2. Wolves

WOLVES

T he snarl of the pack alpha freezes me in my tracks. The wolf stands waist—no—chest high. Massive. When did wolves get so big?

And their teeth?

Sharp and menacing, I take a step back.

The moist air from its exhaled breath coalesces into a fog, which coils around its muzzle. Its upper lip pulls back into a snarl.

It looks hungry.

Very hungry.

"Don't move." A deep voice calls out somewhere behind and to the right of me.

The alpha wolf shakes its massive head. Its head cocks to the side, ears rotating to locate the source of that voice. It sniffs the air but doesn't seem to be able to lock onto a scent.

It growls again, lifting the hairs on my nape. I'm moments from doing exactly the opposite of what that voice commands.

Don't move? Is he crazy?

All that wolf has to do is launch at me and I'm toast. Its paws will land on my shoulders. Its weight will push me down. Those snarling teeth will snap and clamp around my throat.

The others in the pack support their alpha, forming a loose semicircle behind it. Their strategy's clear and terrifying. Each animal can attack without getting in the others' way.

Talk about coordinating a kill.

"Don't make any sudden moves." The man behind me is so damn calm. "Run, and you're dead."

No shit, Sherlock.

A wolf toward the back of the pack pricks up its ears, rotating them toward the man's voice. It scents the air, nostrils flaring. The wolf looks to its leader, head swiveling with indecision.

My hands tremble and my breath catches. An hour ago, my biggest concern was hitting a moose. Now, I face a pack of wolves.

"What do I do?" My voice cracks.

"Take a slow step back."

Technically, that's moving. Exactly what he told me not to do.

I maintain eye contact with the lead wolf while I slide my right foot back. The animal lowers its head, lips curled. The wolf growls as if daring me to run. Instinct tells me that'll be the cue that initiates the wolf's attack.

"That's it," the unidentified man says. "Take another step back."

The rear wolf's ears twitch, rotating to locate the voice. It gives a low whine and dips its head to huff at the snow.

I transfer my weight to my right foot and slide the left one back. The alpha hunkers down, nose brushing the snow. It takes a slow step forward.

"Again," the man urges. "I need more space for my shot."

I snap my head around. "Your shot?"

My sudden movement triggers the wolf.

The alpha leaps.

A shot rings out.

I scream.

A painful yelp sounds, and then the alpha lands in a heap at my feet with a whimper. Its forepaws scrabble at the air.

A blur of tawny gray springs from my left. Another shot rings out, followed by a pained yelp and another hard landing.

"I told you not to move!"

I cast around, searching for the man, but find nothing. At my feet, the alpha whimpers. Its forepaws scrabble at the snow until it takes a final, shuddering breath.

The three remaining wolves look uncertain; their cohesion destroyed. I think they'll make a run for it.

Couldn't be more wrong.

The wolves attack.

I stumble back beneath an onslaught of fur, teeth, and claws. More gunshots split the air. Wolves cry out, whimper, and fall dead at my feet.

"You killed them!" I scream. "Why did you kill them?"

Where the hell is he? And why can't I see him?

I peer into a landscape of white on white and see nothing recognizable.

"To save your life," he says. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway?" Dressed in shades of white and gray, I barely pick out the man's form from the background.

He's massive.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his winter gear protects him from the cold. The tops of his gloves are pulled back, freeing his fingers which grip the deadly rifle.

I tuck my hands under my armpits seeking warmth. My fingertips tingle with the cold and what I hope isn't the beginning of frostbite. The thin cotton of my socks provides little protection from the plunging temperatures.

A hood casts his face in shadow. White and gray fabric covers most of his face. Beneath the hood, a pair of thick goggles hide his eyes.

Heavy boots encase his feet. Mid-calf, fabric gathers halfway above and below his boots. I've seen those before. Called gaiters, they're designed to wrap around the shins and cover the opening between a person's pants and their shoes.

They keep snow out of boots.

Wish I had some of those.

"Did you have to kill them?"

He wiped out the entire pack. I loathe guns and hate violence of any sort, especially against animals, but if he hadn't been here… I'm not going to think about what might have happened.

"Those vermin are a menace, not to mention what would've happened to you."

"Vermin? They're endangered. You took out the whole pack."

"Were."

"Huh?"

"Were endangered. Now, they're a menace. The fact they were stalking you should be telling enough."

He climbs the last few feet up the bank and approaches me. His long stride devours the distance between us. Cocking his head, he regards me for a long moment. His goggles glitter with the ambient glow of the snow all around us.

While I can't see his eyes, his gaze falls on me, taking in the trembling of my hands, the shaking of my shoulders, and my general distress. The corners of his lips twitch. I can't say if it's from irritation or something else.

"What are you doing out here dressed like that?" He makes a vague gesture, sweeping from my head to my toes. His voice, deep and rumbly, is strangely seductive. It curls around me, twining around my body, settling in deep, where it does strange things to my insides.

He gives zero reaction he's aware of the effect he has on me. Which is for the best.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to preserve precious body heat, as his stare lingers longer than socially acceptable. I stiffen my spine and roll my shoulders back.

"You think I'm out here by choice? I crashed my Jeep; ran into a ditch. I'm not out for a midnight stroll." I roll my eyes. "This is the best I had."

He places the butt of his rifle on the toe of his boot, and a low, throaty chuckle spreads from his chest, bursting forth into a deep, belly laugh.

"There's nothing funny about this."

"How many layers are you wearing?" He's looking at me again. Scrap that; he's peeling away the layers with the heat of his gaze. A gaze I can't see because of his goggles.

"Why are you laughing at me?" I step back from the dead wolves, eager to place distance between me and the bodies. "You should've given a warning shot and run the wolves off."

In death, the animals appear majestic. Peaceful. They don't look nearly as ferocious as they did a few minutes ago.

"Warning shot? Why would I do that?"

"To scare them away. They would've run. You didn't have to kill them."

"What part of vermin do you not understand?" His frosty reply makes it sound like I'm an idiot.

My back bristles beneath the challenge. I don't like anybody questioning my intelligence.

"They're an endangered species." My fingers curl in frustration within my makeshift gloves. The thin cotton of my socks does little to block the wind. Now that I'm standing still, the cold renews its attack, seeping through the thin cotton protecting my skin.

"You're wrong. Wolves are vermin, breeding like there's no tomorrow. I saved your life and you're worried about killing a few wolves?" He sounds genuinely incredulous.

One thing is obvious. He's not happy I'm out here alone. Hell, I'm not happy being out here alone. This is not how I saw my return to Peace Springs going.

I know little about the debate surrounding wolf preservation efforts, except there are two sides to the story. Man nearly brought timber wolves to the edge of extinction, and reintroduction efforts are a topic for debate.

"I don't see how that gives you license to kill them when you could've run them off." I fist my hands and place them on my hips.

He laughs. "Obviously, you know nothing about wolves." He grabs a wolf body and drags it to the side of the road. "This pack has been harrying the sheep and cattle all through winter. They've even taken out a few of Bert's llamas."

Llamas?

This is cattle country. Surely, he means cattle? Or maybe, I'm hearing things.

"It still doesn't give you the right to kill them." I stand my ground, not giving an inch as far as my argument goes.

He fixes me with a penetrating stare. It doesn't look like the cold bothers him at all, whereas my core body temperature is dropping to dangerous levels. I tuck my hands under my armpits.

"For the record, Fish, Wildlife, and Parks gives me the right to kill these wolves. I can kill up to a hundred if I want."

"A hundred?"

"Don't sound that endangered anymore. What part of menace do you not understand? And you're welcome, by the way."

"Welcome, for what?"

"For saving your life."

I hate that he's right, but damn his arrogance. For that reason alone, I don't say thank you.

My father used to say I'm too stubborn for my own good. But that stubborn streak is the one thing that gave me the tenacity to finish medical school and complete my residency, despite everything that happened.

I take in a deep breath and blow it out. "Can you tell me how much farther it is to Peace Springs?"

He points back the way I came. "About eight miles that way."

My jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

"Eight miles." He slings his rifle over his shoulder and drags another wolf body off the road. "Now, care to tell me why you're headed out of town, dressed like that in the middle of a snowstorm?"

My coat isn't meant for winter weather. I bought it on a whim because I liked the color. Right now, seven layers of cotton shirts, jeans covered by sweats, and a lightweight coat have me wishing for something more like what the man is wearing.

"I told you, my Jeep ran off the side of the road. I thought it was this way."

"It?"

"Peace Springs."

"Lady, you're really mixed up." He pulls another two wolves off the highway.

Tears of frustration brim in my eyes. I wipe at my cheeks. In the last hour or two, I've probably covered three or four miles. There's no way I'll make it eight more.

"Listen, I'd really appreciate some help."

"Looks like you need it." He comes for the last animal and pulls it over to join the others.

The man towers over me, having at least a foot, maybe a foot and a half, in height over me. The top of my head barely comes to his shoulders. His arrogance makes me want to stamp my foot. It's bad enough I have to ask, but for him to rub it in? That's cold.

"Why are you out here?" Despite my anger, I'm curious.

"Told you." His velvety voice washes over me, twisting my insides in the good kind of way. Sultry. Seductive. He's impressive. "I was tracking that pack. Why else would anyone be out in this godforsaken weather?" He steps toward me, concern replacing the snide comments from earlier. "How long have you been out?"

"An hour, maybe two? I thought I'd be able to walk to town."

"In this?"

"The snow stopped falling after my accident."

"You should have stayed with your car. You're going to freeze to death out here. What were you thinking getting out and walking in this?" Finally, he shows some compassion.

I don't answer him. The longer I stand in one place, the colder I get, and I can't stop my teeth from chattering.

He glances at my feet and makes a tsking noise. "You're not going to last much longer." With a rasp, he lowers the zipper of his coat and shrugs out of the thick material.

"Honey, put this on before you freeze to death. We have a long walk ahead of us."

"How far is your car?" I ask with a shudder.

"Car? Don't you pay attention? I was hunting that pack. My truck is back at Bert's." He points across the field. "We're going overland."

A creeping sense of dread shoots down my spine, making me quake, not from the cold, but from fear.

"Overland?" There's no way I'm leaving the road.

He tilts his head, looking at my feet with those weird goggles. "There's no way you're making it in sneakers." Gripping his chin, he seems deep in thought.

I take the opportunity to wrap myself in his jacket. A deep woodsy scent fills my nostrils and has me taking a deep breath. The faint aroma of male sweat, sultry and dark, smells divine. I tug at the collar and pull it close. Shamelessly, I take another inhale. His chuckle brings my head snapping up.

"It works better when you zip it, not sniff it."

Getting caught smelling his jacket, searing heat fills my cheeks. No man deserves to smell that good. Thankfully, he turns his attention to my feet, which gives me one last opportunity to take in his dark and sultry scent.

"We need to do something about your feet and the snow." Bending down, he unfastens the white gaiters over his boots.

"I can't take those." I hold out a hand, palm up, in refusal.

"You're taking them. Impossible to hike cross-country in sneakers, and I'm not carrying you."

Instead of handing me the gaiters and making me figure out how to secure them around my calves, he kneels and taps the top of his thigh.

"Put your foot here, and we'll see what we can do."

A little hesitant, I don't argue. Especially when this stranger is going out of his way to not only give me, literally, the coat off his back, but his gaiters as well. He snaps the top and bottom buttons then tacks down the Velcro strip binding the whole thing together. He proceeds to pull an elastic tab over the back of my heel and settles it against the sole of my shoe.

"Try not to drag your feet, or the strap will slip off. These should keep most of the snow out of your shoes."

When I put my foot down and test the elastic strap, he stands. His size intimidates me, and I can't help but take an involuntary step back. I'm what I call tall enough for my feet to reach the ground , which means I'm short and more than a little self-conscious about my five-foot-three frame.

Standing so close, I crane my neck to see his face, or what little there is to see. He hasn't removed the goggles or the fabric covering his nose, mouth, and chin. But the real reason I step back is because of the strange thing being so close to him does to my insides.

Needle-thin flakes fill the air, more snow coming down. I zip the jacket, not because he told me to, but because I want to keep the residue of his warmth, and maybe some of his scent, inside the jacket.

"Shouldn't we call someone?"

The road still looks far better than a hike cross-country. I swallow the lump of fear rising in my throat.

The deep rumble of his voice rolls back toward me. "Cell reception sucks this far from town. Don't worry, it's a short hike to Bert's."

He heads off the road, waving for me to follow. Leaving the safety of the road goes against my better judgment, but he knows two things I don't.

First, he knows where we need to go. Left to my own devices, I would have hiked into the wilderness and froze to death or run into another pack of wolves.

Second, I follow for another, more unsettling reason. This man knows what he's doing. His confidence fills me with a sense that everything will be all right.

"How far?"

"Two miles." Behind us, another piercing howl fills the night sky. The man stops and turns around. "Damn wolves. Come on, let's get a move on."