Chapter
Seven
Jillian had all kinds of things she intended to
say to this nervy intruder, right before she pounded the creep into
next week. At least that was her plan. The words stuck in her
throat when she opened her eyes and saw an enormous Viking looming
over her—or so her mind tried to tell her. The strong intelligent
face, the warrior build, the white-blond hair, those blue, blue
eyes . . .
On some level she couldn’t help
noticing the stranger had a warrior’s voice too. Low and quiet,
almost a growl with steel underneath it. And familiar
somehow.
She didn’t indulge the odd thoughts,
just continued to glare murderously at him while maintaining her
grip on his wrist. Tried to ignore the fact that her fingers
couldn’t even reach halfway around that powerful wrist. Tried to
ignore the fear that clawed at her throat, the terror of a
nightmarish past repeating itself. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”
“You were dreaming—” He caught the fist
with his free hand, stopping it just under his chin, held it. He
frowned and shook his head.
Jillian was certain that instead of
stopping her attacker, she’d just made him mad. That furrowed brow
brought a frightening ferocity to his features. And although he
wasn’t exerting any pressure on her fist, it was effectively caged
in his iron hand. Oh Jesus, what now? She tried to think. Could she
bring a leg up, kick him in the head? Let go of his wrist with her
free hand and arrow her fingers into his throat? All her martial
arts training seemed to desert her as she looked up into that harsh
yet handsome face.
“You should have done that first, you
know,” he said, surprising her. “Should have decked me just as you
opened your eyes, doc.” His words were slightly halting, as if
unfamiliar with the language. “It would have been a hell of a lot
more effective than grabbing my wrist, would have used the surprise
to better advantage.” He continued to hold her fist, held it close
enough to his chin that she could feel his close-cropped beard
against her knuckles. Never taking those blue, blue eyes from hers,
he quickly turned the wrist she held in her other hand, neatly
freeing it and seizing her wrist instead.
“See? Bad choice for you. Want to try it again?”
She goggled at him now. Was this some
kind of a sick game? “Try what?”
In answer he released both her hands
and sat back. Jillian didn’t hesitate. She snapped her body into a
roll that took her out of the opposite side of the bed. She landed
on her feet, sprinted for the corner of the small apartment that
served as a kitchen. Dove behind the tiny island, ripped out one
drawer after another in search of a knife. Found one at last—a
pathetically blunt paring knife, not the long-bladed one she’d
hoped for—and whirled to face her attacker.
Except she wasn’t being attacked. The
stranger was gone. The door was closed. On shaky legs Jillian came
out from behind the island, holding the knife in front of her, eyes
flicking everywhere. Cautiously she sidled along the wall until she
could slap on the light switch. There was no sign of the blond man
anywhere. She checked the door handle, found it locked. She lowered
the knife. Suddenly she sensed rather than heard something and
whipped around. Gaped. The white wolf was sprawled on her couch. At
least she thought her couch was under it—the massive white creature
dwarfed it. The wolf let out a very puppy-like yip and wagged its
great plume of a tail. Reality tilted crazily as the floor came up
and hit her.
Jillian’s hair had a mind of its own
and shoving her hand through it—as she did frequently—made it even
more unruly. She didn’t notice, wouldn’t have given a damn if she
had. It was the end of her second week in Dunvegan, her second week
of work at the North Star Animal Hospital. And every night since
her arrival, she had been awakened in the night by vivid dreams of
the wolf. They were good dreams, pleasant dreams to be sure, but
the constant interruptions to her sleep were sapping her
energy.
And what was she to think about Monday
night’s dream, the bizarre one about the big blond man? Waking up
on the floor the next morning had weirded her out. She didn’t have
a habit of sleepwalking, yet there were three kitchen drawers
thrown on the floor, the contents scattered across the linoleum.
Just how did she sleep through that? She’d
had her hand on the phone to call the cops and report an
intruder—then realized that the white wolf had been there too. Just
as the creature had shown up in her dreams every other night.
Yes, officer, there was a man in my room but the
wolf on my couch must have chased him away. Nope, not a good
plan. Maybe she’d run into a real wolf on the trail, but there was
no way she was going to convince anyone, even herself, that a wolf
had actually been in her apartment.
Come to think of it, how about the
guy’s clothes? They were shredded as if he’d been in an
explosion—there was barely anything left of that shirt. But his
body looked completely fine. Way more than fine. She thought of his
powerful chest, the smooth muscled abs, all plainly visible through
the gaping holes in the material. She rubbed her hand over her face
to rid herself of the goofy smile that popped up. Okay, okay, so the guy’s built. Really, really built. But those
clothes just aren’t normal. In fact, she was reminded of
that old Marvel comic book, The Incredible
Hulk, that her cousin used to collect. Every time the big
green guy turned back into his alter ego, Bruce Banner, his
clothing hung in tatters. The comic had never mentioned how Banner
managed to afford a new outfit every day.
She yanked at her hair with one hand as
if to jerk herself back to reality. The whole thing was just silly,
way too ridiculous for words. Obviously no one would deliberately
dress like that unless they were on a movie set. She’d been having
a stupid dream, no doubt brought on by eating chocolate ice cream
before bed. Jillian supposed the dream should rightfully be classed
as a nightmare, but it was tough to do when the blond man was just
so damn sexy. Talk about something worth dreaming about. Did that
signify some kind of progress, that she was now dreaming about
good-looking guys as well as wolves? There hadn’t been much time
for dating in the past few years, but she wasn’t dead. She wondered
if she was lonely, if that was why her mind had conjured the man.
She certainly had a much better imagination than she’d thought. It
was annoying, however, to find herself hoping to dream of the big
Viking again. So far, though, only the white wolf had
appeared.
“I’ve got to get some real sleep. Now
I’m missing a man who doesn’t exist.”
It was just past five when Jillian
stripped off her gloves and gown and headed for the pot of coffee
in the staff lunchroom. She hadn’t had breakfast, missed lunch,
prayed that maybe she could get just a minute or two to eat
something now. And rolled her eyes when her mouth automatically
started to water. The Watson’s sublime food should carry warning
labels, she decided. Caution, tasting may lead to
addiction. She selected a plump little pie enticingly
labeled “Rosemary Chicken” and popped it into the microwave. Stood
there with her hands on the counter . . .
“That must be some daydream you’re
having, hon.” Jillian blinked to see Birkie waggling her perfectly
shaped eyebrows at her. The scent of rosemary filled the air, and
the woman waved her over to the table where the pie was
waiting.
“You’d better get some food into you. I
imagine it’s been a long day in a long week for you.”
“Yes, yes it has, thanks.” Jillian bit
into the pie gratefully. The exquisite flavor was heightened by her
hunger, and when the pastry had disappeared completely, she closed
her eyes in bliss and sighed deeply.
“You’ll be glad to know the “Closed”
sign is on the door, and I’m about to take the really good coffee
out of the vault to make a fresh pot.”
“That’s a good thing on both counts.”
Jillian noticed the older woman’s clothes. She knew, knew, Birkie had just hosed blood off the concrete floor
in the large animal wing. A lot of blood, due to a pair of steers
being dehorned. Yet the older woman looked as fresh and put
together as she had at the beginning of the day. The suit, a
turquoise blue one today, was wrinkle-free, spot free. It even
looked hair-free, a near impossibility in
this business. Jillian had been forced to change her scrubs at
noon, but even the fresh ones were now wrinkled, blood-spattered,
covered with fur from three species, plus one knee was torn. She
restrained a sigh, not the satisfied one of a few moments before
but the sheer resignation of knowing she’d never be able to match
Birkie’s level of tidiness. Instead, she settled for running both
hands through her unruly hair.
“By the way, you’ll want to watch out
for the dead parakeet over by the cups. The bossman ran out to a
farm call, left the bird on the counter for Caroline to package up
when she gets back from the feed store.”
“Dina Monroe’s bird? The fat blue one?”
Jillian walked over to inspect the unfortunate creature in its
clear plastic baggie. It looked like a cartoon, the way it was
sprawled on its back with wings askew, legs in the air and feet
curled tight. Classic heart attack pose for
budgerigars.
“Yup. Dina insists on having it sent
out to the lab. She’s certain the creature perished from some new
and fascinating disease instead of from eating too much buttered
toast from her husband’s fingers. If its poor heart had held out a
few more months, they could have eaten that bird for
Thanksgiving.”
Jillian couldn’t help smiling at that.
“What do you stuff a parakeet with? A crouton? My God, it’s truly
frightening how people manage to give their pets the same health
conditions and bad habits they have. Both the Monroes are pretty
economy-sized themselves.”
“Wait till you meet Ed Barnes’s donkey.
He likes cigars.” Birkie finished filling the coffee machine and
pressed the button before turning to the young vet. “Look, honey,
I’ve been meaning to ask you, is something wrong? You look like
you’ve been dragged through a keyhole backward. There’re shadows
under your eyes, and I swear a zombie would have more color in its
cheeks.”
Jillian blinked at the blunt
description, then laughed. “That bad, huh? I’m just not sleeping
well right now. It’s probably the time difference, or maybe
sleeping in a different bed. Lots of changes, you know. I’m sure
it’s just temporary.” To her surprise, her friend simply took her
arm and nudged her into a chair. “What?”
“We need more than mere gourmet coffee
here, if we’re going to have serious gal talk.” Birkie nimbly
climbed a chair to reach an antique tin of horse liniment from a
high shelf. The yellowed, peeling label claimed the contents
“excellent for all ailments.” The fragrance was anything but
medicinal as Birkie tugged off the lid and offered it to Jillian.
The young woman’s eyes widened. A dozen bars of dark chocolate
gleamed in gold foil wrappers. “My emergency stash,” explained
Birkie. “Go ahead, pick one.”
Jillian didn’t hesitate. A moment later
she was biting into an almond-filled delight. She rolled her eyes
in ecstasy as it melted on her tongue. “Omigod, this is fantastic.
You may have just saved my life.”
“My Gram was a healer, almost what you
might call a naturopath today. She taught me everything she knew
about herbs and such. But I find that chocolate is pretty damn fine
first aid at times and it’s got nothing to do with antioxidants.” Birkie broke off a square from her own
bar and nibbled it delicately. “Now, tell me what else is going on
besides not getting enough sleep. You’re not just tired, you’re
worried. I hope it’s not about your job, hon, because Connor and I
both think you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”
Jillian paused. She’d known Birkie only
a short time, but she instinctively counted her as a friend. Maybe
it would be good to tell someone about her dreams. If she collapsed
in the middle of a pet spay or something, at least someone would
know what was the matter with her. “No, nothing about the job. I
love my job. It’s just that I’ve been having these dreams . .
.”
“Still? I know you said something about
having an awful lot of dreams earlier this week. Bad dreams,
strange dreams, nightmares?”
“I wouldn’t call them nightmares.
They’re actually pretty good dreams except that I wake up every
time I have one and can’t get back to sleep. And I’ve had one every
night since I got here, after not having them for years and
years.”
“You’ve had these particular dreams
before then. My Gram was a great believer in dreams, and I have to
say I pay attention to them as well. We can learn a lot from what
goes on in our heads at night. How about you? Do you think the dreams mean anything?”
Jillian had told very few people about
her experiences. Enough time had passed, however, that it wasn’t so
much difficult as awkward. “Well, I’m not sure I can explain it
without giving you some ancient history. Are you sure you have time
for this?”
Birkie just crossed her legs and
settled more firmly into the chair. “Honey, I have all the time in
the world for you. You’ve reminded me of one of my own daughters
since you got off that bus. And nothing you say is going to leave
this room, so no worries about that. I talk about people all the
time, but I never betray a confidence.”
“It started with something that
happened a long time ago. When I was seventeen, they opened a trail
system along the river valley that ran through our city. There were
miles of different trails winding through the thick cottonwood
trees, and I was trying to walk them all one day. By myself, but
when you’re seventeen, you think you’re invincible.”
“Turns out I wasn’t invincible.”
Jillian measured out the words. “Five guys attacked me, raped and
beat me. They were going to kill me. But this wolf—I know how crazy
it sounds, but a huge white wolf suddenly came out of nowhere and
chased them all away. And then it stayed with me, like it was
guarding me, like it cared about me. It stayed all night until
someone found me.” She waited for the older woman’s reaction,
waited for the look of shock and disbelief, the pulling back, the
pulling away—but Birkie, bless her, didn’t even blink. Instead she
reached forward across the table and grabbed Jillian’s hand, held
it firmly.
Warmed by the encouragement, Jillian
continued. “The first year or so, I’d dream every single night
about the wolf. You can’t imagine how much it helped me. I felt so
much peace and comfort, my dreams were almost like a sanctuary for
me. But then, with time and counseling, I learned to let myself
feel the emotional pain and the anger over the attack, acknowledge
it and let it go, in small increments. After a while, the dreams
didn’t come so often. And now it’s been years.”
“You’ve healed very well.” Birkie
nodded approvingly. “That’s a mighty terrible thing to go through,
and an awful thing to have to remember. Most people would have
curled up in a ball, let it cripple them. But you’ve shown real
courage in going on with your life. There you are with a
veterinarian’s degree and the guts to take a job, sight unseen,
clear across the country. Well done, girl.”
“Sometimes I wanted to curl up in a
ball. A lot, at first. But those men had taken so much from me, I
didn’t want them to steal the rest of my life too, didn’t want them
to steal who I was. It took a long time,
though, just to make myself go outside, or go to the store. Go to
school. Took even longer to go back into the woods, to hike the
trails, be outdoors again. But I wanted the things that I loved
back. I wanted myself back. And I think the wolf helped a lot. I
didn’t see him again, but I thought about him every time things
were tough. Something wonderful had stepped in and saved my life.
So I had to try to save my life too.”
Birkie kept her hand where it was. Her
expression showed nothing but acceptance and support. “And you’ve
done a damn fine job of it. Did you ever tell anyone about the
wolf? I’ll bet some people tried to tell you he wasn’t
real.”
“Of course no one believed me,” Jillian
snorted. “And I can’t blame them. A wolf in the middle of an
eastern city? Sure, the occasional deer ran through the river
valley park area where I was walking, but a wolf? The police said I’d probably seen a big dog,
perhaps a coyote—if anything. My counselor thought the white wolf
was something my mind made up to protect itself. I went along with
that, but I was never quite convinced, or maybe I just liked the
idea that somewhere out there was this wonderful creature watching
out for me. You know, the way some people like to believe they have
a guardian angel.
“But then, last weekend, I—” She
glanced at Birkie. She hadn’t planned to say a word about the
encounter, but she hadn’t realized how much she needed to tell
someone. She was tired of puzzling through this on her own. “Look,
I’m taking a chance that you’re really going to think I’m crazy,
but I met the wolf again. Here—well, actually I was hiking on the
trail below Elk Point. It sounds nuts but I know it wasn’t a dream.
There were white hairs all over my clothing when I woke up the next
morning.”
“Do you think it was the same animal,
or could it be a different one?” Birkie asked, as easily if they
were discussing cows.
“No mistake. It was huge and it had the
most amazing blue eyes. I recognized it right—” Jillian gaped at
her. “You believe me. I’m telling you I not only had a close
encounter but a fond reunion with a real live wolf—which sounds
ludicrous even to me when I say it out loud—and you believe
me.”
“Why shouldn’t I? As Shakespeare put
it, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio . . .”
Birkie waved a square of chocolate in the air. “My Gram saw a lot
of things in her long life, things that can’t be explained. I’ve
lived long enough to see a few things myself, to know for a fact
that truth is often a lot stranger than fiction, honey. So you saw
this white wolf, and it was the same wolf that helped you. Did the
wolf recognize you too?”
“Yes, yes it did.” Jillian had read
somewhere that the greatest luxury was to be understood, and as she
grasped what that really felt like, she found herself blinking
tears away. “Look, I just can’t tell you how much it means to be
able to tell somebody. I haven’t known what to think about the
whole thing, and it’s . . . it’s. . . .”
“It’s kind of lonely trying to figure
out extraordinary experiences on your own,” Birkie finished and
smiled at her. “And it gets mighty heavy carrying things like that
around. Maybe it will help you get some sleep tonight, now that
you’ve gotten it off your chest.”
“Maybe it will. Thank you so much for
listening to me—and for believing. I know this whole thing sounds
so bizarre, and especially meeting up with the wolf again, of all
things.”
“I should think that it would be
wonderfully affirming to encounter the wolf a second time, to know
that it’s real. You won’t be questioning your sanity at
least.”
“You’re right, I am glad it happened.”
Jillian finished the chocolate, then laughed a little. “The wolf
dreams are okay too. Like I said, they’re good dreams. It’s just
that I can’t get back to sleep after I have one.” She almost told
Birkie about the blond man who had visited her dreams too, but
decided not to. There was something more personal about that, maybe
because she often found herself fantasizing about him. Besides, she
had only dreamed about the man once. It didn’t mean
anything.
The older woman finished her chocolate
and tossed the crumpled foil neatly into the wastebasket without
looking. “Tell you what, dear, I think you’d better come on over to
my house for supper. It’ll be late, but you definitely need a break
from this place, and besides, I have satellite TV with nineteen
movie channels. Zoey’s going to come over for a while too, and you
can get to know her a bit.”
“Oh that sounds great, but I’m on
call—”
“The dispatch service can find you just
as easily at my place as yours. Take the clinic truck, and you’ll
be equipped to respond from wherever you are. You’ll find, though,
that Friday night seems to be the one time that no one calls you.
Connor and I figure it’s either because the farmers are out for a
beer or the cows are.”
Jillian chuckled at that. “Well, I’d
love to come over then, thanks.”
“Good. Seven-thirty’s when I usually
eat. Hope you like pizza. The address is in the book.”