Safe in His Arms Read online

  Eleven months of effort culminated in one glorious miracle. She and Fletch had worried about this event for weeks, but the foaling, as with most equine births, took less than twenty minutes.

  “Beautiful,” Astrid murmured.

  “Are we good down there?”

  “We’re good. We’re so good.” Astrid’s chest tightened with gratitude. “Janis has a beautiful baby.”

  “Thank God.” Fletch’s voice was thick with emotion.

  Astrid glanced up and caught a moment he might not have meant her to see. He buried his face against the mare’s neck and murmured something she couldn’t hear. Not wanting to embarrass him, she returned her focus to the foal, which seemed perfectly formed and healthy.

  Janis had been Fletch’s first brood mare, and the horse had obviously won his heart with her gentle disposition. He cared about the foal, too, but his biggest concern had been for Janis. Convinced that neither mare nor foal were in distress, Astrid scooted away to let Janis attend to her baby.

  Fletch also sat back on his heels as the horse maneuvered so that she could lick her newborn clean. He gazed at the foal. “It’s a colt.”

  “Yep. The ultrasound was right. You never can know for sure with those.”

  A grin lit his face. “And four white socks, like his mother’s.”

  “He’ll look a lot like her.”

  “I’d hoped for that. And now it’s official. Buddy Holly is in residence at the Rocking G.”

  Astrid laughed. “Yes, he certainly is. They both seem to be doing great.”

  “I can order the nameplate for his stall, now. I was too superstitious to do it before.” Fletch’s glance sought hers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But after all, it’s my job.”

  “I know, but you don’t treat it like a job. My previous vet did, which was why I stopped using him. I’ve watched you work with these animals. You put your heart and soul into it.”

  She couldn’t imagine higher praise than that. “I love my work. That makes me a lucky lady.”

  “And I’m lucky to have found you.”

  Dear God, there was something more than friendship in those warm brown eyes. She swallowed. “Fletch . . .”

  “I know.” His jaw firmed. “You’re my vet. I’m a client. I understand the parameters, but damn it, Astrid, does that mean we can’t . . .”

  Her heart beat as if she were a wild creature suddenly trapped in a net. “I think it does mean that.”

  “I could fire you.”

  “You could.” That wouldn’t remove all the barriers. She’d still be a very rich woman and he would be a financially strapped rancher. But he didn’t know about that issue.

  “I don’t want to fire you.” He got to his feet. “You’re a fantastic vet, a thousand times better than the guy I had before. I can’t imagine having anyone else now that I’ve seen how you work.”

  She took a deep breath and stood, too. “I don’t want you to fire me, either.” She looked into his eyes, which mirrored the frustration she felt. “I love having you as a client.”

  “Can’t I be a client and something more, too? Who has to know? I’m certainly not going to make a big deal about it.”

  “Okay, let’s say we’re discreet.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the stall. “What if we discover somewhere down the line that we’re not right for each other? What happens to our client-vet relationship then?” She put down the bag and turned to face him as he stepped into the aisle.

  His stance was wide, his expression calm, the epitome of confident male. “We wouldn’t discover that. You and I get along great.”

  “In this setting, we do, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  She pictured dragging him to some charity ball hosted by her wealthy friends, or coaxing him to attend the opening of a show by some new darling of the Dallas art community. She’d been inside Fletch’s home. He liked western artists like Remington and Shoofly. He also didn’t seem like the tux-wearing type, but now wasn’t the time to reveal the difference in their lifestyles.

  “Are you worried that we might not get along in bed?”

  Oh, boy. Her hesitation had led him to the wrong conclusion. She wasn’t worried about that at all. “I—”

  “Lady, we would burn up the sheets.” He smiled as he took a step closer. “And you damned well know we would.”

  “Maybe.” The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. It seemed to keep time with the rapid tattoo of the rain on the roof.

  He chuckled. “I guarantee you do. I can see it in those baby blues. I wasn’t sure until this minute, when I finally got the courage to broach the subject, but we’re on the same page, you and I.”

  “Okay, so I’m attracted to you, but acting on that attraction would be a really bad idea.”

  He nodded. “You could be right. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to kiss you.”

  Oh. She should protest, should move back, out of the magic circle he’d created with his considerable charm. But she couldn’t seem to do that.

  “I know you have reservations about getting involved with me.” He reached for her and cupped her face in his big hands.

  She closed her eyes. That touch . . . so gentle, yet sure. She’d imagined his touch for so long, and now she allowed herself to savor it.

  Keep reading for a preview of the next novel in Vicki Lewis Thompson’s Wild About You series

  WEREWOLF IN ALASKA

  Available now from Signet Eclipse

  July 14, 2010

  Polecat, Alaska

  Lurking in the grocery aisle of the Polecat General Store, Rachel Miller pretended to shop while she eavesdropped on the conversation between the store’s owner, Ted Haggerty, and the broad-shouldered customer he’d called Jake. She’d recognized the guy the minute he’d walked in, despite the fact that he was fully clothed.

  Although they’d never met, she knew three things about Jake. He lived across the lake from her grandfather’s cabin, he liked to skinny-dip, and he was built for pleasure. Among other items, Grandpa Ike had left her his high-powered binoculars.

  She’d accidentally caught her hot neighbor’s skinny-dipping routine one warm summer night while watching an eagle dive for a fish. After that, she’d planned her evenings around it.

  After opening the screen door of the general store, Jake had glanced in her direction but hadn’t seemed to recognize her. Apparently he hadn’t been keeping tabs on her the way she had on him. That was disappointing.

  Then again, she spent only a couple of weeks in Polecat every summer, and she wasn’t the type to plunge naked into an alpine lake. Still, she would have taken this opportunity to introduce herself if he hadn’t paused in front of the small display of her wood carvings.

  She’d immediately turned away, grabbed a can of salmon, and studied the label with fierce intensity. If she ever intended to move from hobbyist to professional, she’d have to get over being self-conscious about displaying her work for sale, but she was brand-new at it. Asking Ted last week if he’d like to carry her art in his store had required tremendous courage.

  Today when she’d come in and noticed that nothing had sold, she’d been tempted to cart it all back to the cabin. Ted had talked her out of giving up, and now her gorgeous neighbor was discussing the carvings with Ted. She hoped to hell Ted wouldn’t mention that the artist was right here in the grocery aisle. Then the guy might feel obligated to buy something, and how embarrassing would that be?

  “So who’s this Rachel Miller?” Jake had a deep voice that matched his lumberjack physique. His name fit him, too.

  Rachel held her breath. Now would be the logical time for Ted to call her over and introduce her. She prayed that he wouldn’t.

  Ted hesitated, as if debating whether to reveal her presence. “She’s local.”

&
nbsp; Rachel exhaled slowly. She might not be a skinny-dipper, but there were many ways to be naked, and this, she discovered, was one of them. She could leave and spare herself the agony of listening to whatever Jake might say about her work, but then she’d be tormented with curiosity for days.

  Besides, she’d already put several food items in the basket she carried over one arm. Leaving the basket and bolting from the store would make her more conspicuous, not less.

  “I like her stuff.”

  Clapping a hand to her mouth, Rachel closed her eyes and savored the words. He liked it!

  “Especially the wolf.”

  “That’s my personal favorite,” Ted said.

  Validation sent a rush of adrenaline through her system. It was her favorite, too. The other carvings were forest animal figurines, none any bigger than eight inches tall. Her friends back in Fairbanks raved about them, but friends were biased. She cherished their praise but didn’t always believe it.

  She’d broken new ground with the wolf, though. After finding a ragged chunk of driftwood about two feet long, she’d left the basic shape intact while carving the wolf in bas-relief on the smoothest side. Powerful and majestic, the wolf appeared to be emerging from the piece of wood.

  Ted had praised the carving, but Ted had a natural tendency to encourage people. His comments didn’t pack the same punch as those from someone who didn’t know her and had no reason to protect her feelings. Excitement made her giddy.

  A moment of silence followed. She wondered if Jake had wandered away from the display to begin his grocery shopping, but she didn’t dare look to make sure. If he’d finished admiring her work, that was fine. He’d given her a gift simply by commenting favorably.

  “I want to buy it.”

  Her chest tightened. A sale.

  “All righty, then!” Ted sounded pleased.

  Rachel was in shock. A complete stranger was willing to pay money for something she’d created! She stifled the urge to rush over and shower him with thanks. On the heels of that urge came another—to snatch the piece and announce it wasn’t for sale after all.

  Once Jake bought that carving, she’d never see it again. She hadn’t expected to be upset by that. Apparently the wolf meant far more to her than she’d realized.

  Jake might like what she’d done, but he couldn’t fully appreciate it unless he’d also caught a glimpse of the magnificent black wolf that had inspired her. She’d seen it only once, poised in a clearing. Grandpa Ike had taught her how to get good pictures of wild creatures—stay downwind and seek cover. She’d been in luck that day, perfectly positioned for an awesome shot.

  The photo was still tacked to a bulletin board in the cabin, so she could use it to carve another likeness. Yet she couldn’t guarantee the next attempt would capture the wolf’s essence in quite the same way. She’d known this piece was special the moment it was completed.

  Finishing it had given her the confidence to approach Ted in the first place. She shouldn’t be surprised it was about to become her first sale. If people bought her work, maybe she could give up her veterinarian internship and carve full-time.

  She’d thought she’d love being a vet, but the surgery and death that were an inevitable part of the job drained her. Wood carving gave her nothing but joy. Still, it might not bring in enough to support her. One sale was hardly a guarantee that she could make a living as an artist.

  It was a positive sign, though, and thanks to what she’d inherited from Grandpa Ike, she had a place to live and a little money to tide her over if she decided to switch gears. The prospect was scary but exciting, too. She had Jake the skinny-dipper to thank for jump-starting her dreams.

  From the corner of her eye she could see him rounding the aisle where she stood, a basket over his arm. Walking in the opposite direction, she ducked down a parallel aisle and carried her basket to the counter, where Ted was wrapping her carving.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Do you want to tell—”

  “No.” She kept her voice down. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

  Ted spoke softly, obviously sensing her nervousness. “Decided that was up to you.” He finished taping the end of the parcel and set it aside. “Congratulations, though. He lives across the lake from you.”

  “Thought I recognized him. What’s his name, again?”

  “Jake Hunter. He’s a wilderness guide. Earns good money doing it. Quite well-off.”

  “I see.” Judging people’s financial status was tough in a place like Polecat, where everyone kept a low profile, dressed casually, and drove dusty trucks and SUVs. She was flattered that a successful wilderness guide found value in her work.

  Ted rang up her groceries and bagged them in the canvas tote she’d given him. She hadn’t bought much because she’d been so distracted, so Ted finished quickly. Fine with her. She’d prefer to be out the door before Jake returned to the counter.

  She almost made it. She was tucking her change back into her purse when he walked up, his basket stuffed with everything from canned goods to paper products. He must be a fast shopper.

  Not wanting to appear antisocial, she met his gaze while keeping her expression friendly but neutral. “Hi.”

  “Hello.” He glanced at her with the same carefully neutral expression. But then a spark of interest lit his green eyes.

  Her breath caught. She’d never looked into those eyes before. Grandpa Ike’s binoculars were good, but not that good. Yet she felt as if she’d met his gaze before, and seeing it—again?—brought back a half-remembered thrill. Crazy.

  Even crazier, she flashed on the image of the black wolf in the clearing—a green-eyed wolf with dark, luxurious fur the same color as Jake’s collar-length hair. Clearly his purchase of the carving was messing with her mind.

  The interest reflected in Jake’s eyes slowly changed to speculation. Maybe something in her expression had given her away, or maybe he’d picked up enough of her quiet conversation with Ted to figure out who she was. In any case, she needed to vamoose before he started asking questions.

  Quickly breaking eye contact, she grabbed her canvas bag from the counter. Her smile probably looked more like a grimace, but it was the best she could do. “You two have a nice day!” She headed for the screen door.

  As exits go, it wasn’t her best. Heart pounding, she climbed into the old truck Grandpa Ike had willed to her, started the ancient engine, and pulled out onto the two-lane road that skirted the lake. She’d escaped, but the adrenaline rush of making her first sale stayed with her.

  Logic, the tool that her lawyer father embraced, told her that Jake buying the wolf carving wasn’t reason enough to change her life. Intuition, the tool that her photographer mother preferred, whispered that she’d reached a major turning point and shouldn’t ignore it. Grandpa Ike, who had been more intuitive than anyone else on her mother’s side of the family, would have told her to listen to her instincts.

  Rachel wondered what Jake Hunter would have said if she’d had the courage to admit she’d carved that wolf. Or maybe, judging from the quiet assessment in those green eyes, he already knew.

  ***

  Present day

  Jake finished answering e-mail from members of the group he’d founded the previous year, Werewolves Against Random Mating (WARM). Shutting down the laptop, he headed for the kitchen and snagged a cold bottle of Spruce Tip ale from the refrigerator. Then he twisted off the cap and walked into the living room. As usual, his gaze drifted to the Rachel Miller carving displayed on his mantel.

  The soot from the hearth fires of three consecutive winters had darkened the wood. Maybe he should clean and oil it, now that summer had arrived once again. Or not. The soot that had settled into the grooves added character, in his estimation. Reaching out, he traced the distinctive and familiar slant of the wolf’s wide-set eyes.

  When he’d bought the pie
ce, he’d had no clue that Rachel would become internationally famous. But he’d suspected that his impulse buy might come back to haunt him, especially after he’d walked up to the counter and she’d turned to look into his eyes.

  Leaning against the mantel, he gazed across Polecat Lake toward her property. It was nearly nine in the evening, but it might as well have been midday. Sunlight continued to play on the water, and the metallic whine of her power saw drifted in through his open window. She must be starting another large project, one that required the saw and the extra space provided by the workshop she’d had built about ten yards from her cabin.

  Now that she was bringing in the big bucks, he kept expecting her to tear down that cabin and build a McMansion in its place. So far she hadn’t, and he respected her for keeping her operation low-key. Understatement was a Polecat tradition, one of the reasons he loved it here.

  She’d bought a new truck, but he couldn’t blame her for replacing the unreliable bucket of bolts she’d inherited from her grandfather. She’d also hired a local kid named Lionel, who was part Native American, to clean her workshop and wrestle the bigger pieces onto her truck. A new truck, a roomy workshop, and a part-time assistant seemed to be the only concessions she’d made to her success, and Ted Haggerty claimed that she was the same down-to-earth person she’d always been.

  If so, then props to her, because she’d created quite a stir, the kind that could turn a person’s head. No telling what this hunk of driftwood was worth now that she had commissions coming in from wealthy collectors all over the world. He should probably have it insured and protected in a climate-controlled safe.

  Rachel Miller’s first wolf carving, if it surfaced, would bring a pretty penny on the auction block. To her credit, she’d never identified him as the buyer of her initial effort, and neither had Ted. Apparently no one except the three of them knew this work existed.

  She’d sent him a note a couple months after he’d made his purchase, though. He knew that note by heart.