town and surrounding regions; what he didn't have, he boasted, he could find. Joey had been surprised at the variety his small store contained. Stuck out here, she mused, one would need a bit of variety to keep from going stir-crazy.

  "I like Gunnar, too," she said with a glance at the animal, who had drifted off to sleep again. "I've always liked dogs."

  Mr Jackson leaned over the counter and scratched the back of his thinning hair. "Anyone who likes dogs is okay with me. Now what can I do for you today, Miss Randall? Need some special supplies? I know things aren't too fancy here, but I can order just about anything. I've got it down to a science by now. Anything you want, I can order." He straightened and beamed at her. Joey felt almost sorry to disappoint him.

  "Actually, Mr Jackson..."

  "Everyone here calls me Bill," he interjected amiably.

  "Bill, then Bill, you've probably heard the reason I'm in town..." At his nod she continued, "Right now I've got a bit of a problem. I lost my guide, and I need a new one to take me into the mountains. I have maps, money for supplies, and I'm willing to pay well for experienced service. But I need to find someone quickly, so I can beat the bad weather."