Dances with Wolf (9 page)

She swiveled around, picked a tumbler up from the hutch behind her, placed it in front of Roy, and poured him a glass. “So since you were there when Bullet and Wolf went down, do you remember how it happened?” she asked. “Was it on a turn? Or did her legs just fold under her?”

“Looked to me like our friend here was turning her too fast,” said Roy. “What, are you some kind of vet or something?”

“Abby works with injured horses,” said Wolf vaguely, like he was hoping that’d be the end of Roy’
s questions.

“I use my intuition to figure out what’s going on,” she said. “Sometimes it’s systemic—and sometimes the injury is more about fear.”

Roy cocked his head and looked at her sideways. “You’re not one of those
horse whisperers
, are you?”

Abby grinned. “That’s kind of a catchall term. I just call myself a healer.”

“Oh, brother,” Roy exhaled dismissively, as if she’d just told him she planned to cure Bullet with the power of positive energy, as if she were a dim-witted hippie who thought horses were magical and “spiritual.” But she was used to this kind of contempt for her area of expertise. A cowboy’s mind was a tough thing to change, but she’d done it before, and she’d do it again.

Roy pushed his glass, which he’d managed to empty in no seconds flat, toward her. She glanced at Wolf. He shrugged, looking miserable as she poured Roy’s wine. She wondered why he didn’t tell this jerk that Dr. Vickers, a vet so respected they might even know of him in Choteau, had sung her praises? Better yet, why not tell Roy that he, Wolf, admired what she did enough to hire her to weigh in on his favorite mare? Was he a believer or not?

“Don’t mind if I do,” Roy said and took a long pull of the pinot noir. “So you work miracles, do you?”

“I try to stay away from that word. But I can work with injuries some people have given up on.”

Wolf pushed his chair back again and stood behind Roy. “You just came to borrow a posthole digger, didn’t you, Roy?”

“And maybe hustle you both down to the Roost for a beer or two.”

“I’m not staying the night,” Abby said.

“Like hell you’re not,” Roy said. “It’s positively pissing out there, girl.”

Abby had to admit it—unless the rain seriously slowed, it would be foolish to get behind the wheel. “Just my luck,” she said. She fished her phone out of her pocket, grimacing as she saw the single bar on her phone—cell phone coverage was spotty as heck out here, she was learning. Just as well—she dreaded telling her mom she would have to spend the night. As soon as her mom found out about it, she’d tell Karen, Karen would tell Bridge, and Bridge would read her the riot act.

“Bad luck for you,” said Roy. He stumbled to his feet without taking his eyes off Abby. “Fantastic luck for Wolf.”

Wolf ignored the comment. “
Abs, I
’m going to help Roy load the digger onto his truck.”

“In this rain?” she asked. Wolf gave her a private look like,
you want this guy back again tomorrow?
She smiled.

“Better grab a slicker, buddy,” said Roy. “It’s raining cats and coyotes out there.” His next remark was drowned out by another clap of thunder.

Abby reached for the stew bowls. “I’ll just clean up, then.” She sighed as she peered out into the pasture. Rain was falling in sheets, obscuring the mountains, the tree line, and everything in between.

“Don’t touch a thing,” said Wolf. Then he whispered, “I’ll be back in ten. Then we’ll…figure out a plan.”

“Nice meeting you,” Roy called over his shoulder. “
Abs.
” He laughed to himself. “Come on,
Wolfsie
, let’s do this.”

The door closed behind the two men.

Abby sat at the table for a minute before clearing and washing the dishes, a violation of Wolf’s wishes, but the surest way to calm her restless thoughts. After she finished, she dried her hands and walked over to the stone fireplace. Wolf had laid a small pile of twigs and old, sawed-up fence posts. She struck a match against the hearth and held it against the tinder. The clock chimed five.

She took off her boots and curled up on the dark-red love seat. Warming herself against the storm now raging outside, she wrapped a green Army blanket over her knees and stared into the fire until her eyes grew heavy. Suddenly, she was exhausted. It was probably her own doing—all the idiotic fantasies of Wolf’s fictional romances with wearers of tacky perfume. And then this Roy idiot, a much-needed reminder, in dopey human form, of the macho cowboy world that Wolf called home. This was a place where she was nothing more than a stereotype, and probably always would be.

All of this was so overwhelming. Abby just needed a minute in front of the fire to collect herself. It was pretty darn comfortable here, the wood crackling, flames licking the chimney while the storm raged outside. Not bad at all, to be here under this blanket. She wouldn’t fall asleep, though. That wasn’t the plan. She’
d just
…take a little rest…just…for a few…
seconds
…

…

Damn Roy Bonner.
Careless with horses, forgetful with tools, a wet blanket all over Abby’s first visit to the cabin.

Wolf’s “friend” had kept him for forty-five minutes while the thunder and lightning raged over his acreage and as far as the eye could see. By the time he got back to the house, it was nearly six. Ordinarily, there’d be three solid hours of daylight left, but the weather had darkened the sky to near black. The rain came in waves, pummeling the tin roof of the lean-to and bending the new birches that lined the driveway like so many toothpicks.

First, Roy wanted to know about Abby’s horse whispering, like it was a comment on Wolf’s manhood that he’d resort to such touchy-feely techniques. Then, he asked all kinds of
other
questions about Abby, which Wolf refused on principle to answer. He’d never been one to kiss and tell, especially when he hadn’t even made a move in the first place. But Roy seemed to revel in Wolf’s impatience, asking to borrow a half-dozen other tools, too, since he’d taken the trouble to drive all the way out there and all.

After Roy’s truck finally roared down the driveway, spitting gravel in its wake, Wolf walked back from the barn, determined to continue what he and Abby had started. Did she still think about him, the way he so often thought of her? He allowed himself one quick fantasy: sweeping all the dishes off the table; letting them clatter all over the rough wood floors; pulling Abby up into his arms, then taking her, right there in the dining room. Stella would get the hint, and skedaddle upstairs. He’d have Abby to himself, for hours and hours.

But after he closed the front door, the cabin was too quiet, the dining table cleared, cleaned, and deserted, the candles burned down to pools of wax.

“Abby,” he called up the stairs toward the loft. “Abby, come on back down here. Sorry that took so long.” He wondered if he’d hurt her feelings, taken a step backward again, as if hanging out with Roy had been his preference. He glanced through the open curtains to the kitchen. The dishes were rinsed and neatly stacked on the drain board. In the hearth, two new logs burned.

He walked over to the fireplace, muttering under his breath, then turned toward the couch. Abby was sprawled across the pillows, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes closed. Her dark hair swirled around her shoulders and spilled over the pillows. At her feet on the hooked rug, Stella lay snoring.

“Abby,” he whispered. He pushed an extra pillow under his knees and knelt next to the couch to watch her breath rise and fall. She looked so natural lying there, like she belonged somehow. He was half-tempted to lie down next to her, but stopped himself. He was glad she’d fallen asleep. All those questions she’d asked had almost felt like flirting, which could have led to more flirting, which could have led to…God knows what. In a way, he was thankful to Roy. After all, hooking up with Abby would be easy as taking a dive off a bucking bronc. But actually making it work with her? That would require skills Wolf wasn’t sure he had.

He watched her for a few minutes, her beautiful brown skin turning almost gold in front of the fire. Lord, was she a beauty. Those high, regal cheekbones, her exquisite fine face like a bright shining reward especially for him. He hadn’t come across a woman as beautiful as Abadabun, not ever. He wondered if maybe she was attracted to him, too—by her nervousness, and by the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her expression changed from regal to girlish and vulnerable.

It was a shame they couldn’t just go at it like a couple of teenagers, and then wash their hands of each other when they were done. But Wolf didn’t see Abby that way, and never had. It was more than that, too. He realized, watching her, that Bridget and their parents weren’t the only reason he needed to steer clear of her. It was also the two of them, the inevitable complications that would rise up between them the moment they’d so much as kissed. His simple, straightforward life would turn into chaos and confusion if he ever made that mistake. She’d try to do the one thing he’d never let a woman do: tame him.

An ember cracked in the fire. It was only seven thirty, too early to go to bed. But he was tired, and Abby was obviously exhausted. Wolf allowed himself to close his eyes. He’d just lean against the couch for a few minutes, no more than that.

…

He woke to the sound of Abby’s voice. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “What time is it?”

He looked at his watch—it was eleven thirty! He couldn’t believe he’d let their whole evening slip away. “Time to get you tucked in, little lady.” Wolf tried to cast away the remnants of sleep and picked Abby up, blanket and all, whisking her up the stairs. He hadn’t held her like this in years, not since a night in their junior year when they’d roasted marshmallows by the river with Bridget and a couple of his football buddies. He could feel her light breath on his neck and he allowed himself a peek at her. She looked so peaceful.

She barely stirred, even as he tucked her in, jeans and all. As he closed the door, she exhaled, “Wolf…” so quietly that he thought he might have imagined it.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Abby’s cell phone rang, waking her from a deep sleep. She sat up in the cozy bed and looked around. She was all alone. No telling where Wolf was. She couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten to bed. Ever the big brother, he must have carried her up the stairs.

So here was the proof that he was feeling nothing special for her, or more accurately, nothing at all. Last night, for a single moment before Roy interrupted them, she thought she
’
d seen a look on Wolf
’
s face, a look of longing, even desire. Had she only imagined it? Any red-blooded man would have at least tried for a kiss with her curled up on the couch in front of a fire, wouldn’t he?

She glanced at her buzzing phone, which somehow got better reception in Wolf’s bedroom than it had in the kitchen. It was Bridget calling, who often functioned as a backup alarm clock even when Abby
hadn’t
just spent the night at her brother’s house. She’d call her back in a minute and explain the perfectly innocent sleeping arrangements soon enough, then call her mom and tell her the same thing. Under the bed, Stella stirred, whined, and emerged looking as disoriented as Abby felt.

“It’s okay, girl.” Abby stretched and took a closer look out the window. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.” But the rain was still falling in solid sheets, obscuring the view of the mountains and even the barn. In a moment, there was an additional sound effect: the chaotic pelting of ping-pong-sized pellets of hail on the driveway.

She reached for the phone and checked her schedule. A full roster of clients for late this afternoon and all day Saturday. She groaned. Stella rushed to her side to lean against Abby’s knee. She patted the top of the dog’s head while she thought about her next move. Some deep instinct inside told her, even though she hadn’t had a chance to work with Bullet yet, to get on the road, come back here to finish up another time. But obviously that wasn’t going to happen in a hailstorm.

The phone rang again.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie, are you okay?” She sounded genuinely worried. Thank God, there was a clear connection, though what sounded like bowling balls were slamming on the metal roof. She could barely hear what her mom was saying. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Wolf’s. Locked down, looks like.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. It actually snowed some in Jewel Basin. Is it cats and dogs there?”

“More like dinosaurs and gorillas.”

Her mom laughed. Always nice to have a mom who will laugh at your stupid jokes. “Well, don’t even go outside until it calms down. It’s dangerous out there.” She paused. “And I don’t suppose I need to remind you to be aware of the, ahem, dangers within that Wolf den, do I?”

“Mom, knock it off.”

“I’m just looking out for you. You’re Abadabun Macready, not just another notch in Wolf Olsen’s belt.”

“Mom, nothing’s happened, and nothing’s going to happen.” Then, in a whisper, “Believe me, even if I were interested, he couldn’t care less.”

“Oh now, you’re just pulling the wool over your own eyes.”

“I’m not, Mom. I think I’d know.”

“If you don’t think that man is attracted to you, you’re blind.”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ve got to go now.”

“And what? Cuddle by the fire while you wait out the storm?” She laughed again. Was she having fun with this?

“Gotta go. Love you! Mwah!” She hung up, and could picture her mom sticking her tongue out at the now-disconnected phone in her hand. Abby would make up for it later.

She looked out the window again. There was almost nothing to see. A pure cloud of white, a blank screen. The sound effects had taken over the visuals. She was literally blinded. Was there any truth to what her mom had said? Was she not picking up on signs from Wolf? He seemed as uninterested in her as ever. But she could put that to the test today, because she was going nowhere in a hurry. She clicked onto her contact list and began dialing, canceling her afternoon appointments one by one.

…

Wolf stopped whisking eggs long enough to listen for Abby upstairs. Since the first assault of hail had pummeled him awake hours ago, he’d felt an urge to join her, to spoon her under the covers, gather the flannel folds into one hand, and feel the electricity of her smooth skin against his.

Forget it,
he told himself.
She’s on the phone with someone. She’s got appointments she’s missing. She’s trying to get out of here as soon as she can.

Abby’s feet thudded softly down the stairs. She looked at him sleepily over the rail.

“Hey, cowgirl,” he said softly. “Sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks.” Stella followed her into the kitchen, circling twice before she settled in a heap by the stove.

“I’m making a killer breakfast for us, so I hope you have an appetite,” he said. Abby sat on a stool and watched him. “You know this rain’s really turning into something like a monsoon. I feel like we’re in Mongolia, not Montana.”

“I know, it’s nuts.” She nodded, her eyes widening. They were like pools in a rain forest. Dark with unknown depths.

“What I’m thinking is I’d be damned irresponsible to let you leave before this weather clears. I don’t know if you looked out the window, but there’s ice on the driveway. And the temperature’s dropping as we speak.”

“I got the complete report, east to west, thanks to my mom.” Abby looked down as her feet curled around the rung of the stool. “To tell the truth, she gave me the third degree about being here. She’s not a horsewoman, you know? She doesn’t get that I need to see Bullet on her home turf.”

“Your mom’s one protective mother-bear.”

“And a stubborn one, too.”

He looked up from his whisking. “Plus, let’s face it. She’s not my biggest fan. Never has been.”

“No, don’t say that. She loves you. You’re an Olsen.”

“Loves me, sure. Likes me? Not a bit.” Abby said nothing but looked embarrassed. He worried he’d pushed it too far. “But who knows? Maybe she’s right about the big, bad Wolf.” He put his lips together and blew across the countertop, sending a loose paper towel to the ground.

Abby laughed. “You’re not going to blow this house down, but those winds might,” she said.

“Never mind. You’ll be back safe and sound before you can click those pink boots of yours three times.”

“Wait, which fairy tale are we in here?” She smiled over at him. “One minute you’re the Big Bad Wolf, next you’re the Wicked Witch of the East?”

“Come to the table and eat your eggs, my child,” he said in a creepy witch voice before switching back to his own. “We can check on the horses as soon as the rain dies down.”

Two or three hours later, the rain hadn’t let up, but Wolf suggested they go check in on the animals. He gave Abby his thickest raincoat, and they made a run for it. The barn was awash in rainwater and mud that had flowed through the stalls, tamping down the loose bedding straw in the aisle. Water had seeped underneath. Bullet stood in a pool of water and stamped her feet as Wolf and Abby approached.
Is this any way for a champion roper to spend her day off?
her eyes seemed to ask.

“Bully-girl, I’m real sorry.” Wolf stroked her muzzle. He hated to see Bullet in discomfort, and wondered if this was how it felt to be a parent—Bullet’s pain was his. “Let’s get you somewhere higher and dryer.”

“I don’t think this is the water-walking Dr. Vickers had in mind,” Abby said.

“Agreed. I’ll grab a shovel, we’ll roll out some burlap, and put down a new straw floor. That should do it.”

They worked side by side for almost two hours, tying off Bullet, the gelding, and the mare on long leads as they tacked burlap wall to wall. He shoveled the wet straw into barrels and rolled them to the back of the barn. There wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t aware of Abby, every aspect of her, next to him. The two of them seemed to have even synced up their breaths. Wordlessly they worked, and the rhythm of it felt erotic to him. They pushed and pulled at their tools, working up a sweat. He began to think about other ways they might work up a sweat. A reward for all this hard work. It was impossible not to think about it.

“I can’t believe you had enough burlap in storage to do the job,” she said, wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand.

“I feel more like Roto-Rooter Man than Rodeo Guy.”

She laughed. Feeling playful, he nudged Abby gently into some stacked bales of hay. She groped for balance on the still-slippery barn floor, then fell backwards onto a bale as her legs flew almost over her head. Uh-oh. Had he pushed her too hard? Just like him, to screw this up. But he was at her side in a minute. And then, a memory: Abby in overalls, somersaulting on the Olsen lawn in the late August afternoon sun, her gingham shirt untucked, her braids unraveled, her tomboy self exposed. His heart filled.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Instead of answering, she dipped her hand in the sludge next to her, whirled around, and hurled a mud pie at him, hitting him dead-center in the forehead before he could duck out of the way. “I always was a good shot,” she said, a cocky glint in her eye.

Wolf didn’t laugh or smile. “I’m the one who taught you how to throw, if I remember right,” he said, bending down to create a weapon of his own.

“You probably don’t have a lot of chances to work on your aim, though, do you?” she asked. “Seeing as you spend most of your time strapped up onto a horse or a bull, waving your hands around like a drowning man.”

“I might be rusty, I might not,” he said. “Only one way to find out.”

She had risen to her feet, but she was cornered now. He had her in his sights. “You wouldn’t hit a lady with a mud pie,” she said. “Your mom didn’t raise you that way.”

“My mom’s a four-hour car ride away,” he said. “And what she doesn’t know isn’t gonna hurt her.” He fired away, and hit her on the left shoulder.

“You
are
out of practice,” she said, hitting him square in the face this time.

“Oh, it’s on!” he said, running for her.

Abby screamed and ran but Wolf scooped her up and lightly tackled her, landing both of them in the straw and the dirt. He tickled her and she giggled, whimpering, “Hey, that’s not fair,” though he could tell she liked it.

They stopped struggling and he looked up to see her staring at him, those dark eyes focused intently on him even as her chest heaved with rapid, uneven breaths. Before he could think, he drew her closer to him until he could smell her peppermint-sweet breath. He leaned forward to kiss her, muddy face or not, because obviously that’s where this was headed, right?—there was no way to avoid it now—and a moan escaped her. “Wolf,” she said.

“Abby.” He wanted her, there was no use hiding it.

Just then, Bullet and the second mare popped their heads in the stall, Bullet neighing rudely.

Wolf and Abby looked at the horse in shock—she had to know she was interrupting something—then back at each other before bursting out laughing. “Are you serious, Bullet?” Wolf asked. “Now, of all times?”

Abby stood up and dusted herself off, leaving him lying in the straw. She was covered in mud and grit. “I think she’s reminding us that we’re here to get her better, not screw around like a couple of barnyard kids.” Before he could protest, she’d put her slicker back on. “Come on,” she said, heading toward the house in the wind and the rain. “Let’s grab lunch, then figure out a game plan.”

After she’d left, he told Bullet, “I’m going to get you back for this.” The horse neighed again in response, leaning into him as he stroked her nose. “Just wait and see.”

Can you beat that?
he thought, jogging through the storm, which hadn’t lessened one bit.
Blocked by my own horse, and after all I’m doing for her.

“You know what would go great with this lunch?” Wolf asked, rain beating against the kitchen windows. After he and Abby had cleaned up, he’d made a pork loin sandwich on tangy sourdough with seeded mustard and paper-thin slices of apple. A little mango chutney on the side. He didn’t have much time to cook, but when he did, he didn’t screw around.

“Well, your culinary skills haven’t failed to surprise me yet.” She was still drying her hair in a towel, leaning one way and then the other to get the water out of her ears. For some reason he found it so sexy. “Do your thing.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

She obliged, and he was tempted to plant that thwarted kiss on her right then and there. Instead, he stood up and reached behind her for a bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label, pouring two healthy shots into their empty water glasses.

“You can look now.”

“Sure, why not? We could both use something a little warming.” She laughed. “Bullet, too, if only she could handle her liquor.”

“Daytime drinkers, all three of us,” he said. “Although we deserve it. That was hard work, in the rain, no less.”

“Who’s calling that hard work?” She leaned toward him as he refilled her glass. “That’s what I call fun.”

“
You had fun too, really?
”

“I did. It comes with the territory, you know.”

“What does?”

“Horse healing
is
hard work.”

“It’s not for the faint of heart, I’ll say that much.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.”

“What do you mean?” He pulled back on his glass, and leaned back in his chair.

“I think you have the biggest and the softest heart. I think you’re in love with your horse and you’d do anything to protect her and…”

“To heal her?” Wolf said quickly. “Why else would I hire you? You’re one expensive investment.”

“Not so far, I’m not. Have you seen one single bill for my service?” She drew herself straight in the chair.

He refilled her glass, and noticed he couldn’t stop from smiling. “If you go through a bottle of J.D. Black Label this fast that makes you a very expensive”—he stopped himself—“vendor.”

She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Whoa. Minor case of the whirlies.”

“Really? Maybe you should go up and take a nap. I’ve got the dishes.”

“Okay.” She walked slowly toward the stairs. Stella trotted alongside her. “We’ll be down in a little bit.”