The night took on the telltale pearlescent quality signaling that dawn was nearing. She’d considered relocating to explore further into the forest more than once but worried that she’d be moving herself out of the wolf’s regular pattern and miss the opportunity to see the animal with a clear mind. Finally put to rest the fanciful ideas she wanted to blame on her fertile imagination. Torn between the two choices, Maggie decided to explore out from her camp in a cloverleaf pattern, returning to the base before starting out on the next circuit.
On her fourth and final pass, as the sun broke the horizon, a lonely howl filled the ethereal silence. Shaking off the sudden sadness that had filled her, Maggie stepped around a stand of saplings and into a small clearing of flattened grass. Mixed in with the crushed blades and damp leaves were tufts of thick, gray fur. Maggie slowly crouched down and gingerly fingered a scrap of lost pelt. She stood, stepped back, and surveyed the area, clearly seeing the impression left in the forest’s carpet. He’d lain here and for long stretches of time, she surmised.
She got back down on her haunches, slipped the scrap of tuft into her pocket and, looking back toward her camp, gauged the distance to be about sixty yards. A breeze slid through the forest and Maggie caught a whiff of the coffee she’d spilled earlier. Ah, she was downwind from her camp, she thought. She remembered the feeling of being watched during the last three nights. Oh my god, he’s keeping watch over me, she suddenly realized.
He set up his own camp out of my line of vision but downwind so he can smell me and anything that approaches.
She spent another hour slowly searching the area. When she’d finished she’d found nothing additional and the morning sun was warming her face. She didn’t think there was anything else to discover this morning. She was tired and hungry. It was time to go.
On the drive back to town her mind raced over what she’d seen and sensed the other night, adding to it the morning’s revelations. She took advantage of the inn’s limited room service and ate breakfast in there rather than at the diner. She showered, added notes to her growing pile of research and theories, covered her eyes with a sleep mask to keep out the day, and tried to quiet her mind so that she could sleep. Maggie’s last thought before drifting into a slumber filled with moonlight and a green-eyed wolf: she wasn’t leaving Trappers’ Cove until she had answers.
Aidan stood in the shower, where opposing jets sent near-scalding water cascading from multiple directions, and felt the tension simply melt away. He was thinking about her again, though he knew shouldn’t. Like the wolf now hidden within, he seemed unable to stop that. Of course, unlike the wolf, he was able to control the urge to be near her; the beast worked almost entirely on instinct alone. And the instinct was to protect. Well, one of the urges was to protect, Aidan acknowledged with a wry smile. On the other, man and beast agreed.
Aidan recognized the arousal swirling inside him at those thoughts. She was petite but didn’t appear small, which could have much to do with her wide hips and generous curves. She was a bundle of energy; you could tell that, even when her body was motionless, her mind was racing. He’d watched her sleep that first night, quietly padding over to where she gently snored. He’d inhaled, imprinting her scent upon his consciousness. She smelled like honeysuckle tempered with something neither he nor the animal could place.
Even in rest her body was alive, eyes fluttering, her voice mumbling, her hands twitching. The woman moved with an unconscious but economic grace. She left the impression that everything she did was deliberate. No wonder the wolf was so entranced by her. Aiden wondered if she were showering, eating, or already asleep. Imagined her doing all three with him.
He focused his mind elsewhere, calculating the interest earned on his most recent acquisition, and was pleased to feel the arousal abate. After breakfast, he made several business calls then took care of necessary chores but with hours of daylight still ahead of him, he couldn’t find a reason to put off the necessary trip into town. Aidan made a point to keep to himself, discouraging friendships that might result in unannounced visits after dark or invitations to evening functions. But he made a point of being polite to the community neighboring his grounds and always purchased what he could locally. It was well past time to grocery shop — he needed laundry detergent — and his favorite horse, Jezebel, needed feed. It was the feed that made him head to his truck. He knew the town would likely be buzzing with gossip about the newcomer and her amazing encounter with the wolf four nights ago. He hoped she was still sleeping off the night’s vigil. He wished he could avoid it all, yet Aidan accepted his need to hear the gossip. It was how he would learn her name.
Aidan found a spot outside the feed store and asked Clancy, the owner’s son who happened to be out front, for Jez’s regular order. Aidan’s long legs ate up the sidewalk as he approached his next stop, the General Store. His spirits rose as he considered the possibility of getting in and out of town without any fuss. He smiled at the store’s name, General Store, brandished across the front steps; it was the only thing actually resembling a stereotypical general store. The General would rival any large market in any major city and its owners, Barry and Betty Barnes, were very proud of that fact. Aidan paused inside the doorway and swept a quick glance around the practically empty market. He silently grimaced as he spotted Betty Barnes and her nearest and dearest gossip buddy, also his closest neighbor, Alice Black, engaged in what looked to be a heated conversation, most likely about someone else’s business. So much for getting in and out of town without a fuss, he thought, nodding at both ladies in response to the little waves they sent his way before turning back to their discussion.
“No, Alice, I’m telling you that girl works for the government.”
“Betty, that’s ridiculous. You sell the very paper she writes for. And Susie Monroe over at the inn has been … well, you know how nosy she is?” Alice didn’t wait for an answer. “She said that woman has clippings, maps, index cards all over the room with quotes, dates, times, sightings, and whatnot. She’s definitely researching a story. Definitely a reporter.”
“You think what you want, Alice Black, and I’ll think what I want. That O’Connell woman has been here, what, five days now? And she hasn’t seen a darned thing from what I’ve heard. Come on. She spends every night out in the woods? Alone? A city girl?” Betty shook her head. “She’s up to something, mark my words. This has CIA written all over it.”
Aidan hid his smile. Betty had thought he was CIA when he’d first moved into the area, too. He grabbed a basket and started up aisle one. A reporter. Made sense, he reasoned. Most likely a rag knowing the types of papers Betty and Barry liked to keep stocked at the registers. You wanted a legitimate paper of the national or local variety and you had to buy it over at Red’s Press. He was relieved, no sense in denying it. No matter what she wrote, who’d believe it?
What was surprising was that neither Betty nor Alice seemed to know about the sighting this Miss O’Connell did in fact have her very first night in the forest. No one in town knew anything long before one of those two found out about it. It was odd, since he knew Susie Monroe, the Cove Inn’s sole maid, was not above looking through a person’s computer.
Gotta love small towns, Aidan thought wryly.
He’d vaguely heard the chimes over the market door ring, but as lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t realize the ebb and flow of Alice and Betty’s daily debate had ceased. He’d nearly filled his basket when he sensed someone was standing behind him, just to his right. A second before she spoke, her scent filled his nostrils, honeysuckle and something he couldn’t place.
“Am I still CIA?” She asked in a hushed whisper. He smiled despite himself and simply nodded once. “Well, I’ve been called worse. Have a good day.” As soon as she’d moved down the aisle, Aidan hurried to the register.
“Is that all today, Aidan?” Betty asked as she rang up his groceries in her slow way, making sure she mentally catalogued what he was purchasing. She did that with everyone — it was how she got a lot of scoops on Alice. A married man buying condoms indicated an affair; a mother of five picking up yet another pregnancy test meant baby number six could be on the way; and so on. Aidan silently willed her to hurry.
“Yes, thank you, Betty. Give Barry my best.” He picked up the sack before nodding to his neighbor Alice. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, and against his better judgment turned to look down the aisle. Her head was bent over the fresh fruit display and her dark auburn hair had fallen forward shielding her face from view. Absently, she ran her hand through her hair, her fingers tucking it behind her one ear, opening her profile to his line of vision. Limited by the beast’s monochromatic vision, he had wondered about her coloring. Her features were delicate but strong, a contrast Aidan found appealing. The wolf’s perspective had not done her justice.
The pug nose and smattering of freckles said Irish, as did her last name, but the bone structure suggested a Native American ancestry. She tilted her head up and toward him then, as though she’d heard his thoughts or sensed his perusal somehow. Their gazes met. Her chestnut eyes, already dominant in her small face, seemed to devour him as they spread in surprised recognition. Alarm bells sounded in Aidan’s head, and, cursing himself, he pushed the door open and strode quickly towards his truck. He heard the chimes over the market’s doors ring as they opened and closed behind him. He heard her shout, “Wait!” But he didn’t look back or slow down.
Aidan nodded to Clancy, hopped behind the wheel of his truck, and pulled out of the spot as fast as he dared without causing more gossip. His eyes went to the rearview mirror and he saw her standing in the street midway between the General and the feed store, frustrated confusion etched across her beautiful face. He focused on the road and tried, unsuccessfully, to forget how she’d looked at him and how he’d felt when she had.
• • •
Maggie stood there watching his tail lights until they’d disappeared from sight. She struggled to make sense of what she thought she’d just seen. He was a strikingly handsome man. Tall and slender with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he had a lean, rangy build. His hair was the color of wet sand and it was cut in a short, neat style her mother would’ve approved. His features were just rugged enough to avoid being pretty. But his eyes were what had shaken Maggie, had her standing befuddled in the street. She’d seen them before. Only they’d belonged to a wolf.
An impatient horn brought Maggie back to reality and she returned to the market with purpose. She recovered the basket of goods she’d left on a shelf near the door and headed straight to the gossiping biddies that even now were twittering and openly staring at her.
“Who was that?” Maggie asked the duo.
“Aidan Gael. Semi-reclusive, lives outside town, very shy,” Betty spit out in rapid fire succession, obviously trying to beat her friend to the punch.
“Gay,” her friend announced definitively.
“Alice Black! You don’t know that for sure. He’s shy and very private with his business, personal and otherwise.” Betty said.
“Yeah, gay.” Alice insisted. “He’s my neighbor, Betty, and I’ve never seen a woman on his lands, or coming and going from them for that matter, in all the years he’s been living there. You ever seen or heard of him with a woman?” Betty simply ignored the question.
“How about him turning down every single woman between fifteen and fifty that is driving distance from his front door?” Alice kept pushing.
“You ever seen or heard of him with a man?” was Betty’s defense. Maggie just listened and absorbed. She’d learned long ago that listening was a much better tool than asking. People told you more than you wanted to know, generally, if you just let them.
“So, he’s discreet.” Alice countered.
“Who’s to say he isn’t just discreet with his female companions?” Maggie had to admit that Betty’s logic was sound. “Face it, Alice, you’ve got nothing.”
“The only female to drive past my place in ten years’ time is this one.” Alice jerked her thumb in Maggie’s direction and both women turned considering eyes on her.
“I just asked you who he was, remember? I know you ladies don’t know me but take my word for it, I know a man’s name before he knows my body.” Betty Barnes’s cheeks flushed and she took to ringing up Maggie’s purchases faster than she normally went about it. But Alice smiled and winked approvingly.
“I’ve been driving past your lands, ma’am?” Maggie asked.
“You been parking on them actually, and please, call me Alice.”
“Thank you, and I hope I haven’t been bothering you any, Alice.”
“Not a bit, dear. When hunting season comes around, you’d be shocked at how the out-of-towners treat private property. You’ve been real respectful and I appreciate that. You ever need anything, just come on up to the house and knock. Door is open. Especially if you run into any trouble out in those woods.”
“The Gael spread is probably closer, Alice.” Betty chimed in, obviously past her embarrassment. “That’s gonna be thirteen thirty-three.” Maggie paid, made her goodbyes and headed to the inn she was currently calling home. As she slowly navigated the stairs, she wondered how long it would be before the town was rife with gossip about the torrid fling she was having with the local gay recluse.
Quickly storing the perishables in the room’s mini-fridge, Maggie tossed the rest on the bed, sat at her laptop, and opened Internet Explorer. Jeremiah Bledsoe, Red to his friends, ran the local press and was quick to point out that even in the country they were up with the times; he’d archived online every edition of the local paper since he’d taken over his father’s business. Twenty minutes later, she rolled her shoulders, stretched her back, and reviewed what she’d learned about Aidan Gael. Red did a large piece on Aidan Gael when he’d bought up what was known as the Cherry Farm. Public records made up the rest.