made his leg pulse.
âIf you go, take Reggie.â
She paused. âWhy?â
âThat wolf is still out there.â
Becca glanced at the front door. âIn the yard?â
âI didnât see her, butââ
âYeah, no,â she said.
âWhat do you mean, no?â
âDid I stutter? The last time your dog saw a wolf, he attacked her.â
âExactly.â
âShe wasnât doing anything but protecting me.â
âAnd why was that?â he asked.
âBecause you had a shovel and you appeared ready to use it. On my head.â
âI didnât mean why did she protect you, but why did she protect anyone? Sheâs a wild animal. They donât protect humans.â
âWolves are different.â
A long, low, mournful howl rose toward the moon.
âThat one sure is,â he muttered.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
I escaped upstairs while Owen was distracted by the wolf howl.
He hadnât looked so good. I suppose finding a pile of charred fur in your living room wasnât the best welcome home, but it hadnât been aimed at him. Had it?
No. No one could have known heâd be coming home. Could they?
I hadnât lied when I said I hadnât listened to scuttlebutt about him. I couldnât bear it. Iâd loved him so damn much. His leaving had been difficult, but Iâd tried to understand.
I have nothing, Becca.
You have me.
I wasnât enough. Iâd tried not to let him know how much that hurt. I got up every morning hoping for his letter. When it came at last it was agony.
So why had I kissed him tonight like the foolish girl Iâd once beenâcrazy in love with a boy who would only hurt me?
My fatherâs words. He couldnât help it. He loved me.
Heâd loved Owen too. But us together ⦠Not so much.
In the end heâd been right. Owen had left me. Iâd been so devastated my first year of college was still a blur. Iâd managed not to flunk out, and at the University of Wisconsin that wasnât easy. The school was hard and my major, zoology, not for sissies.
Considering our history and my heartbreak, why had I kissed him? Because heâd been sitting on the couch where weâd first touched? Because when he came near me all I could do was remember every single other time that he had?
Or had it been because the sight on that table had scared the shit out of me, and Iâd needed to forget for an instant in the arms of the only man whoâd ever made me feel strong, capable, and adult?
Hell, be honest, Owen was the only man whoâd ever made me feel anything. The first brush of his mouth and Iâd been lost.
I was twelve, and he was taking my hand, holding it tight during The Blair Witch Project. The movie had struck a little close to home. I had no idea why weâd watched it.
I was thirteen, and he was kissing me in that very room, tasting my tongue, his palm hot at my waist, his thumb almost brushing my breast.
We were fifteen, and theyâd just taken away his mother for what would be the last time. Those damn voices had told her to kill him. Was it any wonder Iâd never mentioned hearing voices of my own?
The expression on his faceâconfused, crushed, helpless. Iâd held him in my arms; weâd both fallen asleep on the couch. My parents had found us. Iâd begged them to give him a home, and they had. Soon after, Iâd tried to give him me. To his credit, heâd refused.
For a few years more.
Memories tumbled through my mind as I ran up the steps, down the hall, through a room as trashed as those below. At least the windows werenât busted, but the door leading onto the porch was warped, and I had to put my shoulder into it to get the thing open enough to slip outside. I was just glad I didnât have to ask Owen for help. I needed some distance, and I needed it now. Damn him for bringing everything back. I hadnât