Heart of the wolf (8 page)

With a ragged sigh, Sarah closed her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she had put herself in someone else's hands. It was a disturbing thought—a paralyzing one. But what else could she do?

As they neared the hospital, the truck radio unexpectedly crackled to life, so Wolf called his boss to explain the situation, saying he'd report in shortly. Arriving at the emergency entrance, Wolf carried Sarah into the hospital. But as he prepared to leave, he saw fear in her eyes that she obviously was trying to hide.

"I'll try to drop in and see you late this afternoon, before I go up to your cabin," he said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. Sarah sat on a gurney in a cubicle, her long legs dangling over the side.
Her bare feet bruised and swollen.
Her hair desperately needed to be washed and brushed, the mud from yesterday's accident still clinging to the golden strands. Her head was bowed, and Wolf started to reach out, to graze her pale cheek to reassure her, but he couldn't even do that. Nothing was for sure in life.
Absolutely nothing.
His hand stopped in midair.

"Thanks," Sarah whispered, unable to look up.
Just having Wolf standing beside her, she felt so much safer, as if everything really might work out—and the knowledge that he was leaving brought her ridiculously near tears.

The urge to hold her, to whisper that things would be okay, needled Wolf. But he, of all people, had no right to guarantee that.
To hell with it.
He gripped her hand momentarily, squeezing it gently. "You worry too much, Sarah. I'll be back later," he said with all the confidence he could muster, and he released her hand.
But not before her head snapped up and those glorious blue eyes of hers flared with disbelief and some other tangible but indecipherable emotion.
As Wolf turned away, he tried to figure out what it was that he'd seen reflected in her lovely gaze, then shook himself, putting it firmly out of his mind. Once he'd thought he could understand a woman, but experience had taught him differently. He knew he didn't dare trust his sense of the situation with Sarah—as much as his heart bid him to do just that.

Wolf glanced at his watch. It was nearly four o'clock, the day still bright with sunshine after last night's storms. The hospital, a small two-story brick building, stood out against the side of the green mountains that surrounded the small valley town. He pulled the truck into the visitor's parking lot and left Skeet sitting obediently in the cab, his head out the window, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Unaccountably, Wolf's spirits lifted as he entered the hospital. All day, she'd been on his mind and lingering in his heart.

Room 205 had two beds in it, but only Sarah was there, the other bed unoccupied. Wolf halted, and his breath caught. Sarah was on crutches, looking out the west window, and sunlight bathed her form. Her once muddy hair was clean, reminding him of the golden corn silk that had
tassled
the green ears on his father's farm every August. It waved softly down around her shoulders like a cape. She wore a blue tank top that emphasized her small form. As Wolf's gaze moved downward, he saw to his satisfaction that Sarah's feet and ankles were snugly wrapped in elastic bandages, although they still were obviously swollen.

"Sarah?" His throat was dry, his pulse erratic, as he said her name. As she slowly turned her head, Wolf felt as if sunlight were bathing him for the first time in this last dark year of his life; a strange warmth flowed through him, easing some of the pain he carried within him twenty-four hours a day. Delicate bangs framed Sarah's gently arched eyebrows. Today she looked like a beautiful woman, not a waif. The change was heart-stopping.

Sarah turned at the sound of her name—and froze beneath Wolf's unexpectedly hot, hungry gaze. Never before had she been silently caressed like this. Automatically her gaze dropped to Wolf's mouth. What would it be like to kiss him—to feel that dangerous high- voltage power that seemed to throb around him?

Shaking off the strange, heated languor that threatened to engulf her, Sarah frowned.
"You!"

Taken aback by the sudden change in her, Wolf halted halfway across the room. "Me?"

"Yes, you!"
Sarah watched as he took off his ranger's hat and held it in his long, callused fingers. She hobbled around, hating the crutches and especially hating the fact that she had to rely on them. "Do you know how much just one day in this place has cost me? Four hundred dollars!
" She
halted a foot from him and glared up into his face. "Four hundred dollars! I can't believe it! I've got to get out of here. I want you to take me home!"

Wolf gripped her gently by the arm. "Come
on,
sit down while we discuss this."

"There's no discussion, Wolf. I want you to take me home. You brought me here, and you can take me back. You owe me that much."

He nodded and released Sarah's arm as she crossed with some difficulty and sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing a nearby chair, he turned it around, swung his leg over it and sat down.

"What did the doctor say about your feet?"

Wrinkling her nose, Sarah muttered, "Same thing you did. No broken bones, just a lot of smashed muscles and skin. I've got to stay on these lousy crutches a week."

Despite her belligerent tone of voice, the distraught quality in her eyes made Wolf wince. "I thought so. How do you feel now?"

"Four hundred dollars poorer."

Wolf grinned, silently applauding her spunk. "I told you—I'll help you out. A loan you can pay back with no interest."

Adamantly Sarah shook her head. "I don't accept help from strangers, Harding."

Wolf sighed. There was such turmoil and anguish in Sarah's face. And there was turmoil within him, too. He had no right to offer her help, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "You'll never be able to take care of yourself up there right now, Sarah," he warned.

Her name rolled off his lips like a whisper of wind, and it sent
a warmth
through her. "Yes, I can! Quit treating me like I'm some breakable piece of glass. I've survived out there
all my
life just fine without you!"

"But not with two injured feet."

"Stop it!" Sarah awkwardly rose to her feet again. "I'm checking myself out and leaving right now—with or
without your help! If I have to walk back to my cabin, I will!"

"What's going on in here?"

Sarah jerked a look toward the door. Her doctor, Bruce Evans, stood in the doorway in his white coat, running a hand through his gray hair.

"I'm leaving, Dr. Evans."

Wolf stood up, replacing the chair against the wall. He looked at the doctor.

"I'm Ranger Harding, Doctor. I'm the one who found Sarah on Blue Mountain and brought her here. Can she make it on her own?"

Evans smiled ruefully. "About ten minutes on your feet, Sarah, and all that pain will return." He looked over at Wolf. "The answer's no.
At least for a week.
She needs enforced bed rest to allow those feet to heal."

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but that's not an option." Sarah made her way slowly to the door. "Now stand aside. I'm checking myself out. I can't afford the bill that comes with this rest you're talking about."

Evans's fatherly face gave Wolf a pleading look.

Grimly Wolf stalked over to where Sarah stood.

"Get her a wheelchair," he ordered Evans. "I'll take her home with me for a week."

Sarah's mouth dropped open. "What? Go home with you?" Shock made her voice come out squeaky, not at all in keeping with the confident image she was trying to project.

"That's right." Wolf's tone brooked no argument.

Sarah's eyes grew huge.

"It's me or the hospital, Sarah. Make up your mind." Damn, but she was stubborn.

Evans smiled, placated.
"Wonderful solution, Ranger Harding.
I'll get the nurse to bring you a wheelchair, Sarah."

Once they were alone, Sarah whispered fiercely, "I'm not going home with you! You take me back to my cabin or else!"

In that moment, Wolf saw just how fragile Sarah really was. Instead of losing patience, he said softly, "Honey, you're in need of a little care right now." He hitched one shoulder upward, his voice turning apologetic. "I'm not the best of caretakers, but I'll do the best I can for you. I've got a small house with one bedroom. I can sleep on the couch in the living room. I'm not such a bad cook—and it's a place for you to rest and heal up." He held up his hands. "Do we understand each other? I'm a friend doing a favor for a friend.
Nothing more or less."

Stunned, Sarah couldn't say anything for several moments. She just didn't have the money to stay and pay a huge hospital bill. And right now, her feet were aching as if they were being smashed all over again. The pain was nearly unbearable. But worse than that, when he'd called her "honey," a dam of feelings, both good and bad emotions she'd held onto so long by
herself—
flowed through her unchecked.

Sarah realized she had no other friends. She didn't dare have friends. Still, she knew in her heart that she needed help. But her recent past caught up with her, and her voice shook with anger. "You promised to drive by my cabin a couple times a day. Why not take me there instead—you can still check in on me."

Wolf felt as much as heard Sarah's panic. She didn't want to lean on anyone for help. That much he under
stood, but when he caught and held her distraught gaze, he didn't really see anger, he saw vulnerability.

"The doctor said you had to stay off your feet for an entire week, Sarah. Checking on you twice a day isn't going to do it. I can see it in your eyes. You don't really believe what you're saying."

Fear struck deeply within Sarah. Wolf had seen through her anger and knew her true feelings! Grasping at straws, she snapped, "I'm not going to be your housekeeper, Harding!"

"I'll keep house for both of us."

"Then what do you want out of this?" she demanded. "Everybody always expects something."

Wolf smiled gently.
"Where I come from, we were taught to offer our home, food and the roof over our heads to total strangers.
This isn't out of the ordinary for me, Sarah, even if it is for you."

Warily Sarah demanded, "Where do you come from?"

"The Eastern Cherokee reservation in North Carolina.
I was born and raised there. My father's a full- blooded Cherokee. He met my mother when she came to the reservation to teach. The native American way is to offer help when it's needed, Sarah." He held her mutinous blue gaze. "And you need help."

Sarah was losing the struggle to stay independent, and she knew it. No matter how much she wished her feet hadn't been injured, there was no contradicting the doctor's diagnosis. It would take at least a week for them to heal enough that she could walk again. Silently Sarah vowed never to let her guard down around Wolf Harding. She sensed that to do so could be devastating—in ways she couldn't even imagine. "Okay," she muttered defiantly.

Wolf felt Sarah's disappointment at giving in. And she had every right to be wary of him, as harsh experience had taught him in South America. Still, a strange lightheartedness flowed through him. "It's not a prison sentence, Sarah," he said, and his voice came out almost teasing.

Sarah struggled to rally, knowing Wolf didn't deserve her anger. "But my
cabin.
. . the mine. . ."

"I've already been up to your mine and cabin twice today. Everything's quiet. Don't worry."

"I'll need stuff from the cabin," Sarah said unhappily.

"I'll drive up there tonight and get clothes and anything else you want for your stay with me."

Sarah moved aside when the nurse brought in the wheelchair. She needed no nudging to sit down in it and take the pressure off her throbbing feet. Wolf was immediately at her side to take the crutches. Just his nearness sent an unexpected sheet of warmth through her, and for just a split second, she wavered. The absurd urge to simply open her arms and move into Wolf's arms was nearly overwhelming. Confused, Sarah sat awkwardly in the silence, unstrung by him. Her entire world was unraveling, and it was all she could do to continue to hold
herself
together. But, whether she liked admitting it or not, Wolf's quiet, steadying presence was shoring her up.