Lone Wolf

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” she responded, wishing her heart would quit dominating her throat.

Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at the ground. And noticed Hawk’s feet. He wasn’t wearing moccasins today. Instead, he sported a pair of dusty black cowboy boots, the toes turned up, the leather scuffed.

“I just got off work,” he offered.

“Oh.” Was he a cowboy of some sort? A ranch hand perhaps? His clothes were nearly as dusty as his boots.

“I’m a horse trainer,” he said, as though he’d just read her mind. “I lease a barn at Jackson Stables.”

Neither spoke after that. Jenny tried to relax, but she could feel Hawk’s eyes on her.

He stared at her hair, at the gold-streaked tresses that used to be a quiet shade of brown. She touched a strand self-consciously. She wasn’t used to being a blonde yet, but she’d changed the color hoping Roy wouldn’t recognize her so easily.

Hawk shifted his gaze to the dog. “Are you in the market for a puppy?”

“I don’t think I have enough time for him. My career keeps me busy.” And her fear of being tracked down by her ex-husband kept her on the move. “He is adorable, though.” She gave the floppy-eared mutt a loving glance.

“He looks like he’s got some Australian Shepard in him.” The boys perked up, realizing they had a potential adoptive parent kneeling to check out the dog.

“He’s part beagle, too,” the older kid said.

“That’s some combination.” Hawk picked up the puppy, then stood and faced Jenny. The young dog wiggled excitedly in his arms.

“I’ve never seen a mixed blood quite like this one, have you?”

She shook her head, distracted by Hawk’s choice of words. The dog was a mixed breed. Mixed blood was a term more suited to humans.

And then suddenly she knew why he’d made that subconscious error. Hawk was of mixed blood. She hadn’t noticed the Caucasian in him before, but she could see touches of his white ancestry now. His skin was more copper than brown, and the long, slim line of his nose bore a shape she often associated with English aristocracy. Of course, on Hawk’s strong-boned face, it didn’t look quite so genteel.

Jenny had never given her own ancestry much thought, but she suspected Hawk’s mattered to him. Or at least the Native American side did.

“Will you dog-sit once in a while?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

“The puppy. I’m thinking about keeping him.”

She gazed at the dog and laughed when he nudged her with his paw. He looked snug as a bug in Hawk’s sturdy arms. Fluffy and sweet. Now she wanted to go back into the market and buy him a cart full of chewy treats and squeaky toys.

“Yes,” she said, without thinking clearly. “I’ll dog-sit as often as I can.”

“Great.” Hawk’s lips curved into that fleeting smile, the one that gentled his features and softened the scar near his mouth.

Jenny only stared. And then her heart went crazy, pounding like an out-of-control drum.

Dear God. How could this be happening? She was attracted to Hawk. After all she had been through with Roy, and now this. She wasn’t ready to feel this way, to confront a physical attraction.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a few more minutes?” He held up the puppy, and the floppy-eared little guy yipped happily at her.

“No,” she responded a bit nervously. “I can’t.”

Hawk watched Jenny wheel her cart across the parking lot. Why was she so cautious? Why did she run away from him every chance she got?

At this point, he didn’t think his reputation had preceded him. Whatever plagued Jenny went much deeper than frivolous gossip.

There were moments she reminded him of a wounded creature—a skittish filly or a bird with a broken wing.

Of course, Hawk had experience in both those areas. But he’d never gotten close to a woman with a fragile spirit.

Then again, he’d never gotten close to anyone.

“Are you gonna keep the dog, mister?”

He glanced at the kids. “Yeah, I am. Is that okay with you two?”

“Sure. He needs a home.”

Well, he’s got one now, Hawk thought, as the puppy continued to wiggle like a furry, wet-nosed worm. Reaching into his pocket, he removed his wallet and handed the boys some cash.

Dumbfounded, they stared at him. “He doesn’t cost anything. We’re giving him away.”

“I know, but I don’t mind paying for him.” Hawk wanted the dog to know that he was just as valuable as a pedigreed dog with papers. Animals, like humans, he believed, sensed their worth.

“Our dad said he was the runt.”

“Right now maybe. But look at the size of these feet.” He held out one of the pup’s big clumsy paws. “He’s not going to be a runt forever.”

The boys grinned and accepted the donation just as Hawk’s cell phone rang.

He walked away for some privacy. “Hello?”

“Hawk, it’s Tom Jackson. I think you better get back to the barn.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve got a client waiting on you. And he’s the impatient sort.”

Hawk frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone at the barn, not at this hour. “Then put him on the phone.”

The other man paused. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not. I think you need to handle this in person.”

“All right.” Whoever the client was, he certainly had the owner of Jackson Stables jumping through hoops. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Hawk loaded the puppy into his truck and decided not to speculate about who was waiting for him. If someone had a professional beef with him, he would find out what the problem was and remedy it. Hawk considered himself an ethical man, a man who didn’t brawl over things a firm handshake and a calm, rational attitude could fix.