Heart of the wolf (6 page)

Giving him a rebellious stare, Sarah whispered, "Help? You're a stranger. You did me a good turn. Thank you. Now why don't you leave?"

With a shake of his head, Wolf looked around the small room. The cabin had been built the old-fashioned way—with mortar and logs. The floor, of reddish-gold cedar, was a masterpiece—a credit to the builder. "You need help, that's why."

Sarah held his hooded look, but couldn't think of a response.

Wolf offered her the cup he'd brought. "It's comfrey tea. I found the herb out in one of your cupboards. My grandmother taught me about herbs when I was a kid, and I know this one's good for muscle and bone injuries. Why don't you drink it?"

Thirsty beyond belief, Sarah took the proffered cup. "Thanks. . ."

Wolf smiled tentatively, watching her drink the warm liquid down in several gulps. Sarah was becoming civil by degrees. His Cherokee heritage, the wellspring of his patience, would just have to endure her outrageous behavior until he could find out why she behaved so rudely. When she'd finished the tea, she held the cup out to him.

"Want more?"

"No."

But he could see that she did and was too proud to admit it. "I'll get you some."

"I'll get it myself," Sarah said.

"You want to fall flat on your face?"

Glaring up at him, at the rugged features shadowed in the light, Sarah grimaced. Gingerly she tested her left foot, putting a bit of weight on it. The pain was immediate.

"You always learn the hard way?" Wolf demanded, taking the cup out of her hand.

Sarah ignored him and hung her head. When he came back a few minutes later, she took the cup. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Wolf made himself at home in the rocker at the end of the bed. Facing Sarah, he noticed the way the light accentuated her soft oval face. With her hair wrapped up in the towel, she looked elegant. Her cheekbones were well shaped, and there was width between her huge blue eyes. Without trying, Wolf's gaze fell to her glistening lips as she unconsciously licked them free of the last of the comfrey tea.

"
This cabin belong
to you?" he asked.

"Yes. Actually, my father built it. Well, we all did."

"It's a nice place. Had a hell of a time finding it in the middle of a thunderstorm, though."

The soothing quality of his baritone voice lulled Sarah, making her feel cared for—protected. Quickly she snapped herself out of that mode. She didn't know this man. Still, he was being kind. "Dad was always a loner. He wanted a cabin in the woods away from everyone and everything," she explained.

"Was he antisocial?"

Sarah shrugged. The tea was making her feel drowsy, although hot pain throbbed in her legs. "I don't think so," she mumbled.

Wolf smiled. Sarah had a lot of her father in her, he suspected. "What's a young woman like you doing up here in the middle of nowhere? I'd expect to see someone like you living in a city."

"Don't judge a person by their looks, Harding."

"Call me Wolf."

"No."

It was his turn to shrug. "How are your legs feeling?" Wolf asked, realizing how reluctant Sarah was to talk about herself.

"They hurt like hell."

"Come tomorrow morning, the road ought to be good enough that I can get us out of here. They'll take better care of you at the hospital."

"I told you, I'm not going to any hospital. My feet feel fine! They just hurt a little."

"Probably feel like they're on fire."

"How could you know?" Sarah probed his darkened face in the dim dusk light that filtered through the window.

"I've had a few pulled and torn muscles myself."

Silence stretched between them, and Sarah chewed on her lip. It was a nervous habit she'd never been able to get rid of. "What did you mean, 'tomorrow morning'?"

"After you fainted, the storm broke. I was able to drive within a quarter of a mile of your cabin. My truck's down by the creek. When I tried to radio for help, the radio was broken. Then, when we made it here, I found that you had a phone—but it's not working, either." Wolf grinned. "By now my new boss probably thinks I've either left the country or am dead."

His smile sent a sheet of warmth through Sarah. Her gaze was riveted on his mobile mouth, which was curved with faint irony. How incredibly his entire face changed when he smiled. He must not do it often, she thought, noting how few laugh lines surrounded his mouth and eyes.
Realizing her privilege in seeing him smile made Sarah feel better for no obvious reason.

"You need a four-wheel drive for this road," she agreed. "Still, I'm not going to the hospital tomorrow morning with you."

"How do you think you're going to get around, then?"

The softly asked question was underlined with amazement. "I'll hobble." She shot him a disparaging look. "You act as if a woman can't take care of herself. I've lived up here all my
life,
and I've weathered some pretty bad things alone." She motioned toward her blanketed feet. "I'll get by, don't worry."

Wolf sat back in the chair, digesting the hurt in her lowered voice. He saw real sadness and pain in her eyes. Perhaps Sarah
was trusting
him enough to show her true feelings. He was surprised at the feeling of elation that soared through him at the thought.

"Yeah, I know what you mean about being alone and having to handle things," Wolf agreed. With a sigh, he sat up and folded his hands between his legs. "You're going to need crutches, Sarah."

"So pick me up some if you want to help so badly. I'll pay you for them. Anyone in town will accept my checks."

She was right: He did want to help her, Wolf thought. "I can do that, but. . ."

Sarah saw a scowl work its way across his brow.
"Never mind.
Folks back in these mountains don't ask for help. We just get along without. I didn't mean to—"

"Whoa." Wolf held up both his hands. "You really jump to conclusions, don't you?"

Sarah frowned.

"Forget I said that. I'll bring you the crutches. I was hesitating because you need medical care, Sarah. I don't think you understand the extent of your injuries. You're going to be laid up for weeks."

"Weeks!"
Sarah's voice cracked. "That's impossible! It can't happen! I've got bills that need to be paid. My jewelry distributors are waiting for the sapphires I mine. . . ."

The urge to go over and simply fold his arms around Sarah was almost tangible. Wolf sat there digesting that feeling. She was bringing out a weakness in him that he didn't dare indulge. He looked over and saw tears of frustration glittering in her eyes. He grimaced, forcing back his own rising swell of emotion.

"Just what the hell are you doing, living up here by yourself? What mine are you talking about?" he growled.

Sarah gulped back her tears, dismayed by the sudden change in him. Wolf's face had gone hard again, his eyes hooded.

"Blue Mountain is made up of what's known as sapphire gravel," she explained. "The gravel sits about a foot below the soil. The sapphires in their raw state are brownish-white pebbles anywhere from the size of a pin- head to much larger. I dig the gravel out from beneath the fir roots with my prospector's hammer,
then
put it through three screen boxes to separate the gem from the dirt." She sighed. "I've got some rough sapphires in a tin can on the
drainboard
out in the kitchen if you want to look at them. It's mostly small stuff—quarter carat to half carat, maybe.
Not very big."

"Sapphires?"
Wolf shook his head. "I had it in my mind that you had to dig tunnels in the ground and go after that gem with a pick and a sledgehammer."

"Most places around the world you do. But here on Blue Mountain, it's easy to dig them by hand." Sarah shook her head, "
Summers's
land parallels ours. He owns three-quarters of Blue Mountain. I own the last quarter. His bulldozers and backhoes take tons of the dirt and gravel every day. He makes millions."

Wolf saw the anger and disgust in Sarah's eyes. "Are you making millions?" he asked, looking around the spare, clean cabin.

"No. But then, my quarter of the mountain has fewer sapphires per square foot than anywhere else on the mountain. And one person can only dig and facet so much material. Summers
has
fifteen men in his employ and ten
faceters
."

Sarah shook her head, and Wolf watched the emotions play across her features. "What's
Summers
done to you to make you this gun-shy?" he asked quietly.

Tears stung Sarah's eyes, and she looked toward the darkened wall. "Six months ago, he murdered my father."

Wolf sat very still. "Murdered?"

"Yes. The sheriff says it was an accident, but I know better." Blinking, Sarah turned her head and met Wolf's gaze. "My father bought this mine thirty years ago. He was an explosives expert in construction before that, for a silver mine up near Anaconda. Six months ago my dad was driving a small load of dynamite and caps to our mine when his truck blew up." Her voice grew scratchy. "There wasn't a thing left of him, and not much of the truck. Dad never carried 'hot' explosives. He never wired detonator caps to the dynamite until he was ready to use them at the mine site. The sheriff said he'd wired them before he drove the truck. He said a bump on the road must have caused the dynamite to go off."

Wolf saw Sarah's small hands clench into fists in her lap. "Is Summers the local land baron?"

Clearing her throat, Sarah nodded. "Yes. He's a greedy bastard who wants it all. He owns a silver smelter in Anaconda, and all of Blue Mountain's sapphires except for our small claim. He's already rich beyond anyone's dreams. Why does he have to have our little piece of land?"

The tragedy was clearly mirrored in Sarah's pale features. Wolf got up, resting his hands on his hips. "You're looking tired, Sarah. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll get a blanket and use the couch in the other room, if you don't mind."

Wolf paused in the darkness near the doorway, and Sarah thought he looked forbidding. His face was set and impassive again, his mouth a thin line holding back whatever feelings he might be experiencing. Skeet remained on a braided rug next to her bed.

"Good night, Sarah. If you need anything, call. I won't come in otherwise."

Silence filtered into the growing darkness. Sarah stayed sitting up in bed for a long time afterward. When she was sure Wolf was bedded down on the creaky old couch in the next room, she finally lay down. She fell asleep immediately, her exhausted body finally overriding her overactive brain.

Sarah struggled awake. Someone was knocking at her bedroom door. Who—? Suddenly her eyes flew open as the memories flooded back: the tree, the storm, the man who'd rescued her.
Wolf.
Light streamed through the window, and she glanced at the clock. Six a.m.

"Come in," she called, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

Wolf opened the bedroom door, and Sarah's heart slammed against her ribs—but not out of fear. Wolf stood in the doorway, bathed in sunlight, his green cotton shirt open to show a white T-shirt underneath. His feet were bare beneath his muddy green gabardine trousers.

There was something endearing, even vulnerable, about him this morning, Sarah thought. Perhaps it was his tousled black hair, with short strands falling across his now-smooth brow, or his open, peaceful expression. As her gaze traveled to his mouth, she read an earthiness in his flat lower lip that sent an unexpected wave of heat flowing through her—an unbidden sensual awareness that caught her off guard.