Wolf Fever (12 page)

“You didn't have a choice. Somehow you stopped the shift, and to cover up the fact you were in trouble, at least to your way of thinking, you changed clothes. Did Lelandi recognize what you were up to?”

Carol shook her head. “I can't get anything past you, can I?”

Ryan rubbed his chin. No way could Carol stop shifting because of having so-called visions. Yet he'd never heard of anyone so newly turned being able to control that aspect of his or her new condition.

“You're a danger to yourself and others, Carol. You have to allow the shift to occur.”

“You're right.” Indignant, she rose from the table. “Tom can take me home, and I'll shift and run around the house for a while. Sorry I couldn't enlighten you further, but—”

The tavern grew deathly quiet.

Ryan rose to stand in front of her, towering over her. She looked up at him, and he swore her gaze pleaded with him to believe her. She looked so vulnerable, a little pale, and the dark under her eyes seemed to show even more now. She seemed tired—tired of the grilling, tired of being made to participate in werewolf activities that she wasn't used to—and now she had to be concerned that the red might be stalking her.

“What vision did you have that stopped the shift?”

“That Darien shifts to a wolf and can't change back,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “And I feel guilty because I believe I'll have more freedom if he is stuck as a wolf for a while, but Lelandi's so frightened, and I think of how it would be if all of our kind ended up in the same predicament. What then? If I shift, I'll be doomed to be a wolf forever.” She bit her lower lip.

“It can't happen.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Carol, you can't keep fighting this. It's part of who we are. It's our nature. Yours and mine.”

She swallowed hard, pulled her hand free, and folded her arms tight around her waist. “What better way to learn the truth about my future visions than to hang around and protect me while being my personal bodyguard?”

Ryan pulled her back to her seat, watching her and pondering the notion. When she retook her seat, he took his, but the conversation in the room didn't begin again.

“You'll tell me every time you have the urge to shift. No matter when or where you are. And you'll let me know every time you have a vision? No matter what it's about?”

She tilted her chin up. “Gladly.”

He smiled and finished his beer and then stretched his hand out so they could shake on it. She sighed and offered her hand. He gave it a firm shake, felt the heat and a spark of electricity, and saw the hope in her eyes, those large pools of liquid blue. He felt that if he looked into them much longer, he'd drown in them with pure pleasure. He released her, severing the connection. Somehow touching her made him feel as though he might be able to coax her to shift when others in her pack hadn't had any success.

He scoffed at himself. She needed a mate who would encourage her to capitulate.

Silva immediately hurried over with another beer and their sandwiches. “Ohmigod, McKinley, you can't be planning to stay.”

“You didn't hear our whole conversation, did you?” Carol asked, her voice a little shaky.

“Well, no, I
have
been waiting tables, and Darien, who is on the opposite side of the tavern, asked me a few questions. Despite what everyone says, I don't have hearing
that
sharp. But I did overhear you ask if Ryan would be your bodyguard.

“He hasn't gotten Darien's approval,” Silva warned. “And you know how he is with outsiders interfering in pack business.” She sighed. “You and Lelandi sure know how to stir up a pack. Did you need anything else to go with the sandwiches?”

Privacy
. Ryan cleared his throat. “Looks good to me. Thanks, Silva.”

Silva barely waited for Carol to answer, and when she shook her head, Silva stalked to the bar to grab another tray of drinks and sandwiches, and then hurried to drop them off at a table. After that, she rushed to Darien's table.

“If you want anyone to know your business, tell Silva. She'll spread the word,” Carol said.

Ryan had already gotten that impression. He watched Darien's reaction as Silva spoke to him. Darien's eyes narrowed a bit.

Jake immediately looked in Ryan's direction and gave a knowing smile. He must have realized Ryan was up to the challenge. Tom flat-out frowned. Ryan had expected that. Lelandi smiled. Darien shook his head, gave Ryan a stern look, and then listened to something Lelandi said to him. He leaned over and kissed her lips.

“So what do you think? Was that a yes or a no?” Carol asked.

Ryan felt as if she was testing him, but he turned the tables on her. He wouldn't let up until he knew the truth. “You're the one with future visions. What do you see?”

She smiled at him. This was going to be a real test of wills. She lifted her sandwich. “Nothing in any future visions, but I'd say Lelandi convinced him to give you a chance.”

“He'll allow it,” Ryan confirmed, no hesitation in his response. “Either that or he's going to have to put one of his deputies or his brothers up to the task of protecting you. They'll be concentrating on Lelandi, in the event she's at risk. Because no matter what, he has to consider that someone from her old pack may want revenge. And
stealing Darien's mate may be just the notion they have. So until it's proven otherwise—”

“I'm more expendable.”

Ryan raised his brows, not believing she would think that. No one in a pack was expendable. “I'm very capable of protecting you.” He took a deep breath. “What I was trying to say is that until it's proven otherwise, both of you need to be watched.”

“All right.” She took a bite of her sandwich, then set the rest of it down on the plate and eyed Ryan. I wasn't sure why I'd seen you in a vision before. They're always important for some reason and have some connection to me. Maybe this is it.”

He arched a brow. “You saw
me
in a vision?”

“Yeah, I mentioned it before, but you weren't paying attention.”

“What was I doing?” He tried to sound like he believed her. He wondered if she was one of those people who told stories to get attention. He had a friend like that from Texas that he swore didn't even realize he was embellishing the truth because he believed in his own stories to such a degree.

“I envisioned you watching me from the woods as a wolf. That's why I went to the window and looked out. That's why I went outside when I saw you standing there and then followed you. I wanted to know who you were and what you wanted. Now I suppose it was because you spied the red wolf and are going to protect me from him.” She smiled, the expression sweet and innocent, yet he was sure it was a façade.

She was cute and good. But he didn't believe it. Although he
had
wondered what had brought her to
the window. And why she had come to see him in the woods. “You seemed irritated with me at first.”

“You'd awakened me. I had worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, and I was
trying
to get some much-needed sleep.” She didn't sound sincere, and she wouldn't look him in the eye. Something had kept her from sleeping.

“I'll try to be more considerate next time. But in the future, if you spy a wolf in the woods and don't know who he is, don't seek him out.”

“In the future.” The way she spoke indicated to him, that if she felt driven to do so, she'd take off into the woods again and check him out.

That made his gut wrench with concern. He'd prefer the damsel in distress to be agreeable. Made his work so much easier. He ate the last bite of the tender roast beef sandwich, the meat melting in his mouth. Then he wiped his fingers on the napkin and drew up taller.

“I'll have to return to Green Valley to pick up some clothes and other articles. Darien and his brothers can keep you safe until then. At most, three hours, and I'll be back.”

“Thank you.”

Striving for professional, which he sure as hell had lost sight of when he'd first kissed her and then danced with her, Ryan said, “I have a job to do. No need to thank me.”

Her lips curved up slightly. He had the sneaking suspicion she saw right through him. Damned if the more primitive side of him didn't want to haul her out of her chair and kiss her again. Forget professional.

She gave him a hard nod. “Right. Where will you sleep?”

“Close. No sense in being your bodyguard if I'm not nearby. And, Carol?”

“Hmm?”

“Wear something other than that silky nightgown you wore last night. I don't need the distraction.” He cast an elusive smile at her, winked, and rose. Then he slipped his credit card back in his wallet and deposited money on the table instead.

“I'll speak to Darien and then be on my way. Don't leave the tavern without Darien or his brothers' escort home.”

She glanced at their table. “I'm sure they wouldn't think of my leaving without one of them accompanying me.”

Watching Ryan and Carol, two of the bachelor males rose from their seats. “Christ,” Ryan swore under his breath and offered his hand. “Come on. We'll talk to Darien together, and you can sit at his table until you're ready to leave.”

Hell, what was wrong with him to get so possessive with her when this was strictly business? But he couldn't help worrying that this was all turning into a real nightmare.

A
FTER GETTING
D
ARIEN'S APPROVAL TO BE
C
AROL'S
bodyguard, Ryan returned home to grab a few days' changes of clothes and called on his sub-leader to watch the pack and his sister and to take over mayoral duties as his assistant mayor until he returned.

But his sister was giving him major heartburn. If he hadn't figured that she'd be more trouble if he took her with him, he'd have left her at the B&B in Silver Town so she would be close by and he could check on her periodically. But her nursery sales were skyrocketing with the advent of spring, and he knew she wouldn't want to leave her business for anything.

“Chester Ryan McKinley,” Rosalind scolded, as she continued to decorate the fireplace mantel in the living room with greenery, the fragrance of burning lilac candles scenting the air. “Don't you walk away from me when I'm trying to discuss this with you.”

Ryan stopped in mid-stride and turned to frown at his sister, the only one in his pack who could get away with talking to him like that, but only in the privacy of his home—and she damn well knew it. “The
discussion
is over.”

“Why? You speak about that woman constantly. You can't get over how she discovered who the murderer was, when you were investigating the crime just fine with your tried and true scientific methods. Why can't you believe she's psychic?

“According to Bertha, the owner of that bed and breakfast you stayed at, you not only went to the games to watch Carol but to the gathering
and
took her on a date. Now you're going to be her bodyguard? Admit that you feel something for her. Besides, you can use her on that case you can't solve.”

“You remember the last time you insisted I use a psychic? What a disaster that was?”

Rosalind's lips and amber eyes smiled. “All right. So Madame Dulaney was a bona fide fraud. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” His voice rose although he meant to curb his temper, but the false psychic could have cost him everything. “Hell, if I hadn't agreed to go out with Bennagin's spoiled-rotten daughter, he would have sued me for everything we own.”

“Your business insurance would have covered it.”

He gave her a scathing look.

She shrugged. “Besides, Miss Hoity-Toity-I'm-Owed-Everything-Under-the-Sun soon gave up on wanting to hang around you. Three dates, and she was glad to get rid of you. You sure know how to make a girl feel unappreciated. Well, in her case, loathed.”

“What did you want me to do? Turn her and make her my mate?” He shook his head at the horrible notion.

Rosaline smiled a little. “No. Then she would have been related to me. But from everything you've told me about Carol Wood, this woman's the real deal.”

“I explained to you that she most likely overheard conversations that led her to the evidence. Nothing to do with psychic predictions. Besides, I don't need a psychic to tell me that Eleanor's husband isn't seeing anyone behind her back. That the woman is paranoid as usual.”

“What about when you get another case? Carol could assist you.” Rosalind tied another pink satin bow on the cedar garland. “You could help me trim for spring, you know.”

“I'm all thumbs when it comes to decorating,” he said.

Her eyes were downcast, and Rosalind's playful expression had faded. Ryan let out his breath in defeat. He guessed Rosalind missed their mother helping her decorate for the different seasons. He stalked over to the table where cut flowers from her greenhouse sat in crystal vases and a single sprig of mistletoe sat amongst them. He raised a brow.

Rosalind tried to hide a smile. “Why, how'd that get in with my spring greenery? Carol's a red now. Rare red. Rare female at the right age for mating. Unless you aren't interested in her because she's newly turned. But having a newly turned mate offers advantages. You'd be in charge of her, show her the ways of our people, have someone you could mold to your own liking. Seems to me she'd suit your disposition perfectly.”

Ryan snorted. “The woman is not in the least bit biddable.”

That comment brought a real smile to his sister's lips. She'd like him having a cantankerous mate, he suspected. And hell, his sister and his mate would most likely bond in womanly fashion and gang up on him. Not that he couldn't deal with them, but he really didn't need the added aggravation.

He put the mistletoe down on the coffee table and then grabbed a frilly lace bow and fumbled to tie it to the garland. Decorating was a woman's job. He glanced at
the fireplace. The flames blazed hot on this chilly spring night, and wood was already stacked to the hilt in a copper box nearby.

“You've chopped enough firewood to keep us warm for the next three years. Which brings me to another point. You only split wood when something's bothering you. And lately only when Carol Wood's name comes up in the discussion. Suddenly you're out chopping down trees again.” She raised a brow.

He ignored her and grabbed another frilly pink bow off the table. His sister was a gardener extraordinaire. When did she become a psychologist in her spare time?

Psychologist… hell, the psychiatrist.
Dr. Metzger.
The one who'd given Carol so much grief. As soon as he had a chance, he was doing a little research into her story. Problem was that he might not be able to verify that the doctor's wife had died after Carol had told the doctor her vision, unless Ryan spoke with the psychiatrist and could verify the date. Even then, the doctor probably wouldn't tell him anything about Carol's session because of patient confidentiality.

Her mother! But would her mother tell him anything? Only one way to find out.

“I've been talking to you, and you haven't heard a word I've said.” Rosalind wove a string of pearls through the garland. “If you put off going after her—and I don't mean just being her babysitter—Darien Silver will surely convince her to mate with one of his eligible and
very
willing bachelors. I wouldn't wait too long. If you want her—”

“Enough, Rosalind! I have no idea where you've come up with such nonsense. When have I even hinted
I was interested in the woman, except to learn the truth of how she came to know what she did?”

Rosalind pointed with her elbow at the coffee table and continued to wrap the string of pearls around the garland. “In that notebook, you have photos of her.”

“I added photos of many of Darien's people while I was investigating who might have been involved in the crime.”

Rosalind finished with the pearls, walked back over to the table, flipped open the notebook, and pointed accusingly at the picture of Carol sitting on top—just where he'd left it.

“Right, but why do you have
seven
photos of Carol? You've filed away all the rest of your papers concerning the case, so why are
her
pictures still out? You said from the start that you didn't believe she was a suspect.”

“Hell,” he muttered under his breath. Rosalind
would
be the one to make a mountain out of a ripple in the ground. “The case isn't closed until I learn how she knew of the evidence that confirmed the murderer's identity.”

Her eyes round, Rosalind stared at him. “You think she's a co-conspirator? Guilty of taking part in the murder?”

“No. Of course not. She was human at the time. They wouldn't have involved her. But she either wittingly or unwittingly overheard the conversation, and I'd like to know which, for the record.”

“Hmm, then why don't you prove it once and for all? Have her work with you on a case, and let her help you solve it. What if she's not psychic but just very good at discovering leads, like you are? Maybe if you gave this
woman half a chance…” His sister had a way of sounding facetious when it suited her.

“Even if I wanted to, I doubt her pack leader would agree with my mating her.” That slipped out before he had a chance to stop his words.
Hell.
The truth of the matter was that if he wanted her and she was mutually agreeable, no one would be an obstacle in their match.

Rosalind's lips parted, and then she quickly smiled.

He let out his breath in exasperation. He refused to openly admit to Rosalind that the petite, blue-eyed blonde was on his mind twenty-four-seven. So much so that he couldn't concentrate on any P.I. case, nor could he keep a close handle on being mayor of Green Valley and pack leader. Ryan couldn't pinpoint what got to him about her the most. Yeah, she was a looker, but he wouldn't have noticed if not for all the attention she had received for solving the murder case through sharing her psychic knowledge.

That wasn't true, either. Her looks had definitely caught his eye. But the way she tried to protect Lelandi from being turned, not knowing she was already a
lupus garou
from birth, and Carol's strength in not falling apart during the battle that could have killed her—that she didn't run away in stark terror—those attributes kept nagging at him.

“You won't know if Darien doesn't agree to your mating her until you try. You can't deny it, Ryan. You can't quit looking at those photos, and now you've offered to be her bodyguard? But of course she suggested it, which to me sounds like she's in as deep as you are in this… situation. You can't disagree with me that you're dying to be with her longer. Oh sure, you've tried to
appear as though you are leisurely getting ready to leave, but I don't think I've ever seen you this seriously unsettled and distracted over anything. Or anyone.”

Ryan shook his head and stalked toward the back door. The red who was skulking around Darien's place needed to be caught and confronted. In the meantime, Carol and Lelandi needed to be protected. That was all.

“If you cut any more wood, we will no longer have a forest,” Rosalind teased.

Ryan shoved the door open and slammed it closed behind him, then stared at the pile of wood stacked as high as the two-story potting shed. Rosalind was right. As much as he hated admitting it. They had enough firewood for three winters at least.

Fine. He'd take a run on the wild side. Clear his thoughts on a long jog through the woods now shivering in a northerly breeze before he took off for Silver Town.

Ryan stalked to the shed. Inside, the aroma of wet peat earth filled the air, while flowers erupted from cold-hardy bulbs in rectangular planters and winter-tender plants snuggled close together on top of plant heating mats. The shed was Rosalind's “baby” nursery, and she defended the place with wolfish fierceness—nothing could be changed without her permission.

Not that he minded. He was glad she had an occupation she so thoroughly enjoyed and that kept her out of his business—for the most part—and out of trouble. He quickly removed his shirt, boots, socks, and jeans, and then deposited them on a small wooden bench. The brisk cold chilled him to the bone. Which helped to freeze his thoughts of Carol Wood and her inquisitive blue eyes.

Then, his muscles heated with the change, stretching
and accommodating the shift swiftly until he was standing on all four paws, the double coat of fur warming him better than any human-made coat could.

The shorter, fine fuzzy undercoat trapped a layer of warm air next to his skin, while the longer, coarse guard hairs repelled any hint of frost or snow or rain. Long tufts of hair growing between the pads of his feet gave him a good grip as he raced across the thin sheen of ice already covering the back patio while circling the place to make sure Rosalind would be all right. Although his deputy had told him he'd hang around to check on her two or three times a day.

Hell, Ryan had enough work to do here, and none of it included taking on the problems of a newly turned female. So why was he
really
bound for Darien Silver's territory after a quick run in his wolf coat?

Ryan cursed his unwanted desire to be with the woman again, but after taking a run on the wild side and ensuring that everything was quiet around his place, he didn't feel any more settled. He changed in the garden shed, returned to the house, and gave his sister a hug with a few choice words of instruction. She eagerly agreed to follow them, which made him suspect she wouldn't. Then he hurried to his truck.

Darien had dictated that he sleep in the sunroom on a sofa bed. How was Ryan going to protect Carol if he slept on the other side of the house?

He'd have to twist the rules. His job—his way.

“Just who's paying Ryan to be Carol's bodyguard?” Darien asked Lelandi as he paced across the master bedroom
down the hall. Carol heard a hint of wry humor in his tone as she pulled off her clothes in the private bathroom adjoining her guestroom.

Carol hated that her sense of hearing was so good that she could make out every word—muffled but still audible if they spoke loud enough. She figured most werewolves tuned out conversations they didn't want to listen to. But she wasn't able to do that yet, especially when the conversation was about her. That made her feel as though she was another Silva, overhearing exchanges that she wasn't meant to hear.