Midnight Bride. Barbara McCauley
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eyes. Eyes that were alert, watching. Waiting.
Caleb Hunter regarded the wolf’s movements, tempted, for some strange reason, to follow suit. Outside the small cabin the wind howled and rain pummeled the A-frame roof. Inside, the scent of the storm mingled with smoke and filled the room.
But there was another scent. One that Caleb couldn’t identify, but recognized instinctively.
Danger.
The wolf recognized it, too. He lifted his nose and sniffed, straightened his ears, then whined softly. Caleb set down the book he’d been reading.
“You, too, Wolf?” Caleb asked. Though hardly an original name, it suited the beast. Caleb had found the animal several months ago, half-dead, shortly after he’d come to the San Gabriel mountains outside of Los Angeles for a “much-needed rest and recuperation.” Or so his superiors had said, shortly after he’d punched two of the bastards out.
Wolf whined again and stared at the cabin door. Lightning flashed, then thunder shook the walls. The animal’s thick black fur lifted at his nape.
His own body tense, Caleb rose from his armchair by the fire and moved beside Wolf. The animal kept his gaze fixed on the door.
“I agree,” Caleb said tightly. “What do you think we ought to do about it?”
A deep growl rumbled in Wolf’s throat, then he padded to the door and stared at the knob.
“I thought you were going to say that,” Caleb said with a sigh. He reached for the revolver he kept on the mantel, felt the weight of the cold steel on his palm. His grip tightened when the wind slammed against the doors and windows, then he slipped the weapon into the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed a flashlight, slipped on his heavy woolen jacket, then dropped a hat on his head.
Wolf bounded outside when Caleb opened the door. The wind sprayed the rain inside, and with a curse Caleb quickly closed the door behind him.
“Not a night fit for man or beast,” he grumbled, pulling his jacket up tightly around his neck. Yet here they were, two misfits that belonged nowhere. To no one. Not even each other. Caleb may have pulled a hunter’s bullet out of Wolf’s shoulder and nursed him back to health, but they both knew the time here was temporary. But then, time anywhere was temporary, Caleb thought.
Even with the flashlight it was nearly impossible to see. Lightning lit the blackness, and through the pounding storm Caleb caught a glimpse of Wolf heading through the woods toward the creek bed.
Caleb followed. The drenched ground sucked at his boots. Water sluiced off the brim of his hat. His intellect told him that he was a complete fool to be out here, an observation he decidedly agreed with. No one ever came out this way, and certainly not in this weather. The closest neighbors, who lived in a cabin two miles away, were gone for the month, and the town of Pinewood was three miles away. It was only April, too early for campers.
But still, he felt it. In the wind, on the air. It was impossible to analyze, nothing that could be explained, but it was there nonetheless. Call it instinct, gut feeling, even extrasensory. He couldn’t ignore it, he’d have been dead several times over if he had. It was the only thing he trusted blindly.
Something was out here that didn’t belong. Something or someone.
An icy blast of wind struck him full force, sending a shiver clear through to his bones. Wolf’s sharp bark several yards ahead brought Caleb’s head up. “All right, boy, all right.” He moved toward the sound. “I hear you.”
He approached the edge of the creek. Normally the water was no more than a couple of feet deep and a gentle flow, but the violent storm had created a raging current. He heard Wolf’s bark again, no more than a few feet away now. Caleb whistled shrilly, but the animal merely barked again, more insistently this time.
“It better not be a rabbit,” Caleb muttered through clenched teeth, “or so help me you’re stew.”
Caleb swung the flashlight around, and the beam of light reflected off the beating rain. Wolf’s bark turned to a growl. Caleb’s fingers tightened on the flashlight. They weren’t alone, and it sure wasn’t any rabbit.
Caleb moved warily, closer to the edge of the creek; the barrel of his gun pressed into his waist. A chill slithered up his spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Wolf brushed against his leg, whined, then barked again. Jaw tight, Caleb turned, intending to move farther down the bank.
What he didn’t intend was to fall over a tree limb.
The flashlight tumbled from his hands as he landed hard on his knees; mud oozed through his spread fingers. Barking, Wolf danced around him. “Son of a—”
He froze when the branch under his legs moved, then moaned.
“What the hell…?”
The dim glow of the flashlight a few feet away did little more than outline the figure he’d stumbled over. Caleb knelt beside the body and ran his hands over the limp form.
Female.
Lightning split the black sky, illuminating the woman lying on her back. She was slender, not too tall, and her clothes, a heavy sweater and thin skirt, clung to her like wet towels.
What in hell was a woman, alone, doing in the mountains at this time of year, in this kind of weather? It was suicidal or downright idiotic. And while he hadn’t the patience for either reason, he certainly couldn’t leave her here.
As if to punctuate his thought, lightning and thunder struck simultaneously. He watched the woman’s eyes fly open, and she attempted to sit. The weight of the mud held her like flypaper. He reached for the flashlight and tucked it under his arm, then took hold of her shoulders and pulled her up.
“What are you doing out here?” he yelled over the pounding rain.
Her answer was no more than a whimper. He tightened his grip on her and shook her lightly. “Are you hurt?”
Her hair hung like wet strings across her face. She blinked several times, then lifted her gaze to him. Her eyes widened in horror.
“No-o-o-o!”
She swung a fist at him and struck him on the chin, though the mud covering her hand carried more weight behind it than her punch. She struggled weakly, frantic to get away, but hadn’t the strength of a wet leaf.
“Calm down,” Caleb shouted, then lifted her in his arms and stood. He felt her resistance, heard her cry of protest. The fool woman didn’t even want to be rescued, he thought with annoyance.
Even soaking wet, she weighed no more than a feather. He balanced the flashlight under his arm and started back toward the cabin, bending his head down when a stiff gust of wind pelted them. The woman trembled in his arms and huddled against him, muttering incoherently. Her shivering was a good sign. If hypothermia had taken hold, she would have shown no reaction to the cold. He pulled her closer to him, trying to shield her drenched body, but there was little he could do in a storm this violent.
Wolf ran ahead, barking sharply if Caleb fell too far behind. By the time they reached the cabin, the temperature had dropped and the rain had turned to sleet.
“You’re one lucky lady,” he muttered roughly as he yanked open the front door. “A few more minutes out in that and you would have been a Popsicle.”
As if understanding his words, the woman groaned, a soft, low sound of anguish. He cradled her against him and moved inside the cabin, then kicked the door shut after Wolf ran inside. Caleb moved straight to the fire and sat on the stone hearth, shifting his cargo so her head lay back against his arm.
“Well, now,” he said, taking the woman’s chin in his hand, “let’s have a look at you.”
She was young, in her twenties, he guessed. Her bone structure was small, and she had a fragile quality about her. Mud streaked her high cheeks and forehead, and her hair lay plastered in flat curls