Mist on the Meadow (31 page)

Easy, buddy
. As much as he wanted to
rush in and throw his arms around her, he would not let her deliver
that fatal sucker punch.
Cool. Control.

Wolf unloaded his suitcases and grabbed one
of his boxes before he stopped beside her rear bumper. The scratch
removed any doubt that it was, indeed, Marissa’s car.

Juggling, he opened the front door and
stepped inside. No one in the foyer, no one in the parlor. Wolf
turned to look in the music room, also empty. “Hello?”

“Shit.” Chuck appeared at the top of the
staircase, holding his forehead.

“Where’s Marissa?”

Chuck started down the stairs, palms extended
in front of him. “It wasn’t my idea. He saw her the minute she
turned off the road.”

Wolf set his luggage down while the first
tendrils of panic crept over him. The Cadillac. “Your dad?”

Chuck nodded.

“And?”

“He told me to send her out to the garden
shed.”

Wolf’s skin prickled with jolts of adrenal
electricity. “What?” He had to ask, because Chuck didn’t make any
sense.

Chuck shrugged. “Please don’t tell me I’m a
grown man and I shouldn’t worry about my dad anymore. He’s still my
dad.”

“Why the garden shed?” Wolf took long strides
to the back door. Smoke rose around from the shed. “What the
hell?”

* * *

Marissa heard someone laugh. “Wolf?”

“He’s not coming,” a barely audible sing-song
voice replied. Chuck?

Marissa crossed to the stationary window and
looked across the yard, where the snow continued to fall—and the
stag emerged from the tree line. The stag took a hesitant step
forward, then another. It snorted a cloud of frozen breath while it
nodded its head. Marissa placed her hands against the panes of
glass. Pete Harper stood between the shed and the copse of woods, a
shotgun aimed at the stag.

And then Marissa caught the scent of burning
wood. A tendril of smoke curled around the bottom of the door. The
window cast dim light at the garden implements around her. The only
way out would be to break the window.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,”
Uncle Pete said.

Marissa hesitated, staring at the stag.
“Please don’t let me die,” she whispered. Then she shouted. “Let me
out.”

The stag stamped at the ground again and
Uncle Pete took aim. He squeezed off a shot, but the stag continued
to prance. Uncle Pete looked over the sight before he braced the
gun against his shoulder once more. And then the second shot rang
out.

“Where’s Marissa?” Wolf shouted.

Oh thank God! The smoke grew thicker. Marissa
took hold of a rake, and aimed the handle at the window.

“She’s a witch!” Uncle Pete hollered
back.

“You’re as loony as Grandpa,” Wolf said.
“What have you done with her?”

Uncle Pete turned the shotgun toward Wolf.
“Stay away, Wolf. She’s bewitched you.”

“You already spent your shots. Where’s the
key?”

A crackle drew Marissa’s attention to the
door, where a flame licked its way up the doorframe. With one
motion, she swung the rake at the pane of glass before Pete Harper
succeeding in burning her like one of the Salem witches. A rush of
air drew the fire into the shed. Marissa cleared the edges of
broken glass with the rake handle before she took hold of the frame
and vaulted through.

“You have dishonored your family, your
heritage.” Marissa spoke, but the voice wasn’t hers. She shook her
head.

The stag snorted and took another hesitant
step toward the shed, as if it fought an invisible force.

Uncle Pete lowered the shotgun, his eyes
white with fear. “You gave everything to
his
son.
Everything.”

“Your son took his family from him.” Like a
ventriloquist’s dummy, Marissa spoke someone else’s words.

“My son was only a passenger!” Uncle Pete’s
voice broke.

The stag pranced in circles, poised to run in
the snow, and yet it continued to show resistance.

“Your gift has been rescinded, your legacy
absolved.” Marissa dropped to her knees, as helpless as a
marionette. The heat of the fire grew stronger. Flames shot through
the broken window.

The stag pawed at the ground, evidently
resolved to the task at hand. It lowered its head and charged
toward Uncle Pete, who gave a frightened cry.

“Witch!” he shouted, right before he squeezed
his eyes shut to brace for the impact of the antlers.

Marissa couldn’t take her eyes from the
terror unfolding before her. She winced in anticipation of the
impact, but the stag passed through Uncle Pete like a ghost passing
through a doorway.

“Marissa!” Wolf ran across the lawn and then
stopped as if he’d run into an invisible wall. The stag passed
through Wolf, and then it disappeared.

A weight lifted from Marissa’s shoulders and
she sat back in the snow. Whatever forces of nature had used her
seemed to be finished. Beside her, the fire sizzled under the
snowflakes that continued to fall.

Uncle Pete lay on his back, eyes wide
open.

Wolf shook his head as if to clear it, but
continued to walk toward Marissa until his arms circled her. She
closed her eyes and accepted the embrace, holding onto him as if
her life depended on it.

“What happened?” he asked her, breathless.
“What happened?” he shouted to his uncle.

Uncle Pete pushed himself upright and held
his head with both hands. “Fire,” he whispered.

Wolf jerked toward his uncle, a tower of
rage, but Marissa held him back.

“There was a fire in the shed,” she said.

“I can see that.”

Wolf’s heart pounded against Marissa’s chest.
His emotions ran through him like quicksilver, flowing into her. He
raised his face to the sky and winced. He shuddered, and the stag
loped through the tree line, disappearing into the woods.

Marissa led the way while Wolf dragged his
uncle by the collar into Harper Manor’s kitchen. Chuck escorted a
policeman into the room and Wolf shoved his uncle toward the cop.
“Attempted murder!” he shouted.

The policeman pulled Pete Harper’s hands
behind his back and locked them in cuffs.

Wolf continued to rail at his uncle. “Why
would you try to kill her? What has she ever done to you? Why do
you insist on taking away everything that’s ever meant anything to
me?”

Marissa wrapped her arms around herself.
If she wasn’t so darn cold, if she could just stop
shivering.

Uncle Pete had a faraway look in his eyes. He
couldn’t seem to hold his head up. “My mother . . .” Wolf didn’t
appear to hear, but Marissa did. Uncle Pete met her eyes for a
moment. “It was a mistake.”

“Damn right it was a mistake.” Wolf threw a
fist into the doorframe. “Get him out of here. And while you’re at
it, take that sack of shit with you.” He pointed to Chuck. “There
was a witness to my parents’ murder, a girl walking on the sidewalk
who saw it all, and you’re going to help them find her.”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah. I will. I swear it,
Wolf.”

They retreated through the house and out the
front door. Wolf wrapped his arms around Marissa. He held her so
tight she had to gasp for breath.

“Dammit,” he whispered. “Dammit, dammit,
dammit.”

Marissa wriggled to free herself. She needed
to look into Wolf’s eyes, but his head remained bowed and her
attempts to look into his face were met with stubborn refusal. He
looked to the side and a tear fell to the floor.

“Wolf.” She reached for him, but his hands
were curled into fists. “Wolf!” she said more loudly.

He turned away from her. “I can’t do
this.”

The breath caught in her throat. Three days
ago he’d told her he loved her, and now he refused to look at her?
“Fan-flaming-tastic.”

Wolf threw his head back and laughed, an
unhealthy, hysterical sound. “God, I’m going to miss that stupid
phrase.”

Marissa wrapped her arms around herself,
afraid that if she touched him she’d reassert whatever spell had
drawn him to her in the first place. This was the real Wolf Harper,
the one with the “perfect” girlfriends, who clearly didn’t want the
less-than-perfect woman standing in front of him.

His eyes locked on hers, red rimmed, watery
eyes. “I don’t blame you,” he muttered.

“Blame me?” The lump in her throat grew while
she fought the earthquake that shook her body.

He looked away again and shook his head. “I
had no idea, Marissa, I swear. I don’t even know why he did
it.”

“Wait, what don’t you blame me for?”

“All of this.” He swept an arm through the
air. “Holding what my uncle did against me.”

Marissa reached out and took hold of his
wrists. “Is that what you think?” The feel of his skin was like a
jolt of electricity, locking them both in the current that passed
through them. Her eyes rolled back and she was sure she was going
to faint, but Wolf reached around to support her.

They both dropped to the floor. “Well, that
was different.” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.
“You’re the expert. What just happened?”

But she didn’t know. Marissa could only stare
at him. Would Wolf be under her spell again? If Wolf wanted her, it
had to be of his own free will, not because of this curse of a
legacy.

“What was that?” Wolf asked again.

“I don’t know.”

His hand hovered but didn’t close over hers.
Marissa redirected it to her abdomen, but Wolf didn’t seem to be
paying attention.

“Marissa, I am so sorry. I don’t know how to
fix this. I’ve made a mess of everything.” He closed his eyes, and
then re-opened them slowly. “Marissa—”

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The weight of Wolf’s hand pressed tighter
against her abdomen.

Her words came out in a panicked rush. “I
don’t know how it happened. I know it isn’t what you want. I saw
the photo in the paper. I know you’ve moved on.” And then the words
failed her and her throat closed up with a choked sob.

He threw his head back. “Moved on?” He
laughed again. “I don’t know if I can move on, Marissa. What
photo?”

Marissa rolled her eyes. She should have
brought the newspaper with her.

“What paper?” Wolf asked

“The Daily News. Thursday.”

Wolf got up and walked to the kitchen table,
pushed around a pile of letters and papers, and held up a
newspaper. He presented it to her, one eyebrow cocked in question.
She nodded.

Marissa pulled out the “Neighbor” section.
The picture on the front page poked her bruised heart.

Wolf rolled his eyes and hit the page with
the back of his hand. “This?”

Marissa nodded and he dropped into a
chair.

He looked away and lowered his head. “It
isn’t what you think.” Wolf heaved a sigh and met her gaze. “I’ve
been trying to give you space instead of freaking out you and your
family and everyone else . . . It was New Year’s Eve. If I didn’t
go out, I would have ended up parked outside your house again. Or
your parents’ house.” He grabbed hold of his forehead. “She’s an
old girlfriend. I ran into her at Navy Pier. I talked to her for
all of five minutes. Marissa, I haven’t moved on. I don’t want to
move on.”

* * *

A life was growing inside Marissa.
She
couldn’t expect Wolf to ignore that.

His heart hammered against his ribs. He’d
already made a first-class fool of himself. His uncle had attempted
to kill her.

Sharp pain stabbed him in the gut. He
couldn’t lose Marissa. A child was growing inside her—
his
child
—she wouldn’t keep it from him, would she?

She was here. Now. In front of him. He had a
direct conduit to her thoughts. Wolf placed his hands on her cheeks
and locked eyes with her. He had to make her see what he could
barely afford to acknowledge for himself, how much he wanted her,
needed her. Wolf closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of
vanilla and sugar. He leaned forward, unable to resist the taste of
her lips.

She kissed him back. Sweet Jesus, she was
kissing him back. Wolf wrapped her in his arms, afraid to stop
kissing her, afraid of losing her, and then he was enveloped in a
blanket of calm.

“I wouldn’t keep it from you.” She leaned her
forehead against his shoulder.

Wolf nodded while he kissed her fingers, then
laced his hand with hers. He couldn’t suppress the smile. “It is
mine, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

And yet she still seemed withdrawn. Wolf
stared at their clasped hands. He
knew
what she was
thinking, as clearly as if she’d spoken the words. Wolf stroked her
cheek. “Those skinny model types,” he shook his head, “they’re cold
and distant and fake. You,” he swallowed hard and stared into her
eyes, struggling to find the words she needed to hear, “you are
warm and vibrant and—” he rolled his eyes. How could he convey the
way he felt connected to her? There were no words, so he settled
for the best thing he could think of. “Beautiful.”

And then she was inside his head, looking at
all the colors he associated with her, all the unshuttered
emotions, all the paralyzing fear. At the same time, he saw the
fear inside of her. Wolf was no bargain, and no one knew that
better than he did.

And then he remembered the stag. “Something
happened out there,” he whispered.

Marissa searched his eyes. “Something . . .
someone . . . spoke through me.”

He nodded. He’d heard the voice, but he was
more concerned that a five-point buck had passed through him.
Through him
.

“The stag. It went
through
your
uncle,” Marissa said.

Wolf looked at his chest, patted his core.
The deer had frozen the breath in his chest while a slideshow of
photos played in his brain. As substantial as a shadow, the deer
had nearly knocked him on his ass.