Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

“Nothing. It’s a great place. Lots of hiking trails. Neat-o.”

Ian lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A sudden and disturbing thought muscled into my head. “I left my phone at the house.”

The whole town could have gone up in flames while I’d been banging the new doctor. That would play great during the next election.

“I have to go.”

Ian tugged on my hand, and I glanced at him. “You have every right to a life, Grace. That’s one thing I learned—though a little too late for Susan.”

“That was her name?”

He appeared startled he’d said it out loud. “Yes. I shouldn’t talk about her so much.”

“Yeah, you’ve been a real chatterbox on the subject.”

“Feels like it.”

“I don’t mind, Ian. You obviously loved her; you lost her; you miss her.”

“Obviously,” he murmured, then dived into the creek and swam away.

* * *

I offered Ian the use of my shower, but he seemed in a sudden hurry to leave.

His taillights disappeared down the drive; then the sound of his tires rolling faster and faster across the pavement of the highway that led to town drifted on the wind. Despite our supposed “date” tomorrow night, I wondered if I’d ever set eyes on him again.

I shrugged it off. I was used to seeing men’s taillights. So why did it seem so much worse this time?

Because I’d felt something, just as he’d said. A kinship. Perhaps just the shared heritage and the interest in our past, maybe more. Did it matter? I had a full life—a busy job, a friend or two, a community. I didn’t need Ian Walker any more than he needed me.

Inside, I checked all my phones and messages.

Relieved to find nothing that couldn’t be handled tomorrow, I headed for the shower, but before I got there a slight scratch at the back door drew my attention. I glanced out the window, didn’t see anyone, shrugged, and turned away.

Scritch.

Not wanting to meet whatever was out there while I was stark naked, I grabbed some jeans and a tank top from the clean pile atop the dryer, found my gun where I’d left it in the junk drawer, loaded it, and slowly opened the door.

The wolf sat right on my porch.

I tightened my finger on the trigger. The animal tilted its head, unconcerned. Since a stick had passed right through it, I had no doubt a bullet would do the same. Then again, if it was ethereal how had it scratched on the door?

“What do you want?” I asked.

The beast tilted its head in the other direction. There was something about the eyes that disturbed me. They weren’t human; they didn’t seem crazed or evil, but they did seem familiar.

“Do I know you?”

Yip!

Was it one yip for yes and two for no or the other way around?

The wolf got to its feet and I lifted the barrel of the gun, which had dipped a bit as I tried to figure this out. Spirit wolf or not, I didn’t plan to let the thing jump me without trying to stop it. However, the animal whirled and trotted down the steps, pausing at the bottom to peer over its shoulder as if waiting. The beast then ran a few feet toward the woods and waited.

I considered the Lassie-like behavior. “You want me to follow you?”