stove. Can we talk later?”
“You’re putting me off. We haven’t discussed—”
“Good. Thanks,” Skylar interrupted. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“Skye, wait. I’m sorry I brought up the cop. Really sorry.”
“No sweat. I’ve moved on, that’s all.”
“I know, but...”
“It’s all right. I haven’t been a baby for twenty-three years now. Nor have I ever needed help in making up my mind about something.”
“I know that, too. But you will always be my baby sister. You can confide in me.”
“I’m all right, I swear. My fiancé was a bastard, and it took me too long to figure that out. I’m off the hook now. That’s how I look at the breakup. Possibly it was an act of divine intervention in my favor. I feel relief, if you want the truth. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Okay?”
“Oh, all right.”
“Bye, Trish.”
Skylar signed off before the arguments could start up again, and with them the apologies about things not working out with Detective Danny Parker, who had gotten her close enough to matrimony to actually buy the dress.
But it had never been a match made in heaven, and she’d known that, deep down inside. She’d merely been going through the motions.
Worse, in terms of regrets, was realizing she’d gone along with Danny’s little mental abuses, and had been swept up in them, rather than openly exerting her true rebellious personality. That hadn’t been like her at all, really. And she hadn’t been lying to Trish about the relief.
Palming her cell phone, Skylar checked the screen for calls, half expecting Trish to call back. Then she set the phone on the table. Service was spotty in the mountains, and only seemed to like this small area in the front room of the cabin—a fact that wasn’t exactly comforting, she supposed, though Trish didn’t need to know that, either.
“And if you knew what else I found in that trunk of Dad’s, Trish, you’d send in the tanks,” she muttered.
Not only had she found the gun in that trunk, well-oiled and ready to go, it was loaded with unusual ammunition that had to have helped shape her dreams. She was sure that silver bullets weren’t the norm for anyone, outside of people chasing their own form of madness.
Glancing up at the ceiling as if she could see through the rough wooden beams, she said, “Neither are they standard in a psychiatrist’s medicine bag.”
In the past, she would have called Danny to talk about this, but she was on her own now—which left her imagination wide-open. Because shiny silver ammunition, unless merely something a collector might covet, was de rigueur for hunting...
“Werewolves.”
Skylar turned toward the window, attuned to the drop in temperature that signaled another day’s end. Nightfall wasn’t far off.
“Damn it, Trish. I need to find out what our father was up to, and why it might have killed him.”
Solving the mystery of her father’s frequent disappearances was paramount, as was finding out why he needed so much time away from everyone he supposedly loved.
But hell, Dad. Silver bullets?
In all truth, she had to admit, being in this cabin for a few days by herself, with her dad’s things, had caused her more discomfort than seeing Danny’s face when she told him the engagement was off.
The men in her life were gone, and she was far too intelligent to imagine that velvet-voiced rangers could have stepped out of her dreams.
As for monsters...
The moon would be completely full in another twenty-four hours, a big deal in werewolf lore, at least in the movies. If the approaching moon was some kind of supernatural stimulant, all werewolves would be affected. If there were such things as man-wolf creatures, her dream lover would be affected, too. And with her dad’s gun under her pillow, she’d be ready for anything that dream had to offer.
Gavin hadn’t found the trail of the creature he sought. Although he’d gotten close enough to taste its feral presence, one too many detours had brought him back, time and time again, to stare at the cabin, wishing to see her.
He hadn’t meant to circle back. He had, in fact, been heading in the opposite direction. Yet here he was again, staring down at the blasted cabin, telling himself, “Don’t be an idiot. No one needs a woman that bad.”
Obviously, he didn’t believe that on some level.
The beast he hunted, which had a fondness for blood and sacrifices, disappeared just after midnight. After following its malevolent stench south, the damn thing vanished into thin air. He’d spent a fruitless night backtracking all over the mountain, and more time searching throughout the day to make sure he hadn’t missed anything crucial. Now, once again, darkness wasn’t far off, putting him a hell of a lot closer to the phase of the moon that counted.
He eyed the cabin warily, figuring that if his interest in the woman down there kept up, he’d have to chain himself to the Jeep to avoid showing up on her doorstep, in person. The next time he confronted that woman, she might do more than point the weapon in his direction. She might actually pull the trigger.
He thought about that gun, and what it might do to him.
It was possible that he could he survive a bullet at close range, but it would certainly slow him down. When the beast inside him took over, several bullets might be required to make a permanent dent.
In theory, anyway.
He’d only tested his survival skills once, when he was accidentally hit by an arrow fired at him by mistake. That hunter now spent time in a cell.
And by the way...that arrow had been a bitch.
Gavin searched the clearing.
The cabin looked quiet in the evening light, though he knew the woman hadn’t taken his advice and hit the road. A ribbon of gray smoke rose from the chimney.
Stubborn streak?
Who in their right mind remained resistant to a ranger’s warning, or stepped outside in the middle of the night to face anyone or anything that might be out there?
Not courageous, necessarily. More like impulsive.
Maybe she gets off on danger.
And just maybe he’d make it his business to find out.
Besides, he was ravenous for company, and the smoke coming from the cabin carried the smell of food. If he knocked on the door, was there was a remote possibly she’d invite him in for a bite?
Gavin shook his head, rubbed his eyes.
She shouldn’t be alone. The last death out here had been gruesome. Some poor doctor found in a gulley, sliced to shreds. Gavin had an idea about how that might have happened, and that idea didn’t include a slippery trail. But he couldn’t speak of it to anyone. Who’d believe him?
The doctor who had occupied the cabin died just ten days ago, which made the new occupant’s tenancy a quick turnaround. Possibly the woman was part of that man’s family.
She’d probably have her pants on today.
Smiling felt strange. So did the compulsion to go down there. He didn’t know why this woman’s presence was so intriguing to him that his vow of celibacy strained at its leash.
He was way too hungry for everything that cabin had to offer,