In Graywolf's Hands. Marie Ferrarella
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Lydia knew that getting personally involved with Lukas Graywolf broke all the rules.
But not getting involved with him would have been a waste. A waste no matter how this was all destined to end—tonight, or a week from tonight. That it would end she never questioned. What she questioned was whether or not it would affect her judgment or her performance as an FBI agent.
She told herself it wouldn’t. That she was thinking as clearly as ever.
And what she thought—clearly—was that what was happening here was too intense for her not to explore. Being with Lukas made her aware that she needed more than work. It made her aware that there was another Lydia Wakefield, one who needed the touch of a man’s hands.
A Lydia who had a woman’s needs—needs that had not been met in a very long time….
In Graywolf’s Hands
Marie Ferrarella
MARIE FERRARELLA
earned a master’s degree in Shakespearean comedy, and, perhaps as a result, her writing is distinguished by humor and natural dialogue. This RITA® Award-winning author’s goal is to entertain and to make people laugh and feel good. She has written over one hundred books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide and have been translated into Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Japanese and Korean.
To
Patricia Smith
and
fairy tales that come true
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1
He was going to live.
Jacob Lindstrom was going to live to see his first grandchild born. Maybe even his first great-grand-child, if the man played his cards right. All because he, Lukas Graywolf, the first in his family to graduate from college, let alone medical school, had decided to make cardiac surgery his field of expertise.
That, and because Jacob’s wife had nagged him into taking a treadmill test, whose alarming results had sent the middle-aged corporate CEO to the operating table almost faster than he could blink an eye.
With excellent results.
Walking out of the alcove where friends and family were told to wait for news about the outcome of surgeries, Lukas let the door close behind him and took a deep breath. Never mind that it was basically recycled hospital air, it felt good, sweet, life-giving. And soon, Lukas thought, a hint of a smile finding its way to his lips and softening his chiseled features, Jacob Lindstrom would be able to say the same thing.
It was a good feeling to know that he had been instrumental in freeing another human from the grasp of death. His smile deepened ever so slightly as he turned down the long corridor.
This was probably the way his forefathers had felt. Those ancestors who, more than a handful of generations ago, had relied on the knowledge of plants and spiritual power to heal the sick and injured. There had been more than one shaman found in his family tree and, if he were to believe his mother’s stories, a few gifted “seers” and “healers” across the ocean in Ireland, as well.
It was a heady legacy, indeed, he mused. Lukas was one-quarter Irish, three-quarters Navaho but right now he was four-quarters exhausted. It had been a taxing surgery, not without its complications.
Turning a corner, he entered the doctors’ lounge. Shedding his scrubs, he put on his own clothes by rote, leaving behind his white lab coat. He was off duty, had technically been off duty for the past two hours. Except that Mr. Lindstrom’s surgery hadn’t exactly gone as planned. They’d almost lost the man twice.
Lindstrom’s vital signs were good now and there was every chance for a strong, rapid recovery.
Lukas had said as much to the man’s wife and grown children, who had spent the last few hours contemplating the possible demise of a man they had heretofore regarded as indestructible. He had barely finished talking when Mrs. Lindstrom had hugged him and blessed him.
He wasn’t much for physical contact, but he knew the woman needed it so he had stood still and allowed himself to be embraced, had even patted her on the shoulder. He’d left the woman with tears of joy in her eyes, counting the minutes until she could see her husband again.
Lukas’s mouth curved a little more as he shut his locker door. This was why he’d become a surgeon in the first place, why he had set his sights on heart surgery. The heart was the center of everything within a human being.
His goal was simple: to heal and preserve as many lives as he could. He figured the reason he’d been put on earth was to make a difference and he intended to do just that.
The rush that came over him was incredible and he paused beside the locker for a moment to savor it. He was one of the lucky ones, he knew. He could still feel the overwhelming elation after each surgery that went well. There were many in the medical community who had burned out, who performed surgery by the numbers and felt none of the gratification that he was feeling now.
They didn’t know what they were missing, Lukas thought, pity wafting through him. He picked up his windbreaker, feeling as if he could pretty near walk on water. Or at the very least, on some very deep puddles.
As he started to open the door to leave, it swung open. Allan Pierce, a first-year intern, stumbled in on the long end of a thirty-six-hour shift. His eyes brightened slightly, the way a private’s did in the presence of a four-star general.
“You on duty tonight, Dr. Graywolf?”
“Off,” Lukas told him crisply.
He could already visualize his bed, visualize his body sprawled out on top of it, the comforter lying in a crumpled heap on one or the other side of his body. Though it was only a year in his past, he’d gotten completely out of the habit of the long hours that interning and residency demanded. It wasn’t something he cared to revisit on a regular basis.
“Wish I were,” Allan mumbled. His shaggy blond hair drooped into his eyes, making him seem years younger than he was.
“You will be,” Lukas promised, feeling uncustomarily lighthearted. As a rule, he was distant with the interns. “In about five years. ’Night.”
So saying, Lukas walked out of the lounge and directly into the path of turmoil.
The rear doors of the emergency room sprang open as two ambulance attendants rushed in. A gust of leaves, chasing one another in the late autumn wind, swirled around the wheels of the gurney. The wounded man strapped to its board was screaming obscenities at anyone within earshot, but most were directed at the slender, no-nonsense blonde keeping pace with the attendants.
For just a second, as the wind lifted the edge of her jacket, Lukas thought he saw the hilt of a revolver. But then her jacket fell closed again and he found himself wondering if he’d just imagined