Call of the Wolf (3 page)

* * * *

Abby wasn't exactly mortified at the discovery that one of her nipples had been ‘eyeing’ the sheriff—probably the entire fucking time she'd been standing there seething with resentment—but it certainly didn't make her comfortable. Once she'd beat a retreat back into the house, she paced her room for a few minutes, though, trying to decide whether she was in any shape to deal with her disguise and finally decided it would be worse if she didn't.

Assuming the sheriff was to be one of the guests, and she thought she could safely assume that.

She was pretty sure he had no idea who she was or why she was there. The Feds tended to look down their noses at other law enforcement agencies and, in any case, the federal witness protection program was even more close-mouthed. The fewer who knew, the less chance there was that she'd be found.

She didn't make the mistake of thinking they actually gave a shit about her, but their case was a different matter. They were keeping her on ice just in case they needed her again.

Sheriff Seth Banner wouldn't know about her, she decided, and since she didn't particularly want to arouse his suspicions and have him nosing around, it seemed to her she needed to do some serious back pedaling to cover their hostile first meeting—or at least the hostility she'd aimed at him.

He'd seemed a little inclined to flirt, which might or might not mean he'd found her interesting. She hadn't been so angry that she hadn't noticed he was a damned fine specimen of male pulchritude—both face and form had been movie star grade—and since he hadn't struck her as an idiot, she was pretty sure he was well aware of it. So it could just be a habit to try to nail anything with tits and no particular interest, or it could be that he was one of those guys who thought it was his due and only got more determined if a woman didn't fall on her back and spread her legs immediately?

The question was, would it be quicker and less painful to let him make his mark and move on? Or would it be safe to snub him?

Pretty or not, she not only wasn't in any emotional state to have any desire to date, at all, because of her ex, but she'd developed a healthy dislike of anything wearing a badge. Maybe she was being a bigot, but she didn't particularly give a fuck. He could be the nicest guy in the world, but her instincts were telling her he wouldn't be wearing that damned badge if he wasn't a hell of a lot like the men, and women, who'd wrecked her life.

She'd just have to try to walk the line between polite and cold, she decided, if the sheriff was there. Ideally, he'd let it go at that. There had to be plenty of women on his beat that let him have anything he wanted anytime he wanted it—probably pestered him to fuck them. He'd survive without one more mare in his stable.

With that in mind, she moved to the stack of hideous dresses the Feds had decided was appropriate for her role as teacher, dragged her t-shirt and jeans off and pulled it on. She didn't bother with a bra. She rarely wore underclothes of any description unless she wasn't wearing panty hose, in which case she wore thongs. She didn't see any point in ditching her thongs for pantyhose, though, not when the damned dress hit her mid-calf.

Oh, yeah, she thought examining her reflection, definitely school marmish! Raking a brush ruthlessly through her hair, she tamed the dark auburn curls and trapped them with a stretch band in a pony tail at the base of her skull and then slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. Heels probably would've kept her from looking quite so dumpy, but she wasn't trolling and there was no making this sort of get-up stylish or elegant—not when the damned thing only emphasized the fact that she was shy of average height by several inches.

Pausing at her front door to gird herself for the ordeal, she took a few calming breaths and finally went out. The sun had set since she'd left the backyard she discovered and, although it still looked like there was at least an hour before full dark, she decided to go back in and turn on a few lights. When she'd locked every door and window and checked it twice, she grabbed the keychain agent Milner had given her that contained her car and house keys and stepped onto the porch again once she'd flipped on the porch light. After locking the door, she crossed the porch and descended the steps, glancing toward her neighbor's house.

The front porch seemed fuller than it had before and her stomach tightened. There was no way to pretend she hadn't been headed that way, though, and she merely tightened her hand around the keys until they were cutting into her palm and crossed the yard with as much aplomb as she could manage.

It was annoying and unnerving to have to take the walk to the gate and then down the sidewalk before she could turn up the walkway to the Bed-and-Breakfast, but even though the picket fence that surrounded her yard was short, she was pretty sure trying to step over it would be both painful and embarrassing. The older woman she'd spied earlier came out the door before she could reach the porch, her gaze instantly zeroing in on Abby. “Ms. Winthrope! I'm so glad you decided to join us! Seth seemed to think you might not."

Abby flicked a glance over the men ranged around the porch and finally spotted Seth sprawled in the swing at the far end near the corner where the porch turned and went down the side of the house. She smiled at the woman with an effort. “It isn't that I didn't appreciate the invitation. It was just a tiring trip and I have so much to do before Monday, so I'm pretty wound up."

"No doubt you're anxious to meet your students,” Ms. Parker said. “I'm sure it must be exciting getting a fresh start in a brand new place but unsettling, too. Let me introduce you to my guests. They're in town for the Harvest Festival. This handsome rogue here,” she added, patting the blond god in the rocking chair next to her, “is Cameron Fontaine. He's from New Orleans."

He stood abruptly, towering over her. Abby looked up at him, feeling her jaw drop with the effort. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Abigail,” he drawled, his blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn't entirely identify.

She found herself smiling back at him a little vacuously. “Abby,” she murmured absently.

His dark blond brows rose. She noticed he flicked a glance in Seth's direction. “This is what your close friends call you,
chère
?"

Abby reddened. “Uh ... I just hate the name Abigail."

Her response startled a chuckle out of him. “Ouch. You don't pull any punches,
chère
."

Abby couldn't help but smile, albeit wryly. “I imagine you'll recover,” she murmured dryly, turning away from him as Ms. Parker claimed her attention and introduced her to another of her guests, Adrian Paulson, who was as dark as Seth and as handsome.

What had she stumbled in to, she wondered? A male model convention?

"Seth, you've met,” the woman said, waving a hand in his direction. “He boards here and the big lug that nearly tripped you up coming up the steps there is Jerico Collins.” She glanced around the porch. “Food's on the table, boys. Don't run poor little Abby down on your way in!"

'Poor little Abby’ tried not to look at any of the ‘boys’ since she was fairly certain the woman had managed to offend all of them. She didn't know if it was the woman's admonition not to run her down on the way to the table or their own good manners, but they merely followed her and Ms. Parker inside in an orderly manner.

"You can call me Beth. Everybody does ... ‘cause I'm not too fond of Elizabeth and never was and my middle name's even worse."

Amused by the woman, liking her, Abby see-sawed toward comfort but there was no maintaining her composer. She discovered when they got to the dining room, there were two more men and one young woman who looked to be around her age, and who were also joining them for supper. She wasn't quite certain how the woman managed it, but she, Beth, and Julie were each seated between two of the men.

She would almost rather have been anywhere but where she was—sandwiched between Seth Banner and Cameron Fontaine. There was a relaxed, almost family gathering feel to the meal, and yet Abby had never been in the presence of so much male splendor in her life, which was enough in itself to throw any red-blooded female into a tailspin. When, added to that, she had to worry about every word she spoke, tension rolled through her in peaks and dips that made her feel vaguely ill in spite of the fact that the food was exceptionally good.

Julie Markam didn't seem to care for her. She projected a polite, cautiously friendly manner, and yet Abby felt almost a sense of hostility radiating from the woman any time she looked her way.

She couldn't quite figure out why. She was a visitor and, from what Abby could tell, she'd arrived alone, so it seemed unlikely the hostility had anything to do with any of the men present. It certainly wasn't work-related aggressiveness. Julie managed a boutique in Houston.

"You're on vacation?” Abby asked a little curiously, wondering if, maybe, the woman had relatives in town.

Julie's expression rebuffed her, but she responded politely enough. “I came for the Festival."

Surprise jolted through Abby. The Hicksville Harvest Moon Festival? She'd come all the way from Texas to attend a fall festival in backwater USA? “Oh,” Abby said a little blankly. “I've never heard of it. It must be really special?"

The undercurrents that ran through everyone at the table confused her even more. Beth smiled without looking at her. “It is ... very special. Starting Thursday afternoon, the booths will be open and there'll be craftsmen from all over the country there displaying their crafts. Friday we'll have the barbeque and barn dance and then Saturday, of course, is the Harvest Moon ritual.

"I expect Ms. Markam's here for the crafts. There's bound to be all sorts of things available that she'll be interested in for the boutique."

"Julie, please,” Ms. Markam said, smiling at the older woman. “I feel like my mother when you call me Ms. Markam ... and, yes, I'm hoping to find some real treasures for the boutique at the craft show, but I'm looking forward to enjoying the entire Festival this year."

She flicked a flirtatious glance around the table at the men as she made the last comment.

Actually, it was a little more than just flirtatious. It looked downright openly sexual as it paused on Seth significantly for several moments and then switched to Cameron before she finally settled her gaze speculatively on Abby. “What brings you here if you didn't come for the festival?"

Aside from the fact that the woman's tone set her back up, Abby wasn't particularly thrilled to be in Ajax at all. She smiled with an effort. “A job. I'll be teaching K-5 at Ajax Elementary."

Julie's blond brows rose almost to her hairline. “You're a teacher?” She paused. “I don't suppose there's much teaching involved with pre-schoolers, though, is there?"

Abby would've been willing to agree with her right up until that moment. “It's certainly a challenge trying to teach young children, but then that's what I've always loved about teaching—helping to mold young minds,” she lied, smiling through her teeth. “You must find your own career so much more rewarding. Convincing women to part with their hard earned money for over-priced clothes and unnecessary accessories can't be easy.” She batted her eyelashes at the woman.

Julie flushed but maintained her smile. “It
is
rewarding—particularly when I have someone like you to work with. For instance—don't take offense—but neither the color nor the lines of that ... dress are particularly flattering. You're too short to carry something like that off. It just makes you look dumpier ... uh ... shorter."

It was hard to think of a retort to that, particularly when she completely agreed. “Oh, well style and teaching don't really go together. Parents like to feel that the teacher's focused on teaching, not the fathers of their students. I did notice your ensemble was very flattering to your figure, though. I'd always heard that it was best to stick to solid colors unless you have a particularly nice feature you want to draw attention to and, of course, the flowing lines can hide a multitude of defects in the figure. The wide belt is a nice touch. It actually makes your waist look small ... uh ... er,” Abby replied, smiling sweetly at the other woman.

"I see you're a woman who enjoys living dangerously,
chère
,” Cameron said in an audible whisper near her ear, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. “You doan, by chance, have a partner for the dance Friday? ‘Cause if you doan, I might be available."

Abby couldn't help but laugh. “You're an outrageous flirt. You know that, of course?"

He tried to look wounded but amusement danced in his eyes.

"She only arrived this afternoon,” Seth said in a sardonic drawl. “I doubt she's had time to field many invitations, but I'd intended to offer to escort her myself."

Abby sent him a quick look of surprise, feeling her face heat uncomfortably. Dragging her gaze from him after a moment, she glanced around at the other diners, trying to decide how to respond. Everyone at the table, it appeared, sensed the hostility wafting between the two men on either side of her—for everyone had tensed.

"Actually,” Adrian drawled. “I thought I'd ask her myself."

When had she become the belle of the ball, Abby wondered uneasily? “Actually,” she managed to say finally, “as much as
she
appreciates the invitations,
she
didn't know anything about the dance and
she
probably won't be going at all."