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Werewolf in the North Woods
Werewolf in the North Woods Read online
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Teaser chapter
Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson
Praise for the Novels of Vicki Lewis Thompson
The Babes on Brooms Romances
Chick with a Charm
“Thompson again gives readers a charming, warm, humorous, sexually charged romance with likable characters, a magical dog, and a feel-good ending.”
—Booklist
Blonde with a Wand
“Extremely readable . . . terrific writing and great character development. . . . Readers will fully enjoy this confection.”
—Romantic Times (4 stars)
The Hexy Romances
Casual Hex
“Ms. Thompson weaves a romantic tale that’s sprinkled with magic and reinforced by love . . . a fast-paced read, and a great addition to the enchanting world of Big Knob. Readers will be looking forward to seeing who falls under the spell of the town’s magical matchmaking duo next.”
—Darque Reviews
“An enjoyable lighthearted story . . . Fans will enjoy this jocular jaunt.”
—Midwest Book Review
Wild & Hexy
“Each book that Vicki Lewis Thompson pens is an experience that will have you laughing from the start . . . simply delightful. Wild & Hexy is a zany adventure in romance and magic. Readers won’t be able to resist another visit with the inhabitants of Big Knob.”
—Darque Reviews
“An excellent addition that makes me eager for more! . . . You never really know what might happen in the small town of Big Knob, but you won’t want to miss a thing. A must read!”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“There was so much going on in this book that I really didn’t want it to end . . . wonderfully fun . . . a keeper for sure!”
—Fresh Fiction
“Get ready for a truly Wild & Hexy ride . . . brewing with lots of magical fun, mishaps, and most important of all—romance! . . . A fun paranormal tale.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Pure FUN from first page to last!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
Over Hexed
“A snappy, funny, romantic novel.”
—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips
“Filled with laughs, this is a charmer of a book.”
—The Eternal Night
“The same trademark blend of comedy and heart that won Thompson’s Nerd series a loyal following.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Thompson mixes magic, small-town quirkiness, and passionate sex for a winsome effect.”
—Booklist
“Vicki Lewis Thompson sure delivers with Over Hexed . . . a lighthearted tale that won’t soon be forgotten.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“With her wonderful talent of lighthearted humor, Vicki Lewis Thompson pens an enchanting tale for her amorous characters, steeping it in magic and enough passion to scorch the pages.”
—Darque Reviews
Further Praise for Vicki Lewis Thompson and her Novels
“Count on Vicki Lewis Thompson for a sharp, sassy, sexy read. Stranded on a desert island? I hope you’ve got this book in your beach bag.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz
“Wildly sexy . . . a full complement of oddball characters and sparkles with sassy humor.”
—Library Journal
“A riotous cast of colorful characters . . . fills the pages with hilarious situations and hot, creative sex.”
—Booklist
“Smart, spunky, and delightfully over-the-top.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[A] lighthearted and frisky tale of discovery between two engaging people.”
—The Oakland Press
“Delightfully eccentric . . . humor, mystical ingredients, and plenty of fun . . . a winning tale.”
—The Best Reviews
“A funny and thrilling ride!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A hilarious romp.”
—Romance Junkies
“Extremely sexy . . . over-the-top . . . sparkling.”
—Rendezvous
“A whole new dimension in laughter. A big . . . BRAVO!”
—A Romance Review
Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson
A Werewolf in Manhattan
Chick with a Charm
Blonde with a Wand
Over Hexed
Wild & Hexy
Casual Hex
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, October 2011
Copyright © Vicki Lewis Thompson, 2011
ISBN : 978-1-101-54488-4
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To Claire Zion, whose perceptive comments always result in a better story. Thank you, Claire!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I owe much to my agent, Robert Gottlieb, my trusty assistant, Audrey Sharpe, and the terrific editorial, art, and marketing departments at Penguin. I’m also blessed with wonderful readers whose cheerful and warm e-mails make me smile. I treasure my connection with each and every one of them.
Chapter 1
Maybe Bigfoot is watching me.
Abby Winchell had loved imagining that from the time she’d been old enough to wander alone on her grandfather’s property about thirty miles outside Portland. As she trudged through the early-morning mist, damp leaves squished under her hiking boots and the evergreens dripped in a steady, familiar rhythm. Otherwise the forest was quiet, but she kept her hand on the camera tucked inside her jacket pocket, just in case she saw something big and furry.
Ten days ago, after a lifetime of fruitless searching, Grandpa Earl Dooley had seen not one but two big furry creatures. A Bigfoot mated pair! But his evidence was maddeningly inconclusive. His single grainy shot could easily be a picture of two very tall hikers wearing hooded sweatshirts. Two exceedingly smelly hikers. Grandpa Earl claimed the stench had been overpowering, even from a hundred yards away.
While Earl had struggled to attach his zoom lens, the creatures had loped off. Earl’s arthritis had kept him from giving chase, and a heavy rain had washed out any footprints. That left Earl with only one bad picture to corroborate his story.
It had been enough for the Bigfoot faithful. Earl had made the trip to town and told everyone down at his favorite bar, Flannigan’s. News had spread quickly among the cryptozoology crowd. As happy as he’d been about finally realizing his dream of a Bigfoot sighting, Grandpa Earl hadn’t been all that pleased with the consequences.
With the exception of Abby, his family down in Arizona thought he was losing his marbles. Curiosity seekers had trespassed on his property. And his wealthy neighbors, the Gentrys, had flown in some big-deal NYU professor to label the sighting bogus. Having Dr. Roarke Wallace challenge Earl’s claim had cut down on the trespassers, but Abby’s grandfather smarted under the insinuation that he was either gullible or a nutcase.
Abby had volunteered to take a week off from her job as an insurance claims adjuster in Phoenix to check on Grandpa Earl. She’d promised the rest of the family that she’d convince him to sell the land and the general store with its attached living quarters so he could move to the desert, where his loved ones could keep an eye on him. He might have agreed to do it, too, now that he’d seen Bigfoot and possibly Bigfoot’s mate.
But that damned professor had gotten her grandfather’s back up and he wanted to prove the stuffed shirt wrong. Grandpa Earl was also convinced the Gentrys were smearing his reputation on purpose because they hoped he’d leave and then they could buy his land. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
Abby didn’t blame him. The Gentrys had been trying to buy out the Dooleys for at least seventy years. Both pieces of property backed up to a wilderness area, so if the Gentrys got Grandpa Earl’s land, they’d be sitting on one of the most secluded private estates around.
And the Gentrys loved their seclusion. She could imagine how horrified those high-brows must have been to hear about the Bigfoot sighting. Flying in a PhD from some Eastern school fit the Gentry mentality. No doubt the guy was a condescending jerk.
The Gentrys were like royalty in Portland, and as a kid Abby had often climbed a rocky promontory on Dooley land because it provided a view of the obnoxiously huge Gentry mansion. She decided to do that again this morning for old-time’s sake. The estate was off-limits to all but a select few, so spying on them had always appealed to her sense of mischief.
Other than this view from the promontory, the heavily wooded estate couldn’t be seen except from the air. A tall iron gate at the main road barred anyone from driving up to the mansion unannounced, and a sheer rock wall dropped fifty feet below the promontory. The steep cliff continued along the property line for about half a mile, neatly dividing Gentry land from Dooley land.
Grandpa Earl’s property ended at a rushing stream that tumbled over the cliff in a beautiful waterfall. The far side of the stream marked the beginning of the wilderness area. That’s where Grandpa Earl had spotted the Bigfoot pair.
Abby was puffing by the time she reached the top of the outcropping, which meant she’d spent too much time sitting at a desk lately. Looking across to Gentry land, she noticed lazy curls of smoke rising from two of the Gentry mansion’s six chimneys. Trees hid a good part of the building, giving it an air of mystery.
Abby trained her camera on the mansion and zoomed in to admire the stonework and the massive bulk of the place. Surely a family this powerful wouldn’t sabotage some old guy’s reputation in order to get what they wanted. They already had plenty of holdings in the Portland area.
Standing on the rocky outcropping looking down at the mansion, she wondered why the Dooley land was so important to the Gentrys. Maybe they knew something Grandpa Earl didn’t, like the presence of mineral deposits. Or what if the prize was this very spot? What if they hated the idea that someone could watch them from here?
Fascinated by that thought, Abby began scanning with her zoom to evaluate how much she could see of the place. A cherry-red Corvette convertible sat in the circular cobblestone drive, but no people were around. Slowly she panned toward the back of the house, with its formal gardens, neatly trimmed hedges, and a large collection of marble statuary. As she did, she caught movement in the trees.
Focusing on that spot strained the limits of her little camera, but she managed to identify what looked like a large dog. It behaved more like a wild animal than a domestic dog, though, as it glided through the trees. A coyote, maybe? No, it was too big, and its coat was an unusual pale blond.
The body shape reminded her of a wolf, but that was impossible. There were no wolves on the west coast of Oregon, and even if one had somehow migrated over here, it wouldn’t be this color. She’d heard of white wolves, but not blond ones. Knowing the Gentrys, the animal could be some sort of exotic hybrid.
Grandpa Earl wouldn’t be happy if the Gentrys had decided to keep dogs on their property. Her grandfather and great-grandfather had always avoided adopting any because they didn’t want dogs around to scare off Bigfoot. In all her visits to her grandfather’s place, she’d never heard the sound of barking dogs coming from the Gentry estate, either.
She snapped a couple of pictures, even though she knew they wouldn’t be very clear. Grandpa Earl would want to know about this. Maybe the wolf-dog was another tactic to annoy him.
As she considered that, she deleted the pictures. No sense in stirring up her grandfather even more. That wouldn’t fit with the plan that was gradually forming in her mind.
Much as she’d love her grandfather to stick it to the Gentrys and stay on the land for another ten or fifteen years, that wasn’t in his best interest. His arthritis wouldn’t bother him nearly as much in Arizona and she sensed that Grandma Olive’s death a year ago had left him lonelier than he’d admit.
Therefore she needed to contact the stuffed-shirt anthropology professor and convince him to change his tactics. If the professor would support Earl’s belief in Bigfoot instead of challenging it, everyone might get what they wanted. Grandpa Earl would relax, sell his land, and move to Arizona, and the Gentrys would get her grandfather’s property. Grandpa Earl said the professor was staying with the Gentrys. But Abby didn’t relish driving up to the gate in Grandpa Earl’s ancient pickup with the battered camper shell on the back and asking for admittance to the estate. Too demeaning. But she was a member of Rotary Club International, so she cou
ld attend their meeting today at a hotel in Portland, where the guest speaker just happened to be Dr. Roarke Wallace.
Taking one last look through her camera’s viewfinder, she was startled to notice that the blond animal was staring at her. Then he wheeled and ran into the trees, moving with a fluid grace that looked far more wild and wolflike than doglike.
What in hell had she seen down there?
Damn it. Roarke hadn’t seen her until the last minute, but he was positive she’d seen him. Seeking thicker cover, he prayed he hadn’t caused a problem. At home in upstate New York he could roam the isolated property without fear of discovery and he’d made the mistake of thinking he could do the same here. No wonder Cameron Gentry wanted the Dooley property with its rocky overlook of the Gentry estate.
Irving Gentry, the alpha who’d bought this land in the early 1900s, obviously hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the chandelier. There was some evidence that Irving had enjoyed his whiskey a little too much. That might explain why he’d purchased this low-lying acreage with a vantage point right next door.
The woman standing on the rocks hadn’t been worried about being seen. Anyone with hair that red would have to wear a stocking cap if she expected to sneak around. He didn’t think she was into sneaking. With luck she was a tourist trespassing on Dooley land in an attempt to find Bigfoot, and a canine creature wouldn’t interest her.
Roarke made sure the woman was gone before he loped back through the formal gardens and headed for the tunnel entrance into the mansion. Whoever had devised this entrance had been a werewolf genius. A fake piece of granite swiveled at the touch of a paw, allowing Roarke to enter a tunnel.