Protector Wolf

Absurd to even think about it. He was simply being nice. Kind. Sympathetic.

She shouldn’t need sympathy. Morton Fritts did. She felt just terrible about what had happened to him, as if it was her fault.

But she hadn’t brought the wolves here. She was merely an advocate, excited that a wonderful protected and endangered species appeared to be making a resurgence here.

Enough of a resurgence that she, perhaps acting foolish in her delight, had nearly been attacked, too.

If anyone should have been mauled, it was her.

“Thanks,” she finally said in as decisive a voice as she could muster. She pulled back, immediately feeling somewhat bereft as Ryan no longer held her, no longer touched her. But it was better this way. “Let’s go find our table—although I’m not very hungry now.”

“Don’t let any of this get to you.” Ryan’s tone sounded like an order, and she looked up into his face. His brows were knitted, but there was something in his expression that suggested caring. She started to smile, though a bit weakly she figured—but then he added, “Of course I gather you also did something as foolish as Morton Fritts, but you’re just lucky you weren’t hurt, too.”

She took a step back, bumping into someone standing there in line. She excused herself but didn’t take her gaze off Ryan.

How did he know that? She hadn’t left a message when she’d tried calling him at the hotel. And all she’d really said on the subject this morning was that she’d had an interesting night.

Still, under the circumstances—the howls and barks in the distance and her obvious love of wolves—he could certainly have guessed what she’d done.

And since he apparently hadn’t been in his room when she called last night, maybe he had done the same thing. And maybe he had seen her, though she hadn’t seen him.

She needed some answers. “Yes,” she said, “I’m lucky, and maybe you are, too. Did you do anything after you heard those howls last night?”

When he frowned and opened his mouth to reply, she shook her head. “Let’s go sit down and order breakfast—and we can each tell our reactions to those sounds and what we did about them.”

* * *

Okay, so he’d gone a little too far in his initial chastisement of Maya. So what?

He didn’t have to get into specifics.

As they made their way between tables, with him in front, Ryan spotted Piers sitting at a table outside just beyond the glass door. He couldn’t see Rocky at first but figured the dog had been there long enough to relax and lie down on the patio.

“There they are,” he said and finished leading Maya to the table.

Rocky stood up, and Ryan couldn’t help smiling at the way Maya immediately went over and petted him before taking her seat facing Piers. That was a good thing, since one of the remaining chairs had its back to the far patio wall, and if Ryan sat there he’d be able to keep an eye on the crowd.

Ears, too—although he hoped he didn’t regret too much that he was there as a human, with limited ability to eavesdrop. But if someone happened to mention the word wolf he was sure he would hear it.

Piers picked up the menus near him on the tabletop. Ryan noticed he’d already gotten a cup of coffee. As he handed a menu to Ryan, Piers looked at him quizzically, as if asking what he’d missed.

But he’d heard the worst of it before heading to the table: Morton Fritts had apparently been attacked by a wolf.

Ryan didn’t want to bring that up now. There was nothing they could do over breakfast to research which type of wolf had attacked the man, let alone fix that situation.

As a result, he just gave a brief shrug and opened his menu. “Great! They have a good selection, and I’m hungry.” Which he actually was, after his busy night on the hillside.

Not to mention the energy used for shifting. That burned a lot of calories.

As he read the menu, he did hear the word wolf and several times with his heightened hearing. He allowed himself to glance in those directions. Other seated diners, both here and inside, seemed to be discussing the events of last night—at least the howls, since he heard that word a few times, too.

He also heard the word attack at least once...

News had apparently spread about Morton Fritts. Not that it was likely to be hushed up for any reason—not even by shifters, if they were the source of the problem. They could discuss it while in human form, but would they know who did it—shifters or not? And if shifters, which ones were involved?

But with all the various conversations, many of which seemed to be on that subject, and the fact that there was a curious woman at his side so he couldn’t simply sit there listening, Ryan gave up on the possibility of learning much that was useful right away.

Nor did he get any sense, via scent or conversation, that anyone here was a shifter—not that his belief was conclusive.

He decided to order eggs with sausage and toast. Good thing he figured that out fairly quickly since their server, a thirtysomething woman who looked like she’d been at this for a while, came right over to their table for their orders.

Maya asked for only toast and decaf. When the server was gone, she looked toward Ryan. “Did you go outside, too, after you heard the howls?”

Ryan knew he had to be cautious about how he responded. But he’d already hinted that he was aware she hadn’t stayed in her room.

Not that she’d recognized him. Sure, he had chased the other wolves away from her, but he didn’t think she had a clue that any of them were shifters.

Before he responded, though, he glanced toward Piers and grinned, knowing his aide would take his cue and keep any answers on his part consistent with Ryan’s.

“Yes, we did hear those howls and all and went out for a little while,” Ryan said. “As representatives of US Fish and Wildlife, we wanted to gather as much information as we could. We wanted to listen, to try to determine how many animals, presumably wolves, were howling and from what direction. We left Rocky in our car since he wouldn’t necessarily follow a safety protocol and stay with us rather than pulling away to chase whatever was making those sounds.” He glanced down at the dog, who once more was lying on the patio.

Ryan then shot a glance toward Maya, just as the server came with her decaf and his high-octane coffee. She also refilled Piers’s cup. “Your food will be up shortly,” she said, then left.

“Did you hear any more when you were out there?” Maya asked. “See anything?”

“A few more distant howls and barks, but that was all—and we didn’t see any wolves or other wildlife.” He didn’t need to tell the truth, of course. In fact, nearly everything he said was a lie. He happened to be one of those wolves. “How about you? Did you go outside to check things out, too?”

He needed to tread somewhat lightly here, but he’d already suggested he knew that answer.

“Yes,” she said. “I wanted to see the wolves, so I followed the sounds as best I could.”

“I gathered they were on the hillsides beyond the park. Was that what you determined?”

“Yes,” Maya said. She sucked in her lips slightly as if in worry, and if Ryan read her expression correctly she was recalling all that had happened.

“And did you see any?” Her response would be what determined how he followed up.

“Yes,” she said almost curtly. He gathered she didn’t want to continue after that.

But Piers, great aide that he was, was the one to ask, “Really? What did you see?”

Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked down at the table. “They were beautiful,” she said almost reverently.

Ryan shouldn’t feel so happy to hear her words, her attitude. Maya might be one gorgeous woman with a laudable attitude toward wolves—but she had no idea who and what he was, along with the probability that there were at least a few others in this area.

She might not be so pleased about the proximity of wolves if she did.

“How many wolves did you see?” Piers continued. “Where were they? I assume you didn’t get near any of them, right?”