Free Wild Heart by Patricia Gaffney Page A

again, as if nothing at all had happened. He started to leave, but she said, "Michael, I'm not sure what my father intends to do. But even if he continues his experiments, it'll be different from now on. Better. Now that they know you can speak, it won't be—"
    "You'll tell them?"
    "I—Don't you want me to?" Her eyes got wide. "I think it's too late! Are you afraid? They won't hurt you, I promise. It's just—it's all a nuisance for you, I know, but nothing bad will happen. Don't worry." She touched him, put her hand on his wrist for comfort, and he felt comforted. He wondered what a nuisance was.
    "Okay," he said, like Sam. "Don't worry," he said back to her, so she would be comforted, too.
    "Sydney!"
    This time it was the voice of Aunt Estelle, and Michael backed up. They both did. Because in the Winter pack, Aunt Estelle was top wolf.
    * * * * *
    In the weeks since her return from Europe, Sydney had spoken on the telephone to Camille Darrow, her sister-in-law, but they hadn't seen each other yet. On Saturday, when Philip mentioned he was going into the city and asked Sydney if she cared to go with him to visit Cam, she immediately called her friend and made the arrangements.
    They could have taken the train, but Philip told Robby, the family's elderly coachman, to drive them in the phaeton because the horses needed exercise. It was a perfect day for a drive, clear and sunny, not too hot. Sydney reveled in it, chattering with Philip all the way, until she caught her first glimpse of the Darrow house. The towered and buttressed mansion on Prairie Avenue had been like a second home for her. She had played there as a child, flirted there at parties as a debutante. Spencer had proposed to her in the billiard room, and they had danced under a striped tent to Johnny Hand's band at their wedding reception in the sprawling backyard. It was an ugly house in some ways, too big, too extravagant. But she loved it anyway, never gave its excesses a second thought, because she had always been happy there. Now just the sight of it made her want to cry. Because Spencer was gone.
    Camille opened the front door herself. Embracing her Sydney did cry—this time because Cam looked so much like her brother. "Oh, I missed you," she exclaimed, trying to laugh, hiding the real reason for her tears. "Cam, you look wonderfull"
    "You look wonderful."
    They hugged in the doorway for a long time, swaying, patting each other's shoulders, while Philip looked on with amused tolerance. "Oh, hullo, Philip," Camille said when they finally broke apart. "You here, too?" They all laughed.
    The women drifted into the foyer, but stopped when Philip called to them that he was leaving. "Why?" Cam wanted to know. "Come on, Philip, stay for a little while. Can't you come in and visit?" She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head in the familiar bossy manner. Short, blond, and athletic, she was the perfect feminine reverse of Spencer; they even had the same pug nose and stubborn chin, the same gestures, the same gravelly voice.
    "Nope, can't. Things to do, people to see."
    "What things, what people? Come in and have some tea with us."
    "Manly things, important people." He slouched against the doorpost in a negligent pose, hands in his pockets, looking impossibly handsome. "I'll tell Robbie to come back for you, Syd."
    "But then how will you get home? Are you coming back here?"
    "Nope." He shrugged, grinned. "I'll manage." He gave them a lazy salute and started to turn away.
    "Not too late, Philip," Sydney called softly.
    He just smiled.
    "He's changed," Camille remarked as they walked through the house to the covered veranda in back. "He doesn't even look like himself anymore. Must be the East Coast influence."
    "He's not happy, Cam," Sydney confided. "I don't know exactly what he's getting up to these days,,and I don't want to know. But I worry about him."
    "Oh, Philip's all right."
    "He never brings friends home anymore. He goes to terrible places. I think he