Witness In The Woods. Michele Hauf
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but they don’t have twenty-four/seven watch, either. And only one of the pack males is tagged with a tracking device. They were able to tell me about a year after I’d had Stella that one of the females was missing. They hadn’t found her body. So I’m sticking with the dead-mother theory. Stella was a long way from home. That pack travels about ten miles north from here.”
“I’m familiar with that pack,” Joe said. “Well, their territory. Never gotten close to any of them, but I have tracked them before. So Stella was found in a leg trap?”
“It was actually a snare. She was near death. Had been gnawing at her own leg. I waited and watched for other wolves, but there were none close. I figured she was about three months old at the time. It’s been almost three years. She’ll never be mine, but I am her person. I did take her to the pack rendezvous point about a month after she’d been with me. Not a single wolf showed.”
“They were watching,” Joe guessed. “But by then Stella was marked by human scent.” He combed his fingers through Stella’s soft summer pelt. The brown, gray and black fur had likely received a good combing from Skylar, for he didn’t notice any unpreened winter undercoat. She lifted her head, luxuriating in his touch. “That’s too bad. She would thrive with others of her kind.”
“She’s not doing so terribly with me.”
“No, she’s not. Looks healthy and happy.”
The wolf tilted her head against his head and he took a moment to relish the contact. It was rare he got to experience the wild so close. And, yes, she was still wild. He’d wager any man who came toward Skylar with intent to harm, or whom Stella hadn’t properly sniffed out, would risk a bite or worse.
“You haven’t started your own pack, have you, Skylar?”
“Of my own design. I rehabilitate all breeds here. Goats, chickens, cats and snakes. Even had a baby moose once, but thankfully, she went back to her mother. Stella was my first and so far only wolf. Which reminds me, I have to run into town tomorrow to pick up some red yarn.”
“For rehabilitation purposes?”
“You met Becky. She wants a change of sweater. Very fashion forward, that chicken.”
Somewhere on the edge of the yard, a goat bleated.
“Beyoncé knows we’re talking about her,” Skylar offered. “She’s a dancer.”
Joe didn’t even know how to respond, so he let that one pass without comment.
Now Stella licked his face. So he sat on the ground and she stepped forward onto his legs. The wolf was big, perhaps eighty pounds, but not as big as some could get in the wild. Standing on their back legs, a wolf could rise well over a tall man’s head. Their weight could range from seventy to one hundred fifty pounds, and they were strong and powerful. Stella seemed amiable, willing to accept him.
“This is the first time she’s ever welcomed a stranger so freely,” Skylar said. “There’s always been something special about you, Joe. I think you’re a wolf whisperer.”
Joe shook his head. She’d never teasingly called him Nature Boy, as his older brothers were apt to, which he appreciated. It was a nickname that had stuck since that fateful weekend he’d gotten lost in the Boundary Waters. Just thinking about it brought up memories of Max Owen, and that forced Joe back to the present. Because he would not let Max’s bizarre death be ignored without discovering the reason behind it.
“I just like animals,” he offered. “All animals. And I respect them. They have souls and are more a part of this land than we will ever be. But enough of the greeting—we have to get your person inside,” he said to Stella. “She’s been through a lot. And I want to head across the lake to look around.”
As Joe stood, the wolf followed, watching him guide Skylar up the stairs by her arm. She was reluctant to accept the assistance—he could sense her tug in resistance—but finally she relented and her body hugged his as he walked her across the deck toward the patio doors.
Skylar Davis possessed an independent streak deeper than his ability to express his true feelings toward her. They’d known one another since high school, and he’d pined over her from afar since then. They’d become friends as sophomores—biology class had paired them over a frog dissection—and following high school, college had separated them for years. But they’d both found their way back to Checker Hill, and one another. A few years ago, they had decided to take a chance at dating. Thing was, their schedules had never meshed, and each time Joe had asked Skylar if she was free, she had been seeing someone else. Vice versa, for one time she’d asked him out when he’d been dating a girl from Duluth.
There had been that time at a wedding reception for a mutual friend. They’d both been drunk. And, well, what had ensued that night—or rather, hadn’t—had changed things between them.
And then Joe’s best friend had stepped into the picture and had turned Skylar’s head completely away from Joe. And that was the reason he hadn’t spoken to her in a year.
Joe cast a glance down toward the extinguished fire pit. A wedding dress lay smoldering in bits and pieces. He’d like to ask about that, but he’d wait for a better time.
SKYLAR WATCHED AS Joe pulled onto the long, pine-bordered driveway that curled out to the county road. He intended to cruise to the other side of the lake and take a look around. All in a day’s police work, she felt sure. Impressive, since she was aware he’d worked a full shift today and she’d thought conservation officers generally stuck to checking hunting licenses and beach patrol.
No, she knew that wasn’t right. The conservation officers in the Boundary Waters had their hands full with poaching, theft of natural resources, search and rescue of lost hikers, and they were even called in to consult on murder cases when a body was found in the woods. They carried all the usual authority and powers a police officer would.
Much as she hadn’t expected Joe to knock on her door this evening, she was thankful now that it had been him. Because she needed…something. Help? Support? This keeping her mouth shut about the minor indiscretions Davis Trucking employees committed and hoping her relationship with her uncle would improve was getting her nowhere.
Still, Malcolm had offered to buy a section of her land. Then she’d have seed money to build the shelter. But at what price was her alliance to her uncle? Would her dad have wanted that? He’d kept the land pristine. Had always refused to sell to his brother so he could fulfill plans to expand the business. Malcolm had no love for the environment, while Merlin, Skylar’s dad, had been a certified tree hugger.
And now she’d been threatened. Seriously. She could have been killed. Had the threat come from Malcolm? That didn’t make sense. If he wanted to buy her land he should be kissing up to her. And yet…
Two days ago, Skylar had stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have seen. She wasn’t sure what had been in those freezers in the Davis Trucking warehouse, but the man with a rifle in hand who’d discovered her had not been happy to see her.
What to do?
Because, much as Uncle Malcolm had stood for the opposite of everything her father had, he was still family. And family meant something to her.
But family didn’t fire warning shots at one another.
The drive around the lake did not bring Joe to the spot where he’d determined the shooter might have been standing. Calling for backup, he got an answer from a state patrol. An officer could be around in twenty minutes. Joe predicted a hike through the woods to get to the position across from the lake to the Davis home, so he waited for the patrol officer to arrive. Otherwise, they’d never find each other