Free Spirit of the Wolf by Vonna Harper Page A

working so well, is it?”
    “You could stop me.”
    “Don’t throw responsibility in my lap,” she snapped. The instant the words were out, she forgave him. Maybe she shouldn’t, but with his hands touching what needed to be touched, did she have a choice?
    Looking down, she noted the contrast between his tanned hands and her pale belly. After that first night with him, she’d debated shaving her pubic hair—something she’d never done before—but it seemed like too much work. Besides, how much more exposed did she dare allow herself to become?
    “Is this to distract me?” she managed. “A way to put off letting me see those last two pictures?”
    “Let? Make is more like it.” When he gave his head a weary shake, she wished she could tell him this wasn’t necessary. She didn’t need to see the shots; there was no need for him to put himself through some emotional wringer she didn’t understand.
    Curiosity and more kept her silent.
    He sighed. “You’re right. I can’t put off the inevitable. Your safety . . . Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
    Safety? “Show me,” she ordered.
    Looking trapped, he swiveled away from her and rested his hand on the mouse. She hooked her thumb over her waistband but didn’t pull it up. As she’d done earlier, she looked over his shoulder.
    If it wasn’t for the layer of dust over the rocks, Matt might have missed the second-to-last paw print. At first there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it, but as he’d done with earlier shots, Matt had placed his hand next to what a wolf had left behind.
    She couldn’t keep her mouth closed, couldn’t think how to do anything except breathe. Even that took effort.
    “Ready for the last one?”
    His voice had a disembodied quality to it, as if he’d distanced himself from this moment.
    “No. Yes.”
    Color and definition blinked out and were replaced by another paw scene. This time the wolf—wolf?—had stepped on dried grass and flattened it. Matt’s hand, slightly blurred as if he’d been shaking when the picture was taken, was to the track’s left.
    “I don’t know what to say,” she managed. No longer simply holding on to her jeans, she gripped them so tight her fingers protested.
    “I didn’t think you would.”
    Comprehend or not, she couldn’t deny that the last two shots highlighted a wolf print at least twice as large as the earlier ones. Claw marks bit deeper into the ground, and pads left distinct impressions as proof of greater weight. Disbelief and denial warred inside her, but this was no joke, no illusion.
    “Now do you understand why I needed to share this in person?”
    “What . . . what did the sheriff say?”
    “I didn’t send them to him.”
    “What? Why not?”
    “Neither have they gone to Fish and Wildlife.”
    She’d been too shocked to pay attention to his tone. Now she was calming down a bit, either that or resigning herself to the unbelievable. There was no emotion in his voice, nothing to indicate his underpinnings had been rocked the way hers had.
    Bottom line, while trying to determine where the wolf pack had gone, Matt had come across the prints of a monster-sized predator. This couldn’t be. There was no way in hell the prints should exist or make any kind of sense.
    And yet . . .
    She was having trouble breathing. In contrast, Matt, who had turned toward her, was locked away emotionally. At the same time, something in his eyes made her take a backward step.
    “Where are you going?” he asked in that dead voice.
    “Nowhere. Just . . .” She started to pull up her jeans. “I was startled, that’s all.”
    “Hmm.”
    She hated trying to put a label on what was in his eyes, but lying to herself might be more dangerous than facing the truth. Okay, so maybe she was delusional; she wanted to be. But if that wasn’t a predatory glare, she didn’t know what one was.
    Having her waistband back up where it was designed to be restored her self-confidence. A