Authors: Catherine Anderson
“Only memories.” She patted the dirt beside her. “This is where they cuddled together that first night when I heard the wolves.”
“Maybe we'll hear them tonight.”
Loni shivered and rubbed her arms. “Oh, I hope not.”
He chuckled. “No worries. You have me to protect you.”
“I'd hate for you to have to shoot a wolf.”
“Me, too.”
She sent him a wondering look. “You like wolves?”
“Never been around them, but I've seen photographs, and I think they're the most gorgeous creatures on earth. Aside from horses, of course. There's a huge political battle being waged right now over their growing populations in Montana and Idaho. Ranchers are up in arms because their livestock is threatened, and activists are up in arms because the reintroduced wolves were once indigenous to those areas. They want the ecological balance to be restored.”
“Which side are you on?” Loni asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“I lean real hard toward protecting the wolves. Dumb answer for a rancher, I know, and I might change my mind real fast if they moved into the Crystal Falls area and started killing my horses.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I know it's not masculine to admit it, but my horses are my babies. I'd take on a chain saw bare-handed to save one of them. I'm sure there are ranchers who raise cattle and have prize bulls or cows who feel the same way. Same for sheep ranchers, I reckon. You build your line year by year, improving on it with your breeding choices, and money can't replace one of those animals if it's senselessly killed.
“That said, my heart breaks at the thought of decimating the wolf population. Yes, they're predators, but so are humans. We've only prettied it up by raising and harvesting our meat. I hope they find a way to protect the livestock
and
the wolves. If we can send a rocket to the moon, it seems to me we should be able to set up electronic perimeters of some kind around pastureland to protect livestock.”
“I never thought of that. An electronic field, you mean?”
“They've proven that deer avoid high-frequency beepers installed on automobiles. Use of the device has reduced roadkill. I can't remember by how much, but it's substantial. Most states haven't passed a beeper law because there's a concern that the natural migration paths of the deer might be interrupted, and also that some deer might be afraid to cross a highway to reach water. But what if something like that could be installed on fence lines that repels wolves but doesn't bother the deer, cows, and sheep?”
Loni had to bite back a smile. He was in dead earnest, making her realize how badly she'd misjudged him that first night at her house. Clint gave a great deal of thought to some environmental issues, and in her book, they were all important. “Let's hope someone's thought of that and they're working to invent something.”
Once back at camp Clint unearthed a portable cell phone charger, connected his phone to it, and then dug a fire pit while Loni gathered rocks to encircle the depression.
“I've never seen one of these,” she said of the portable charger as she took a seat beside it on her folded sleeping bag. “It runs on batteries so you can charge your phone anywhere?”
“Sure does.” Using a lighter, Clint ignited the dry pine needles he'd piled under the wood as tinder. “It comes with a wide selection of adaptors. I'll recharge your phone, too, as soon as mine's done.”
“My mom hasn't called back. I'm thinking we must be out of signal range.” Loni dug her phone from her pocket. “Sure enough. It says, âNo service.'”
“Tomorrow we'll find a high spot to call out. I should check in with my dad, too, just so he won't worry, and you can ring your mom to fight with her some more.”
Loni laughed. “We don't normally quarrel like that. The Cheryl Blain thing has been almost as hard on her as it's been on me. She's protective of me now in a way she wasn't two years ago, so afraid something like that will happen again.”
“When you talk about it, I get the feeling that the Blain situation happened long ago. It's only been two years?”
“A very long two years. It seems like a century. Some things are so devastating that they eclipse everything else until you begin to heal.”
“My dad told me that once when he was talking about my mother's death. He said that for a very long time, everything before and after seemed surreal, like in a fuzzy dream, and his only reality was the pain of losing her.”
She nodded. “That's exactly it. I didn't know Cheryl, and I didn't love her, but I was
there
, and I felt what she felt. For me it was up close and personal. I couldn't sleep well for months, and even now I still have the nightmares.”
“I can't blame your mom for never wanting that to happen to you again.”
Her eyes misted. “Thank you for that. Mom can be a little overwhelming at times, but her heart is in the right place. We're close, she and I. She's always been my support system, the only person, aside from Gram, who really understands me. Her meddling in my personal life is mostly my fault.”
“How's that?”
“I've leaned on her, always stayed in the Seattle area until now. I bought a house in Lynwood, just across town from them, to keep the familiar around me. I even started my business there. It sounds weak, I know.” She shrugged and glanced away. “If I'd set up shop in Seattle, my clientele probably would have tripled, but even though the city isn't that far away, the traffic makes for a long commute. I wanted to be closer to my parents, closer to my childhood home, and closer to Gram and her homemade chocolate-chip cookies. She lives only a few blocks away. In a very real sense I never left the nest.”
“That isn't being fair to yourself,” Clint countered. “It's not as if you lived with your folks. I count on my family, too. All of us kids live right there on the land where we grew up, within shouting distance of Dad. We socialize. When something goes wrong we circle the wagons. What the hell's wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess. I did live with my folks for a while, though. After I sold my house, but still had my business on the market, I couldn't find a rental that would take Hannah.”
“So? That's how it should be. You needed them. They were there for you.”
“Yes, but in the process of being there for me, my mother changed. She saw firsthand how insane my life was, with people phoning or coming to the door at all hours, both day and night. She watched me lose weight, get circles under my eyes, and jump at my own shadow. Now she's like a tigress protecting her kitten, frantic to keep me safe. We weren't really fighting when we talked. It's more like we're trying to reestablish a healthy playing field.”
Clint bent low to blow on the feeble flames. “I know you weren't really quarreling. I was just giving you a hard time.” He glanced up. “I wish my mother were around to fuss over us. Losing her was hard on us all, especially Samantha, the only girl.”
“I think it was probably hardest on you,” Loni pointed out. “Samantha didn't have to contend with feelings of guilt.”
“Oh, yeah, she did. Still does, I think. In her mind our mom died to give her life.”
“I hadn't thought of that.”
Clint sat back on his boot heels. “She and I have always been thick. When she was tiny and Dad had to work, it was my job to watch out for her. My feelings for her are more paternal than brotherly, I think, and in return, I think she feels more dependent upon me than my brothers. In some ways I'm like a second dad to her.”
“It must be great to have a large family. I have only Deirdre. We're very close, but I've often wished I had more siblings, and so has she.”
“Family is important.” He watched the fire catch, his expression solemn. “Now that the subject has come up, something's been troubling me.”
“What's that?”
“At first you were so convinced that Trevor was my son. Have you changed your mind about that?”
“You asked me not to talk about it.”
“I'm rescinding the request. It's uncanny how accurate your visions seem to be. You were so certain at the beginning. Can you explain why?”
Loni looped her arms around her knees. “No, I can't. Some things just come to me in the visions, and I simply know, if that makes any sense. It came to me that Trevor is your child, and in answer to your question, no, I haven't changed my mind about it.”
During the tension-laden silence that followed, Loni recalled the translucent crimson that had tinted some of her visions. She wondered if she ought to mention it to Clint. Since he had broached the subject, she decided she should. “In the very first vision of Trevor, it came to me that his life would be in danger and only you would be able to save him. Do you recall my telling you that?”
“I do, yes.” His firm lips twitched in a suppressed smile that deepened the slashes bracketing his mouth. “I thought you were crazier than a loon at the time.” He met her gaze, his own alight with self-derisive laughter. “I've come a long way, baby.”
Loni smiled back at him. “Yes, you have.” She thought carefully before she continued. “How open are you to the possibility that Trevor
is
your son? I don't want to upset you.”
“Now that I've come to know you, I'm open to almost anything. It's still extremely difficult for me to believe Sandra would have kept my child from me, though. On the other hand, I've come to trust in you and your insights far more than I ever trusted her. I mean no slight to Sandra. She was a fabulous person. But you, Loni MacEwen, are fabulouser.”
“Fabulouser?”
“A deliberate error, and there you go again, unable to accept a compliment. Repeat after me: âThank you, Clint.'”
She grinned. “Thank you. Is that better?”
“You're getting there.”
“If it won't bother you to talk about it, there is something I haven't mentioned. In the early visions I had of Trevor, sometimes everything was bathed in red. For many clairvoyants a crimson overlay signifies blood, and judging by how much I saw of it, I believe Trevor will be gravely injured, and somehow youâand only youâwill be able to save his life.”
A thoughtful frown pleated Clint's brow. Then his gaze sharpened on hers. “Of
course
!” he cried. “It's all finally making sense. I have type O-negative and CMV-negative blood. I'm what they call a baby donor. If I don't go in to donate every fifty-six days, the phone starts ringing. Blood like mine is in huge demand. That's why you got signals that only I can save Trevor. If he were badly injured and needed an emergency transfusion, my blood type is universal.”
“Universal? What's that mean?”
“It means almost anyone, regardless of blood type, can receive my blood. Type O-negative blood is quite rare, constituting only about seven percent of the population. When you toss in CMV-negative, my type becomes
extremely
rare.”
“What does CMV-negative mean?”
“It means my blood isn't contaminated with the cytomegalovirus.” He shrugged and laughed. “It's a fairly common herpes virus, but in newborns or immunosuppressed individuals, it can cause severe systemic damage. If Trevor gets hurt and needs an emergency transfusion, I'm your man. At least, I think I would be. They normally prefer to do cross-matching before giving a transfusion to be certain there will be no alloimmunity or antigen issues. A mismatch can be really dangerous, if not fatal. But in a life-or-death emergency when they don't know a patient's blood type, a transfusion of O-negative blood would be the safest bet. If the child will certainly die without it, I'd think a doctor would take his chances.”
“Possibly.”
“Maybe that's why you sensed a link between Trevor and meânot necessarily because I'm his dad, but because I may be the only person around to give him blood. Even major hospitals often run short of type O-negative. I remember reading about a shortage somewhere down in California recently. What if Trevor ends up at a jerkwater clinic somewhere that has no matching blood products? My blood would work in a pinch, no matter what blood type the boy is.”
“What if Trevor is type O-negative?” she asked.
“In that case, the only blood type he can receive is type O-negative. We're universal donors, but we're not universal recipients. A different blood type will kill us.”
Loni wondered if he realized what he'd just told her. If Trevor had type O-negative blood, only seven people out of every hundred around the world could give him blood. “Do children inherit their blood types from their parents?”
“Sometimes. It's mostly a genotype crapshoot, though. Parents often can't give blood to their own children.”
His reasoning made sense. But Loni couldn't turn loose of the belief that Trevor was Clint's child. Instead of forcing that assumption on him before he was ready to accept it, she settled for saying, “Let's just hope his injury isn't so bad that he needs a transfusion.”