Sherry's Wolf Read online

  Stag reached a hand toward her, but she stared firmly at her knitting. “Sherry, not all Christians are hypocrites.”

  “I know. Some of the people in that church were really nice.” They convinced Sherry that true Christians did exist. But her father wasn’t one of them. His church said that children were a gift from the Lord, but he treated her like garbage. “I became Catholic partly out of rebellion and partly because there’s comfort in the rituals of the church. Whether I go to Mass at St. Joseph’s in Missouri or St. Anne’s in New York, I feel at home. I know where I stand. That’s important to me.”

  Stag listened to her with flattering attention. Except for the first few months they’d been together, LeRoi barely bothered to pretend to be interested in anything she had to say. If Stag weren’t such a stubborn, overbearing, high-handed, sexist bigot, maybe she’d be more willing to accept him.

  There was no clock in the house, but Sherry felt the yawns coming on so she knew it must be bedtime. She glanced covertly at the bed. Of course Stag noticed. He noticed everything she did.

  “Tired?” he asked casually.

  “I’ll sleep here in front of the fire,” she announced.

  He frowned. “The floor will be too cold.”

  “Then you sleep in front of the fire.”

  He got that calmly stubborn look on his face. “I told you, we’ll share the bed. I won’t touch you. I promise you that.”

  Sherry eyed the bed, gauging whether there was room for both of them to lay in it without touching. Would arguing do any good? “I’m not comfortable with that.”

  There, Dixie would be proud to hear her articulate her feelings in such clear, non-argumentative words.

  His eyes looked a darker blue than usual. “If it would make you feel better, I could let my wolf out. He won’t try to kiss you or grope you. He doesn’t think of you like that. And he’d lie on top of the blankets.”

  Sherry took a step back, feeling her breath choke her. A big, furry wolf with sharp teeth, in bed with her? “No!” she shuddered.

  Stag shrugged. “Then it’s me under the blankets with you. I’ll walk you to the outhouse.”

  It was cold in the outhouse, so Sherry shivered while she fumed. For entire chunks of time this evening she had almost forgotten she had been kidnapped. Stag was surprisingly easy to talk to. But that didn’t excuse him for kidnapping her and forcing her to stay here, not to mention making her to sleep with him.

  She finished in the outhouse and stalked past Stag to the house, carrying the lantern. The duffel bag that someone had packed contained her toothbrush, comb and a towel as well as both her changes of clothes, a couple sets of underwear and socks, and a thick flannel nightgown. She brushed her teeth and washed her hands and face in the kitchen in ice cold water. Then she imperiously demanded that Stag leave while she changed for bed. When he stepped back outside, she tore through the bag of clothes. She put the nightgown on, and then pulled a pair of pants with a drawstring waist on underneath, and a pair of thick socks. Not bothering to heat the wash water might have been a mistake. Her hands ached with cold. The fire had already been covered to preserve the coals for morning so instead of going there to warm her hands, she shoved them under her armpits. But hey, she thought with dark humor, if Stag gets a little too friendly, all I have to do is grab him in a sensitive place. My hands are icy enough to cool him off in a hurry.

  But any fears she’d had about Stag’s intentions proved unfounded. When he came back in he was wearing drawstring pants like hers. She’d never seen him in anything but his breechcloth and leggings or jeans. After peeling off his moccasins, he waved her to get into the bed first. After she settled herself, stiff with embarrassment and trepidation, on her back at the far side of the bed, he blew the lantern out and joined her.

  The bed was big enough for two adults to lie in it without touching. It was also cold. She didn’t complain, though, since she didn’t want to give Stag any reason to hold her. She crossed her arms over her chest with her hands tucked into her armpits and waited for Stag to make his move. He didn’t. After saying a quiet good night, he rolled away from her and his deep breath settled into an even rhythm. Finally assured that he was asleep and not likely to attack her, she allowed herself to relax into sleep.

  ***

  Stag wasn’t asleep. He knew his mate was frightened. It was the only sour note in her luscious scent. But it gradually dissipated as she drifted into sleep, leaving only her sweet base scent. He lay for hours, just inhaling that perfume. Cold radiated from her and it almost killed him to not use his body to warm her. But she had made it plain she wouldn’t welcome his touch, so he didn’t allow himself to reach for her. The night they had kissed he had ruined it by going too far even though she’d protested. He would not make that same mistake here. This week was his chance to show her he would be a kind, considerate, loving mate. His wolf was agitated, wanting their mate to be warm. He ignored the wolf’s demands until she turned to him in her sleep. Then he dared to carefully lay an arm over her. His wolf settled happily at the feel of their mate pressed close. For the first time in months, Stag felt relaxed. Their first evening together alone had gone well.

  Chapter Five

  Sherry woke feeling toasty warm and comfortable, cuddled up to … Stag! Her eyes popped open. Bright morning light streamed through the window. Stag was lying on his side, one hand propping his head up, watching her quietly.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Had he done anything to her while she slept? Her night gown was bunched up around her thighs and a little twisted, but that was normal. All the buttons were still fastened. Her pants were still in place. No, she decided with relief, he had kept his promise to not touch her. She, on the other hand … Sherry snatched her arm away from his waist.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, pushing away from him.

  His smile was wicked. “I’m not. How about a good morning kiss?”

  “Eww. No. Ever heard of morning breath?” She tossed the covers back and cowered at the frigid morning air that bit into her. “Move, Stag,” she said through chattering teeth, “so I can get up.”

  “You stay in bed until I get the fire going.”

  She wanted to rebel against that casual order, but it was warm and cozy under the covers. He rolled out of bed in bare feet, wearing only pants, and stretched before heading over to the fire to build it up. Sherry watched his lean, muscled back with hidden appreciation as he moved with the lithe grace of a dancer. His long black hair was still in its usual braids, only slightly mussed by a night of sleeping on it. He was gorgeous enough to tempt her to drag him into bed again.

  He was handsome and he wanted her. Why was she resisting him? Oh, yeah, because if she gave in and did the dirty with him, she would belong to him forever.

  And that was bad, why? Sherry wondered why she was so firm against being Stag’s mate. He hadn’t ever hurt her. Even that night when she’d slapped him, when she denied him the sex he so obviously wanted, he hadn’t retaliated. He had kidnapped her, true, but last night, when it would have been so easy for him to force her to have sex, he had kept his hands to himself. After she’d left LeRoi, she’d decided she would never let another man control her again. If Stag would ease up on the bossiness, could she accept him?

  Of course, there was the wolf thing. It wasn’t quite so weird anymore, not since she had seen Marissa playing chase with Red Wing out in the yard. The other woman showed no fear of her furry mate, even when he chased her with his sharp white teeth exposed in a snarl. Every girl should have a dog, right? Her thoughts flew back to her childhood and she shuddered at the memories.

  “Sherry, I’ll step outside so you can get dressed. Come out when you’re ready to find the outhouse.”

  She shuddered again. The last three months had accustomed her to using primitive facilities, but nothing could accustom her to using them when it was this cold. After Stag left she stayed in bed for a few more minutes to let the room warm up. Last night h
ad been one of the only nights since coming to this crazy world that she had been really warm. It might be worth accepting Stag just so she could sleep comfortably. He had warmed the bed perfectly last night.

  When she finally left the house to find the outhouse, the sky was brilliantly blue. When was the last time she had slept so late? By the position of the sun in the sky, it must be getting close to noon already. It was one of those winter days that looked beautiful and felt like an icy hell. She looked around for Stag but didn’t see him at first. Then she saw the big gray wolf sitting by the outhouse door. He yawned, showing huge white teeth. For a moment she was six years old again. Her stomach twisted into anxious hesitation. She argued with her bladder, trying to convince it she didn’t really need to use the facilities. Her bladder won.

  Sherry kept her eyes resolutely on the outhouse door, pretending the wolf wasn’t there as she yanked the door open. When she finished, Stag was back in his human form to walk with her back to the house. She was so relieved to see his handsome, un-furry face she accepted the arm he offered to support her of the slushy path that had frozen to bumpy ice overnight. He suggested eggs and potatoes for breakfast, although it was closer to lunch.

  They began making breakfast together in silence. Sherry kept her back to Stag as much as possible. When the mess of potatoes, onions, eggs, and ham was sizzling in the pan, Stag stepped behind her and spoke to the nape of her neck.

  “Why do you hate my wolf so much? I know you were afraid of him at first, but don’t you know by now that he’s not a monster? Every time you back away from him you hurt his feelings.”

  Sherry’s hand tightened on the spatula. Stag stood so close she could have leaned back a few inches and rested against his bare chest. He’d trapped her between his body and the stove, smelling even yummier than breakfast. She scraped the potato mixture around the frying pan with more force than needed. She bit off a four-letter word as a glob of potatoes skittered out of the pan.

  “The wolf has feelings?” She doubted it, and let the doubt show up in her voice. “Let me finish breakfast. We can talk about it later.”

  He moved silently back and plucked the bread toasting over the other burner away. But it was plain he meant to finish the discussion because as soon as they were seated at the table he continued.

  “Yes, he has feelings.”

  Sherry said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and shoveled in a big forkful of food so he couldn’t expect her to talk.

  “We need to talk about it,” he countered. “That’s why we’re here, to talk. That’s what you said yesterday. So let me tell you about my wolf.”

  Sherry managed to swallow the too-big mouthful. She swallowed her protests with it. Big girl panties, remember? she told herself. “Okay.”

  “I was fifteen when my wolf first forced himself out of me. That’s a little older than most boys get their wolves. Do you know the history of the Wolf Clan?”

  She nodded. The old medicine man had told her about it while she was still in the Clan’s camp. Back before the white settlers had come to the plains, the Lakota tribe had a small clan whose men could turn into wolves. All the other Indian tribes were scared of the Wolf Clan. But after the white men came the wolves didn’t appear as often until by the time the Lakota were on reservations, everyone thought the werewolves were just a myth. The Wolf Clan still kept the stories of their ancestors alive, but even they didn’t believe. After the terrorist bombings changed the world forever, the Wolf Clan left the reservation to live on the plains like their ancestors did. And when the first generation of boys to grow up on the prairie hit puberty, the wolves came back.

  Stag scraped frozen butter over his toast. “Kills Bears thinks that probably all of our sons are born with a wolf spirit within, but some wolves aren’t strong enough to force a change. If a boy has a very strong will, the wolf can’t break through. When my wolf forced the first change it was …” Stag broke off, staring into space with a distant expression. “It was scary. I felt like a shadow on the back of a runaway horse with no way of reining him in. I was terrified I would fall off. From the time we’re babies we’re warned that if we can’t control the wolf we’ll be lost and only the wolf will remain. We’ll never be able to go back to human form,” he clarified when he saw her confusion.

  Sherry blinked, fork halfway to her mouth, fascinated in spite of herself. “That would be scary. Has that ever happened?”

  “Not in these days. It might have, before the reservation. But except for the first few months, my wolf has never fought me. We like each other.”

  Weird. “Does he talk to you?”

  “Not exactly.” Stag chewed his toast and swallowed. “It’s more like we read each other’s minds.”

  “And his mind told you I was your mate?” That was supposed to be sarcastic but she sounded genuinely curious. “I mean, how did he pick me? Why not Connie or Katie or one of the other women?”

  “I don’t know. I only know he picked you.”

  “Uh-huh. What if he picked someone you couldn’t stand?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “But what if he did?” she insisted. “Would you still blindly try to marry her?”

  Stag had a faint frown on his face. “I don’t know. She would be the only woman I could ever have. I think I’d try to find something about her that I could love.”

  Sherry scraped the last tiny fragments of potato off her plate and popped them in her mouth. “Come on, Stag.”

  He thought about it with a tiny frown. “I truly don’t know. There are so few women, a man is lucky to find any woman at all. But if my wolf chose someone I didn’t like, I’d rather be single. Luckily, that wasn’t the case with us. I knew I could love you right away.”

  “Yeah? Would that be before or after I screamed that you were a sadistic monster and I hated your bastard guts?”

  Stag laughed. “Oh, after. That is when I fell in love with you. It was later, when you refused to even look at me, that I started doubting myself.”

  “You’re a nutcase, aren’t you?”

  He laughed again. “Seriously, I was starting to think you’d never accept me.”

  She jumped to her feet with her brows pulled low. “I haven’t accepted you!”

  She grabbed her plate and fork and stamped to the wash pan. The kettle of wash water was already simmering on the stove. It was too heavy for her to lift, but Stag was there already, pouring the water into the tub. She huffed and went to move around him. He stopped her with a light hand on her arm.

  “No, Sherry,” he agreed quietly, “you haven’t accepted me. But we’re talking. That’s progress. If it takes three years for you to accept me, then I wait three years. But I won’t give up.”

  “But, why?” It was a wail that she couldn’t keep back. “For two months I barely spoke to you. You don’t know me at all, so why would you think you’re in love with me?”

  “In love with you? Is that different than loving you?” His hand reached to slide a hand over her hair with so gentle a touch that she barely felt it. That was how he always touched her, as if she were so fragile that any more pressure would break her. “I love you, Sherry. It’s not a feeling that changes with my mood. Whether I’m happy or sad or angry doesn’t change my love for you. I want to spend years laughing with you, and crying with you, and sharing everything with you. I’ll take care of you if you’re sick. I’ll give you my respect. There is no one in the entire world more important to me than you. I would rather die myself than hurt you. I will do my best to give you whatever you need. That’s true love, don’t you think?”

  Oh, God, she was going to cry. That was exactly what she had wanted from LeRoi. “Good.” She tried desperately to not sound like she was choking on suppressed tears. “Then give me a couple of hours alone. I’ll clean up breakfast. Go take your wolf for a run or something.”

  He hesitated, probably seeing the tears she fought to control.

  She turned her back to him. “Plea
se, Stag, I need to be alone right now.”

  “Alright. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

  As soon as he closed the door behind him she curled over the steaming water, her hand pressed hard over her mouth to contain her sobs. Oh, God, how she had wanted to hear words like those from her grandparents, from her father, from her brothers, from LeRoi. All her life she wanted someone to love her. Just love her, Sherry Russell Rowe, half-Korean, half-black misfit who never belonged anywhere. She had tried so hard to have a home where she was loved that she had put up with LeRoi even after he had shown his love wasn’t the kind she needed. LeRoi loved LeRoi. She’d had her inner doubts when he’d come to ask her to take him back. Maybe he would have grown through counseling to be a loving husband, but Sherry was afraid she would have found herself right back where she had been.

  Was Stag telling the truth, or only saying what she wanted to hear? LeRoi had been a master of manipulation. He always had the right words to bring her back to him. Stag wasn’t like that. He seemed too direct for that, almost naïve. He lacked the cool sophistication her husband had used to hide his ugly side from his fans. Sherry wanted to trust Stag. She wanted to be loved.

  Sherry began washing the breakfast dishes mechanically, her tears dropping into the wash water with warm, salty plops. Could she believe Stag? Would he really love her? She’d been afraid of giving herself to someone who would just hurt her and disappoint her like all the other men in her life had. Maybe Stag was different. Maybe she could trust him.

  She paused in scrubbing the frying pan. Maybe she had to trust him, if she wanted a chance to build a home where she was loved. Dixie had told her once that trust was sometimes a scary leap of faith that time alone could prove the success of. Sherry wasn’t sure she had the courage to take that leap. Yet Stag’s words about love struck her as blindingly brilliant. Being in love was a feeling. If Stag was right, then loving was doing, not feeling.