Chapter
Three
Closing time at last. While Birkie was putting
the sign on the waiting room door and drawing the blinds, Jillian
leaned against the counter in the lunchroom and wiped her face with
a paper towel. Frowned at the dirt that appeared on it. Technically
only eight hours had passed, but it felt a lot more like twelve. So
far, each day of her first week at the North Star Animal Hospital
had felt about the same and today was Day Five. Or was it Day Six?
Thursday? Friday? Or later? Lack of sleep was definitely fogging
her brain. She had expected the wolf dreams to stop once she got to
Dunvegan. Instead, she was now being awakened by them every single
night. They were good dreams, but there was no getting back to
sleep afterward. Too restless to read, she’d begun practicing her
hyung in the open area of the livestock wing
before the sun rose. At least she was remembering the 29 moves more
easily now. Or perhaps she was too tired to notice when she missed
any.
Jillian rubbed her eyes and refilled
the coffee machine. Connor hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told
her his practice was busy. She had served practicums at many busy
clinics before graduating—but those practices boasted several
veterinarians each and a brigade of animal health technicians to
support them. Still, she wouldn’t dream of complaining. After all,
according to Birkie, Dr. Macleod—who preferred to be called
Connor, even by the clients—had been
practicing pretty much solo for the past ten years. How he’d
managed it was a mystery to Jillian, at least logistically. There
was no doubt in her mind that the man had enough talent for three
vets, maybe four.
Pretty easy on the eyes
too, as Birkie so bluntly put it. Connor was one of the
tallest men Jillian had ever met, yet his lean frame was packed
with muscle almost as if he bench-pressed cows for fun. He was
dark-haired but fair, with pale gray eyes that were startling in
their intensity. Nope, looking at him was no hardship at
all.
Not that she had much time to look at
Connor. The busy practice consisted mostly of a constant parade of
cows and horses, cats and dogs. But to Jillian’s delight, that
parade was also punctuated by wildlife. A young deer, an injured
fox, two fledgling owls, and a hawk with a sprained wing. And
yesterday, a trio of honest-to-god beaver kits. She was going to
gain some experience with wild animals after all. Caroline—a
levelheaded and competent assistant who freely admitted to having a
crush on Connor—had mentioned that a wolf cub had been brought in
last fall. Jillian couldn’t help but hope that might happen
again.
She studied every printed word on
canis lupus she could find and surfed the
Internet for more studies, more data, but there was just no
substitute for observing the real thing. Only one had ever passed
through the wildlife center Jillian had worked for, a young black
female with a permanently lame front leg. The wolf had been checked
over by the head vet and sent on to a zoo, but not before Jillian
got to examine the beautiful animal thoroughly. She was determined
to someday specialize in these creatures. Closing her eyes, she
envisioned a future where she was the director of her own wildlife
center. Pictured herself giving lectures, imagined someone
introducing her: Dr. Jillian Descharme,
world-renowned authority on wolves.
The picture in her mind blurred,
shifted. The lecture theatre became a forest. Instead of standing
at a podium, she was seated on a large flat rock—and the white wolf
sat beside her. Without hesitation she leaned into the massive
creature’s fur, felt the warmth that radiated from its muscled body
even as she sensed the warm presence in her mind.
“They say you shouldn’t wake
sleepwalkers, but I’m just not sure what to do about
sleepstanders.”
Jillian’s whole being felt jolted as
she snapped into the here and now to find herself leaning against
Connor. “What? Oh, jeez.” Awkwardly, she tried to sidestep away
from him—until she realized that he had a firm hold on her arm,
holding her up. “I’m okay, I’m fine, thanks.”
He nodded and steered her neatly to a
chair. She sank into it gratefully, feeling disoriented and
slightly ridiculous. “I’m sorry,” she stammered as she rubbed her
hands over her face. “I must have drifted off. I haven’t been
sleeping well, and I guess it caught up with me.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve had a lot
thrown at you in a single week. It’s not usually this busy around
here. I’m out on farm calls a lot, and when I’m gone, most small
pet owners take their animals over to the clinic in Spirit River.”
He placed a cup of coffee in front of Jillian, took a long sip from
one himself. “But the word’s gotten around that we’ve got another
vet here, and now everyone wants to check you out.”
“Great. They’ll be really impressed if
they find me asleep standing up.”
“Hasn’t been bad for business so far.
It’s the busiest Saturday we’ve had in years.”
“Saturday. It’s Saturday
already?”
“Oh, you have
had a long week.” Connor grinned at her. “Trust me, it’ll get
better. Wait till the novelty wears off. Business will settle down
to its normal manic pace.”
She drank the entire cup of coffee and
half of the next one he poured for her. It cleared her head and
revived her somewhat, although she knew it wouldn’t last. “Guess
I’m going to bed early tonight. I just have to check on
Poodle—”
“Damn! I forgot all about Poodle. Look,
I can come in and do that. You don’t have to get up.”
“That makes no sense. I’m right here,
and Birkie says you live several miles out of town. I promise I’ll
have a nice long nap before supper, and then I’ll be just fine. I
can check Poodle a couple times during the night and go right back
to bed.”
He looked unconvinced. “I just don’t
want to wear you out completely in your first week,” he said. “Are
you sure?”
“Absolutely certain. And I’m the one
that worked on him, so I really want to follow up and make sure
he’s okay.”
Connor nodded. “I get that. I’d feel
the same way. At least you can sleep late tomorrow.”
“I can?”
“Just because we started working you
the second you got off the bus doesn’t mean you’re a slave.” He
laughed. “You’ve got two whole days off, Sunday and
Monday.”
“What about you?”
“I’m on call tomorrow, and I’ve got
surgeries scheduled for Monday. So I’ll be holding the fort.”
Before she could protest, he raised a warning finger. “Next
weekend, you can be on call and do Monday
morning surgeries. For now, just take a breath and get settled in.
There must be dozens of things you’ve been waiting to
do.”
“Explore,” Jillian said at once. “Hike
probably, maybe along the river. See the countryside, take some
photos. Are there any good trails around here?”
“Plenty but if you’re into photography,
I think Elk Point will be your best choice. You can see lots from
there. I’ll draw you a map before I go home.”
The moon sailed across the night sky,
full and bright, the Huntress in her silver chariot. Behind her she
drew the tides, tugged at the night breezes, lured the creatures
that roamed the other side of day. Normally she pulled at the white
wolf too, demanded he follow the hunt. But not now. Something else
was drawing him, calling him. Not a sound or a scent but a nameless
sense as tangible as the migration season which called the geese,
and as powerful as the instinct for survival. A restlessness teased
at his consciousness during the night, the same one that had
whispered in his wolfen dreams during the day.
Finally he could no longer resist. It
was almost summer, a time of warmth and plenty, but the white wolf
was compelled to leave the forest. He glided through the moonlit
fields like an icy shadow, passed ghost-like over roads and
ditches, skirted sleeping farms and approached the town itself.
Unseen, unheard, he unerringly made his way through dim and
darkened streets to the far outskirts of Dunvegan. To the North
Star Animal Hospital.
The building was dark. Silent. Animal
senses told him that the woman was within, and other senses
surfaced in response. James took control more easily this time, and
his human self studied the clinic for options. He paced slowly,
thoughtfully, circling the building once. Then he suddenly bounded
up the hay bales that were stacked outside, leapt a span that would
have been impossible for an ordinary wolf, and landed in the loft
above the stable area. And discovered that the loft was not only
open to the outside, but opened to the clinic within as
well.
Dr. Jillian Descharme blindly reached
for the alarm, slapped it into snooze mode, and lay in the dark
until her eyes focused. Three in the morning was traditionally
known as the midnight of the soul. It was
actually four in the morning, and she had no idea what that might be called, only that it was too damn early.
Groaning, she scrambled out of the bed that took up half of the
room in her tiny apartment within the North Star Animal Hospital.
It was time to check on Poodle again.
She winced as she realized the name
sounded just as ridiculous in the middle of the night—or perhaps
even more so—than it did in broad daylight. Throwing a threadbare
pink robe over her pajamas, Jillian headed down the hallway under a
series of skylights. The pale moonlight silvered everything it
touched and deepened the shadows, like walking through an old black
and white movie. The clinic seemed larger than ever, stretching off
into darkness in all directions. It was quiet. Peaceful. And the
tiled floor was a lot colder than she expected. Her bare feet were
starting to cramp by the time she padded by the X-ray lab. She made
it past the pharmacy, cursing aloud, but finally had to stop for a
few moments. The mat in front of Connor’s office was like a tiny
island in an icy sea.
Jillian balanced on one foot and placed
the sole of the other against her calf muscle in an instinctive
attempt to warm it. She stood like a flamingo for a while,
squinting at the collection of comic strips and articles that
almost completely covered the door. Birkie had said there were
“enough letters after the bossman’s name to start a whole new
alphabet.” On a whim, Jillian lifted a sheaf of papers to read the
nameplate: Head Janitor. She grinned and
shook her head—no one would ever accuse Connor of taking himself
too seriously.
When her feet felt warm enough to brave
the tiled floor again, she padded quickly through the staff kitchen
where a low wattage bulb acted as a nightlight. Made a left at the
examining room, zipped through the small animal surgery and came to
a halt in front of a stainless steel kennel. A faint raspy mew
sounded from the depths of the big wool blanket
within.
“Hey, Poodle. There now, Poodle, it’s
okay. It’s good to see you awake.” Jillian reached in and stroked
the velvety fur of a Siamese cat of indeterminate age. “Mrs.
Malkinson must be missing you a lot.” The animal was the constant
companion of Mrs. Enid Malkinson, also of indeterminate age. All
Jillian could figure out was that both of them were exceedingly old
for their respective species, both a thin collection of angles and
sharp points, yet with a curious dignity. It was difficult to
accord them that dignity with a straight face however when both had
watery blue eyes that were crossed just enough to be comical. If
ever there was a case study for pets and their owners looking
alike, this was it.
They didn’t act alike, however. Enid
was best described as a classic worrywart, fearful and cautious,
while Poodle seemed to thrive on finding trouble. This time trouble
had come in the form of a rhinestone earring—a heavy vintage piece
with the screw-on backing and flashy stones of its era—that had
lodged in Poodle’s throat. Why the cat insisted on trying to
swallow it in the first place, Jillian had no idea, but she’d spent
over an hour in surgery to remove the stubborn piece of
jewelry.
Jillian trailed her fingers through the
water dish and dripped a little onto the cat’s tongue, which hung
out the side of his mouth. “Come on, Poodle, you must be pretty
dry. There now, doesn’t that feel better?” A rusted-out purr
threatened to shake the bony body apart. How he managed to
manufacture the sound so soon after throat surgery, Jillian
couldn’t imagine, but the sound vibrated up her arm as she petted
him. Forgetting her cold feet, she spent a long time gently running
her hand over the cream and sable fur, until the old feline fell
back asleep with his tongue still hanging out. Jillian smothered a
laugh and gently poked the errant tongue back into the mouth where
it belonged.
Satisfied that Poodle was fine, she
closed the door and wandered back through the halls toward her
apartment. Shadows draped in the corners, pooled on the floor. Deep
and black. Except one. One was white.
Jillian stopped dead, her heart seeming
to stop as well, as the white shadow suddenly stood and shook
itself, resolving into an immense specimen of an impossible animal.
Canis lupus. A wolf.
She couldn’t form a single thought.
Couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Could only stare as the creature
turned its massive head in her direction, stared back at her for a
long moment with strange blue eyes that seemed lit from within.
Then it vanished. The abruptness of the disappearance shook her
from her paralysis.
“No.” Jillian lunged forward, ran to
the spot where her mind had insisted a white wolf had stood. “Wait!
Wait, don’t go! Please! You can’t go!”
Connor had understated this place. The
view was nothing short of astonishing. It had taken much of the day
for Jillian to make her way to this rocky spot, but a view like
this was worth every bug bite, every scratch from a wild rosebush
and every stretch of muscle it took to climb the steep grade. She
emerged from the brush, sank onto a sandstone boulder, and took a
long draw from her last water bottle. She drank in the view too.
Numberless coulees converged into the valley floor far below.
Forests of spruce and groves of poplar, chalky cliffs and fertile
floodplains, tumbled-down cabins and tidy farms—all were linked
together by the broad Peace River. The sweeping S-curves of flowing
water glistened in the sunlight of the late afternoon.
She regarded her old 35mm camera
affectionately. It was too late in the season to capture images of
prairie crocuses in the grass, but Indian Paintbrush and other
wildflowers were just coming into bloom. She had photographed an
old riverboat that was beached near the bridge, then veered off the
tourist’s graveled path in favor of following some of the game
trails that led up and down the hills, to and from the river. The
detour had paid off with the sighting of a female moose with twin
calves foraging for cattail bulbs at the edge of a pond. Jillian
hoped her shots would turn out, wondered if she should have taken
more to make certain. If she ever got out of debt, she was
so getting a professional grade digital
camera, one with every lens attachment known to man and extra
memory cards. Back east, she’d drooled many times over just such a
camera in the electronics store down the street from the bus
stop.
She might be able to afford a camera
like that if she stayed. And she had to admit she might do that,
might stay more than the six months she had committed to. The hours
were long at the clinic, but the pay was pretty good, especially
with a place to live thrown in. Jillian had initially regarded the
job as a necessary evil, something to cover the bills until she
could land a job working with wildlife. She hadn’t planned on
actually liking the clinic. And Birkie,
Caroline, and Connor already seemed like family. Some of the
clients did as well. The food was a real surprise too—the fridge
and freezer in the lunchroom were always well stocked with
microwavable foods but not from any grocery store shelves. The
savory array of single-serving soups, casseroles, and meat pies
came directly from the Finer Diner. Birkie affirmed that Bill and
Jessie Watson replenished the food every week. Jillian had never
seen anything like it, almost a miniature catering service, all for
their friend Connor. And anyone lucky enough to work for him.
Jillian’s tiny apartment had kitchen facilities, but she didn’t
have to use them much, thanks to the unusual job perk. A person
might be willing to work for free just to be fed so
well.
Of course, finding time to eat was a
challenge. The clinic was a busy place, which was just the way
Jillian liked it. But she had to admit she’d like it better if she
could get some uninterrupted sleep. A dream of the white wolf had
awakened her every single night since her arrival. And last night
the dream had occurred not once but several times, waking her even
more often than the alarm clock she had set so she could check on
her patient. Small wonder she’d had such a realistic vision last
night. And small wonder that she had actually gone from room to
room to hunt for a live wolf. Of course, it seemed pretty silly in
the light of day. As if a live wolf is going to get
inside the clinic with all the doors locked.
Still, it was disconcerting to be
dreaming about the wolf at all. The dream had certainly warned her
of impending changes to her life before Connor offered her this
job. But now that she was here, shouldn’t the dream
disappear?
Even the rugged beauty she encountered
during her hike couldn’t shake the thoughts from her mind. Why was
she still having the wolf dream? And why so frequently? As she sat
gazing out at the river valley below, Jillian wondered if she
should call up her old counselor, then dismissed the notion with a
snort. It had been years, years for God’s
sake, and Marjorie was probably not even there anymore. And what
would she say to the woman? Help me, I’ve had a few
dreams? Actually, they’re really good dreams, it’s just that
there’s a lot of them and. . . .
“Okay, maybe not,” she said aloud.
“Let’s save the counseling for someone with scarier problems.” But
maybe thinking of Marjorie could be helpful just the same. What
would she say about all this? “She’d probably tell me to consider
anything that’s different in my life.” Well, that was a
no-brainer—only everything. New job, new digs, new town, even a new
part of the country. New people, new boss. New equals change equals
s-t-r-e-s-s. No matter how positive all
these new things were, they still caused stress.
“Simple.” Jillian felt much better. Now
she had something tangible she could point to. “It would be amazing
if I wasn’t having dreams.” Just ordinary
stress, pure and simple, due to a huge list of new things to get
used to all at once. And that meant that as she became accustomed
to her new life, the dreams would stop.
So why didn’t that explanation satisfy
her? Truth be told, she’d miss the white wolf, even if he was only
a dream. His appearance brought her a feeling like no other, a
powerful peace. Warmth radiated from the enormous wolf as if from a
banked fire, a warmth that relaxed and replenished.
Jillian sighed and turned her attention
back to her camera to shoot several frames of the stunning
landscape. The light was slanted now, tingeing the shadows with
gold and gilding the river. Her stomach tried to remind her that
she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but she didn’t want to reach for
her energy bars right now. All she wanted was to get some photos
and head back down the hillside before dark. The scolding of a red
squirrel made her start and turn around. “What?” she laughed.
“What’s the matter, am I too close to. . . .” Jillian’s thoughts
trailed off as the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated a stony
plateau behind her. “How did I miss this? It’s almost as beautiful
as the view.” She must have bypassed it when she came through the
brush and trees on the west side, focused only on gaining a vantage
point of the valley below. Jillian rose and slowly made her way
around the wide, flat-topped boulders that formed a rough circle, a
circle with a floor not of earth or stone but soft reddish sand, a
testament to ancient seas. Tall spruce marched right up to the
edges of the stony ring but did not enter it, only stood as
sentinels around it. No brush grew in the center of the plateau,
only the occasional wisp of grass. A few charred bits of wood
suggested there had been a recent campfire in the
sand.
What a wonderful place
to practice Tae Kwon Do. She could picture herself in this
peaceful setting, her energies balanced, her timing perfect, as she
performed every block, strike, and stance of the hyung without flaw. Heck, she might even get the order
right at last.
Jillian hopped up to sit on one of the
bigger rocks, and swung her feet like a first-grader on a
grown-up’s chair. The stone was warm beneath her hands, tempting
her to stretch out on it. Maybe she could find not only balance
here but uninterrupted sleep. Unfortunately, the sky was deepening
to amber, and she knew she ought to leave while she could still
find her way back.
She packed her camera away and hefted
her backpack. She’d taken no more than a step when one of her water
bottles came loose, bouncing and rolling off among the rocks.
Swearing, she chased it down and reached to retrieve it, but her
hand froze in mid-air. Prints. Three perfect paw prints in the sand
and several partials. Large. Deep. Dog-like yet elongated.
Wolf.