Free Her Ideal Man by Ruth Wind Page B

she followed, Anna spared one more glance for the vista behind her, and touched the memory of the wolf. Not even Tyler could take that from her.
    Then, steeling herself, she followed him down the hill.

Chapter 6
    T yler had been right about the hard exercise. When they got back to the cabin, both of them stripped off their coats and gloves wearily. Anna sank to the couch, where her pillow and the neatly folded quilt were waiting, and without even taking off her socks, she tipped over sideways. “Quite a workout,” she said. “Thanks.”
    Her eyes were already closing. Tyler turned his back and stoked the fire and, without allowing himself to look at her again, stretched out on his bed. Charley trotted over, licked his hand, and sank down with a little groan next to the bed.
    It felt good to stop moving, to let himself be enveloped in the warmth of the room. His body tingled with exercise and warming skin, and he felt enormously sleepy.
    But his jeans were clammy and uncomfortable, and if he let himself fall asleep like this, he’d be miserable when he woke up. The same was true for Anna. Reluctantly he dragged himself upright and over to the couch. He leaned over the back to nudge her shoulder.
    She barely stirred, making a low, muffled noise that meant nothing at all. He grinned to himself as she tucked her face more closely into the pillow. “Anna,” he said, poking her again. “Don’t go to sleep yet. You need to take off those wet clothes.”
    This time, she opened one eye and looked at him in confusion. “What?”
    â€œTake off your jeans before you go to sleep.”
    â€œOh.” She shifted. “Oh, yeah.”
    â€œYou can change into my sweats again, if you want. I’ll leave you alone.”
    She nodded, and Tyler left her. In the small bathroom, he shed his jeans and shirt, leaving on his boxer shorts for the sake of modesty, then donned his robe for the short journey to his bed. It was odd to have to think about modesty. It had been a long, long time.
    To his relief, she was already changed and covered and, by all appearances, asleep when he came through. He checked the fire in the stove and put the old cast-iron teakettle on the back so that they would have hot water when they woke up, added one more log to the fire and fell into the comfort of his bed.
    He wasn’t a napper, and didn’t like sleeping in the daytime hours, but he did fall into a restless sleep, never very deep, filled with strange dreams about wolves and castles and chasing something vaguely frightening into the woods. He was not quite conscious, not quite asleep, and his subconscious coughed up strange, fragmented images: Kara in a red cloak, Curtis as a baby, Anna bare and beckoning.
    The last one dragged him to full wakefulness. It was nearly dark, and he lay in the tangled mess of covers, staring at the ceiling, feeling unrefreshed and cranky. Flickering shadows from the fire played between the wooden beams, creating images that all too soon took shape and form, just as his dozing dreams had done. He saw the wolf on the mountain, so wild and free and noble, and Anna’s shining eyes as she’d stared at him in breathless awe.
    She could not know, of course, that Kara would have killed to see a wolf in the wild, and never had. Of all the things he wished he could have given her, that was high on the list. A wild, free wolf, in his own environment.
    It bothered him that it had been with Anna that he saw it. He was not a superstitious man, but he did live close to the land, and he had a special love for wolves. They were what some might call his totem animal.
    Silly. He knew it was—the legacy of his superstitious Irish Texan mother who read signs into everything that happened, and saw in feathers and rocks the answers to prayers.
    And however he tried to ignore it, his gut said there was a reason he’d seen a wolf with Anna.
    Quietly he disentangled himself from the