The Wolf and the Irish Woman

Everyone was dead.

Mike didn't have to ride down there to see that. He yanked on his collar, already up as far as it would go, and glared across a mile of drifts to the tiny cabin.

Clucking his tongue, he nudged Cookie forward, dropping his eyes to the hillside falling away before them. The last time Mike was here, Cookie was a rangy, raw two-year-old, dancing along on a tether behind Mike's old mare. Mike hadn't even considered naming the stallion before he rode through Linnley's valley, but Linnley's little sister had taken care of that.

Closer to the cabin, Mike saw the unbroken rink of the paddock next to the barn. Stalagmites of snow poked up in the lee of each post, only a foot above the surface of the shifting white mass. He slowed as he approached. Mike had run upon enough apparently abandoned cabins in the past decade not to want to see what waited for him here. He'd rather remember the beanpot full of daisies on the windowsill and the tiny feisty girl mothering her siblings in their parents' absence.

He reigned Cookie in fifty yards shy of the cabin and sat studying the place from his perch on the stallion's broad back, finding no sign of life despite the hope he'd tried not to harbor on his laborious trek across the valley floor. He picked his way around to the man-sized door on the leeward side of the barn, blocked from the wind by a tacked-on corn crib, and kicked enough snow aside to wrestle it open. Cookie waited, reigns hanging loosely, as Mike ventured in.

The dark still cave was ice cold, but a welcome relief from the constant wind without. Mike stamped his feet and tipped his hat back to look around. He sniffed. What hay remained smelled fresh, lacking the low rancid odor running under mold in some abandoned barns. Mike took a couple slow steps. A rustle overhead reassured him and he glanced up. A dozen hens stared down from the gloom above the rafters.

He shouldered the door wide and led Cookie inside. He'd let the horse rest, overnight at least, before heading over the mountain to the ranch he now called his own. There was hay and hopefully water to be had without melting snow. Either way, they'd both enjoy being under cover for a while after spending a week stranded in the early blizzard. Mike found a bag of meal and scattered some for the chickens before he left.

In a knee-deep drift on the cabin's low porch he stood listening for a minute before pounding on the hand-split boards, hollering a greeting.

He got what he expected: nothing. Pushing the door ajar on its rawhide hinges, he stepped in.

Barely over the threshold, Mike stopped, suddenly alarmed, though he couldn't say why.

The cabin was as dark and silent as an empty cabin should be, but something wasn't quite right. He turned his head, hearing nothing over the low moaning wind from the open door. It was quiet, but spotless, and food smells lingered. Way over against the wall to his left, a narrow bed lay piled high with quilts. Mike was studying the shape of the pile, about to investigate, when something moved on the far side.

Incongruous as it seemed in this setting, Mike knew immediately what the bit of black fur rising behind the mountain of quilts meant. The lack of space between him and the cot quelled his instinctive urge to fall back through the door. There was no way he'd get the heavy, awkward slab shut in time to save his life.

In the seconds before the wolf's head made it over the level of the blankets, Mike dismissed retreat, a dash forward to the cabin's other room, and using the Colt pistols hanging by both thighs. The sheepskin gloves he wore slowed his trigger finger, and a bullet would probably just anger the beast, anyway. He stayed still.

Mike didn't move when the silver eyes met his, when a low growl rumbled across the room, not even when the wolf's lips twisted into a deadly snarl. He assessed the odds and contemplated his options. The wolf lowered its head, ready to stand, and Mike decided he better do something quick. Before either had a chance to make up his mind, a sound came from within the nest of blankets, and everything changed.

One of nature's most elegant predators, the great beast turned instantly to a tender-hearted pet. Its eyes softened as they left Mike's, its ears tipped forward, its mouth opened, and one pie-sized paw fell atop the cot.

The blankets shifted slightly and the wolf whined, nuzzling whatever lay there.

Mike moved, the shock too much for him, and the cold eyes snapped back to his. Again he froze, but the creature didn't snarl this time. Its eyes flicked from Mike to the cot and back, the massive head settled alongside its paw, and a high mournful cry slipped from between closed lips.

Conscious thought returned in plenty of time to tell Mike he'd lost his mind, but he took a cautious step forward, nonetheless. When the beast, watching him, didn't budge, he took another one. And another. He lowered his body as he approached, trying not to alarm the wolf, until at last he knelt opposite it. The wolf kept his attention on the blanket-covered mass and ignored Mike as he lifted a hand to the quilts.

As slowly as he felt the need to work, an eternity passed while Mike peeled away layers, but the wolf didn't waver other than to lift its head out of the way. Its crystalline gaze never strayed from the bed. Finally, under five quilts and a Hudson bay blanket, Mike located a tangled mass of black curls. He peeked at the wolf, still not moving, and brushed the damp, dirty hair aside. She was facing the other direction, but the freckled porcelain of her cheek told him it was probably Sophia. Her skin was clammy and not very warm, even under all that bedding, and she smelled like illness and urine.

Mike rested a palm on her forehead, and she moaned softly. The wolf stood, looming over the bed and Mike on the other side, nosing his hand away to sniff the girl, lapping her face and nudging her chin with its shiny coal nose.

Mike sat back on his heels, glancing from the wolf to the girl, and took a deep breath.

"Alright, you."

The huge head turned toward him. The icy silver eyes in the midnight black face made Mike think of his own death, likely only moments away.

"I can't just leave her there. I'm going to start a fire and get some water on, then I'm gonna take care of her."

The wolf watched Mike as he spoke.

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't eat my ass while I'm tryin' to do all that."

They stared at each other. The wolf appeared calmer about the prospect than Mike felt, so he took another breath and stood. The wolf laid his head down next to Sophia, and Mike released the air he'd been holding in.

"Jeeee-sus," he muttered, creeping away.

By the time Mike arrived at the table six hours later, they'd both relaxed somewhat, but he sat with his back to the stove so he could keep an eye on the wolf while he ate, anyway.

With one last look at Sophia, the wolf stretched and glided silently to the cabin's entry, waiting patiently for Mike to get the message.

Mike opened the door and the wolf walked out, sniffing the air from the porch for a minute before loping away toward the woods at the valley's west end. Mike collapsed on the chair he'd set next to Sophia's bed, a giant sigh rushing from his lungs with a shaky laughing chaser.

"Jeeee-sus," he said again.

-- o -- O -- o --

It took a week for Sophia to be well enough to talk, and another blizzard hit in the meantime. The wolf came and went, never staying away more than half a day, spending all its indoor hours on the bare wood floor next to Sophia's bed. Mike thought about not letting it in when it scratched at the sill requesting entry, but he'd have to go out eventually, and he didn't want to provoke it.

The next time it returned bearing a gift, an enormous white hare with a broken neck and a few spots of blood on its spiky wet fur. Mike opened the door and the wolf padded in on a whisper of frigid air, dropping the hare at Mike's feet before heading to his spot at Sophia's side.

Mike looked from the rabbit to the wolf. Later he put a bowl of stew on the floor, but it didn't seem to want any. It followed Mike's movements with interest while he drizzled spoonfuls of broth into Sophia, though, and as he bathed and changed her each day, cleaning and rewrapping the wound he'd discovered high on the outside of one thigh.

After he'd washed her that first time, it took Mike a few hours to figure out how to handle Sophia's bathroom needs. He couldn't get her on a chamber pot, as floppy as she was, but he found a shallow pan in the barn to slide under her bottom where she lay. He had to repeat his request several times, but eventually it sank through and she peed. After the third day he didn't have to tell her. She objected to him helping her with that before she was strong enough to speak, even before she opened her eyes, Mike thought, but he wouldn't let her push him away.

Mike hadn't been blessed with sisters, but the girl was half dead, and he got over his embarrassment in a hurry, more concerned with keeping her wound from festering than anything else. He tried not to think about that too much, since the deep parallel gashes in her leg must have come from a bear. The blankets closest to her had been soaked with blood, and Mike couldn't imagine how Sophia had lived, or made it back to the cabin.

Initially cautious and wary when he went to care for Cookie and the chickens, Mike soon found that the wolf ignored the barn, though he must be able to scent the other animals. Cookie certainly knew about the wolf. He danced around Mike each time he visited, smelling like wolf, as he supposed he did.

After a few days, though, Mike discovered his most pressing concern was what to call the wolf. He talked to Sophia, too, but the wolf actually listened. Mike felt awkward constantly saying "Wolf", then laughed at himself for worrying about it, and for talking to a wolf at all.

On the seventh day, the wind settled, the sun came out, and Sophia woke up.

Mike, dozing in the same chair he slept in every night, opened his eyes to find her deep green gaze on him. He started. How had he forgotten those clear emerald eyes of hers?

"Hello." He was glad to see she didn't look scared. She looked puzzled.

After a long pause, she whispered, "Mike?"

His mouth widened into a grin. "At your service, Miss Sophia."

Her face softened and she fell asleep smiling.

The next time she woke Mike was in the same place, but Sophia didn't think his new greeting was directed at her.

"You have company."

She barely shifted but the wolf knew. Whimpering, he strained forward, his long tongue reaching out to lap the side of her face.

Sophia lifted her hand and laughed weakly. "Henry. . . ."

Mike, no longer nervous after more than a week in close quarters, did something amazing without even realizing it. He pushed Henry's head away. "Get out of there, you daft dog."

After tucking the covers around Sophia's shoulders he opened the door, gesturing. "Out, stupid, she needs sleep."

With another loving glance at Sophia, the wolf complied.

-- o -- O -- o --

Ten years ago was half her life, Mike thought, guarding Sophia as she slept. He'd been twenty-one, leaving his father's place to go south, the last time he saw her. Sophia was a skinny, funny, freckled thing with a big mouth and a bigger heart, cooking, cleaning, and caring for her brothers after their parents died. Mike remembered how Matty and Patrick deferred to her, even though they were seven or eight years older and called her Spaghetti Head or Spaghnum Moss, mocking her exotic name.

Sophia stayed in bed for five days after she woke, but she wouldn't let Mike bathe her any more. He spied on her the first time she insisted on using the chamber pot by herself. She almost fell, clinging to the cot on one side and Henry on the other. She got stronger every day, though, her cheeks filling out and what little natural color she possessed reappearing as he sat by her bed, talking the time away.

Mike was waiting, so on the second day, when Sophia asked, "How . . .?" he was ready for her question.

"I was on my way back to take over the ranch when the blizzard hit. Me an' Cookie got stuck in an old cougar den up above the pass. We were up there for a week before we came down here and found you."

"Cookie?" Sophia smiled. "You kept that name."

"Yup," Mike grinned. "An' got in plenty of fights defendin' it, too."

She twinkled at him from the pillow.

"What about you, Miss Sophia? Where'd those brothers of yours run off to?"

She frowned, obviously worried, and Mike was sorry he'd asked.

"Some men came through town, making trouble, and killed Mr. Thompson on their way out past his farm. They beat his wife and burned the cabin, too. The sheriff got up a posse and went after 'em. That was two days before the storm. I don't 'spect Matt and Paddy 'til spring thaw, now."

Her face lifted to the window, showing only a sliver of colorless sky.

"Sophia. . . ." Mike didn't know if he should ask, but she guessed.

"I was hunting up on the hill and a bear got Ol' Blue. Even Blue never heard him coming. I musta hit my head on the way down, 'cause I don't remember anything until I woke up fifty feet away. The griz was eatin' Blue and Henry had aholda my coat, dragging me away while that bear kept an eye on us."

A tear pooled and crept slowly down the hollow between her nose and cheek. Mike reached under the covers and took her hand in his, moving over to sit on the floor near her bed until she drifted off again.

He only left once, but Henry stayed by her side, so Mike didn't worry. He went hunting, stopping to fetch Sophia's saddle and rifle from under what was left of Blue. He stood quietly in the woods for a long time, staring up into the trees. Later, he gave Henry the entrails and a good-sized haunch of the buck he got. He owed the wolf for more than just the game he'd brought while Sophia was sick.

Mike hauled most of the meat up a tree to freeze, and went inside to find Sophia out of bed, pale but lovely, wearing a dress instead of a nightgown as she dried her hair by the fire.

Accustomed to viewing his patient as a weak child, Mike was more than shocked by her transformation. The soft cambric gown she wore hung from her shoulders, as thin as she was, but the way it skirted the subtle curves of her body made him conscious of the charms that lay beneath. As clinical and unmoved as he'd been by Sophia's nudity for the whole of her illness, Mike was suddenly, painfully aroused by the sight of her completely clothed. Especially since he knew what the blue cotton covered. He kept his back to her, pretending to secure the door as he swallowed, hard, struggling to gain control of his emotions.

This was ridiculous. He was thirty-two, for God's sake, not some randy school-boy.

Sophia, sitting by the fire, read Mike's reaction as though he'd said each word out loud, and tilted her head away, smiling as she fanned her hair across her shoulders.

"You got a deer?"

"What? Oh . . . yes." Mike stamped the snow from his boots and turned, glad she wasn't watching. "I gave Henry some."

"Thank you."

Mike dumped the meat he was carrying directly into the big cast iron kettle on the hearth, and stripped off his outerwear, hanging it to dry before heading to the back room for a wash. He'd been sleeping in the boys' double bed since Sophia started getting better, and they both used the small chamber for changing and washing up.

He wondered if that's what she did when her brothers were home, and cursed himself. The last thing he needed was a mental picture of the woman bathing. He stripped down and soaped up standing on his dirty shirt, wishing the water was colder when he washed his cock, still half-hard despite the talking-to he'd given it.

He donned a pair of clean pants and shaved, using the tiny tin mirror he kept in his saddlebag.

"Mike?"

"Mmmm?"

"Wear one of my brother's shirts and let me have that one. I'll fix the collar for you."

"Mmmm. All right." He grabbed a shirt off a nail in the wall and pulled it on before going to dump his bathwater out.

Sophia laughed as he passed.

"Shut up, woman. It ain't my fault your brothers are midgets."

His wrists stuck out six inches below the cuffs, and he'd be hard pressed to keep the tails tucked into his britches. The torso fit okay, which was funny since Mike was broad through the shoulders and chest.

"Fat midgets," he added when he came back in, buttoning the plaid flannel placket.

Sophia's lyrical laugh petted him.

"Come here," she commanded, "you've got it wrong."

Mike looked down at the buttons as she pushed his hands away, undoing the ones he'd fastened. She reached to fix his collar, tugging one side up and one down, and stopped, gazing at his lips as her smile faded. Mike, already struggling with the sweet-smelling woman inches from the arms that ached to hold her, couldn't help himself. He meant to touch her hair, tumbling in waves over her shoulders, just to smooth it back from her face, but she lifted her eyes, and he kissed her instead.

Sophia stood absolutely still, praying silently as Mike bent forward. She'd been in love with Michael Tanner since she was six years old, and being his house-bound patient had helped her not at all. Learning what lay behind the fantasy solidified her feelings-- he was twice the man in real life that she remembered from her youth. She'd done nothing for the past week but hope that Mike would somehow magically view her as more than a child. And all she had to do was put some clothes on.

When Mike's lips touched hers, they were both lost. The soft sweep of his mouth overwhelmed Sophia and she melted into the heat of his body. She'd never been kissed and the sweet puzzle of his lips nipping at hers was a sensation she couldn't have imagined. When the tip of his tongue swept across her lower lip and nudged, she opened to him, tipping her chin to grant the access his mouth demanded.

Mike ran his hand over the silky length of her hair all the way to her waist, fighting to keep control. Sophia's passion was the weapon that proved his undoing. When her tongue reached out in response to Mike's first foray, he groaned between her parted lips and drew her closer. Inexperienced as she was, Sophia understood his throaty murmur and the bulge caressing her lower belly. Her hands dropped from his collar to the smooth skin beneath, drawing his mouth down to hers.

Mike tried valiantly to halt the madness.

"Sophia," he objected against her lips, "we can't."

She wouldn't release him, but half opened her eyes. "Mike, are you married?"

"Married?" He was confused. "No, of course not."

"Neither am I."

She stood on tip-toe to reclaim his mouth, letting her tongue explore.

Mike succumbed and lifted Sophia to the sideboard, planning to kiss her and never stop kissing her.

Sophia opened her knees to let him slip between, wanting more than Mike's kisses. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and Mike, beyond thought, moved his arms to let it fall behind him. Her hands ran over his biceps and back onto his chest, then down until they rested over the hard nubs of his nipples. She loved the way Mike's skin felt, like velvet over the sun-warmed granite of his muscles.

When Sophia started making small circles, brushing her palms lightly over his nipples, Mike groaned again and lowered his hands to her waist, hauling her against the throbbing mound straining his inseam. He ripped his mouth away when he realized what he was doing.

"Jesus, Sophia, are you trying to kill me?"

She smiled without removing her hands. The dense pebbles tickling her palms made her tingle other places, too. Sophia shifted her weight, unaware of the seductive way her body moved.