Roxanne Rustand - A Temporary Arrangement

Matthews had been groggy when he’d handed her his keys, but she’d seen the distrust in his eyes and it had rankled ever since. For some reason he’d instantly judged her as incompetent…but who was he to judge?

She sure as heck didn’t want to prove him right.

“Wait a minute, I remember a pasture fence running along the road when we came up here, and lining both sides of the driveway. Wasn’t there a gate down by the mailbox?”

Keifer shrugged.

“If the entire property is fenced, and I can pull the gate shut across the driveway, then the livestock can’t escape. Right?”

“Maybe.” He chewed his lower lip. “But I don’t know anything about the other fences.”

“At least I’d be doing something to help.”

A gust of wind blasted the side of the house and rattled the gutters. A light tap-tap-tapping overhead rose to a deafening roar as hail battered the roof. Torrents of marble-size pellets bounced crazily off the driveway.

The livestock were clearly agitated as they disappeared into the sheltering trees. Where, she hoped, they wouldn’t find another way to leave.

“The moment this lets up I’m running down to close that gate. Stay here in the house. Promise?”

“You kidding? There’s no way I’m going out there.”

She waited until the hail stopped and the rain slowed, then grabbed a yellow slicker from a peg by the door. Outside, she crossed the yard and ran down the long, sloping lane. Slipping and sliding, she careened into a fence post once and then fell to her knees at the bottom of the hill.

With cold, wet fingers she struggled to untwist the wire that held the metal pipe gate securely open. She dragged its heavy weight shut across the rain-slick gravel just as the rain began to pick up again with a vengeance.

“Of course. Why not?” she muttered as she started back to the house, her head bowed against the wind. Nothing had been easy since she moved here, and now she and Keifer were stranded at this isolated place with no way to get back to town.

And then a long, dark shape materialized not twenty feet ahead. Its form blended like watercolor into the early dusk and driving rain, but the piercing yellow eyes were unmistakable.

She took in a sharp breath and stumbled to a stop, the hair at the back of her neck prickling. Her senses sharpened with an elemental awareness of danger. The house was too far away. There was no place to hide. She could never outrun it. The wolf took a step closer…

ABBY’S HEART LODGED in her throat and her knees threatened to buckle as she stared at the wolf.

It stared back. Silent. So perfectly still that it seemed more apparition than real, its gray coat melting into the rain.

Primal fear flooded her veins with adrenaline. She took a small step backward. Another.

The wolf lifted its head, its gaze never wavering.

But there was nowhere to run.

Behind her, past the gate, Keifer had told her there were thousands of acres of government land. Even if she could scramble over the wire fence, the wolf could clear it much faster.

And running away would immediately identify her as prey.

Visions of lurid newspaper headlines rushed through her head as she took another step back.

Nursing Professor Killed By Rabid Wolf.

Stupid City Woman Killed While Roaming North Woods Of Wisconsin.

Through the mist she heard the distant sound of Keifer calling her name. And suddenly the situation was far worse.

Did wolves kill for sport? If she didn’t show up and the boy came looking for her, would he be killed, as well?

At that thought she ripped off her yellow slicker. Swinging it wildly in front of her, she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Stay in the house, Keifer. No matter what, stay in the house!”

After a long pause she heard, “Why? What’s going on?”

The wolf turned its head toward the house. Took one more long searching look at her. And then it melted into the shadows, leaving behind a swirl of mist and the sound of her pulse hammering in her ears.

Though God knew it could be waiting. And bears. Weren’t there lots of bears up here, too?

Taking a deep breath, she put a tentative foot forward, then another, singing at the top of her lungs and shaking her yellow slicker. Rain plastered her hair to her neck, drizzled down her collar. She slipped once on the slick gravel, slamming her knee against the rough stones and almost crying out.

Except that might be an invitation to a predator.

Forcing herself to walk steadily, she made another ten yards. Twenty.

Imagined the hot breath of the wolf at her back.

Thirty yards.

She almost wept with relief when she reached the porch.

Inside the kitchen she slammed the door shut and locked it, then dropped the raincoat, shucked off her ruined shoes and sagged onto a settee doubled over her folded arms.

“W-was something out there?” Keifer chewed his lower lip, his eyes darting nervously toward the door.

“Everything’s fine. Just…fine.” Shaking from the cold and the rain, but most of all from her overwhelming relief, she dredged up a smile. Then realized that she’d be doing him no favors if she didn’t tell the truth. “I saw a wolf.”

His tension faded to boyish disdain. “They wouldn’t come up by the house. Dad said so.”

She studied the poor young child, who could someday end up a snack for something with very large teeth if he wasn’t careful, and held back a curt reply. “Well, this one did. Maybe he was lost in the fog, but he saw me, and I sure saw him. We are not setting foot outside this house again tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Human attacks are rare,” he said, clearly reciting what he’d learned from his father. “We aren’t their natural prey.”

“If my wolf could get lost in the fog, he could also mistake you for one very large rabbit,” she said dryly. “Maybe he’s got dementia. We’re locking every door and we’re staying inside.”

When Keifer just rolled his eyes again, she gave up. “I could use some dry clothes. Could you help me find something?

That seemed to throw him. “Uh, there’s only Dad’s stuff here. He just has sweatshirts and stuff.”

“Show me where, okay?” The lights flickered. “But first we’d better find a flashlight…candles and some matches, too. We might not have electricity much longer.”

She glanced around the kitchen—a Spartan place, with bare windows, stark white cabinetry and none of the homey touches indicating a family lived here. On top of the cupboards she found a serviceable kerosene lamp and a quart of lamp oil.

Keifer pawed through the kitchen drawers and held up a box of matches and some white tapers. In another drawer, he found a flashlight.

“I think there’s more candles in the living room. There’s a fireplace, too.”

She put the lamp and candles on the round oak kitchen table and followed him. “Any wood?”

“Uh-huh.” Keifer switched on the light in the living room.

Close at his heels, she pulled to a stop.

Because the kitchen was devoid of personality and warmth, she’d expected the same in here. But this room, a good twenty by fifteen, was paneled in dark, burnished oak, with a lovely crystal chandelier hanging over a long dining room table. Beyond that, a matching set of overstuffed chairs, sofa and love seat were grouped in front of a massive stone fireplace, which took up half of the far wall.

With the framed Robert Bateman wildlife prints on the walls, Navajo throw rugs on the oak floor, and gleaming brass-and-glass sculptures accenting the end tables, it was a comfortable and very masculine room. Right down to the dust, Abby thought with a smile, glancing again at the chandelier.