DESI'S RESCUE Read online

  And yet … was anyone all bad?

  Tears welled in her eyes. The third time in as many days, and she never cried. Furious with herself and the flood of emotions she didn't understand, she roared, kicking the serape across the room. It puddled by the table harmlessly, but Desi stomped into the small room where Claude had once worked and flung open the closet where she had stowed his paintings. There were dozens of them, small and large. And sketches and abandoned pieces. She hauled them out, thinking she'd take them down the mountain in the morning and fling them on the dentist's wife's lawn.

  In the battered bureau were his paints and brushes and tablets of paper, his charcoals and photos he'd taken to use as models. She flung it all into boxes, refusing to halt to look at any of it.

  She could burn it all. The paintings and sketches and supplies. Make a bonfire out of his foolishness, his arrogance, the shallowness that had, in the end, gotten him killed.

  "You idiot!" she cried, throwing a small portrait of the dogs into the box.

  Then she rescued it. The dogs were hers, too. She wanted this one.

  In the other room her cell phone rang, and Desi looked up, surprised. She never had so many calls in a single evening. It rang again and she rushed to answer it. "Dr. Rousseau," she said.

  "Hey, Doc, how are ya?"

  In surprise, Desi asked, "Miranda? Is that you, sis?"

  "It is. How's life in Yawnsville?"

  "As thrilling as ever." Desi looked over her shoulder at the bonfire materials. "To what do I owe the honor of this call?" Miranda lived in Manhattan, an artist herself. She rarely kept in contact with the family, and in fact, Desi thought she was in Europe. "When did you get back?"

  "Couple of days ago. I've been kind of worried about you. There's a lot of talk about Claude's work in art circles."

  "There is? Why?"

  "Murder. Scandal. Good-looking man. Makes a good story."

  "You know," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the stuff in the back room, "I was just thinking I might make a bonfire out of all the stuff he left here. It might be a way to rid myself of his—" She almost said spirit. But she didn't believe in things like that, in ghosts and all that nonsense. "—presence," she substituted.

  "Burn his clothes if you like, but I wouldn't burn the paintings if I were you." She paused, and her smoky, beautifully resonant voice took on a layer of irony. "They're going to be worth a lot of money."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I'm calling to warn you that there's a cable show on tonight about him. An art dealer is behind it—Renate Franz—a German with a Manhattan gallery who wants to get the frenzy going."

  Something about the name rang a bell, but Desi didn't immediately place it. "I'm not following you, Miranda. Speak slowly in words of one syllable. I've had a hell of a day."

  "I'd put money on some news crew picking this up. Lay low."

  "Oh, great." That was all she needed. "Thanks for the warning."

  "You don't sound great tonight, sissy."

  "Only you can get away with calling me that, you know," Desi said, grinning.

  Miranda gave a low chuckle. "I know."

  "I'm fine," Desi said. "If you want to come visit, save it for the springtime. Juliet is going to marry Josh in May."

  "She called me. I'm very happy for her, but that would mean dealing with parents, and you know I don't do that."

  "You can't skip Juliet's wedding, Miranda."

  "I don't want to. But—"

  Desi took on her most forbidding elder-sister tone. "Juliet would be devastated if you didn't come. You will be here. I'll run interference with our parents."

  "You're right. I need to come." She sounded tired. "It would be good to get a break, too. I've been working really hard."

  "Good. You're welcome anytime, kiddo," she said. "Anytime."

  "Thanks, Desi. Insure the paintings, huh?"

  "Will do."

  As she hung up, Desi shook her head. She was never going to escape Claude Tsosie. The thought left a weight on her shoulders so heavy she felt as stooped as an old woman.

  Somehow she had to get him out of her head, her thoughts, her house.

  Her life.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  At dawn Tam tied his heavy boots, flung his snowshoes over his shoulder and jumped in his car to head up to Orchid Pass. The reason for its name was obvious as he pulled off the road at the trailhead—lines of craggy, high peaks, all well above timberline and frosted heavily with snow, glowed a soft pinkish purple with dawn. The sky above was a thick purpled blue, as if it could be sliced.

  Tam strapped on his snowshoes, tugged on his gloves and hat and set off on the trail. He knew it well, but in his backpack was a compass and map, along with waterproof matches and packets of concentrated nourishment and emergency blankets. Only a fool went into the mountains unprepared.

  He'd been dreaming of the she-wolf this morning, and in his imagination, she'd been lost and huddled by a small lake he knew of up here. It hurt nothing to see if there was any weight to the vision. And anyway, he liked to get out and do something vigorous every day.

  There was nothing so pristine as the mountains in the morning, winter or summer. The thin air let through a brilliance of sunlight, and there was no scent of humankind, only trees and snow or earth and water. No sound of engines. No music. Utter stillness reigned, just the sound of his own breath, moistening the wool scarf over his nose and mouth, and the squeak of the snowshoes on the vast blanket of snow, the small plops of snow falling from branches.

  Against the depth of serenity the place gave him, he felt the press of his sudden and surprising wish for Desi Rousseau. Her body, her hair, her mouth. Although the suspicion in her eyes last night had taken him unaware.

  A Buddhist retreat had occupied the farm next to his grandfather's place near Cape Reinga, and he'd become friends with some of the … what were they called? Priests? They believed that yearning, desire, was the source of all unhappiness, and while Tam had never particularly believed it, this morning he could see that his desire for the prickly veterinarian was like sandpaper against his peacefulness, a jolt of jagged red through his orchid morning.

  Not so easy was Desdemona. She was a porcupine and a cat and a blue jay, all rolled into one intriguing and difficult package. He could not understand why he felt so protective of her.

  But he did. He felt protective and curious. And more. He wanted to take down her hair and peel away her layers and layers of clothes to see the body beneath. He wanted to see her let go of that calm and fierceness and explode in an orgasm that would carry her into the next part of her life.

  Most of all he wanted to wipe away the memory of the smirking face of Claude Tsosie, wanted her to see that a man could desire her for herself.

  In the stillness of the pink-washed dawn, he snowshoed through the trees, looking for tracks and signs. He saw the thin, clustered tracks of deer, the triangular scratches of bird feet, even the obvious roughness where a larger animal had rolled and rubbed its back on the trunk of a tree. Bear? No, he thought they hibernated. Mountain lion? He shuddered. He didn't fancy meeting claws and teeth of that size.

  The lake was a couple of miles in, and he was feeling agreeably exercised by the time he arrived. It wasn't possible to really see the lake. It was buried beneath three or four feet of snow and iced over beneath that, but the oval of it lay in the clearing in patient expectation of spring.

  Tam suddenly felt foolish. He'd dreamed of the wolf because he wanted to see the pup have a mum. Or maybe he wanted to be a hero in Desi's eyes. But to follow the prompting of a dream was silly.

  Still, he was here, wasn't he? Methodically he crisscrossed the open expanse, looking for signs of the wolf, sure he would not find them.

  So, when he caught sight of a scarlet spill of blood on the white snow beneath a tree, his heart caught. He snowshoed over, his knee aching a bit, and to his amazement, saw the obvious signs of
a hunt-and-kill. A jackrabbit, or squirrel, maybe even a large bird. He saw no evidence of carcass or feathers.

  There were the unmistakable prints of a dog. A wolf. Trotting away from the kill site. A ripple of surprise and excitement rushed down his spine. What were the chances?

  Except they said animals communicated, telepathically, in pictures, which was why a person would suddenly get an urge to go to the door and see if the cat wanted in and find the cat sitting there waiting.

  The tracks headed into the trees, and he marked the sun to find his direction. The wolf was headed southeast, back toward home, if Tam had his mental map right. As the crow flew, the sanctuary was only three or four miles.

  Too much of a hike overland for Tam's tired knee, however. He headed back to his truck. He'd drive to Desi's place and tell her what he'd seen. He tried not to notice how the thought cheered him.

  * * *

  Desi had just made a pot of tea when the dogs started barking in a frenzy. Scowling, she peered out the window, praying it wasn't the sheriff again. After the long day yesterday, she was sore and tired—and the last thing in the world she wanted was more harassment. She had to see the judge this morning, and she needed to talk to Helene about a possible injunction, spend some time looking for the missing wolf and maybe, just maybe, do something relaxing or fun this afternoon. Maybe go see her sister and talk wedding details.

  She didn't recognize the tall brunette woman who climbed out of a fully loaded SUV with the telltale pristineness of a rental. The woman was strikingly beautiful. She wore jeans on her long legs, and a high-end, powder-blue parka and a perky knitted hat of the same color. Sometimes, visitors to the area made a wrong turn on their way to various ski slopes, and Desi suspected that was the case here. She grabbed her own, far more battered parka and stepped out on the porch. "Hi, can I help you?"

  The woman smiled, showing a toothy, very white smile and eyes the color of Delft china. "Are you Desdemona?"

  She suddenly had a bad feeling about this. "Who's asking?" she crossed her arms and tried to look grouchy.

  "I'm Abby Danmark, from KZZZ-TV in Denver." She gestured to someone behind her, and a man came around with a camera on his shoulder. Desi started backing away, shaking her head. "I'd like to interview you."

  Maybe she could shame them. "About the wolves?" she asked and smiled. The dogs were sitting on the porch with her, watching. The reporter gave them a nervous eye. "It would be better to go up to the sanctuary for that." She brushed hair off her face. "And I'm hardly television ready. Do you want to make an appointment for later this afternoon?"

  "We want to talk about Claude, Desdemona."

  "You may call me Dr. Rousseau," Desi said stiffly. "But I will not talk about Claude for television." She stood firm. "You can get off my land now."

  "But Dr.

  Rousseau, wouldn't you like a chance to tell your side?"

  "You ambush me and want me to be nice to you?" Desi smiled bitterly. "Please, just go." Whistling to the dogs, she turned to go inside.

  "Desdemona, they're talking about you all over the art world. It's quite a triangle. You and Christie Lundgren and the paintings."

  Another engine rumbled up the road, and the woman turned to see who was coming. Desi shook her head and ducked into the house, slamming the door. She fell backward against it and let go of a roar of frustration. "Enough already!" she cried to the heavens and anyone who might be listening. "I'm tired! Make it stop!"

  The sound of the second vehicle pulling into the circular drive sent the dogs into alert again, and she gave them a command to stay as she went to the window over the kitchen sink to look out, fearing it would be another reporter or the sheriff or more trouble.

  Instead, the sturdy, solid personage of Tamati Neville stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind him with calm but somehow threatening strength. She heard him say, "Can I help you?"

  The cameras were no doubt rolling. Desi didn't care. She was so relieved to see a friendly face that she stepped out on the porch again. "Hi, Tam. Breakfast is just about ready. Come eat."

  The reporter signaled the cameraman to film and she kept after Tam, asking questions as he solidly plainly ignored her. When his back was to them, he gave her a questioning glance. She just shook her head. "Come inside," she said. As he passed her, she said to the reporter, "Now take your cameras and leave my land or I'll call the sheriff."

  "Dr. Rousseau, if you change your mind, just call my station. You have a right to tell your side of the story, too."

  That gave Desi pause. "Then why didn't you just call me and ask for it?"

  The woman lifted a shoulder, and her full, beautiful lips curled into a rueful smile, making Desi think of the actress Geena Davis. "I like to ski."

  Shaking her head, Desi went inside and closed the door firmly. Tam waited for her, looking athletic and hale in a ski jacket and close-fitting ski pants that showed his astoundingly shapely legs and butt. "God, I'm glad to see you!" she said with a sigh, and then couldn't help stating the obvious. "And my, my, my," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Do you ever look great in a pair of ski pants."

  He grinned rakishly and turned in a circle slowly. "Happy to oblige."

  For one instant Desi forgot everything in her life. All the annoyances and pressures, all the grim predictions for her future, even the wolves, and she just let herself stand there, admiring Tam's angled, dark face, his ice-fern eyes, his jaunty smile. She thought of the kiss he'd given her last night and wondered what it would be like to repeat it.

  Or to simply take his hand and lead him back into her bedroom, forget all the pretense of courtship and play and ask for the relief and ease of sex. They were adults. Would that be so terrible?

  But she was too vulnerable, too tired to contemplate such an idea just this minute. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "What, my breakfast isn't waiting?"

  She grinned. "Thank you for your help." Heading for the kitchen area, she said, "Have a seat. I'll feed you."

  "Not necessary," he said, but he sat at the counter on a bar stool anyway. "I'd love the coffee, though."

  She pulled the coffeemaker out and started to take the basket out to put a filter in it.

  "Wait," he said, and pointed to the teapot covered in a quilted yellow cozy. "That's tea, is it?"

  "It is. Would you like that better?"

  "Please."

  She poured a mugful and passed the sugar bowl toward him. "Milk?"

  He nodded. "You make a good cup," he said. "Unusual in America."

  "My grandmother was fussy about tea. She'd spent her girlhood in England and liked to drink good, strong, English-style tea with milk."

  The sound of engines retreating came through the closed door, and Tam stood up, frowning, to peer out the window. "What was that about?"

  "Reporters. My sister in Manhattan called me to say Claude's been a big topic of gossip." She sighed, feeling the tension in her neck again. "I'm so tired of all of this," she admitted. "If it weren't for the wolves, I'd just go, start over somewhere else."

  "Speaking of wolves," he said. "That's why I'm here. I saw wolf tracks this morning and a blood pool where maybe a rabbit or something was killed. It was over by Orchid Pass. The prints looked like they were headed back this way."

  A brightening bloomed in Desi's chest. "That's not far!" Setting the kettle on to boil for a second pot of tea, she turned and picked up her cell phone and punched the speed dial for the caretaker's cottage. No answer. She hung up. "Alex is probably feeding the wolves. I'm sure if he sees Fir, he'll give me a call." She sipped her own tea. "What were you doing up there so early, anyway?"

  "Snowshoeing," he said, but something about his expression became shuttered.

  Desi trusted her instincts. "What were you really doing up there?"

  His eyelids flew upward. He met her gaze, and his mouth took a sheepish little downturn. "I had a dream about her. Seems it might have been somewhat real."

 
Desi smiled. "I've had lots of dreams about dogs and wolves, Tam. I think they're very good communicators. You picked up her messages. Thank you."

  "Ta," he said with a wave of his hand.

  A swoop of tenderness moved in her chest. He tried to hide it, but he had that rare and endearing need to care for the small and the weak and the broken. Surely that was what had turned him into a firefighter. "After we have our tea, we'll head up to the sanctuary and see if Fir has made it back."

  * * *

  As they headed out into the morning, Desi tried to ignore the rush of pleasure she felt being in Tam's company. He made everything seem … more, somehow. Brighter, more dazzling, more delicious. Sunlight had moved with gentle lemon juice washes over the snowy hills as the two humans and three dogs headed up the hill to the wolf sanctuary. Tecumseh took point as always, his head high, his speed fast. Crazy Horse, with his border collie tendencies, herded them from the rear.

  Tam chuckled at the dogs. "They're a smart lot."

  "I'm insanely in love with them," Desi admitted. She kept trying to ignore the shape of his thighs in dark blue spandex, but lime-green piping drew her eye back again and again. He was as fit as an ad in an outdoor magazine.

  "Are we going to pass the hot springs?" he asked, looking around with a puzzled expression. "It was round here, wasn't it?"

  "It's not right on the main path," she said, "but, come on. I'll take you there."

  She veered into the trees, feeling a little giddy. Which made her chatty. "In the summertime this is very beautiful," she said. "Green and lush, with about a million wildflowers. The hot springs mean the ground is a little warmer, so we get some things growing that are not all that usual for the area."

  "Yeah? Like what?"

  "Um. Well, truth is, I don't really know which ones are which. That was Claude's arena."

  He grinned down at her. "I see."

  Through the cold green shadows of sheltering pines came the sound of water and the mineral smell of the water. "When my sisters and I were kids," she offered, "we came to camp up here, and there was an herbal shampoo that was popular at the time. That's what that smell reminds me of, all those girls washing their hair with that healthy smelling stuff."