Chapter 6
SIX
LANIE
What Whispers the Wind Brings
“Oh, we are dressing to impress.” Winnie runs a critical eye over my wardrobe options for my not-date with Cord.
Not that I’m the one using the four-letter d-word today.
I’m happy with my choice of dark jeans and blue leather ankle boots that I rarely get to wear when I’m researching but lug about with me all the same.
Those are paired with a long-sleeved black tee that I managed to extract from the bag I never get around to unpacking somehow.
I kind of figure I won’t be here for long, and yet here I still am.
Kind of like my obsession with Winnie’s brother which is developing into something more, fast. Too fast for comfort, too fast to ignore, but it’s there anyway.
My hair hangs in a long braid down the middle of my back that Winnie has fluffed out half a dozen times. I’m still picking stray strands from my sleeves as I shrug on a polar fleece over the top of everything. A moose printed on the front of my tee peers over my open puffer jacket.
“It’s my favorite top. See? Comfy.” I tug at the stretchy material to demonstrate.
“You’re not in Alaska anymore, Lanie.” Winnie throws me a pointed look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re going out with people, not wolves. A person. Just one. Cord’s taking you on a date, even if you’re pretending it’s not that,” she adds.
“Come on, Win. It’s local research and probably protesting. A light version. No date in sight.” The word feels weird on my tongue. “We’re going to a small town to check out claims of a legend. He’s my guide for the day. It’s hardly dress-up-and-smooch-me time,” I scoff.
Winnie snorts. “Really? ’Cause you two looked awful close yesterday.”
Cord did get close. Real close. And I liked it. More than liked. I shrug off her comments that skirt way too near to what I’ve been secretly craving all week. “Maybe. He’s helping me with a local project. That’s all.”
Winnie leans in. “You think he’s hot.”
“Don’t you talk about your brother that way.” I slap at her and back away, my hands raised in defensive mode.
Winnie raises an eyebrow.
“Fine. Yes, Cord is gorgeous. I’d have to be blind not to see that.”
“I knew it!” Winnie straightens and then wrinkles her nose as she studies my moose tee. “If I can’t convince you to change, then you need to do something with your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I lift a handful of braid from where it hangs down my back. “You’ve been fussing with it all morning—oh.”
Winnie sighs at the mess fluffing out from either side as I send her an accusing glare. “Bathroom. Now.”
Forty minutes later, I boast a head full of dark curls that glint black cherry red in the weak Cloakton morning sunlight.
“I love your hair. You don’t even have to color it,” Winnie moans.
I pull my new curls away from her grasping hands, curving about them like a protective mother eagle about her chicks. “Keep your hands off. I’m going to be late.”
“Oh, he’ll hate that.” Winnie’s eyes light up with undisguised glee.
I shake my head and leave her to her plotting. Who am I to get in the way of my matchmaker BFF extraordinaire? I take a breath meant to calm myself and manage to inhale Cord’s ghost instead. Goose bumps prickle my arms. There’s a cowboy I have to meet.
Valiant Peak boasts a population of 831 souls, according to the peeling sign at the southern edge of the small township.
My car meanders along the mostly deserted main street, searching for the building with the dire wolf sign.
Spotting it, I pull into an empty parking lot in front of a shiny red six-wheeler truck.
The vehicle glows brand-new, apart from a smattering of dust beneath the wheel arches, and practically has I can’t afford to scratch the paintwork written all over it.
I fuss with my water bottle, my stomach clenching as I try not to look for Cord, who is hopefully somewhere nearby on the sidewalk.
My personal contingent of butterflies returns in force.
I can’t stay in the car forever. Sucking in a deep breath, I stare at the dire wolf banner.
Today is about wolves, not cowboys… But then the Valiant Peak Rodeo sign flaps and all I can see is the silhouette of Cordell’s broad shoulders.
Focus on the wolves, Lanie…
The driver’s door pulls open at my side. An ignominious squeak escapes from my mouth as a hand twice the size of mine wraps around my own, and a jolt runs up my arm before I recognize the callused hand’s owner.
“Hey. Are you okay in there?” Cord’s ice-blue eyes stare into mine. A smile that’s anything but chilly steals my remaining oxygen.
I resemble a guppy seeking air as he tugs me out of my seat.
My eyes level with the same broad chest I’ve been perving on thanks to the version of the man in front of me.
His silhouette also hangs over our heads.
Either way, he fills out his blue shirt way too well.
Cord’s breath brushes my cheek as he leans one arm over me, braced against the roof of my car in a steadying gesture.
“Sorry, I’m a bit late. Winnie—” I break off.
Frisson ekes its way along my arm wherever his bulk brushes my body, despite the layers of jacket and shirt. My excuse that his sister primped me like a show dog gets jammed somewhere between my brain and my mouth and never makes it any further.
“Don’t worry about it. You look gorgeous.
I love these.” Cord’s deep voice shatters my wayward thoughts as he slides his fingers into my hair.
He twists one curl around his fingers, drawing me in.
Warmth emanates from his chest, creating a flush beneath my jacket.
His gaze drops to my lips. “I got here a little early. Figured there’s someone you should meet. ”
“Thank you,” I manage, sure my cheeks match my everything as he releases the captured curl. Crisp air replaces his touch. I suck in a breath, the cool air a much-needed reprieve.
He leads us along the sidewalk, dodging a granny who seems intent on her walker path with a singular focus I envy. Cord halts in front of the building bearing the giant dire wolf sign before I realize he still holds my hand.
“Who’s heading up the witc—ah, the tourist attraction?” I ask, trying to focus on the building, despite that the sheer presence of the man towering beside me sets every nerve ending tingling.
“Pollux Jenkins.” Cord grimaces. “He’s reasonably fanatical about removing anything with sharpened canines from the face of the planet, but he makes up for that little gem of a personality flaw with his total lack of personal hygiene.
Are you ready, or do you want to ease into this with a coffee first? ”
Cord’s thumb brushes circles over the back of my hand as he speaks, sending extra shivers along my arm.
I wonder if he knows he’s doing it. Not that I’ve tried detaching my hand from his.
My not-date. Ha. I shove Winnie’s snickering shade to the recesses of my mind.
I’ll deal with her later. Cord’s presence alone draws me closer to him, but when his attention turns fully to me, it’s like standing under a powerful spotlight.
I nod, pressing the pads of my fingers to the back of his hand, trying not to react to the goose bumps sliding over my skin beneath the cover of my tee, thankfully.
“Mister Pollux Jenkins sounds attractive. Let’s do it.” Besides, we can top up on coffee later and debrief afterward.
Cord pushes the dire wolf building’s door open, leading us into a dimly lit room. Overhead, taxidermized beasts of all sorts snarl at anyone who dares enter their domain. Stuffed and balding, most look like they could use a good dusting.
“Two of those are on the endangered list,” I murmur, counting dire wolf pups in my head so I don’t scream their injustices aloud the moment I see the first other human in this place of horrors.
My hand tightens around Cord’s by reflex.
I’m grateful he doesn’t pull away when I spot endangered creature number three, plus the poorly patched hole on its side where something went in… or got pulled out.
Cord nods, catching my eye as he squeezes my hand in warning. “It gets worse.”
He stops at a low desk covered with flyers.
I flip one over. A snowball of facts fills blue-bordered squares in tiny snippets.
While the information presented appears correct, I doubt a true dire wolf, outside of the one-off, lab-grown version, has been terrorizing the locals.
A large, hopeful part of me can’t help but want to spot a mythical, full-grown beast for myself.
The not-so-logical part, that is. A girl has to have dreams.
My hackles rise; the propaganda here matches what I’ve seen online and it’s clear that this man is leading the way—and endangering the wolves that do live here peacefully as a result.
“Welcome to The Hunt. This beast is as bad as what you’ve seen immortalized on film and twice as vicious. Pollux Jenkins, Dire Wolf Expert.” A middle-aged man with glazed eyes greets us, his title pronounced in capitals to emphasize his importance.
A wave of spirits mixed with stale bodily fluids rolls over me. I step back, covering my mouth in a fake cough that I’m sure Cord doesn’t miss, in an attempt to soothe the prickling rage that simmers beneath my skin. He seems to sense it, easing a little further into my space.
“Indeed. And you’ve seen this dire wolf?” I try to keep my skepticism under lock and key, but I suspect it slips out into my tone anyway. Not that Pollux appears to notice.
Cord’s hand tightens around mine, though he stares hard at the shorter man hiding behind the cluttered desk between us like he wishes it wasn’t there.
“Only glimpses, I’m afraid. The dire wolf is a very clever creature.” Jenkins’s smile reaches only glassy eyes that match his stuffed animal collection swaying above us on their fishing line strings.