Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(66)

“I know,” I say. “You want to be friends, and he’s just looking to get laid. Some guys, huh?”

It’s clear that the wolf really is only interested in one thing, and he’s not getting it—Storm won’t let him, and I wouldn’t either. She retreats behind me, and I shoo him off with a “Hie! Hie!” as I lunge in his direction.

As the wolf flees into the night, the cabin door bangs open and I hear, “Shit! Casey!”

I look around the corner to see Dalton, staring at the retreating wolf.

“Uh…” I say. “Did you forget something?”

He looks down.

“Yep, clothing for one thing. Please get back inside before you lose any body parts I’d really rather you kept. I was, however, referring to…”

I lift my gun. “What were you going to do? Punch the wolf in the nose?”

He blinks, obviously still waking up. Then he says, “Wouldn’t be the first time. The last one was a feral dog, though.”

“Back inside,” I say.

Storm and I follow Dalton. He’s shivering, not surprisingly.

“Was that the same wolf?” he says.

“Yep, remember how we were talking earlier about unwanted advances and guys who don’t take no for an answer? It seems Storm has a suitor.”

He blinks, still bleary-eyed. “What?”

“She must be coming into estrus,” I say. “I haven’t seen signs, but she’s old enough, and that wolf picked up a scent that said, if his advances weren’t accepted right now, they might be soon.”

“Shit.”

“Yep. I know when we took her for her annual shots, the vet mentioned spaying, and we hadn’t made a decision on that. We’re going to need to.”

I crouch and hug Storm, running my hands over her as she trembles in lingering excitement from the encounter.

As I pet her, I say, “Down south, spaying would be a no-brainer. No one needs more dogs. Here, though? I don’t know. There could be some advantage to breeding her once. If we do want more working dogs in Rockton, we know she has good genes. On the other hand, we don’t want every wolf and feral dog volunteering as puppy daddies.”

“Is there some way to control her cycles?”

“Doggie birth control? I have no idea. More research for our next trip to Dawson.” I give her one last pat as I stand. “At least one of us might be able to have babies, huh?”

I say it lightly, but I feel Dalton’s gaze on me.

“I was kidding,” I say.

“Kidding … and not kidding.” He checks his watch. “It’s after five, so I think we’re up for good. If I put on the kettle for coffee, can we talk about this?”

I shrug. “Nothing to talk about, really. Yes, it’s on my mind lately, for obvious reasons, but talking is just treading the same ground over and over. It doesn’t get me anywhere.”

He fixes me with that look, trying to extract from my brain the answers I’m not giving. Then he puts the blackened kettle directly on the fire.

“You need to teach Ty how to set that up properly,” I say.

“Guy drinks instant coffee with powdered creamer. I don’t think he cares whether he’s heating the water right.”

He backs from the fire and pulls on his sweatpants. He’s still adjusting them, not looking at me, when he says, “You had so much other shit to deal with after the beating. Just getting up and around again. Then getting your strength back. Getting on the police force. All the things they said you couldn’t do, and you did. This other thing was…”

He struggles for words. “It’s an injury to a muscle you weren’t sure you’d ever want to use. Except it’s more than just a muscle that doesn’t work. It’s something they took from you, on top of all the rest, something you can’t fix through sheer determination and hard work.”

Tears roll down my cheeks. I don’t even realize it until he reaches for me. He has put into words everything I’ve been feeling these last few days, and it’s as if I’ve said them myself, but better, because I didn’t have to.

Fourteen years ago, four men beat me and left me for dead. They took my mobility, leaving me with a leg injury that doctors said meant I’d never run again. They left me with scars—physical and psychological—that people said meant I’d never become a cop. They took my pride, too, and my dignity and my self-confidence.

But I triumphed because I fought back in the way that really counted. I can run. I am a cop. And while there’s still psychological damage, in regaining my mobility and achieving my career goal, I won back my pride and my dignity and my self-confidence. Wherever those four thugs are now, I have a better life than they do. I’m sure of it. So I won.

Except now, as Dalton says, there’s this one thing they took that I cannot regain. It didn’t matter before because I never saw myself as a mother. I had an all-consuming career and no interest in long-term relationships. Being with Dalton changed both those things and nudged that old scab. Then came Abby, and seeing Dalton with her and feeling my own reaction to her has ripped that scab clear off, and it hurts. It hurts so much.

Tied up in that pain is rage. Those men did take something from me, something I cannot get back, and here is this life choice that I’m not even sure I want, but I should damned well have that option. I don’t, and it is their fault.