Laura's Wolf (Werewolf Marines) (3 page)

A lean brown shape leaped into the road.

With a gasp, Laura slammed on the brakes. A half-eaten bag of cheddar-flavored potato chips, a bottle of water, four CDs, and her purse flew off the passenger seat. The potato chips scattered everywhere.

The wolf stood less than five feet away, completely unconcerned over its near-squish experience. It tilted its ears toward the car and stared at Laura with enormous yellow eyes.

She’d never seen a wolf so close before, or ever seen one outside of a zoo. This one was bigger than the zoo wolves. And it seemed so fearless. Maybe it was rabid. She was unnervingly conscious of the thinness of the windshield, which was all that was between her and it.

“Shoo!” Laura called.

The wolf took a step toward the car. Toward her. She could see the glistening white of fangs.

She slammed her hand down on the horn. Its blare was so loud that Laura herself jumped, but the wolf didn’t flinch. It took another step toward her.

Laura didn’t know much about wolves, but that could not be natural behavior for a wild animal. It
must
be rabid. Or escaped from a zoo, and so semi-tame. Either way, she didn’t want to hurt it… or piss it off.

The wolf took another step. Its jaws gaped wider, its red tongue lolling. It seemed to be laughing at her.

No. Not laughing at her. It was stalking her, like she was a deer.

She pictured the wolf leaping through the windshield, glass shattering around it, sharp fangs sinking into her throat.

Laura held down the horn with one hand and let the car slowly roll forward. She didn’t want to hurt the wolf, but she wasn’t going to sit there and let it attack her, either. It would get out of the way before she hit it.

The wolf leaped, snarling.

Instinctively, Laura jerked the wheel around and stomped on the gas. A brown shape flew past her window, barely missing the car.

She whipped around a curve. The car fishtailed. Laura spun the wheel, frantically trying to steady it and steer around the next curve. A sheer stone wall rose up before her.

Her father’s voice came to her mind, so distinctly that it was almost as if he’d spoken from the passenger seat. “Easy on the steering, sweet-pea. Easy on the steering, easy on the gas, easy on the brake. If someone’s chasing you, relax and keep a light touch. Let
them
get tense and crash.”

Laura relaxed and kept a light touch. Her car sped around the curve, and the next, and the next. But she was in control of it. Once she was sure the wolf was far behind, she slowed down and looked in the rear view mirror. The road was empty.

The after-effects of her adrenaline rush sent tingles up and down her body. She felt light-headed, almost giddy. She couldn’t believe that she’d driven to the wilderness to de-stress, and she’d almost been eaten by a wolf before she even arrived.

Think of it this way. It can only go uphill from here
.

A snowflake fell from the sky and hit her windshield. It was perfect and unique and exactly what she didn’t want to see.

“Okay!” Laura said aloud. “Things can always get worse.”

Snow had covered the ground in a thin white carpet by the time she made it to the end of the bumpy dirt road that led to Dad’s cabin. Craggy expanses of gray stone and green tree-tops rose up in the distance, capped with snow.

When Dad had told her that he’d bought a cabin in the woods, she’d pictured trees like the well-trimmed jacarandas that grew in neat rows along the sidewalks in Los Angeles. Towering redwoods, fifty feet tall, rose up around the cabin, making it look like a toy. The rest of the forest consisted of bushy oaks and thickets of low shrubs with fantastically twisting branches as smooth and bright as copper. It looked like a scene out of a fairy tale.

To complete the picture of rural peace, a red barn perched atop a low hill. Laura recalled Dad mentioning with a laugh that a barn and a tractor had come with the property. She wondered what Dad was doing with the barn, since a city slicker like him sure wasn’t going to buy any cows. Storage, maybe.

Dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so he was probably out grocery shopping. She grabbed her suitcase, fumbled the key from her pocket, and unlocked the door. Her breath clouded in the frigid air.

Shivering, she locked the door behind her and turned on the lights and, after a brief search, the heat.

The cabin was small but cozy, with polished hardwood floors. A short hallway led to a living room with a small TV, a big fireplace, and the sofa/fold-out bed that Laura would sleep on. A picture window looked out on a beautiful view of mountains and slowly drifting snow. A few antique oil paintings, which Laura bet were valuable, depicted scenes of Yosemite. Dad was really getting into the “country retreat” thing.

She peeked into the one bedroom, with two full bookcases and a queen-sized bed covered in a patchwork quilt, the tiny bathroom, and the freezing cold but well-stocked pantry, before returning to the living room.

Only then did she notice the note that Dad had left for her on the living room table.

Dear Laura,

I ran into a minor problem that I need to take care of. Sorry, sweet-pea, but I won’t be back for a month or so. Stay as long as you like.

Laura put down the note with a sigh. She knew how to interpret “minor problem” (“Someone I conned set the police/a hit man/the FBI on me”) and “take care of” (“I’m on the run with my ninetieth new identity.”) Her entire childhood had been spent bouncing from town to town, while Dad took care of one minor problem after another.

She wondered if the cabin even belonged to him, then decided that it had to. He would never invite her to stay anywhere that might be descended upon by an angry real owner or the police. The money he’d used to buy it, on the other hand, had undoubtedly not been acquired legally.

Sometimes Laura wished she’d had a normal childhood with a father who wasn’t a crook. But she couldn’t imagine Dad as anything but a con artist, and she wouldn’t have traded him for the world.

Unlike everyone else who’d seen her on the news, he hadn’t gone on and on about how terrible it must have been or tried to get her to recount the gory details or demanded that she get counseling until she had to invent a therapist. He’d just called and invited her to come stay on his new property, then mailed her the key and a map. She couldn’t help wishing that he was here with her.

She picked up the note again.

If the power goes out (it happens sometimes if there’s a storm) you can heat the cabin with the wood stove. It’s also set up to heat water for your shower. DON’T try to drive into town if there’s more than a scattering of snow on the ground. The road will be icy and dangerous. There’s plenty of food and firewood in the pantry. If you keep the pantry door shut, it’ll stay cold and the food won’t spoil even if the power’s out.

Last but not least, there’s a man living in the barn.

Sorry to spring this on you. It’s a recent development. It rained the other day, and I discovered that the roof leaked. I was trying to patch it before you got here. This guy was passing by when he saw me struggling with it, and he ended up fixing it for me.

He’s a homeless veteran who’d been living in the woods. The weather report was predicting snow, and I asked him if he was going to stay in the homeless shelter. He said he couldn’t. When I asked why, he said it was because of a medical condition. I assume he meant PTSD – he nearly fell off the roof when we heard some gunshots from the woods.

If you hadn’t been coming, I’d have offered him the sofa. Since you were, I set him up in the barn with food and blankets and a space heater.

Knock on the barn door if you need help with the wood stove or anything else. Unlike me, he’s handy. I told him you were on vacation. Don’t worry about having him around. He’s a good guy, just down on his luck. His name is Roy.

Enjoy the cabin! And RELAX. You deserve it.

Love, Dad

PS. If Roy mentions a “George Adler,” that’s me.

PPS. The gunshots turned out to be Jim Sullivan poaching a deer. He’s my closest “neighbor” (only 3 miles away). He was generous with the venison. I have ten pounds of it in the freezer—help yourself.

Laura couldn’t help smiling. It was just like Dad to invite a homeless veteran to live in his barn. He had a soft spot for the unlucky and the hard-up. Dad only conned the rich, and he really did give to the poor… after he’d given to himself.

He was an excellent judge of character, too. He knew who had a dishonest streak and would jump at a chance to “legally cheat a casino,” who would get violent if he found out he’d been cheated, and who was a straight arrow who could be relied on to create a diversion by calling the FBI to report “suspicious activity.” If Dad thought this veteran was trustworthy, then Laura wouldn’t worry about having him around.

She wondered how long the poor guy had been homeless. Dad had dodged the Vietnam war, but maybe Roy had fought in it. One year of combat, and fifty years of hell re-living it. She shivered at the thought. Would she, too, still be re-living the day of the bank robbery half a century later?

Laura followed the instructions below the note and lit the fire. The cabin warmed up nicely, though snow was falling outside. Laura poked around the kitchen, pleased but not surprised to find that Dad had stocked it with all her favorite foods. He was an amateur gourmet chef and had taught her to cook, though she preferred simple meals to his elaborate concoctions.

The cabin and the snow seemed to call for something traditional and warming. She decided to make something she could take to Roy. What would she want to eat if she was a homeless veteran living in a barn in winter? Humming to herself, she started a hearty stew with venison, carrots, potatoes, and red wine, then settled down on the sofa to read as it cooked.

Hours later, the cabin was filled with the savory scent of the stew. She tasted it, added more salt and wine, and cut up a loaf of French bread and toasted it in the oven. When the bread was ready, she filled a thermos with the stew and put it in a basket, along with a bowl, a spoon, a napkin, and a hunk of the bread.

She opened the front door, then jerked backward. The freezing wind was like a slap in the face. Laura slammed the door, shivering, then went to Dad’s bedroom and rummaged in the closet until she found a parka. She put it on, then wrapped a cashmere scarf around her face for good measure.

As she turned to go, she caught sight of herself in a mirror. In the red hooded parka, carrying a basket, she looked like Little Red Riding Hood, all grown up.

Laura started to laugh, and then remembered the wolf. She doubted there were any other rabid or escaped zoo wolves in the area, but she added a heavy walking stick to her ensemble. With that dubious protection, she set out into the cold.

Chapter Three: Roy

Candle-lit Dinners and Walks on the Beach

Roy heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching the barn. He put down his book, readying himself to fight, then remembered George’s daughter. He’d heard her car pull up and watched from a distance as she got out. But he’d only seen her from the back, catching a brief glimpse of curvy legs and curly hair before she’d disappeared into the cabin.

He walked quietly to the door and opened it a crack, standing to the side in case it was an enemy after all. A bundled-up figure was approaching, carrying a basket and a walking stick.

He smelled freshly toasted bread and a hint of another scent. The wind blew chilly on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to close the door. The smell was complex and enticing: a bit of green apple shampoo, a touch of cucumber soap, and beneath that, her own natural scent, as individual as a fingerprint. Hers was sweet yet tangy. Citrusy. Like lemon meringue pie.

Roy closed the door and went back to where he’d been reading by candle light. No normal person would have heard her approaching, at that distance and with snow falling, and he didn’t want to seem like he was spying on her. He already felt guilty that she’d arrived expecting to spend her vacation with family, only to find her father gone and some strange man lurking in the barn. The least he could do was to try to be as non-creepy as possible.

When the knock came at the door, he called, “Just a moment,” from across the room. Then he opened the door, holding his book in one hand.

The woman wore a hooded parka that completely concealed her body, and had a scarf wrapped around her face. All he could see was a pair of beautiful, long-lashed brown eyes. Her scent was stronger close up, delicious and alluring. He wished he could see the rest of her. If her looks matched her aroma, she’d be the most gorgeous, sexy woman ever.

Roy realized that he was standing silently in the doorway, eyeing her creepily and looming. He prayed that he hadn’t actually been sniffing at her. No, he couldn’t have—she’d have run screaming already.

“Hi. You must be George’s daughter, Laura. He told me you were coming.” He was trying so hard to sound non-threatening that his voice came out stiff and robotic.

Laura also stood silently, her mostly-hidden face tipped upward. S
he
was staring at
him.
Probably waiting to see if he’d whip out a chainsaw.

He tried again. “Um… I’m Roy. Can I help you with something?”

“Sorry!” Her voice rose nearly to a squeak. “Can I come in? I must be letting cold air in.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside and closed the door behind her.

She held up the basket. “I brought you dinner.”

Roy didn’t know why that took him so completely by surprise. Why else would she bring a basket with bread in it up to the barn? But it hadn’t occurred to him. Women had cooked for him before, but as a romantic gesture, not as charity. He was torn between being touched and being embarrassed.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I like cooking. And it’s not like I had to walk miles to get to your… um…”

She sounded embarrassed too. He had the urge to rescue her, even from something as minor as social awkwardness.