I closed the book in front of her. “Come,” I said.
“Where to?”
“There is nothing I can tell you that my wolves will not tell you themselves.”
I waited for her to get into her coat. I could have taken her to the back door, of course, but the wolves only came there when they would rather beg for food than hunt for themselves, and they could be quite aggressive and feral about their food.
The porch was where I really connected with them, mostly because it was their choice to come up there to meet me. The wide wrap-around porch had plenty of room so they never felt trapped. I never approached them. If they wanted some affection, a little backrub, or two, they came and got it. Except for Chepi, of course. She was so tame she sat beside me and licked my head until it was soaked, and sometimes even curled up in my lap for a nap.
It was still snowing when I opened the door. The air was cold and fresh after the warm kitchen. We stood on the porch for a long moment without speaking. I wanted to let the wolves realize that there was no danger. They could come forward.
There were several wolves down by the fencerow. The usual suspects: Caleb, Eyolf, Felan and Gorg. They normally hung out there until they heard the rare vehicle coming down the road, then they vanished like smoke into thin air. You wouldn’t see them again until the traveler was well away.
To the left there was a pack of four on the hillside. They were slowly making their way over to the house. Leading was Kurt. He was always the risk taker and the asshole. Lobo a beautiful pure white wolf was next. Behind them two females, Susi and Tasha, moved with lithe grace.
I looked over and saw Lara. Her face was turned towards the hillside. She must have been listening to them, but how could she have heard them? The sound of their footfalls in the snow was always a spooky kind of quiet.
“How many are there?” she whispered.
“In that little pack? Four.”
“Should I pet them, or be scared?” she asked with a nervous smile.
I thought about that. “You shouldn’t be scared of them, but they are wild creatures not pets, and they should be treated with a certain respect. Treat them well, and they will return the favor. That is the way it has always been with me.”
She nodded as the wolves came closer, their noses up in the air, full of adventure and curiosity. I watched her as she stood very still, her sightless eyes hidden behind her glasses. She reached out to touch the snow covered wooden railing. I watched her small white fingers curl around it, dislodging the snow, and how the skin of her knuckles turned bone white as she clenched the wood. She was anxious.
Then she deliberately took a deep breath, unclenched her hand, and relaxed from head to toe. Her ability to control her natural fear tossed me into a quick decision.
“Let me introduce you,” I said.
The wolves were obviously interested, so I knew they would make their way up onto the porch. What surprised me was how quickly they chose to do it. Usually they took their time to decide whether something was a good idea, but they were so nosy about Lara, that Kurt already had his paw on the top step. Faster than I had ever seen. He stared at her with his glowing greenish eyes.
“Slowly turn to your left,” I said, “and hold out your hand. Let him smell you. His name is Kurt.”
Lara did exactly as I instructed. The two girls hung back warily, as I had expected them to, but to my surprise it was not Kurt who took the first step forward. It was Lobo, my beautiful white albino. With his haunches quivering, he stretched out his neck and took a good whiff of her hand. He took another step closer, and I knew Lara had passed his test.
“I wish you could see them … they are so curious,” I said to her.
“I can feel their curiosity,” she whispered.
“Stay right here. They will not hurt you, I promise. I’m going to get some treats for them. I’ll be right back.”
I turned to the door, but right after I stepped through, I turned around to see what the wolves were doing, and Lobo had stepped even closer, and now he had pressed his nose against Lara’s hand. There they stood together, not moving, the beautiful woman and that wild white wolf. My pride in my wolves welled up as Lobo took one more step and pressed his muzzle fully against her hand. Lara slowly turned her fingers over, letting Lobo see exactly what she was doing, and rubbed the side of his nose.
Lobo’s eyes drifted closed. I stood there and stared. I honestly could not believe what I was seeing. Then he opened his eyes, stepped back and looked from Lara to me.
“Lara,” I called.
She didn’t turn her head. “Yes.”
“The wolf that came to you is called Lobo. He has chosen you to be his special human. Once a wolf chooses a human it will never again treat another human with the same love and affection that it does to the special person it chose.”
“Really? He chose me?” Lara asked excitedly.
“Really,” I said softly.
“Oh, I can’t believe it. Is he like my wolf now?”
I smiled. “Yes. He is like your wolf now.”
She laughed with sheer joy.
“Hang on,” I said, and went to get the dried treats from the kitchen.
The wolves recognized the scent well before I got back to the door, and by the time I stepped onto the porch they were all scrambling around in the front yard, the pack of four now joined by another six. I handed the treats to Lara and told her to throw them out as hard as she could.
“They love to chase them down, so put some serious muscle into it.”
That’s how I learned that for a small thing Lara had some serious muscle. She threw those treats so hard she had them babies running for their dinner. They loved it, and judging by the ecstatic smile on her face, so did she.
Me? I loved watching them all, my wolves and my blind reader.
Nineteen
Lara
The day with the wolves opened up a floodgate of sorts. Kit seemed happy to see me, as if he was actually waiting for our sessions together. Our last reading meet turned out to be us talking the entire time, without a single sentence read from the book.
On the surface we had hardly anything in common, but with every sentence we fell deeper and deeper into an oddly intense and close friendship. There was so much about him that drew me, and the more time we spent together, the more I realized just how much I admired and liked him. Tomorrow I would see him again and already I could hardly wait for the sound of his pickup parking outside the library.
With a sigh I placed the apple pie I had made into the hot oven. I closed the door and set the timer. Taking off my oven mitts I hung them in their place. I was about to start cleaning up the mess when the doorbell rang.
Who could it be? It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and most folks around here were fast asleep in their beds by now. Unless it was Elaine on her way back from the bar, I chuckled to myself. I slipped on my dark glasses and walked to the front room with a s
light frown. Elaine didn’t say anything about going to the bar.
I stood behind the door and called out. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Sawyer.”
My frown deepened. Sawyer Buchanan! What in God’s name was he doing here at this time of the night? I opened the door and smelled his aftershave: citrus with a hint of rosemary and something else musky. Like an expensive version of Pledge.
“Hello, Lara.” His voice sounded slightly slurred. Was he drunk?
“Hey,” I greeted casually. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
“I was passing and I … er … saw the lights so I thought I’d pay a little visit. Can I … um … come in?”
My eyebrows rose in disbelief at the blatant lie, but I opened the door wider out of sheer curiosity, and he came into my little house. I heard him close the door and rub his hands together.
“It’s bitter out there,” he said in his toe curling drawl. There was a time I thought I was in love with him. It wasn’t completely my fault that I fell for him. He did kinda lead me up the garden path. He would put his hand on the small of my back, or come so close I could feel his warm breath on my neck. When he kissed me on the cheek his lips used to linger so I honestly felt that he liked me too, but I guess I was wrong. He didn’t.
I led the way to the living room. “Can I get you a drink? Milk, orange juice, water?”
“You don’t have anything stronger?”
I had a bottle of French wine that I got for my birthday, but I was saving that for a special occasion, maybe when I finished my mermaid, the biggest project I had ever undertaken. She was almost life-size and had already taken three months of my life. “Not really,” I said softly.
“Nah. Don’t bother, then. I’m not really thirsty.”
“Have a seat,” I invited, waving towards the sofa and walking to the armchair opposite.