home » Romance » Vicki Lewis Thompson » Werewolf in the North Woods (Wild About You #2) » Werewolf in the North Woods (Wild About You #2) Page 12

Werewolf in the North Woods (Wild About You #2) Page 12
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

But Roarke was one lusty guy. He was also a wolf sometimes, and maybe that was part of her fascination. Hey, who was she kidding? Roarke was a larger-than-life fairy-tale hero, the kind she used to dream about when she was a little girl. Of course she wanted him desperately.

And of course she would resist such an insane fantasy. Her parents would love to see her settle down with a nice guy and pop out a couple of kids they could spoil rotten. Abby liked that scenario herself. She definitely didn’t plan to present them with grandchildren who sometimes turned into wolves.

Good thing she and Roarke had gone over that material as part of his Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves course. She couldn’t imagine what life was like for Roarke’s sister-in-law, Emma. All the important aspects of her life had to remain hidden from her friends and family. That would suck. She must really love Roarke’s brother.

Roarke paused again to sniff the air.

“Still smell them?”

“Yep. We’re keeping pace with them, but we haven’t gained any.”

“Then go faster.”

He glanced back at her. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch them.”

“When, sometime next year?”

He rolled his eyes. “Abby, we’re doing fine. They’ll probably stop for the night soon, and then we can make up a little of the distance before we stop.”

“Or we could hike all night and catch them.”

“No, we’re not doing that.” He sniffed again. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t smell a thing, which meant the Sasquatch pair was quite a distance away. Her grandfather maintained there was nothing worse than the smell of a Sasquatch. But for all Abby knew, Roarke liked it. He was strange that way.

As she trudged through the forest after him, trying to ignore the ache in her legs, her back—pretty much all over—she decided to ask the question and take her mind off her pain-racked body. “So do you like the way a Sasquatch smells?”

“Hell, no. It’s a terrible stench, just like your grandfather said.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Roarke laughed. “Poor hygiene?”

“Maybe. Then again, it might be a way for them to identify each other. Maybe a Sasquatch smells just great to another Sasquatch.”

“Now you’re thinking like an anthropologist.”

That comment pleased her. And talking definitely helped her forget she was a walking mass of misery. “What do you like about your job?”

“The people I meet. Some of the populations my team and I study are dirt poor but have a richness of tradition that more affluent cultures would envy.”

“That sounds cool.”

“It is. Dancing, singing, feasts—all of which promote loyalty to the community. Obviously, as a Were I come from a background that encourages community loyalty. That’s how we’ve survived through the ages. But the people I study often have an even deeper understanding of the meaning of community. I learn a lot from them.”

“And then you teach that to your students at NYU.”

“I hope so.” He held back a branch to give her room to pass.

“I’ll bet you do. Especially if you remember to wear the corduroy jacket and plaid vest.”

“Oh, yeah. My professor costume.” He let the branch go and it whooshed into place, showering both of them with a fine mist. He didn’t seem to notice as he paused to gaze at her. “Do you think the clothes are too over-the-top?”

He asked the question so earnestly that she had to smile. “It’s definitely over-the-top, but if you’re asking me whether you should modify it, my vote is to leave well enough alone.”

“So you think it makes me look dignified and scholarly, then.”

“No, I think it makes you look like a geek.”

“Damn. I was going for dignified and scholarly.”

“Personally, Roarke, I think the geeky look works for you. You should keep it.”

“Why?”

“You honestly don’t know?”

“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you about this. I loved the Indiana Jones movies as a kid, and so I decided to model myself after him. I wasn’t willing to give up my Ferrari, and I still love a good game of touch football, but I wanted people at NYU to take me seriously. So I decided it would help if I looked more like a professor than a rich playboy.”

She folded her arms and studied the man in front of her. His dark blond hair was rumpled from wind and rain, and he was sporting a five-o’clock shadow on his extremely square jaw. His shoulders filled out the tan windbreaker, and carrying that huge backpack made him look like some sort of Superman figure.

“If you walked into a classroom looking like this, then—”

“I would never do that.”

“That’s fortunate, because if you did, all the women in the class would swoon, after which they’d spend the entire class period with their chins propped on their fists, gazing at you.”

His cheeks reddened. “No, they wouldn’t.”

“Yes, they would. You’re a hunk, Dr. Wallace. You may want to be admired for your brains, but your body is to die for. Take it from someone who’s been jonesing for you ever since we met at the Rotary luncheon.”

“When I was wearing my professor uniform.”

“I’m old enough to be able to look past that, but the clothes help disguise your hotness from an eighteen-year-old college freshman.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t matter. To those girls, I’m an old guy. They’re interested in the football player sitting next to them in the lecture hall.”

Abby shrugged. “So don’t take my word for it. Try ditching the vest and wearing a white shirt open at the collar. See what happens. I predict the female population of your class won’t take a single note. They’ll be too busy staring at you.”

Roarke massaged the back of his neck. “I’m not sure you’re right, but that would be bad. Anthropology’s a fascinating subject and I want them to learn all they can while they’re in my class.”

“Then take my advice and stick with the plaid vest.”

“All right, I will.” He glanced at his watch again. “We still have another hour of daylight, and I think the scent is getting stronger. Are you okay to push on?”

“You bet.”

“Okay, but let me know when you’re ready to stop for the day.”

“Sure.” Like she would admit to being tired. She’d hike till she dropped. Then she’d drag herself to her feet and hike some more.

But he’d given her another topic of conversation as she followed him through the woods. “You drive a Ferrari?”

“I have a weakness for fast cars. I toyed with the idea of becoming a race car driver, but I don’t think that kind of high-profile work is a good idea for my kind.”

She smiled to herself. “You’d only be high-profile if you won a lot of races.”

“Which I would.”

“Obviously self-confidence wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I just know what I’m good at. Driving is one of those things. Flying is another one.”

“You can fly?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, I’m no engineer, but I would think the aerodynamics of that would be tricky. I know Pegasus is supposed to be able to fly, too, but somehow a flying wolf just doesn’t—”

“In an airplane, Abby.”

“Oh.”

“I grow fur, not wings and feathers.”

“Whew. Thanks for straightening that out for me. I was picturing a squadron of werewolves. It was rather frightening.”

His shoulders shook, and eventually she figured out he was laughing.

“Oh, man.” He turned back to her, still chuckling. “I didn’t realize educating a human about werewolves could be so entertaining.”

“Does that mean you’re having fun?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Makes sense. You’re a teacher, and this is a subject you happen to have down cold.”

“And you’re smart and eager to learn, so that’s always a bonus.” He gazed at her. “But I’ll bet you’re not having fun. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Sorry, but you look like someone pulled you through a knothole backward.”

She was too exhausted to take offense. “At least I should smell yummy—to you, anyway.”

“That’s a given, but you need to rest. We’ll find a place and make camp. There was a clearing back a ways. We can head for that.” He started to move around her, obviously ready to lead the way as they retraced their steps.

“No, wait. You wanted to keep going after the Sasquatch pair stopped, so we could make up some distance.” But she didn’t put much energy into the protest because camping sounded like heaven.

“I did, but if doing that pushes you until you collapse, I’ll have to give up the chase and carry you back to Earl.”

She managed a weak smile. “Nah, just leave me beside the trail like they do in war movies.”

“The heroes in war movies never left anyone beside the trail.”

“And you’re a hero.”

“Let’s put it this way—I’m not the villain who leaves a friend behind.”

“So we’re friends?” If they were, she liked that. She’d never had a werewolf for a friend before.

“I thought we were.”

“Yeah, I suppose we are. That kiss took us past the acquaintance stage, but we can’t be lovers for a whole bunch of reasons.”

He glanced away and his jaw tightened, as if he’d rather she hadn’t reminded him. “Right.”

“So that leaves us with being friends. And friends don’t let friends camp out in the open if there’s a cave nearby.”

He brightened. “There is?”

“I think so. When we crossed over that little stream where we refilled our water bottles, I recognized the area. I marked the way to the cave with a few cairns, if they’re still there.”

“How far back is the cave?”

“You could make it in ten minutes. I’ll probably need more like fifteen.”

As if on cue, rain began to fall.

Roarke glanced up at the gray sky visible through the tree branches. “I’ve never been a fan of setting up a tent in the rain. The cave sounds great. Lead on, hiker girl.”

She turned around and started back. Although they were going in the opposite direction from the Sasquatch pair, they wouldn’t lose too much time, and moving forward in the rain didn’t sound like a great idea.

“I’m glad you know about the cave,” Roarke said. “The rain’s coming down harder and we’d be miserable out in the open.”

“The cave could be occupied by a wild animal, of course.”

“I know. I’ll check it out.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the least bit worried about what he’d encounter in the cave.

And he wouldn’t be, she realized. No matter how human he looked right now, he was capable of becoming a wild animal himself. The blond wolf she’d seen wouldn’t be intimidated by anything that might live in this forest.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen many animals on this hike. A couple of squirrels, a rabbit, and several birds, but that was about it. True, the larger animals had mostly left the area as Portland had grown. Grandpa Earl said he hadn’t found bear tracks in years. But Abby usually spotted a deer or two when she went hiking.

She’d never gone hiking with a werewolf, though. Maybe Roarke had something to do with the lack of critters romping around. Maybe they could sense him. Maybe they could even smell him.

Now she was curious. “Roarke, do you smell like a wolf?”

He laughed. “No. Why?”

“I usually see deer when I’m out on Grandpa Earl’s land. I haven’t seen any today.”

“You’re on the right track. I don’t smell like a wolf, but I smell like a werewolf.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yep. But deer don’t stick around when they smell a werewolf, either. Ever since we left the trail, the wind’s been at our back, carrying my scent to whatever’s ahead of us.”

“Like the Sasquatch?”

“They don’t have a good sense of smell.”

“Aha! That’s why they stink so bad. If they didn’t, they’d never be able to pick up each other’s scent.”

“You could be right about that.” He was silent for a moment. “Abby . . .”

“What?”

“Do you find my scent . . . unpleasant?”

“No, I love it.” Whoops. Better dial back the enthusiasm. “I mean, it’s nice.”

“I liked your first answer.” His voice carried a suggestively husky overtone.

She decided to ignore it. “So, do you wear some kind of cologne or aftershave? Because if I knew the brand, I could buy some for my brother for Christmas.”

“Sorry. I don’t wear any.”

“Then it must be the soap you use that has a woodsy fragrance.”

“I use unscented soap.”

“Oh.” Then it was just Roarke. She’d never thought much about how a guy smelled before, and most of the men she’d dated used cologne or aftershave. “So you don’t like fragrances?”

“Just the real ones. Anything artificial drives me nuts. Perfumes of any kind irritate my nose and interfere with my ability to catch important scents.”

Like mine. Apparently she and Roarke had an olfactory match going on. There was something primitive and exciting about that—a little too primitive and exciting. The more they discussed this, the more she tuned in and turned on.

Search
Vicki Lewis Thompson's Novels
» Werewolf in Alaska (Wild About You #5)
» Werewolf in Denver (Wild About You #4)
» Werewolf in Seattle (Wild About You #3)
» One Night With A Billionaire (Perfect Man #1)
» Werewolf in the North Woods (Wild About You #2)
» Werewolf in Greenwich Village (Wild About You #1.5)
» A Werewolf in Manhattan (Wild About You #1)
» Cowboys & Angels (Sons of Chance #13)
» Should've Been a Cowboy (Sons of Chance #4)
» Behind The Red Doors (Santori Stories #1)
» Merry Christmas, Baby
» Safe In His Arms (Perfect Man #3)
» Tempted by a Cowboy (Perfect Man #2)