Wolf buttered his toast and took a forkful of scrambled eggs. "Honey, I don't care what Noonan does or doesn't like."
"Oh." Because of her worry for him, Sarah couldn't even taste the eggs or the toast. The silence in the kitchen deepened as they ate. Half the eggs still remained when Sarah finally gave up and pushed the plate away.
"Aren't you going to eat them?" Wolf asked incredulously.
"No."
"Why not?
Are you full?"
With a half shrug, Sarah pulled the cup of steaming coffee toward her.
"Not exactly."
"Look at me."
Sarah refused.
"Sarah?" Wolf placed his hand on her arm. "What's wrong?"
The gentleness in his voice forced the truth from her. His fingers, long and callused, seemed to brand the skin of her arm where they rested. She ached to fling her arms around him. "
I.
. .
uh,
I'm worried about you. Okay? Those three jerks
who
jumped you could do it again. Next time. . ." She looked away. "Next time they might kill you, Wolf."
Wolf's fingers tightened on Sarah's arm. Her forlorn expression wasn't lost on him. She cared for him. The discovery was wonderful.
Exhilarating.
And he wouldn't play games with her by asking her why that worried her. Instead, he said softly, "I haven't been taken out yet, Sarah. I'll be careful, I promise." When she lifted her chin and looked at him, his heart melted with such fierce love for her that it nearly smothered him. "I've got too much to live for. Do you understand that?" he said roughly.
Sarah wasn't sure what he meant by that statement. She was bathed in the shadowed look from his gray eyes, and his voice, low and soft, flowed across her as if he'd stroked her. Shaken, she could do nothing but nod, words jammed uselessly in her constricted throat.
Wolf nudged the plate in her direction. "Go on, try to finish the eggs."
Touched to the point of tears, Sarah hung her head, her curtain of blond hair hiding her reaction. She ate everything on her plate, not tasting the food, but happier than she'd ever been—and more frightened than she would ever have thought possible.
"What if Noonan plays rough?" Sarah asked Wolf later as he got ready to leave to make out a report,
Wolf shoved his billfold in his back pocket. Today, since he was off duty, he'd dressed in jeans and a blue plaid cowboy shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sarah sat on the couch, worry reflected in her face and voice.
"If Noonan or
Summers
starts playing for keeps," Wolf said as he turned to face her, "I've got an ace up my sleeve."
"What's that?" How darkly handsome Wolf looked, Sarah thought. He was more cowboy than forest ranger. She could easily envision him astride a horse.
"My friends,"
"Your team from Peru?"
"Yeah."
Wolf walked over and sat down next to her. Sarah deserved a full explanation. He didn't want to cause her any more worry than necessary, but it was hard not to get distracted. She had left her hair down instead of putting it up in braids today, and he ached to sift his fingers through it.
"Sean Killian and Jake Randolph are my best friends. Jake was in the Marine Corps, like me—we got out at the same time, Killian was in the French Foreign Legion, along with Morgan
Trayhern
, my boss, and that's where they met, a long time ago.
"I need to give you some background on my work, Sarah," he continued, "and the people I work for. Morgan
Trayhern
is a Vietnam vet who got shafted by the Marine
Corps,
They had him up on treason charges for leaving his company when it was overran by the enemy in Vietnam. Everybody in the States swallowed the cover-up story, except for his family and the woman he fell in love with, Laura Bennett. She began investigating Morgan's past, and together they found out a CIA boss had framed him. It's a hell of a story, and he's a hell of a man."
"Sounds like Laura isn't too bad herself," Sarah said.
Wolf nodded. "She's a fighter, just like you."
Eyeing him, Sarah added, "So
Perseus
could bring their troubleshooting skills here?"
"That's right." Wolf scowled. "I may ask them to fly into Philipsburg if I can't handle this situation on my
own ."
He reached out and caressed her pale cheek. Her eyes were as huge as those of a child being told a scary story. "They're good men, Sarah, not killers. If
I
can settle this thing with
Summers
and his men peacefully,
I
will. No one hates fighting more than
I
do."
She released a breath of air. "I am glad you have a backup plan," she admitted.
He grinned, even though it hurt like hell. "If I didn't learn anything else in Peru, I learned to rely on my team, to ask for help. I'll be back by noon, and I'll take you to lunch." He pointed
io
her feet. "Soak them in hot
epsom
salts and then pack them in ice.”
Sarah felt absolutely bathed in his undeniable caring. "I will." She reached forward and gripped his hand. "Wolf, be really careful, okay?"
"For you,
I
will be," he promised huskily, forcing himself to leave. It was that or
sweep
her into his arms. Rising, he said, "I'm leaving Skeet here with you. My rifle is in the bedroom. Keep the doors locked, and don't answer the phone. Understand?"
Sarah nodded, the reality of her situation burying the joy of having discovered so many things about Wolf. "I promise," she said solemnly.
When Wolf entered the jail, a man dressed impeccably in a gray silk suit, white shirt and navy tie was talking to Noonan. Noonan gave Wolf a squinty look. The man next to him turned with a calculating glance.
"Looks like you ran into a Mack truck," Noonan drawled.
Wolf closed the distance, his intuition screaming a warning about the man in the suit. He had gunmetal-gray hair, cut short and neat, dark brown eyes that were like bottomless caves, and ramrod-straight posture.
"It wasn't a truck, Sheriff." Wolf threw three photocopies of hospital reports down on the officer's desk. "I want you to make out a warrant for the arrest of these three men. They jumped me last night at Sarah Thatcher's cabin. They made the mistake of going to the emergency room to get treatment after leaving me unconscious on the cabin floor.”
Noonan's mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut just as quickly. Glancing at the man in the suit, he hesitantly reached for the hospital records.
"Well, now. . ." He slowly perused each set of copies.
"You must be Ranger Harding," the other man said smoothly.
Wolf held his cold gaze. "That's right. Who are you?"
"Gerald Summers.
I'm a local mine owner."
Wolf didn't extend his hand, and neither did
Summers
.
"You say three men jumped you?" Summers coaxed in a cultured voice.
"That's right." Wolf wanted to add,
Three
of your men.
But it was too early to indict
Summers
. He shifted his focus to the sheriff, who was scowling.
"More than likely these three have left town by now," the sheriff told him testily.
"I don't care.
I
want warrants made out for them. Just give me the papers to sign so that you can put the legal end in motion," Wolf ordered.
Summers smiled slightly. "Sheriff, I'll leave now. Ranger Harding,
nice meeting
you."
Wolf nodded but said nothing. Summers reminded him of a weasel, as sleek and oily-looking as that bastard Ramirez.
"Like
I
said before," Noonan repeated, "these boys have probably left town."
"As
I
said before, I don't care, Sheriff. I want them caught."
Noonan'
s
eyes hardened. "No one tells me my business, Harding."
Wolf stared back into the sheriff's belligerent eyes. "And no one gets away jumping me from behind—or trying to steal from Sarah Thatcher."
Leaning forward, resting his palms on his desk, Noonan looked Wolf over. "
Kinda
chummy with her,
ain't
you?" he asked finally.
"That has no bearing on this," Wolf growled, pointing at the copies.
"Yep, she's got you wrapped around her little finger. She did that once to a guy name Philip Barlow, you know. Poor
fella
was all the worse for it. He had to leave town once she got done with him. A real viper, she is."
Gritting his teeth, Wolf leaned across the desk. "Noonan, I don't want to hear one more thing out of that filthy mouth of yours about Sarah Thatcher. Got it? Your job is to track down these bastards, if you don't do it, I'll make sure it happens. Do we understand each other?"
Noonan's eyes grew large,
then
squinted in fury. He came bolting around his desk and clutched at Wolf's shirtfront.
Instantly Wolf grabbed the sheriff's soft white hand with his own. "Don't do it if you want to live, Noonan," he ground out softly.
Releasing Wolf's shirt, Noonan
straightened,
his face white with anger. "Get
outa
here, Harding. You're bad news, just like that Thatcher woman. A cold wind follows you, mister.
A real cold one."
"I'm coming in here tomorrow to find out what you've done about apprehending those three men, Sheriff."
"Don't threaten me!"
Wolf walked slowly to the door,
then
stopped, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. "It's not a threat, it's a promise."
"No one tells me my job!"
"I'll be here at 1:00 p.m.," Wolf snarled. He jerked open the door and left.
Outside, the weather was warming quickly. It was eleven o'clock and he had enough time to get home, pick up Sarah and take her someplace special for lunch, Wolf thought. He was looking forward to it. Every minute was precious when it was spent with Sarah. He frowned as he got into his truck. As he drove away from the jail, Wolf wondered who this Philip Barlow character was. Momentary jealousy stabbed at him, and he had trouble shrugging it off. The idea of any man making love to Sarah made Wolf uneasy. His grandmother had always said he had a bit of a jealous streak, but it had never surfaced—not until now. Then Wolf recalled the rest of his grandmother's words—that his jealousy would only rear its head when he fell in love with the woman who would walk with him as his wife.
Rubbing his brow, Wolf replayed his medicine-woman grandmother's prediction. He'd never been jealous of Maria in any way, he had to admit. He'd known that she'd had two lovers before him, and it had never bugged him. But this Philip whoever-he-was bothered the hell out of him. Was he an ex-lover?
An ex-husband?
Wolf knew so little about Sarah, and suddenly he wanted to know everything.