Chapter
Fifteen
Connor hadn’t been at the North Star Animal
Hospital for a week. The tall vet had drafted Caroline for an
annual trip to a number of small isolated communities further
north. And that meant Birkie and Jillian had been running the
clinic, and running, literally. Today had already included two
cesareans (one cow, one dog), four pet spays (two dogs, one cat,
one ferret), an overweight hamster, a snake with a skin condition,
a goat with a broken leg, and a blur of vaccinations and
check-ups.
As much as Jillian enjoyed the work,
was stimulated and challenged by it, the sheer volume was something
she had never experienced before. She couldn’t imagine how on earth
Connor had managed it on his own for such a long time. She wasn’t
certain how she had managed it in his
absence, but fortunately she’d continued to sleep well. She blessed
Birkie’s name frequently for that. Although Jillian had been
skeptical at first, the herbs seemed to be doing the trick. Even
the dream catcher seemed to be working, since she couldn’t remember
a single dream. She smiled at that. The dream catcher’s power
probably lay in suggestion, but that was fine by her. Whatever
worked.
However, she had to admit she was
certainly tired now. A headache was throbbing behind her eyes,
probably because she’d had nothing but coffee since breakfast. Come
to think of it, there hadn’t been any breakfast. As soon as the
clock struck five, she had plans to go straight to her apartment
and either eat or lie down. Maybe eat and lie down at the same
time. The ancient Romans were said to have dined like that, so
maybe she could too. Connor and Caroline would be back sometime
tonight and would be at work in the morning. She only had to get
through the rest of today. . . .
Jillian made her way to the front
reception area to ask Birkie something but what was coming through
the door made her forget all about it. A very small woman with
blood-spattered jeans was dragging in the largest dog Jillian had
ever seen, a Great Pyrenees. The giant breed was often used to
protect livestock from predators—and this one’s thick white fur was
soaked and matted with blood. One of its ears was mostly torn off.
Even injured, the dog looked formidable as it growled with lowered
head and showed its sizable teeth.
The woman jerked the leash as they
cleared the door. “Goddammit, quit that snarling this minute.” She
looked up from under a broad-brimmed hat, nodded at Birkie, then
fixed bright black eyes on Jillian. “You’d be the new one. Name’s
Ruby. We had a little trouble with some coyotes. Cujo’d taken care
of most of them by the time I got out there with the .22, but as
you can see, the coyotes got a piece or two of him.”
Jillian directed the pair to an
examination room, and Ruby hauled on the leash like she was leading
a recalcitrant steer. Cujo followed his mistress but glanced back
at the vet and growled all the way down the hall, in spite of the
trail of bright blood he was leaving.
“You can tell by the name that Ruby’s a
die-hard Stephen King fan,” explained Birkie. “Most of the time,
Cujo’s actually quite a friendly and loveable fellow. But he hates
this place. Some animals just get bad associations, no matter how
good we are to them. Last time he was here, he’d been in a fight
with a black bear and had the skin peeled off one of his
hindquarters. Connor had to roll it up like a big sock and sew it
back on. Time before that, one of his feet was bitten clear
through.”
“Dog’s a real warrior
then.”
“Has to be. Ruby runs the biggest sheep
operation in northern Alberta. And there’s nothing a Pyrenees won’t
do to protect his flock.” Birkie stood up from her desk and
straightened her pristine lavender jacket. “Connor just called to
say he’s still finishing up inspections at that new bison
processing plant. He’ll be back tonight, but it’ll be a good six to
eight hours at the very least. Caroline’s with him of course, so
there’s just you and me and Ruby. I figure if we all pile on Cujo,
we might be able to get a shot into him. But it’ll have to be an
elephant tranquilizer—that boy doesn’t go down easy.”
Jillian took a deep breath and
considered her options. Although she appeared old enough to be
someone’s great grandmother, Ruby was clearly tough as nails. Tough
enough to put a muzzle on her injured pet? Or hold it down? The
heavily muscled dog had to weigh in at over 200 pounds, bigger than
even a St. Bernard and certainly a lot heavier than Ruby. And
although Birkie was adept at restraining small animals, throwing an
arm around this beast promised to be a real rodeo.
Jillian ran both hands through her hair
and thought out loud. “I’m reluctant to give him a tranq or even a
muscle relaxant. He may be on his feet, but his eyes look shocky to
me, probably from blood loss. I wish we could wait for Connor, but
we’ve got to stop that bleeding. Plus, that ear’s got to be
stitched back together quick or we’ll lose it,” she said. “And if
Cujo hasn’t eaten us by then, every one of those bite wounds will
have to be washed out and sewn up, or there’ll be infection from
hell.”
She grabbed a large muzzle and walked
quickly down the hall—sideways to avoid the blood—and entered the
surgery. Ruby had both hands on the dog’s collar and was trying to
pull him into a sitting position, but he snarled and lunged at the
vet the moment she appeared. The massive jaws snapped shut with a
chilling ring, as Ruby swore like a construction worker and muscled
the animal back a couple steps. He twisted free and ran to the
other side of the steel table, where he crouched behind a chair,
dwarfing it. There he continued to bare his teeth and growl, even
at his owner.
“Just leave him be, Ruby. Move back
away from him for now. He’s in pain and he’s pretty scared, plus I
think he’s in shock. Sometimes injured animals will lash out at
their owners without meaning to. Birkie. . . .” Jillian knew the
receptionist was close behind her. “I don’t want you to come in
here right now.” Knowing her only hope lay in gaining the animal’s
cooperation, she stood still and spoke quietly to the dog. “Hey
Cujo, you’re not very happy to be here, and I don’t blame you a
bit. But you need a little help, so we’re going to see what we can
do for you.” Slowly she began to move, intending to try to restrain
the animal herself, when suddenly a tall, broad-shouldered man
pushed roughly past her. For a moment she thought it was Connor—and
then her brain registered the blond hair. “Hey, what the hell do
you think you’re doing?”
He shushed her with a backward wave.
All his attention was on the dog. He didn’t communicate with
four-legged creatures in quite the same way as his brother—Connor
could have whole conversations with animals if he wanted to—but
James’s Changeling abilities could easily quiet a dog, even a
monster like this one. A few murmured words and a light touch was
all it took before Cujo’s lips relaxed back over his teeth, and the
growling ceased. A muzzle was no longer necessary, but James knew
the humans in the room would feel a whole lot better with one in
place. Quickly he took a roll of heavy gauze from the wall and
tethered the threatening jaws with a simple but effective figure
eight, then lifted the dog to the stainless steel table. “Atta
boy,” whispered James and lightly placed a powerful hand on the
animal’s thick neck while sending soothing thoughts. Cujo lay
quietly on the table as Jillian approached, remained still while
she tended to the injured ear. Ruby talked incessantly about the
sheep market while her dog was stitched up, but James paid little
attention to the monologue. He was too busy wondering why Jillian
was so angry. Fury radiated from her in waves.
In fact, Dr. Jillian Descharme didn’t
say a single word to him. Not until she was done, her patient was
on his way home with his owner, and Birkie had left the
building.
“Okay, what the hell did you think you
were doing?” Her sea green eyes were bright with indignation as she
wiped down the table with antibacterial spray. “I don’t need
untrained people jumping into dangerous situations like
that.”
James went over to the sink and washed
his hands, even though they really didn’t need it. Every movement
was calm and deliberate, not just because he had to remember how to
do this task—and the water felt strange, almost ticklish on his
human skin—but because he was trying to measure out how to respond
to Jillian when he didn’t have a clue what the problem was.
“Exactly right, doc. It was a very dangerous situation. The owner
was in danger, and your receptionist. And so were
you.”
“I knew what I was doing. I’m not
helpless, you know.”
“I didn’t say that. No one’s accusing
you of being helpless. But trying to handle everything yourself
isn’t necessary or smart—”
“What the hell do you know about what’s
necessary?” she snapped. “I have to handle stuff like this every
day on my own. If I can’t do the job, I have no business being
here.”
He glared back. Why the hell was she so
upset? “The job doesn’t require you to place yourself in harm’s
way.”
“Dammit, I’m a licensed veterinarian—”
she began but he cut her off.
“Yes, you are, and because you are, you
know damn well that going into that situation alone was stupid. If
it had been a poodle or a cocker spaniel, it might have been
different.” James shook the towel out before putting it back on the
rack, aware that he’d like nothing better than to shake Jillian.
“But that animal outweighed you, was injured and in pain and
looking to tear into you. And not one soul in that room, including
you, doc, would have been able to stop it.” The mental picture
clutched at his gut.
“So you decided you should just waltz
in and rescue us females?”
James’s voice dropped lower, his eyes
narrowed to steely blue slits. He stalked forward until he was
nearly nose-to-nose with her, although he had to lean over to
achieve that. “Don’t you reduce this to gender shit. That just
demeans both of us. I stepped in because I had the experience and
the muscle to do what was needed in this particular situation. So
you could then do what you’re skilled and experienced at. What I
did is nothing against you, and if you think it is, then you’re not
as smart as I pegged you for.”
She was spitting mad. James could see
the rage radiating from Jillian like smoke from a wildfire. If
looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing. But there were other
things in those glaring green eyes. Tiredness. No,
more like all-out exhaustion. And pain. A headache? Suddenly
concerned, he skimmed her cheek with the back of his knuckles—and
caught her lightning fist in his hand an instant before she
connected with his face. Caught the other fist too and held them
both captive. Then James did something else completely reflexive.
Still holding her hands, he bent his head and kissed that angry
mouth.
For a split second he was certain she
would either bite him or head-butt him. He could feel the outraged
shock vibrate right through her; then something shifted subtly,
changed. Whether it was in him or in her, or both, he didn’t know,
but there was a sudden spark of surprised recognition. The spark
flared. He released her hands, and she didn’t pull away. The kiss
deepened, and they all but fell into each other. Her lips were both
giving and demanding, and so were his. Hungry. Needing, then
needing more. Neither of them was steady on their feet when they
finally stepped back from each other.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Her
voice was still angry but also a little shaky. Then he looked in
her eyes and saw not anger but desire. Raw desire. The surprising
power of it punched him in the gut a full three seconds before her
fist did. By the time he got his wind back, Jillian was
gone.
Jillian tried walking for an hour to
distract herself, calm down. Then she shopped in every store along
Main Street. She needed a giant economy package of work socks,
didn’t she? But even with her body still vibrating like a plucked
string, tiredness and hunger won out. She had to find a place to
sit down, refuel and regroup. She considered going to the Jersey
Pub but remembered there was a baseball game on the big screen TV
tonight, which would draw a large and boisterous crowd. Instead she
headed over to the Finer Diner. Birkie had brought her there during
her second day in Dunvegan, claiming it was the best place in town
to eat. The little gas station and convenience store combo hadn’t
looked promising as a restaurant, but Jillian was a believer after
that meal. Although she could sample much of the Finer Diner
cuisine from the staff fridge anytime, microwaving a container just
didn’t equal the fresh-made experience.
She waved at the big man working the
till as some teenagers purchased giant cups of soda and multiple
bags of chips. Bill Watson was nearly as tall as Connor and built
like a champion wrestler—which at one time he was—with a multitude
of both tattoos and freckles covering his muscled arms. The
backstreets of London and the outback of Australia blended in his
voice, along with pure good humor. Deep and loud, his words boomed
easily across the store to the red vinyl booth where Jillian had
planted herself.
“Right then, lovey, no doubt you’ll be
looking for supper. The special is fish’n’chips, and Jessie’s made
her best-ever slaw to lie down wi’ that.”
“Sounds great.” She leaned back and
surveyed the store, glanced out the window at the row of businesses
across the street and watched the gaggle of folks who stopped in
front of the post office to chat or to sort their mail. It never
failed to surprise her how much she enjoyed the little northern
town and the people who lived here. There was a sense of community
she’d never experienced before, even though she was more of an
observer than a participant.
She certainly hadn’t been just an
observer when James kissed her. That kiss . .
. Good God, she could still taste him. Jillian sighed a
little in spite of herself. She remembered the way James had pulled
her close, the feel of his hands running up and down her body, the
incredible heat that radiated from him, that blond beard
surprisingly soft against her face.
And then she remembered the way she’d
plowed her fist into James’s solid body before running like a
rabbit. Her cheeks flamed. That had been dumb, just plain dumb, a
reaction worthy of a school playground kiss. She could have just
said no thanks, could have backed off, could
have not kissed the man back in the first place—but she’d have to
be made out of stone not to respond to James Macleod. Okay, maybe
she could have kissed him and then said something supremely mature
and dignified that would—what? Let him down easy? Discourage him?
Was that what she really wanted?
Leaning her head on her hands, Jillian
closed her eyes wearily. Okay, I admit it, I’m
attracted to him. But who wouldn’t be? She supposed she
should probably apologize for hitting him. But having James pissed
off at her was good insurance against a repeat of that kiss, and
right now she wanted some insurance like that. Deep down, she was
just a little afraid of being kissed like that again. Who knew what
might happen? Something, anything. Everything.
She furrowed her brow and deliberately
recalled the events that preceded the kiss. Like his lecture. And
the way he’d arrogantly pushed her aside and taken over restraining
the dog. Jillian tried so hard to find her edge, drum up some anger
so she could ruthlessly douse the little fires his kiss had
kindled. Couldn’t do it. The truth was, James hadn’t been arrogant,
hadn’t been showing off or trying to take over anything. He’d been
trying to keep her from being badly mauled.
Oh, crap. As
much as she hated to admit it, he’d been right, totally, absolutely
right. She’d been too tired to see just how risky and stupid—he’d certainly picked the right word there—she’d
been to even think of touching that monstrous dog without extra
help. Her instructors back east would be the first to give her an
earful about “risk management.” Connor would have been within his
rights to fire her for endangering herself like that. His employee
insurance rates would have skyrocketed if anything had gone wrong.
And the dog could well have injured not only her, but the other
women in the room too. Now I’ll probably have
to thank James or
something.
She sighed then. Right
after I apologize to him. She’d been rude. Snarky, bitchy
rude. Sure, she was tired, she was hungry, she had a killer
headache, she had all sorts of leftover adrenaline in her system,
but those things weren’t James’s fault. The fact that he reminded
her powerfully, simply by existing, that she hadn’t had sex in a
long, long time—okay, she could blame him for that one. But the
rest, no.
However, in order to thank him or
apologize or anything, she’d have to see him again. And how was she
ever going to look him in the face after that killer kiss?
Especially when something inside her went liquid at the thought of
being wrapped in those powerful arms, held tight against that hot,
hot body.
She jumped as a steaming platter of
fish and chips appeared in front of her. “Thanks,” she managed.
Bill winked broadly and hurried back to the counter where a man was
waiting to pay for gas. At once she recognized the dark red hair
curling out from under the hat. Douglas Harrison. He was looking
right at her, but for a split second, she thought he was going to
walk out without acknowledging her. Then he seemed to think better
of it and approached her table.
“Evening, Dr. Descharme.”
“Jillian. How’s the mare
doing?”
“The foot’s real good. The heat’s out
of it now, and she’s not favoring it much. You did a good job with
her.”
“Thanks. I’m glad we could do something
for her. She’s got a great temperament.”
“Yeah, she does, but Dad sure as hell
doesn’t these days. I wanted to apologize for his
behavior.”
“That’s not your fault—or his. I didn’t
take any offense from it. Please don’t apologize.”
Douglas seemed to relax somewhat then.
“He’s not like that all the time, really. It’s the damn
Alzheimer’s. He just gets these spells and goes off the deep end,
doesn’t recognize people.”
“Or sees things that aren’t there?” she
ventured. “It must be very hard on you, on all of your
family.”
He nodded. “Some days are harder than
others. Fortunately he still has some good days too, and that
helps. Anyways, I don’t want to interrupt your meal
there.”
“That’s okay, I was just waiting for it
to cool off a little.” She had an idea. “Your dad mentioned
werewolves, but he also said something about a white wolf with blue
eyes. Do you know if he ever saw a real wolf or maybe a wolf-dog
cross around here that matched that description? Something that
might have given him the werewolf idea?”
Some people’s skin turned pale when
under stress. Others colored. Douglas turned a bright rose right to
the roots of his auburn hair and looked so uncomfortable that
Jillian was almost sorry she’d asked the question.
“Dad’s lived here longer than either of
us has been alive, built his cattle ranch in the early 20s by
clearing away raw forest. I imagine he saw plenty of wolves in
every color back then. Not now though. There’s no wolves around the
place now.”
“You keep saying that
but—”
“I’ve got to go. Thanks again for your
work on our mare.” He quickly walked out of the store.
Jillian watched him through the window,
saw him get into a pickup and take off with a surprising squeal of
tires. Nervous, she thought. The wolf thing made him nervous, as if
he was scared of something. Why would that be? And
why are all the attractive men I meet so weird? She was glad
to find her food still hot and settled into eating, determined not
to think about Douglas or James or any other members of the male
species for the rest of the night.
Restless and edgy, James paced the
parameters of Connor’s farm. What he really wanted to do was Change
and race through the sprawling fields and forest that comprised his
brother’s land. But he didn’t trust the wolf, and so he was trying
to work off his frustrations the slow way—as a human being on foot.
He’d walked all the way here from the clinic. And now he’d walked
most of the fence lines. So far, however, all the walking seemed to
be simply aggravating him more.
He was sick to death of being human.
His head was crammed with too much information, conflicting
thoughts and multiple considerations, all underpinned with complex
emotion. And over all, a new awareness of Jillian he’d rather not
have.
Damn, the woman can
kiss.
He sighed, swore. It had to be lust.
Attraction, then lust. Hell, he hadn’t had a woman in years.
Decades to be correct, although he still
struggled to accept the amount of time that had passed. It was
perfectly normal to act on the attraction he felt for Jillian. But
he had no right to what was normal, no right to encourage things
between them. Encourage, hell. Although
James had been out of the picture for thirty years, he was
relatively certain that grabbing a woman he’d technically just met
and kissing her senseless still wasn’t the norm. Even more
disconcerting was how much he wanted to do it again. And again. One
of the most important lessons learned by every young Changeling was
control. Discipline. Restraint. He’d never had a problem with it
before, not in all his long life. Until now.
Now, both wolf and human nature
appeared obsessed with Jillian Descharme. He was supposed to be
protecting her, not seducing her. Obviously he’d lost not just his
control but his mind somewhere along the line.
He shouldn’t have kissed her, shouldn’t
have gone anywhere near her—what had he been thinking? James
snorted. Thinking with his hormones most likely. It only made sense
that a return to human form would bring human desires with it.
Except his desires were for something more than sex, and that both
confused and infuriated him. It was the wolf’s fault, plainly. His
wolf nature had introduced the notion of a relationship with
Jillian, and now his human side seemed to be entertaining the
idea.
Not that Jillian was encouraging
things, however. She seemed to be pissed off at James every time he
saw her. Of course, maybe he hadn’t exactly caught her at her best.
He tried to look at it from her point of view. He’d broken into her
apartment in the night. Grabbed her in the loft. Run over her in
the hallway. Small wonder she wasn’t glad to see him when he tried
to do something proactive like keep her from being eaten alive by a
giant dog. But it still surprised him that she saw it as
interfering. Maybe she liked to fight her own battles.
James considered that. She definitely
had a warrior spirit. He’d glimpsed it that night in her apartment
and admired it. There had been no screaming, no pleading, no fear
at all in her—at least, no fear that she’d revealed. When she’d
failed to deck James, she’d gone for a knife to gut him. Strange
how that just increased her appeal.
A warrior
spirit. She’d defied him in the loft when she had no hope of
escaping, when she thought he meant her harm. More
than a warrior. Because instead of fleeing when she had the
chance, she’d paused and actually expressed concern for him. It
stunned him, then and now. He’d knocked her flying in the hallway,
and she hadn’t complained, but again, there was concern for him in
those sea green eyes. It had nearly undone him. James wiped a hand
over his face, found himself sweating as he remembered helping her
up, remembered those aching seconds when he couldn’t make himself
let go of her. When he very nearly kissed her.
Which made the kiss after the Cujo
incident a whole lot less surprising. And the possibility of
kissing Jillian Descharme again much more likely. How was he ever
going to get out of her life and back to his own four-footed one?
All he knew for sure was that the longer he stayed in human form,
the more complicated his life seemed to get.
And what he was about to do would
complicate it even further.