Bayou Wolf. Debbie Herbert
planted with cotton. The quarter moon easily highlighted its movement down rows of ankle-deep greenery, allowing her to watch from a greater distance. Across the field, bright lights shone through windows at Jeb’s old farmhouse. He’d vacated it last year and put it up for sale, preferring to live closer to town now that he was older and his sons had taken on most of the farming duties.
News to her that someone had bought the old place. It was large and old-fashioned, a wooden, three-story behemoth that over the decades had been a temporary home for many field hands. Nearly every house light blazed, and over a dozen cars and trucks were parked in the front yard.
The animal cut a direct path across the cotton field, straight to the back porch door. Was it a danger to anyone who might step outside for a smoke or a bit of fresh air? Tallulah jogged across the field, prepared to fight if needed, but the creature confidently climbed the back steps and nudged open the screen door with its broad snout.
Tallulah ran, blood pounding in her ears as loud as ocean waves crashing on shore. She’d never seen a wild animal so brazen, so indifferent to the danger posed by humans. At the edge of the property, she witnessed the animal squeeze into an extralarge doggie door and enter the farmhouse.
It was in the freaking house. She panted, hands on hips, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. The animal was not a dog. It more closely resembled a coyote. Actually...okay, she admitted to the fantastic notion, it appeared to be a wolf. It was much too large to be a coyote. Wolves weren’t supposed to be in south Alabama, but she’d seen many stranger things in the bayou woods.
Her ears tingled, waiting for the inevitable shrieks and commotion from inside the house, but silence reigned in the woods.
She’d heard wolves were cagey, but this was ridiculous. A wild animal in the house was bound to make noise, would elicit surprise from the residents. Obviously, people were home—unless they had gone out and left all the lights on.
Yes, that could explain it. Curiosity propelled her forward until she crept in the hedges against the farmhouse. A jumble of male voices sounded in a back room as she passed, and she raised up from her crouch by the open window. Just a quick second was all she needed, and she ducked back down in the hedge before she could be spotted.
The den was packed with over a dozen men. Some playing cards, some watching TV and a couple playing pool.
Not a wolf in sight. And no commotion among the men.
Tallulah tiptoed to the driveway, determined to learn as much as possible. Heat fanned across her face. Peeping into windows wasn’t exactly her normal modus operandi. It was necessary. The wolf is a danger, and my duty is to protect, she insisted to herself. Still, the curiosity remained, and she decided to see if she recognized any of the cars.
A hodgepodge of pickup trucks and beater cars were parked haphazardly in the front yard. Crouching, she went from vehicle to vehicle. All of them had Montana tags. Transient farm workers arrived from all over, but usually they were from nearby states, and quite a few came from elsewhere in Alabama.
Now what? Tallulah stood, debating her options. Perhaps a ruse could gain her entry. She’d knock at the door and claim to be looking for her lost dog. But that wouldn’t be too smart. She was no frail flower, but a single female approaching a group of strange men at night would be a dumb move. No, best to leave and gather more information later.
A screen door creaked open.
Holy crap. Tallulah dropped to the ground behind a truck, and her heart thudded against her chest as she listened intently. Footsteps plodded down the front porch steps. What if this was his truck and he wanted to drive? She furtively looked around, seeking other avenues of cover. Fingers crossed that the guy just came out for a bit of fresh air or to smoke a cigarette.
Tallulah wrapped her energy tightly around her body, somewhat cloaking her scent—just in case the wolf made an appearance. It was a form of protection for the shadow hunters in seeking and destroying their prey.
Gravel and weeds crunched underfoot. Damn it, the man was headed straight in her direction. Another couple of steps and she was toast.
* * *
Danger.
The smell of human was faint but totally out of place, and Payton’s wolf senses shifted to high alert. The scent teased his brain. He’d smelled it before—recently, too. Who the hell would be out in this remote area at this time of night? Someone up to no good.
No need to call the rest of the pack. Whoever the prowler was, he’d no doubt take off before backup arrived.
Payton unerringly followed his nose. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he geared up for a fight. Danger had seemingly followed them for hundreds of miles. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he flexed them into his palms, his nails digging into calloused flesh. If he needed to shift to wolf form, so be it.
The human smell emanated from behind Darryl’s pickup. The scent grew stronger—it was woodsy and green. His memory strained, almost grasping where he’d encountered it before. Another step closer, and Payton picked up the tart zing of citrus mixed with the other notes. Recognition slammed into his consciousness.
Well, I’ll be damned. He walked swiftly to the rear of the truck, where the human huddled into a ball on the ground. “What the hell are you doing on my property, Tallulah Silver?” he demanded.
Her head slowly rose, eyes flashing in surprise. She stood and brushed the front of her jeans. “You found me.” Her brow furrowed, as if she were puzzled. “How did you manage that?”
“Answer my question.” No need to try to be friendly or placate the woman now. “Were you perhaps putting sugar in the gas tanks? Nails in the tires?”
Her chin jutted forward. “Of course not. Why would I vandalize your property? I’m no criminal.”
“To run us off from our job.” Conservationists could be a passionate lot. Militant, even. And she’d been extremely confrontational this morning.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she countered. The arrogance in her manner had returned. “I was out for a walk and got spooked when you came outside. I’ll be on my way now.”
That woman, spooked? He snorted. “You’re lying.”
“Believe what you will.”
She turned away, and he grabbed the handle of the backpack slung across her shoulders. Damn, it looked heavy, as if it were loaded with rocks. “Not so fast. What you got in there?”
“None of your business.”
She tried jerking out of his grasp, but he held firm. “It is my business when you’re sneaking around on my land.”
“You got a property title? ’Cause I’m pretty sure this land belongs to Jeb. Not you.” A nasty smile curled her full lips.
She’d cunningly boomeranged his own words from their earlier encounter. “A technicality. We’re renting, which gives me a reason to legally be here. Now, why are you slinking around our home?”
“I told you already.” With surprising strength, she pulled away from his grasp. “If you want to call the cops or something, be my guest. I happen to know the sheriff.”
Terrific. She had connections with some Bubba local law enforcement dude. And trouble with the authorities was the last thing they needed. The locals here could call the cops in Montana, and information might get exchanged about a series of unsolved murders. He and his pack were innocent of wrongdoing, but it was as if a toxic miasma clouded their reputations.
“We can settle this between the two of us, no need for the police,” he replied. “For the last time, what are you doing here?”
“And if I don’t change my answer?”
Maddening. What a shrew. Her eyes flashed, and her chest rose and fell with her hot-tempered breathing. Ah, but she was sexy as all get-out. His gaze focused in on the cleavage exposed by her deep, V-cut shirt.