As he located place settings and opened a bottle of red he’d found in her wine rack, he anticipated the pleasure of sharing another dinner with Rachel. Although he cooked for trekking clients out on the trail, he ate most of his meals at home by himself. He hadn’t thought he’d minded, but now that he’d experienced having Rachel around for this daily ritual, he’d miss her enthusiastic presence.
By the time she returned with his duffel bag, he’d put all the food on the table and had even located a couple of candles and candlesticks.
She laughed in obvious delight when she noticed the flickering tapers. “I’d forgotten I had those.”
“You don’t eat by candlelight?”
“It seems sort of silly if you’re by yourself.” She set down the duffel and glanced at him. “Especially in the summer when it’s bright as day.”
“I know. We don’t really need the light, but I’ve always liked the look of candles. Werewolves are drawn to fire.”
She seemed intrigued by that idea. “Do you eat by candlelight?”
“Hey, do I strike you as the type of male who lights candles before diving into his solitary meal? I hope to hell not.”
“Well, no.” She grinned. “That doesn’t conjure a picture of a manly man, or, in your case, a rugged werewolf.”
“That’s right. So the answer is no, I don’t eat by candlelight. I make do with firelight on camping trips. But in some situations, candles are perfect. And this is one of them. I’m glad you had a couple of tapers in your cupboard.”
“Me, too. Well, here’s your stuff. I don’t know if you want to get dressed here, or—”
“I’ll take it into the bedroom.”
“Right. You like privacy.”
“I do. Go ahead and pour the wine. I’ll be right back.” He picked up the duffel and carried it into her bedroom. Then he came back out and scooped up his clothes lying by the front door. “If you have a plastic bag, I’ll stick these in my duffle.”
“Sure. Hang on.” She set down the wine bottle and popped into the kitchen. Soon she was back with a plastic grocery sack. “I don’t have many of these. I take my own bags to the store.”
“I’m with you on that.”
She smiled as if that meant a lot to her. “Glad to hear it.”
He dumped everything in the bag but on an impulse pulled out the shirt. “Good thing I didn’t lose this. It’s my favorite T-shirt.”
“Yeah? I hate to admit I didn’t notice your shirt this morning. Let me see.” She held it by the shoulders. “Wow, nice.”
“I found it several years ago on a trip to Idaho.” The T-shirt was black, imprinted with an image of wolves sitting around a campfire. Underneath was lettered The Gathering.
“I can guess why it’s your favorite. It’s a pack.”
She was right, of course, but until now, he hadn’t understood why he’d been so drawn to the graphic on this shirt, other than the obvious—it was wolves and fire, both of which he liked.
“You may live like a lone wolf, but that’s not who you are,” she said gently. “You need a family.”
“Guess so.” Embarrassed by the catch in his voice, he covered it with a laugh. “Damn, we’re letting the food get cold. You know how I hate that. Be right back.” Turning quickly, he walked into her bedroom. He didn’t realize until he got there that he’d been in such a hurry to escape his own emotional reaction that he’d left her holding the shirt.
She understood him in a way that no one ever had. Naturally he’d had guilty fantasies about building a life with her. Now she’d unearthed his deepest desire, one he hadn’t admitted to himself until now. He longed to create a mighty werewolf pack in the heart of Alaska, where the legend had begun. And she was the one he pictured by his side. There was only one problem with that dream. She wasn’t Were.
Chapter 21
Even without the rice, the meal was incredible. Rachel gazed at Jake over the rim of her wineglass. “You’re one hell of a cook.”
“Yeah, if you ignore the rice disaster that set off your smoke alarm.”
She waved that aside. “Things happen. It’s hard to concentrate on your rice when long-lost members of the Hunter pack show up. You probably need to call them. I told them you would.”
“I should.” He didn’t look eager to grab his phone.
“They seemed nice enough, Jake. And they were close friends of your parents, right?”
“Yes.”
“It might be really great to talk about your folks with someone who knew them back when. The Hunters probably have some good stories you haven’t heard.”
“Maybe. In fact, I’m sure they do.” He poured himself more wine and started to give her some, too.
“That’s okay.” She placed her hand over her glass. “I’m not as big as you and I don’t want anything to interfere with—” She started to say our last night because she thought it probably would be. But she decided not to put that into words, which would depress both of them. “Our fun and games,” she said, finishing on a positive note.
Jake set down his wineglass. “In that case, maybe I’ll leave this for later.” Heat flared in his eyes. “Afterward.”
“Jake, you need to make that call.”
“Right.” With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my phone out on the deck, in case they want to talk longer than a couple of minutes. There’s nothing more annoying than being subjected to someone’s one-sided phone conversation.”
“True.” She didn’t say what she really felt, that listening to him interact with his own kind would be fascinating. She didn’t want him to think she was a voyeur, peeking into the intimate life of his species.
Yet when he took his phone outside, she felt excluded. She didn’t like being reminded that she wasn’t a part of his world, but in fact, she wasn’t. Not only that—he didn’t want her to be.
Truth time here. She could rave on all day about her willingness to adjust to his culture, but he hadn’t asked her to do that. Instead he constantly emphasized his opposition to bringing her into the werewolf community. If she didn’t shut up about it, she would start to sound pathetic, like a werewolf groupie.
Gathering the dishes, she carried them into the kitchen and loaded them in the dishwasher. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she was an excellent galley slave. Within ten minutes she had the food put away, the kitchen sparkling, and the dishwasher running.
Inching her living room window blind aside, she was able to see Jake pacing her deck while he talked on his phone. He didn’t look particularly relaxed. Having the Hunters show up seemed to have put him on edge.
She got that. Living up here, far from her parents, she was used to being her own person. She’d left California to move to Alaska partly for that reason, to establish herself as an individual.
Jake’s motivations for leaving Idaho seemed very similar to hers. But now Idaho had come to him, and that sense of freedom might be slipping away. She certainly experienced that whenever her parents came to visit, much as she loved them.
With nothing more to do, she walked into her bedroom. His duffel bag sat on the floor in a corner, but Duncan MacDowell’s book, which she’d taken without permission from his bedside table, lay on the bed. She hoped he wasn’t upset that she’d tucked it into the duffel.
Because she’d drawn all the blinds earlier in the day, the room was fairly dim except for the light from her bedside lamp. Nudging off her shoes, she propped pillows against the headboard, picked up Duncan’s book, and settled down to read.
Several pages later, Jake’s voice broke her concentration.
“I can’t let you keep that.” He stood in the doorway, and the scene wasn’t terribly different from the time he’d first caught her reading this book, except they were in her bedroom and not his. His expression, though, was completely different. He looked at her with deep caring and more than a little concern.