Lone Wolf. Sheri WhiteFeather
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“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’ll give him a temporary name until he earns another one.”
“I think he’s already earned a name.”
She pointed to the dog’s feet, and Hawk grinned.
“Muddy,” they said in unison, laughing like a couple of kids who’d just shared a private joke.
But all too soon, their laughter faded. They sat across from each other, their gazes locked, the sun setting in the sky like a rebellious streak of fire.
Heat crackled between them, the kind of energy that stilled the air.
She twisted the napkin on her lap, and he felt like a dumbfounded fifteen-year-old all over again.
“I think Muddy is a perfect name,” he said, grasping for something to say.
“So do I.” She latched on to his words like a life-line, glancing at the dog for a diversion. “It fits him.”
“Yeah.” He told himself to keep the conversation going, to not let the heat come back. Not now, while they were still stumbling into a newfound friendship.
“Do you want to come to the South Texas Raptor House with me sometime?” he asked.
She made a puzzled expression. “What’s a raptor?”
“A bird of prey, like eagles, owls, falcons and hawks. I volunteer at a center that’s dedicated to rehabilitating injured raptors and releasing them back into the wild. Of course they have some permanent residents, too. Amputees and other birds that can’t survive in the wild.”
She studied him as though analyzing his association with the center. “Did you earn your name, Hawk?”
“Yeah, I did. But I was just a boy at the time. I came across a Cooper’s hawk that had been hit by a car. I wanted to scoop it up in my jacket and take it home, but somehow I knew better. I sensed that I wasn’t qualified to handle it.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran home and told my mom, and she contacted the Raptor House. They cared for it until it was well enough to be released.” He smiled at the memory. “I felt like I’d done something really important, like I was part of that hawk’s survival, part of its spirit. My mom called me Hawk after that.”
“And you learned to work with raptors when you were old enough?”
“That’s about the size of it.” He took another swig of his soda. He was glad she hadn’t questioned him about his birth name. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been named Anthony Archibald Wainwright after his father. Of course Jenny probably didn’t know anything about Archy, other than what Mrs. Pritchett might have told her. Jenny didn’t run in the same social circle as the Wainwrights, of that much Hawk was certain.
“So, are you interested in a tour of the center?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, but I have a busy week coming up.”
“There’s no rush.” Sooner or later he would get to know Jenny Taylor, who she really was and why she seemed so secretive.
Three
The Lone Star Country Club spanned two thousand acres of prime Texas land. The main clubhouse, a four-story pink granite building, had French windows that overlooked the rolling lawn of the award-winning eighteen-hole golf course. Six tennis courts and three swimming pools provided the members with athletic entertainment. The Empire Room, the Men’s Grill and the Yellow Rose Café prepared meals to suit every occasion.
Jenny entered the Yellow Rose Café, where a hostess greeted her.
“May I sit in Daisy’s section?” she asked.
“Certainly.” The hostess smiled and led her to a table that offered an enchanting view of the patio.
Jenny liked the sunny decor. Yellow-gingham tablecloths added a touch of spring, as did the planter ablaze with marigolds, petunias and snapdragons. The planter separated the café from a small, bustling bar, making a pretty yet practical statement. Everything about the country club fascinated her, and she was grateful for the opportunity to continue her association with it. Her work was the one source of pride in her life, the foundation for her sanity.
She glanced at the menu and decided on some light fare. She’d just completed a meeting with the painting contractor, but she had other meetings after lunch. This wasn’t a leisurely day.
“Hello, Jenny.”
Daisy arrived at the table, pen and pad in hand. The waitress was a stunning bleached blonde, with a dark complexion and a curvaceous athletic build. But in spite of her beauty, Jenny sensed something sad about her. There was pain in her eyes, deep and unsettling, a look Jenny often recognized in the mirror.
Was Daisy Parker running away from her past, too? Hiding the way Jenny was? Keeping secrets that haunted her at night?
Daisy always had a ready smile, but that didn’t mean a thing. She still seemed nervous somehow, preoccupied and fearful.
“What can I get you today?” Daisy asked.
“The mixed greens and a glass of raspberry iced tea.”
“What kind of dressing?”
“The house will be fine.”
Why had Daisy lightened her hair? she wondered. For the same reason she herself did? Or was Daisy just a brunette who wondered if blondes really did have more fun?
Maybe it was silly to worry about Daisy, but Jenny couldn’t help it. Deep down, she wanted to befriend the woman, get close to her, ask if she needed help. But how could Jenny aid someone else? Her own emotions were still a mess. She barely had the strength to confront her own fears, let alone tackle Daisy’s problems.
The waitress sent Jenny one of those carefully controlled smiles and darted off with her order.
A short time later Jenny’s meal arrived. As she ate, the café bustled around her, members of the country club coming and going.
Just as she finished her salad, she spotted Archy Wainwright across the room heading her way. She reached for her tea and acknowledged his gaze.
Archy was a business associate, someone she respected and admired. But discovering that he was Hawk’s father put an odd spin on seeing him.
“Well, hello, Jenny,” the older man said when he reached her table. “May I?”
“Yes.” She gestured for him to join her and scanned his features with newfound interest, looking for a likeness to Hawk. She couldn’t find an overwhelming resemblance, but she had to admit that Hawk had Archy’s powerful stature and deep, gruff voice.
“I hear you’ve been doing an outstanding job,” he said. “The board is pleased with your work. And your dedication. You’ve put in some long hours.”
“Thank you. I enjoy what I do. And the overtime keeps me busy.”
“Glad to hear it.” He gestured to Daisy, and the waitress came right over. “I’d like a cup of coffee, darlin’, and bring Jenny a piece of that tasty apple pie.”
“Thanks, but—” Jenny tried to protest, but Archy cut her off, giving Daisy more instructions.
“Don’t mind her, just bring the pie. And be sure to put everything, including that rabbit food she ate for lunch, on my tab.”
Daisy obeyed his command. Within minutes Jenny had a fresh-baked dessert sitting in front of her.
“It’s delicious,” she said after she’d taken a bite.
“Nothing beats a slice of warm apple pie. Now tell me, Jenny, have you made some friends in Mission Creek? Working overtime is fine, but socializing is important,