Page 62 of Wyoming Heart

She paused to take a sip of the drink. “He came right up to me, very slowly, as if he knew how frightened I was. Goodness, he was huge! His eyes were almost on a level with mine. He looked right into my eyes, as if he could see into my very soul. I waited with my heart beating me to death, to see if he was going to eat me. And then...” She swallowed hard, and looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear her. She leaned toward him. “Then he vanished. Like fog. Like smoke. He was there, and as real as you are. And then he was just...gone.” She drew in a breath. “It shook me up. I had no idea what I’d seen, if I’d been hallucinating, if it was real. Or if I was losing my mind,” she added on a faint laugh.

“Your totem animal,” he mused quietly, but he wasn’t making fun of her.

“I remembered, afterward, what my grandfather had told me. He said that a totem animal was a protection and a warning. The next day, Henry ran his car into a tree and killed himself and my mother.”

He whistled softly. “That’s heavy.”

She nodded.

“Have you ever seen him again?”

“No.” She made a face. “When we found the calves that had been attacked, the live one and the dead one, I was afraid that it was a wolf and that it would have to be hunted. I knew Bart would trap it. But we have other neighbors who aren’t that charitable. And sure enough, somebody shot the old wolf.”

He nodded. “You understand how it is with ranchers, though,” he said softly. “Times are hard. Ranchers and farmers are going bust all over the country. You can stand a calf now and then, but it gets expensive.”

“And you can’t let wolves feed on your livestock. I know.”

“Besides that, the old wolf would have died anyway, from that long, jagged wound that ran the length of his belly. It was infected.”

“I guess the rifle shot was a mercy,” she conceded.

“We don’t have wolves,” he mused. “But we have something worse. Rustlers.”

“We’ve had some of those around Catelow, too,” she said. She laughed. “Most recently, a security guy who works for Ren Colter nabbed a couple of them with a transfer truck. They said the rustlers were babbling their heads off to law enforcement the minute they arrived and even asked to be rushed to jail. Apparently J. C. Calhoun is as mean as gossip says he is. Not so mean now, of course. He has a wife and a daughter and a brand-new son.”

He chuckled. “Good for him.” The smile faded. “I hate rustlers.”

“Yes, Bart told me about a run-in you had with some,” she replied, and her eyes twinkled. “I think you and J.C. would get along.”

He chuckled. “Do you, now?” he teased.

The waitress arrived with their food, and they ate in a pleasant silence.

“This is good beef,” she remarked.

“Not bad,” he agreed.

She finished her piña colada with something like surprise. She hadn’t expected the glass to be empty so soon. It was a huge glass.

“Want another?” he asked.

“I’d better not,” she replied. She was feeling pretty good already. Unusually good. She sighed and smiled at him.

He raised an eyebrow. He remembered that she didn’t drink at all. One piña colada shouldn’t disinhibit her much, though. She was probably just relaxed.

But he ordered another. It had been a long week. He’d been helping Bart’s cowboys with new fencing and it was harder work than he was used to. His muscles were aching.

“I never drink to excess,” he said gently when he noticed her reticence. He knew how she must feel about alcoholics, having been victimized by one for so long. “If you eat while you’re drinking, it lessens the impact. Besides,” he added, stretching and wincing, “I’m beginning to think of it as pain relief. I’ve been helping the guys dig postholes.”

“Say no more. I’ve helped with that on my place. I had liniment,” she added, “but nobody to put it on for me. So it was aspirin and a heating pad.”

“I hate the smell of liniment,” he returned, making a face. His drink arrived. He lifted it in a toast. “This smells much better,” he added on a chuckle.

She grinned at him. She felt lighter than air, as if she could fly. She had strange hungers as well. She looked at Cort and wondered what he looked like under his shirt. She felt like taking off her own shirt and smoothing her body against his. Heavens, she was losing her mind!

She flushed and almost overturned her glass.

“Oh, you’re empty. Want another one?” the waitress asked, and took her silence for assent. “Be right back.”

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