Heart of the wolf (4 page)

"Ranger Harding, U.S. Forest Service," Wolf answered the shivering woman. "You can put the gun down." He set his own beside a tree to show his peaceful intent. She seemed to be trapped beneath a tree, Wolf saw. She certainly posed no threat to him. She was covered with mud, and exhaustion was evident in her strained features. Still, she stood out like a yellow buttercup, he thought, her blond hair contrasting brightly with the lush green of the surrounding trees,

"Ranger?"
Sarah said challengingly. "You'd better prove it, mister, or I'll blow your head off before you
come
a step closer."

Wolf was nonplussed by her angry response. She appeared to be serious. He looked down at his olive-green gabardine uniform. "I've got a badge underneath this," he offered, slowly moving his hand to open his jacket and show it to her.

"Don't move!" Sarah stiffened, and the gun's barrel wavered. Black dots swam in front of her eyes. Did that mean she was going to faint? She couldn't—not yet!

Wolf scowled. "How am I going to prove to you who I am, then?" How could something so tiny and bedraggled be so completely distrusting? But very real fear showed in her huge blue eyes, forcing Wolf to respect her anxiety, whatever its cause.

"You could have a gun under that jacket," Sarah hissed.

One corner of Wolf's mouth quirked into a bare semblance of a smile.
"Lady, where I come from we hide our guns in a lot of places, under the
jacket's
a little too obvious."

Sarah stared at him hard. Maybe it was the faint curve at one corner of his mouth that made her want to believe him. She eyed the dog beside him—just as huge and intimidating as his master. How could she trust this man? Sarah had learned the hard way that she couldn't afford to trust anyone—even the people she loved most had abandoned her in one way or another. No, she could depend only on herself. She had no choice.

"Move slowly, mister. Show me your badge—real slowly. I'm a crack shot."

Wolf suspected that she was in a lot of pain—and possibly in shock. She was extremely pale. Wolf's protective nature reacted strongly. On the team in South America, he'd been the leader and paramedic, and now his caring instincts were aroused, in spite of this unnecessary game she was playing with him. "I'll bet you are," he said, slowly pulling the jacket aside to reveal the silver badge above his left breast pocket.

"Your credentials," the woman bit out. "A badge means nothing. I could go to Anaconda and buy one at a surplus store if I wanted."

Hollow showed beneath her delicate cheekbones, and Wolf could see darkness stalking her eyes. He was certain now that she was in shock, and going deeper by the minute. How long had she been trapped here? And what the hell had she been doing digging into tree roots? He bit back the questions and, lowering his voice, spoke as he would to calm a wounded comrade in battle. "Look, you're in no shape to be playing this silly game. From the looks of things, you're hurt."

Sarah struggled to ignore the soothing tone of his voice. She blinked her eyes several times and tried to shake off the faintness now rimming her vision. "I've got the gun. You're the one in trouble, mister. Now get your ID out and toss it over here. And don't try to pull any funny stuff."

Wolf almost wanted to laugh as he reached into his back pocket. She was so small to have such a large backbone. Carefully he tossed his ID case toward her.

"How long you been trapped?"

"I'll ask the questions!" Her hand shaking badly, Sarah fumbled for the case,
then
laid it in the mud to flip it open. Her gaze flicked between the ID and the man: Wolf Harding, U.S. Forest Ranger,
Philipsburg
.
Wolf.
The name fit him well. His features were sharp and accentuated, and there was
an alertness
to his eyes that she'd never seen in another man.
But Philipsburg?
Sarah tried for a tone of self-confident disgust. "You're a liar, mister. I've lived in Philipsburg all my life, and I haven't heard of you." Her hands tightened around the rifle.

"This is my first day on the job," he offered easily.

"Where are you staying?"

"I just rented a house over on Broadway."

Sarah wavered. His hair was black as a raven's ebony wing, and cut military-short.
And his eyes. . .
She took in a chattering breath. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Wolf shrugged.
"Because you don't have a choice.
But why should you distrust me?"

The rifle was getting heavy, and her arms were beginning to feel like ten-ton weights. Sarah knew she was getting dizzy from lack of food or water over the past six hours. "Do you know Gerald Summers?"

"No. Should I?"

Sarah probed his gaze, trying to ferret out whether he was telling her the truth. His mouth was now fully relaxed, she noted, the lower hp full and flat. "Summers
is
a murdering bastard. He hires people to kill for him," she said, her voice quavering. She was so chilled that she was having muscle spasms, and she nearly dropped the rifle. The ranger didn't move. His dog had lain down at his side.

Wolf shrugged. "Look, you're in trouble. You're trapped. I don't know this guy
Summers
."

"How long you been in Philipsburg?"

"A week."

"Where'd you come from?"

"South America," Wolf ground out, suddenly losing patience. It was a place he wanted to forget.
Forever.
Just saying the words brought back too many raw, unhealed memories.

Sarah blinked. Harding wasn't a Hispanic, but his skin was brown enough that he could have passed for one. If he weren't so hard-looking, some part of her paranoid brain might have believed him. Instead, to her surprise, it was her heart that shouted strongly for her to trust him.

Licking her lower lip, she whispered, "I—I was mining this morning for sapphires when the tree fell over on me.

"Sapphires?"
Wolf shrugged. "Look, you can tell me how it happened later. Let me get you out of there first."

The rifle wavered badly in Sarah's hands. She took in a ragged sigh. "You could kill me. I'm so tired, and my legs are numb. I can't get myself free," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yet he hadn't moved a muscle. His gaze suddenly warmed with a penetrating care- directed at her?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Wolf told her soothingly. What was she talking about? Who would want to kill her? "Put the rifle down," he urged, "and I'll come over and help you."

"I'll put it down, but not out of my reach, Harding." So much of her wanted to give in, to rest. . . . Sarah ached to believe what she thought she saw in the man's eyes. Was he really a ranger, or was this just another one of
Summers's
men playing a trick on her? She had no choice. She had to let him help her. Reluctantly she put the rifle down in the mud beside her.

It was so natural, Wolf thought as he quickly shrugged out of his gabardine jacket and came forward to where she lay shivering in the mud. Now he was a paramedic again. It was something that came easily to him, the one positive thing left out of the living hell he'd endured in the jungle. Bending down, he brought the jacket around her small, tense shoulders and felt her wince.

"Easy, honey, I'm not going to hurt you. It's all right. Everything's going to be fine," he murmured as he pulled the fabric snugly around her. His long, callused fingers barely grazed her collarbone as he secured the jacket.

The woman jerked back, her eyes wide, her hand darting out for the rifle.

Instantly Wolf's hand clamped over hers. "Take it easy!" he rasped. Her blue eyes were filled with terror. He'd seen both those reactions too often in South America. Gently he loosened his fingers over her muddy ones. "I'm your friend, not your enemy. You've got to believe me if we're going to get you out of here and to a hospital."

Forcing back tears at the suddenly soft expression on his unforgiving features, she pulled her hand from beneath his. "I—I thought you were going to hit me," she muttered.

What the hell had happened to her? Wolf sat crouched for a long
minute,
digesting her trembling admission and watching her terror parallel her defiance of him. Trying to ease the tension between them, he rasped, "I would never hurt you," and watched with relief as some of the fear on her face subsided. "What's your name?" He eased himself up out of his crouching position. He'd have to treat her like a wild animal, moving very slowly so as not to frighten her again.

"Sarah Thatcher." She watched uneasily as he moved around her to inspect the tree and the roots that trapped her legs.

"Sarah's a pretty name.
Soft, but with some backbone to it."
Wolf purposely kept up the verbal patter, trying to gain her trust.
"Old-fashioned sounding."
He got down on his hands and knees to assess the damage to her legs. "Are you?"

She watched him guardedly.
"Old-fashioned
means
double standard,
and I don't buy that crock," Sarah said bitterly. "My mother may have, but I don't." Just his gentle touch on her jean-clad leg made her relax some of her wariness. It was a kind, professional touch, and the sound of his voice was dark and intimate. The man could charm a snake into trusting him, Sarah thought groggily as she pulled the jacket tighter around her.

Wolf turned to face her, his hand remaining on her leg. "Any lady named Sarah is bound to have an old- fashioned side," he teased. Some of the distrust had fled from her taut features. Wolf began to wonder what she would look like if she smiled. Her lips were exquisitely shaped; it was the kind of mouth a man could capture and lose himself in forever. Giving himself an inner shake, he forced himself to take on a more professional demeanor.

"Tell me about your legs.
Any pain?"

"No, they're numb."

"Any broken bones?"

"I can still move my toes, so I don't think anything's broken."

Wolf nodded and gazed at the muddied boots caught beneath the roots. "Probably a lot of tissue damage. You're numb because your legs are swelling from being so bruised."

Tilting her head, her teeth chattering, Sarah stared at him. "What are you?
A doctor?"

Wolf grinned self-consciously. "I was a paramedic for many years."

"Thank God," Sarah whispered.

"You believe me, then?"

She eyed him. "You're a stranger," she insisted stubbornly. "For all I know,
Summers
has paid you to pretend to be a ranger and a paramedic."

With a shake of his head, Wolf rose to his full six feet five inches. Skeet had crept closer, and was now lying right next to Sarah. Wolf felt an unexpected—and unwanted—surge of warmth and tenderness toward Sarah. She was vulnerable, just as— Instantly Wolf slammed the door closed on the memories surging forward. In a way, he felt jealous of his dog's ability to show his feelings openly. As he stood there staring down at Sarah, he fought to suppress the tendrils of longing laced with hope seeping forth from his shattered past. What was it about this Sarah that aroused those dangerous emotions? She was mud from head to toe, and her once-blond hair was caked with fine gray dirt.

"I guess the only way I'm going to prove myself is to get you out of this predicament," he said, struggling to keep his tone light and teasing. Moving to the tree, he retrieved a huge broken limb and shoved it at an angle beneath the trunk. Looking over his shoulder, he told her, "When I push up, I want you to pull yourself out from under there. Understand?"

Sarah gulped. "That tree's huge."

"I know it is. We don't have a choice. Get ready to move."