Red Wolf's Return. Mary Forbes J.

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      “Actually, Chief,” Miles Ralston sneered, then turned to Ethan. “Oops, got it wrong. This here’s the real chief.” The kid lifted a hand, palm out. “Yo—”

      Meg saw red, saw Jock Ralston two decades before. “Miles Ralston. Get off that log, get your stuff together and leave.”

      His lip curled as he rose slowly, a smart-mouthed boy in a man’s body. “Try and make me.”

      She stepped into his space. He wasn’t lanky like Beau, but fit and muscled and she had to look up into his face. “Let’s get a few things straight. This is private property. Second, none of you is of legal drinking age. Third, campfires are prohibited this time of year.”

      “We don’t give a sh—”

      “I do,” she interrupted. “And so does Mr. Red Wolf.” She glanced at Ethan, hoped he could read the message in her eyes. I’m with you. “This is his land now. If you are not out of here in ten seconds, I will haul you down to the station. Got that?”

      A silence fell.

      The boy shrugged. “Let’s blow this pop stand,” he said to the others. “Too many chiefs around here.”

      Letting his comment go, Meg picked up the twenty-two propped against a nearby tree, checked the cartridge. “This yours, Miles?” She pocketed the chambered bullet.

      “Yeah.” A two-syllable word.

      “Come by the office tomorrow with your dad. You’ll get it back then.”

      Within seconds the teenagers had slipped into the night-shrouded woods. “Beau,” Meg called to her son as he followed his friends.

      Beside her, Ethan murmured, “Take it easy, Meggie.”

      The boy halted and she waited until he turned to face her. She said, “I want you in bed and asleep when I get home, understand?”

      He stared at the flickering flames they had yet to douse. “You always ruin everything,” he grouched.

      “Not now, Beau.” She did not want to fight him in front of Ethan. Tonight’s situation was humiliation enough. He had seen her parenting skills—or lack of them.

      But Beau wouldn’t let go. “Don’t you get it? You embarrassed me in front of my friends, playing big-shot cop.”

      “That’s enough,” Meg said.

      Ethan ambled toward Beau. No, Meg thought. Not ambled. Moved like a cougar, all easy grace and benign power. “Don’t be disrespectful to your mother.”

      A snort. “What, and she respects me?”

      “Ever think she might be trying to teach you something?”

      Beau looked Ethan up and down, as if the man was an insignificant blip, then her son turned and disappeared into the forest.

      Meg’s cheeks burned. That kind of snubbing had been part of Ethan’s childhood, and now her child rubbed shoulders with a second generation of dolts.

      The worst of it was Beau knew better. For sixteen years she had provided him with lessons in respect and kindness.

      Now this.

      She glanced over at Ethan. Moonlight swept along his broad shoulders, against a blade of cheekbone. Though the night shielded their concern, his earth-brown eyes held hers for several heartbeats.

      Suddenly Meg’s energy drained and she plopped onto the massive log where her son had sat not five minutes ago, hugging Zena Phillips.

      “God, some days it’s like he’s this…this person I don’t recognize.” Leaning forward, elbows on knees, she stared at the licking flames of the campfire and gusted a breath. “We lock horns on everything. Friends, school, his driving ability, meals, curfews…. Where’s that little boy I raised?”

      She felt rather than heard Ethan slip onto the wood beside her. Their arms and hips bumped as he emulated her position. The urge to lay her head on his shoulder overwhelmed her, and for a moment she forced herself to keep her body still.

      After a long minute he said, “He’s seeking his independence, just like we did at that age.”

      “That may be. Doesn’t mean I have to like how and with whom he’s doing the seeking.”

      He looked at her, a little amused. “We used to do the same thing, Meggie.”

      “We never drank. Or ran around with fools.”

      “No…but we did a lot of this.” He picked up her left hand, bounced it gently on his big, callused palm. “And a lot of this.” Between his thumb and forefinger, he stroked each of her paler fingers. “And this,” his voice lowered as he spread his hand, and she did the same, matching finger on finger.

      Light on dark. Delicate on strong.

      Slowly he closed the gaps between his fingers so her hand lay flat and narrow on his warm one for a few seconds before he reopened his fingers to entwine around Meg’s. “We couldn’t stop touching.”

      Or kissing, she thought, enthralled by his voice, the strength of his bones and knuckles. The color of his skin.

      “We weren’t so different, Meggie,” he said, and she heard gravel in his voice.

      The ebbing fire burnished his cheekbones while the heat of his touch ignited her blood. All she had to do was turn her head, and his mouth would meet hers. She sensed him waiting. Waiting for her next move. For her permission.

      In the smoldering coals, she saw the dream again, felt the kiss he’d given, the stroke of his hands. Her body shifted toward him, toward the magnetism that was Ethan Red Wolf.

      The rottweiler walked over, lay down with a grunt at Ethan’s feet, and with a shudder Meg shot out of her trance.

      What am I doing? She had to get home, see to her son. She had responsibilities, a life, a career. God, what had made her think she could sit here dreaming dreams she’d given up to pride a thousand years ago?

      She jumped to her feet, and the crisp night air stole the sheltering warmth of his body. “I have to go,” she said, kicking dirt and stones onto the dying embers of the campfire.

      He rose to assist. “Sure.” When night claimed the area again, when the last coal winked out, and she would have walked into the woods, he said, “Meggie, I’m glad I was here to help. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

      She stood across the deadened fire’s circle of rocks. Starlight danced in his black hair, and he had held her hand for the first time in nineteen years, and she had almost kissed him. Really kissed him.

      Looking at the dusty fire pit, she said, “Beau will make this up to you.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      “It is. This is your land. He needs to take responsibility for his actions.” She lifted the twenty-two into the crook of СКАЧАТЬ