Wild Thing
Authors: Mia Watts
www.total-e-bound.comWild Thing
ISBN #978-0-85715-272-5
©Copyright Mia Watts 2010
Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright August 2010
Edited by Christine Riley
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
Total-e-burning.
WILD THING
Mia Watts
Dedication
Kris Norris: power goddess of computers, uplifter-er of low spirits, fetish hound of American accents, convertee to male erotic reading, and dear, irreplaceable friend…this one’s for you.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Boy Scouts of America: Boy Scouts of America Corporation Gore-tex: W. L. Gore & Associates, Inc.
Dockers: Levi Strauss and Co. Corporation
GQ: Conde Nast Publications Inc.
“Nothing?” DNR Officer Jack Allen asked, his gaze sweeping over Ryan Walsh’s enigmatic expression.
Any excuse to look at Ryan was a good one. Especially at eight in the morning when Ryan was sipping hot coffee on the front porch of his log cabin.
Ryan shook his head, a slight move to the left and back. The mug pressed against his full lower lip, distracting Jack from his line of questioning.
“Is that all, officer?” Amusement coloured his husky tones.
Jack lifted his gaze and found the same twinkle in the depths of Ryan’s chocolate brown eyes. Jack’s partner nudged him. He blinked and felt the distinct rise of a blush touch his cheeks with heat. “Uh, no. If you see anything suspicious, give me a call?” Jack unsnapped his breast pocket, intending to give him a business card.
“I have your number,” Ryan murmured.
“You do?”
Ryan’s smile widened further. “You gave me a card the last time you were out here tagging red foxes. I keep it beside my phone.” His eyes flicked to Jack’s partner, Clancy. “I can call you the minute something comes up.”
He lowered his mug, the pale white porcelain gleamed in the bright sunshine as it broke the shade of the covered porch. Jack didn’t think he had Attention Deficit Disorder, but Ryan Walsh had a way of twisting small moments into sharp detail.
He wondered briefly if Ryan thought Jack had the mental acuity of a goldfish. Distracted by shiny things, goggle-eyed whenever Ryan spoke, lame words coming out of Jack’s mouth—God, he must seem like such a moron.
“Beginning to think you come out here just to check on me,” Ryan remarked casually.
“Your cabin is in the middle of the largest open forestry area and within miles of the sightings. You go out alone to photograph wildlife.” Jack shrugged. “It makes sense to ask you if you’ve seen the thing people report seeing,” he reasoned. “And we grew up together.”
Ryan put his mug down on the wooden railing, took a couple of steps down. A wicked smile touched a corner of his sculpted lips. “Sounds like you need a tour guide.”
“Right. We both used to play in these woods. Just keep your eyes open for the oversized wolf.”
“Ever think it might be a prank?”
“He’s right,” Clancy decided.
“Did Jenna Frank look like she was kidding when she filed that report?” Jack asked his partner.
Clancy gave him a funny look. “Maybe. Could have been Gentry. A man can put on a fur coat and growl convincingly enough if he wanted to. He’s got a thing for twisted pranks. I can’t see there being a Timber wolf the size of the reports. That ain’t natural. I say you take Ryan up on the offer, spend a few nights hanging out in a pup-tent and catch the bastards.”
Well fuck Clancy to hell. He never should have confessed his attraction for Ryan to his partner. Until six years ago, Ryan had been dating a local guy pretty regularly. His type tended towards lean, wiry men who looked like they belonged on the cover of GQ. Jack looked nothing like that pretty boy.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clancy, you keep talking about moving to the cities. You’ll never get there by treating every report like a joke. And boy howdy, do I want to help you leave this place, so pull some professionalism out of your ass and
pretend
to have a mature thought in your head. Okay?”
Ryan chuckled. He picked up his mug, holding it casually at his side. His long fingers gripped it around the rim instead of the handle. The man had great hands. Perfect hands and wide wrists, and
oh god
Jack was doing it again! What the fuck was wrong with him? Any time Ryan came anywhere near him, Jack went absolutely daft. It had always been that way. He sighed in annoyance at his fascination with the man.
“Sorry about this, Ryan.” Jack turned and headed to the car, denying himself another look into Ryan’s bottomless brown eyes and the wind tossed black hair that flirted with his gaze and chiselled cheekbones. “I’ll let you get back to your coffee.” He spared a quick grin, aimed in Ryan’s general direction. “You have a nice morning.”
He slammed the door without waiting for Ryan’s response, then gripped the steering wheel. Surly and annoyed at his partner for nearly spilling the beans about Jack’s pointless crush, he ground his teeth while he waited for him to get in the car.
“Clancy, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he muttered when his partner finally got in.
“Is that a threat? Are you threatening to violently end my life? Do I need to file a harassment report?” Clancy mocked.
“Asshole.”
“It’s not my asshole you’re measuring, dickhead.”
Jack slammed his foot on the accelerator and tore out of the dirt drive.
“Real suave, Ryan.” Ryan watched the car speed away, dirt kicking up behind it until he saw nothing more than a grey-brown trail of dust. He was going to have to kill Clancy. For damn sure, he’d never get stupid enough to ask him leading questions about his sexy partner again. Jack’s no-nonsense, rugged, tell-it-like-it-is personality always made Ryan a little speechless.
This time, he’d tried flirting. All he’d succeeded in doing was making Jack distinctly uncomfortable and, apparently, pissed off. If Clancy hadn’t told Jack, Ryan had just laid himself out in obvious puppy love fashion.
Ryan ran his hand through his hair and winced when his fingers snagged. Goddamn it! He hadn’t even brushed his hair yet. Or showered. He looked a damn mess. He made a sound of disgust and rolled his head back on his shoulders to stare heavenward. “This isn’t going to end well.”
He pushed the heavy cabin door and stepped into the cool, dark interior. Leaning on ritual, he put his coffee cup in the compact dishwasher and headed for the shower. The day was young. He had a lot to do, and if he didn’t want to come face to face with another person, he needed to grab his camera and go.
Having cleaned up, he donned an old pair of faded army fatigues, his favourites for all the pockets and the human attempt to blend into the surroundings. He pulled on a light brown cotton shirt and shrugged into his hiking pack, slinging his camera case across his chest. The camera itself though bounced solidly from its strap around his neck. He hated missing a good shot.
It wasn’t until after he’d left the cabin, he realised he’d forgotten something to tie back his hair. He shrugged off the thought as being one of those impositions of humanity that nature didn’t mind. As if to prove a point, autumn lifted playful fingers into his hair and flung the strands across his eyes.
Leaves crunched underfoot. He made an effort to walk softer, disturb the ground less. It came easier as he sank into his surroundings, let the woods tell him how to move with it. Like a dance between shadows, branches, dappled light, and the hurried scurry of smaller animals looking for food before winter found them unprepared.
He loved this time of year.
Ryan inhaled the musky scent of softening wood and loamy ground covering. The air held a subtle spiciness to it, a richness that tickled his nose with something just out of reach among his memories. He smiled, lured on by crisp air and hints of warmth touching his skin when the sun broke the sparse canopy to tease him.
Ahead, he spied the rocky outcropping that overlooked his favourite morning spot. Herons congregated at the water’s edge twenty feet below. Canadian geese squawked on their flight south. Ryan hopped easily over the rocks and dropped down the other side, tucking himself into a shadowed crevice.
Today was part of his wildlife study of the lake. He wanted to capture every expression of it from this spot. If he were lucky, if he stayed late enough, he’d catch sight of the loons calling out as they settled in for the night.
He smiled with satisfaction. The only thing missing in that moment was sharing the beauty with someone. Specifically, Jack. He’d known Jack for a lifetime, knew he loved nature as much as Ryan did or he wouldn’t have joined the Department of Natural Resources. They’d found their niche in different ways, but both celebrated the wild beauty of northern Minnesota.
What else did they have in common? Ryan’s stomach fluttered nervously. He’d like a chance to find out, but with Jack on the trail of a huge Timber wolf, Ryan didn’t think now was a good time. Maybe in a week or two when he had things under control. Then he’d gladly take Jack out in a pup-tent.
His smile widened. He raised the camera to his eye as he focused the lens on a spotted leopard frog half-asleep. “You’re out kind of late in the year, little guy.”
He’d like to get that tent rocking, too. How would cut-and-dry Jack feel about that, he wondered. It got cold in the evenings. A little combustible body heat never did anyone harm.
Ryan snapped the picture. His shutter sounded loud and out of place. Settling in a little deeper, he thought about the Gore-Tex jacket in his pack. Goose flesh already rose on his arms, but he held off, wanting to experience every minute of the fall weather.
Jack turned his truck down another dirt and gravel road. This one had the earmarks of a private path, but then this was deer hunting territory and the season was approaching. He turned off the ignition and scoped the line of trees on either side of where he’d stopped.
Jack had gone over the reports several times. Marked on the map, the sightings were southeast of Aitkin Lake, not too far where it butted up against Big Sandy Lake. The two together made a natural barrier for an animal to cross. It was as though the animal had bottlenecked himself on the finger of land.
The feeding grounds would be good there, Jack reasoned. Good enough to support a Timber wolf four feet from paw to shoulder? The reports were farfetched to say the least. Hysteria and building myth would account for a lot of it.
Parked equidistant from three of the sighting locations, he figured he was in a good position. The noon sun had come and gone. The evenings were shorter already, and dusk wouldn’t be long. He grabbed his parka, flashlight and rechecked his rifle. He’d loaded it with sleeping darts. Next he picked up a second rifle loaded with shot. Either way, he was prepared.
Jack refolded his map and buttoned it into his breast pocket, strapped his walkie to his belt, and locked the truck behind him.
He thought about what Clancy had said and retrieved his walkie. “Allen to base. Over.”
“Base. Over.” Clancy’s answer came through spotty static.
“Head over to Libby’s Bar. Keep an eye on Gentry tonight. Over.”
“Roger. Occupying Gentry tonight. Over.”
Jack clipped the walkie back to his belt. With Gentry out of the way, any sightings tonight couldn’t be reduced to a lame-assed prank from the town screwup. Jack trudged forward, keeping off the road to follow the animal paths weaving through the woods. Reaching the lake, he peered from the tree line towards the quietly lapping water on the shore. Aside from some loons and the occasional daring frog, only the wind rustled around him.
The sun dipped behind the trees across the lake from him. Jack stayed low, hoping to catch sight of anything looking for water. The evening wore on and his eyes drooped heavily. With a shiver and a yawn several hours later, Jack was ready to return to his truck.
“Allen to Base. Over,” he called in sleepily. This time of night he’d be getting an intern.
“Base here,” the perky voice came back.
“You’re supposed to say over. Over,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right! Over, over.”
Jack sighed, rolled his eyes. “I got nothing on the Timber wolf sighting. I’m calling it a night. Over.”
“Okey dokey! Over, over!”
“Oh, God,” he muttered. He almost hated to ask about Gentry, but he lifted the walkie and with a grimace, asked anyway. “Any report from Clancy on Gentry? Over.”
“Uh… what?”
“Over,” he reminded.
“I don’t get it. Over, over.”
“Never mind. Over.” Jack hopped into the truck and popped open his cell. The face illuminated early hours and two messages from Clancy. He played it back. Gentry had stayed at the bar until closing, then wandered home on foot. Clancy had left half an hour later, when all the lights in the house had gone dark.
If Gentry was pulling a fast one, it didn’t appear to be a game he wanted to play tonight. Jack hit delete. The second recording played. This one was from Clancy, too. Clancy had heard over the scanner that a rucksack, torn clothing, and a camera case had been found on Aitkin Lake among the rocks. Traces of blood and hair had been collected. Indications from the tags on the pack were that they belonged to Ryan Walsh.
“…so I called over there,” Clancy’s recorded voice continued, “and Walsh says he’s setting up a station there to photograph wildlife. Said he cut himself on the rocks. I didn’t tell him that the hair samples they found stuck to the blood looked canine, not human. You might wanna check that out.”
“Hell, yeah, I’m checking that out.” Jack clamped his jaw. Of course a nature guy like Ryan would know about the wolf. Why wouldn’t he tell the DNR, though? Could he be using the wolf in his wildlife study and didn’t want the DNR to relocate the animal? A large Timber wolf like the one reported would be worthy of a photographic study, but that didn’t mean Ryan couldn’t follow it to the new location.
Proximity and knowing its established habitats might account for his reluctance.
Jack ran his hand through his hair. “Well, damn it.” The idea of Ryan keeping a secret like this from him pissed him off. People were scared in town. It seemed awfully selfish of Ryan to want to hold onto the whereabouts of the animal when it was encroaching on human territory. And for fuck’s sake, there’d be a point when someone would shoot first, report later. Then where would his precious study be? Did he really want the animal to die instead of relocating?
The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Jack cranked the ignition and pointed the truck towards home. First thing tomorrow, he was making another trip to Walsh’s. And this time, he wouldn’t let his pretty brown eyes distract him from the purpose of his visit. Not this time.