Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wolf
While Wolf was still figuring out how to get to Camellia, the back door opened, and Earl—who was bigger than Ethan or Baxter Brand—stepped out. Wolf and his newfound kin were all ducking low. It was easy to hide behind the refuse pile that surrounded the place.
“Wish I’d brought my gun,” Willow muttered.
Earl looked around, stood on tiptoe, his gaze aimed at the pit that had almost claimed Willow. Then he reached beside the door to grab a pair of binoculars.
“Can you rope him, Trevor?” Maria asked.
Rope him? Wolf wondered. What kind of family was this?
Trevor shook his dark, curly head. “Too much junk in the way.”
“He’s going back inside. Throw a rock or something,” Drew whispered.
Her brother Orrin picked up a rock, rose, and wound up for the pitch. And then there was a thud, and the big guy sank to the floor.
And then Camellia, stepped over him. Her hair was loose and wild around her shoulders. She wore no shoes and one sock, held a crowbar in one hand and something smaller in the other.
The Brands rose from their cover, but Earl rose, too, before Camellia had gone two feet from the door, and he yelled at her to stop. She spun and whipped that crowbar hard.
Earl went down in a heap. Camellia stared at him for a moment, and then turned, gathered up all her hair, and did that twist, flip, twist thing she did and stabbed her hairpin into it. That was what she’d had in her other hand.
He was smiling and shaking his head at her when she finally met his eyes. Her face lit up, and she lunged forward, and every single hand around Wolf flew up, stop-sign style, as every voice chorused some version of, “No, don’t move” or “Stay where you are.”
Camellia froze in place, glancing over her shoulder. Earl hadn’t moved, but he might, and Wolf could almost feel the shivers running up and down Camellia’s spine at having that big asshole so close behind her.
“I really need to come out there, Wolf.”
“I know. It’s booby-trapped. Let me come to you.”
“So it’s not booby-trapped for you, then?”
Something banged on the roof, startling Camellia so badly she jumped. Then she pivoted and looked up where the rest of them were already looking, at little blonde Drew. She’d apparently jumped down from the rock formation above, and had landed in superhero pose on the rusty roof.
Camelia
“Nancy freaking Drew,” Camellia said to her slightly built, blond-ponytailed nemesis. “How in the hell are you here?”
“You win,” Drew said, extending a hand.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you the one rescuing me right now?” Camellia took her hand, stepped up onto a barrel, and then onto the roof with Drew’s help.
“Yeah, true. But we were both on the same case. You found my cousin before I did.”
“I wasn’t looking for your cousin. I was looking for his family. Wait, cousin?”
“And we’re a tight family, too.” They walked across the roof and climbed up onto the boulder that stood above it.
Drew boosted her up, then Camellia reached back to pull her up in return.
“It would be something if we wound up related,” Drew said.
Then she crooked an eyebrow. “How close are you two?”
“Not as close as I want us to be,” Camellia muttered.
“Ohhh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Drew said, glancing back at the group.
Camellia figured they were all kin, but she only had eyes for Wolf.
He was gazing back at her, and it felt like he was already holding her in his arms, just from the look in his eyes.
The shirt he wore was torn and bloody, but he was on his feet and appeared to be okay.
She and Drew jumped from boulder to boulder until they could climb down clear of Earl’s booby traps, and then she ran right into Wolf’s arms.
He grunted when she hit him but held her close, “Thank God you’re okay,” he said.
“Thank God you are,” she said back, her face buried near his neck as he held her. “Wolf, I realized something back there, when you were shot. I—”
He wasn’t hugging her back anymore, and there was dampness forming between his chest and hers.
“Wolf?”
He sank to the ground. “No! Nonononono, Wolf.”
A woman with red curls came quickly and knelt beside him. “He’s bleeding again.” Then she looked behind them. “We need to get him out of here. He needs blood, but I don’t think he’s going to die.”
“Mmm-nah-gone-die,” Wolf muttered, sitting up.
Drew said, “Wait, wait, my phone vibrated when we were crossing the boulders. There must be a signal up there.”
“I’ve got it,” said a big man with dark hair, who reminded Camellia of a country singer whose name she couldn’t recall. He climbed up onto the rocks, holding his phone high.
And the Native woman said, “Wait, where’s Earl?”
For Camellia, it unfolded in slow motion, even though it was happening at high speed.
She rose and turned, chills racing up and down her spine again, and Earl was running at her like a bull.
His eyes were fixed on hers as if he didn’t even see anyone else.
He crossed the junk-strewn yard, leaping from one spot to the next to avoid his own traps, like a gorilla doing parkour.
The final leap would bring him right down on her, and there wasn’t even time to move.
Wolf surged to his feet, bringing his fist with him in an uppercut as Earl descended.
The big man’s head snapped back, and Wolf’s other fist smashed him in the face.
Then wolf sagged and Camellia caught him in her arms. Earl had flipped backward into the waiting arms of a large golden-haired man with eyeglasses, who said, “Trevor, you got that rope?”
“Can’t bind him with a lasso, cuz. That’s not how they work,” she a younger man.
“That’s okay,” Camellia said. “He has zip ties in his pockets.” She was easing Wolf back down. He wore a goofy smile and was feeling no pain.
Ethan had been ready to jump in from his perch atop the boulders, but now he turned and held up his phone. “Got a bar,” he announced. “I’ll get a chopper in here for Wolf and—oh Lord! Oh Lord!”
“Bubba, for God’s sake, what?” the redhead cried.
“Lily’s in labor!” the big guy shouted.
“Drew, you’d best take over the phone calls,” said a the Native woman, as Camellia realized she looked an awful lot like Wolf.…
The woman noticed her looking and smiled. “I’m Willow. I’m his sister,” she said.
Her nemesis-turned-rescuer, Nancy Drew, climbed the rock, and Willow called out, “Don’t tell the family about Wolf. Not on the phone. I need to be more careful with Mom this time.”
Everyone murmured in agreement.
Wolf
God, they were beautiful, the couple who stood on their home’s front porch as Willow drove them into the driveway, in her pickup truck.
Wolf had received two units of blood and had been patched up. Ethan and Lily had been sent home from the same hospital in El Paso with a diagnosis of false labor. Nobody, other than the cousins, had been told about Wolf yet.
Willow stopped the truck. She said, “Okay, here we go.” And she got out, and Wolf got out.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Camellia said.
“Yes, you should,” Wolf told her. “Camellia, I…there’s so much.”
“I know,” she said. “Same.” Their eyes held, and he nodded, understanding. There hadn’t been a minute to discuss what was between them since he’d awakened in the hospital.
“Soon, though,” he promised.
He got out, held the door for her. Willow was already approaching the front porch.
He felt awkward and uneasy as he studied the couple from a distance.
Native, both of them. The mother—his mother, Taylor Brand—was an older version of his sister, though Willow had her father’s brow and jawline. So did he.
“Hi, Mom, Dad,” Willow called.
“Welcome home, honey. Who’s that you’ve brought with you?” their mother asked. Their father, Wes Brand, was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing on Wolf.
“Mom, something miraculous happened when we went to the place where my brother’s baby blanket was found,” Willow said.
“You…went there?” Taylor looked stunned, and sent her eyes to her husband, but they returned to Willow’s when she spoke again.
“Yes. We held a ceremony for him. But…then we learned about a baby boy who was found in the river—”
Their mother rose to her feet, her sharp gasp stopping Willow only briefly.
“It’s okay, Mom. He was found alive, washed up on shore. He was raised by women who were off the grid by necessity.”
“Are you saying…Willow are telling me my son is alive?” she asked, but the words were mostly air. She seemed to wobble on her feet a little, and her husband’s arm tightened around her shoulders.
“Willow, if you’re not sure about this,” their father warned.
What a man he was, Wolf thought, watching his jaw clench as he held his wife nearer, as if he’d protect her from harm with his own body if he had to.
“Wolf is alive, and he’s okay, Dad. And…we brought him home. He’s right here.” And she turned to look at him.
The eyes of his parents turned toward him. He walked closer, still clinging to Camellia’s hand. The woman—his mother—released a strangled sob. Her face was soft, her mouth open, her brows so arched her forehead was an accordion. “Wolf?”
“That’s…what my bracelet says.” He raised his hand, loosely fisted, to show what he wore on his wrist.
She gasped, one hand covering her mouth.
Then she launched from her husband’s arms and wrapped her arms around him.
It hurt like hell and he didn’t care at all.
She kept saying his name over and over in a way he’d never heard it before.
“Johnny Wolf, my Johnny Wolf,” she said while stroking his head.
Eventually she backed up just a little, clasping his face between her hands and gazing up at him.
Her husband appeared behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his discerning brown eyes on Wolf’s face. “Son?” he croaked.
“You look like your father,” whispered his mother.
And then the man’s eyes closed, and his head dropped backward and he said, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”
Camellia