He’ll fight tooth and nail

To keep her safe.

When shots are fired, wildlife officer Joe Cash responds to the call and finds himself face-to-face with Skylar Davis and her pet…wolf. It’s Joe’s job to protect all endangered species—including the pretty vet’s menagerie of rescues. As the threats intensify, Joe realizes Skylar could be the key to busting a ruthless poaching ring. But she’s keeping a secret that could cause more harm than either of them can imagine.

MICHELE HAUF is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually feature in her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com

Also by Michele Hauf

Storm Warning

The Witch’s Quest

The Witch and the Werewolf

An American Witch in Paris

The Billionaire Werewolf’s Princess

Tempting the Dark

This Strange Witchery

The Dark’s Mistress

Ghost Wolf

Moonlight and Diamonds

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Witness in the Woods

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09453-5

WITNESS IN THE WOODS

© 2019 Michele Hauf

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Joseph Cash raced toward the admittance doors of St. Luke’s emergency room. He’d driven furiously from Lake Seraphim the moment he’d heard the dispatcher’s voice announce that an elderly Indian man near death had been found crawling at the edge of County Road 7. A young couple had spotted him, pulled over and called the police.

Joe had responded to Dispatch and asked if he could take the call. She’d reported back that an ambulance was already at the scene and the man was being transferred to Duluth. The patient was seizing, and the initial report had been grim. They couldn’t know if he’d arrive alive or dead.

The description the dispatcher had given Joe could have been that of any elderly Native American. Sun-browned skin, long dark hair threaded with gray and pulled into a ponytail. Estimated age around eighty.

But Joe instinctually knew who the man was. His heart had dropped when he’d heard the location where the man had been found climbing up out of the ditch on all fours. That was the one place Max Owen had used to rendezvous with Joe when he brought him provisions, because from there it was a straight two-mile hike through the thick Boundary Waters to where he’d camped every summer for twenty years in a little tent at the edge of a small lake.

Joe hadn’t seen Max since June, two months earlier. He’d looked well, though his dry cough had grown more pronounced over the past year. Max had attributed it to the bad habit of smoking when he’d been a teenager. If anything happened to end that old man before Joe could see him—no, he mustn’t think like that.

Now he entered the too-bright, fluorescent-lit hallway of the ER intake area. Three people queued before the admissions desk, waiting to be assessed for triage. Normally, Joe would respectfully wait his turn, as he had occasion to check in on patients he’d brought here himself while on duty as a conservation officer with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources.

Fingers curling impatiently in and out of his fists, he stepped from foot to foot. He couldn’t wait. If the emergency crew hadn’t been certain about Max’s condition…

“The Native American man who was brought in,” he said over the head of a stooped elderly woman at the front of the line.

The male nurse behind the bulletproof glass glanced up and, at the sight of Joe, smiled. Though weariness etched the nurse’s brow, his eyes glinted. “Hey, handsome, who you looking for?”

“An old man was found on County Road 7 about forty-five minutes ago. Dispatch says they brought him here.” He wore the conservation officer’s green jacket over his matching forest-green cotton shirt, so he had the official gear to grant him authority. But it probably wouldn’t matter, Joe decided, as the nurse winked at him.

“Please, I don’t mean to interrupt, ma’am.” Joe flashed a smile at the old woman who was giving him the stink eye. “I think I know him. I can provide identification. He’s eighty-two, Native American…” Joe thought about it less than a moment, then clasped his fingers at his neck. “And he always wore an eagle talon on a leather choker at his neck.”

The nurse nodded. “We got your guy.” He glanced at the computer screen before him and then muttered, “Oh.”

That single utterance dropped Joe’s heart to his gut. Because he knew. The nurse didn’t need to say anything more.

Wincing through the sudden rise of sadness that welled in his chest, Joe nodded toward the doors that led to the treatment rooms. The nurse touched the security button, which released the lock on the doors, and Joe dashed through, calling back a mumbled thanks.

He hadn’t bothered to ask for a room number. There were only two rooms designated for those bodies that awaited the coroner’s visit. He knew that from previous visits. Walking swiftly down the hallway, he beat a fist into his palm as he neared the first room. The walls were floor-to-ceiling windows. All the curtains had been pulled, and no light behind them shone out.

“Officer?” A short blonde nurse in maroon scrubs appeared by his side and looked up at him. She smelled like pink bubblegum.

“I heard the dispatch call on the old man,” Joe said. “I may be able to identify him.”

“Excellent. We thought he was a John Doe. I’ll just need your badge and name for our records. Why don’t you step inside the room and take a look to confirm your guess while I grab some forms?”

“Is he…? When did he—?”

“He was DOA. Dr. Preston called it ten minutes ago. Presented as ingestion of a poisonous substance, but we’re waiting for the coroner to do a thorough workup. I’ll be right back!”

She was too cheery, but then Joe had learned that the ER sported all ranges of personalities, and it was those who exuded cheer who survived longest the grueling emotional toll such work forced upon them. Either that, or she was faking it to get through yet another endless shift.

He opened the sliding door, which glided too quietly, and stepped inside the room. Though the body on the bed was covered from head to toe with a white sheet, he just knew. The ten-year-old boy inside him shook his head and sucked in his lower lip. Not fair. Why Max?

Carefully, Joe tugged back the sheet from the head. Recognition seized his heart. He caught a gasp at the back of his throat.

“Oh, Max.” Joe swore softly and gripped the steel bed rail. The man had been so kind to him over the years. He was literally the reason Joe currently worked for the DNR.

Poison? But how? It made no sense.

The sudden arrival of the nurse at his side startled him. She moved like a mouse, fast and stealthily.

“Sorry.” She handed him a clipboard and then turned on a low light over the bed. “Just need your signature. Do you recognize the deceased?”

“I do.” Joe scribbled his name and badge number on the standard form and handed it back to her. “His name is Maximilien Owen and he’s Chippewa. The Fond du Lac band. Doesn’t live on the Fond du Lac reservation, though. Hasn’t associated closely with his tribe for decades. Eighty-two years old. Has never seen a doctor a day in his life. I thought he was healthy, though he’d had a dry cough of late. Are you sure it was poison?”

“That was the initial assessment. You know these Native Americans have herbs and plants they use for rituals and whatnot. Probably ate the wrong plant or something. It’s very sad,” she added.

Joe lifted a brow. She had no idea.

“Max would never eat the wrong plant,” Joe insisted. “He lived off the land his entire life. He knew the Boundary Waters like no one else. His dad used to be a tracker in the Vietnam War, and he taught Max everything he knew.”

“Oh, that’s touching.”

She wasn’t in the mood to hear the old man’s life story, and Joe wasn’t going to gift her with Max’s wonderful tale. He pegged her cheery attitude as a false front.

“I’m going to stick around for the coroner,” he said. “I want an autopsy.”

The nurse’s jaw dropped. “Do you…know his family? We don’t usually…”

“He didn’t have family. I’ll pay for the autopsy. This is important.”

Joe wasn’t about to let the old man be filed away as an accidental poisoning. That was not Max. At all. Something wasn’t right. And Joe would not rest until it was confirmed that Max’s death had been natural—or not.

Two weeks later…

BURNING CEDARWOOD SWEETENED the air better than any fancy department store perfume Skylar Davis had ever smelled. Pine and elm kindling crackled in the bonfire before her. A refreshingly cool August breeze swept in from the lake not thirty yards away and caressed her shoulders. She breathed in, closing her eyes, and hugged the heavy white satin wedding dress against her chest.

It was time to do this.

Beside her on the grass, alert and curious, sat Stella, the three-year-old timber wolf she’d rescued as a pup. Skylar could sense the wolf’s positive, gentle presence. The wolf was there for her. No matter what.

She opened her eyes and then dropped the wedding dress onto the fire. Smoke coiled. Sparks snapped. Stella sounded an are-you-sure-about-this yip.

“Has to be done, Stella. I can’t move forward any other way.”

Using a long, charred oak stick peeled clean of bark—her father’s fire-poking stick—she nudged the lacy neckline of the dress deeper into the flames. The tiny pearls glowed, then blackened, and the lace quickly melted. The frothy concoction, woven with hopes and dreams—and a whole lot of reckless abandon—meant little to her now.

Stepping back to stand beside Stella, Skylar planted the tip of the fire-poking stick in the ground near her boot and nodded. She should have done this two months earlier—that Saturday afternoon when she’d found herself marching into the county courthouse with hell in her eyes and fury in her heart. An unexpected conversation with her uncle an hour earlier had poked through her heart and left it ragged.

Her world had tilted off balance that day. The man she’d thought she was ready to share the rest of her life with had a secret life that he’d attempted to keep from her. She’d had her suspicions about Cole Pruitt, which was why she had been the one to approach Uncle Malcolm in the flower shop parking lot that morning she had intended to say I do. Normally she’d find a way to walk a wide circle around the family member who had done nothing but serve her and her father heartache over the years. But she’d had to know. And Malcolm had been just evasive enough for her to press—until he’d spilled the truth about Cole.

Since then, life had been strangely precarious. Not only had she ditched a fiancé, but her uncle had been keeping a close eye on her, as well. Hounding her about the parcel of land he wanted her to sell to him. And so close to making threats, but not quite. Still, she was constantly looking over her shoulder for something—danger, or…a rescuer?

Hell, she was a strong, capable woman who could take care of herself. She didn’t need rescuing.

Maybe.

“Stella, I—”

Something stung Skylar’s ear. It felt like a mosquito, but immediately following that sudden burn, she saw wood split out, and a small hole appeared through the old hitching post three feet to her right.

“What the—?”

Clamping a hand over her ear and instinctively ducking, Skylar let out a gasp as another hole suddenly drilled into the post.

Stella jumped to all fours, alert and whining in a low and warning tone. The wolf scanned the woods that surrounded their circle of a backyard. Cutting the circle off on the bottom was the rocky lakeshore. A cleared swath in the thick birch and maple woods opened to the lake, where Skylar saw no boat cruising by. Was someone in the woods?

She opened her hand before her. Blood smeared one of her fingers. What had just happened?

The holes in the post answered that question. And set Skylar’s heartbeats to a faster pace.

“Stella, stay here.” Still in a squat, Skylar patted her thigh. The wolf crept to her side and Skylar ran her fingers through her soft summer coat. “Someone just shot at me,” she whispered.

And, unfortunately, that was no surprise.

Chapter Two

Finishing off a ham-and-pickle sandwich he’d packed for a late lunch, Joe Cash sat in his county-issue four-by-four pickup truck outside the public access turnoff to Lake Vaillant. He’d just come off the water after a long day patrolling, which involved checking that fishermen had current licenses, guiding a few lost tourists in the right direction and issuing a warning to a group of teens who had been trying to dive for “buried treasure.” The depths of the lake were littered with fishing line, lost hooks and decades of rusting boat parts. Only the beach on the east shore had been marked for safe swimming.

All in a day’s work. A man couldn’t ask for a better job. Conservation officer for the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources was a title that fit Joe to a tee. Ninety percent of the time, his office featured open air, lakes, trees, snow and/or sun. Joe’s job was to keep the public safe, but also to protect and guard the wildlife that flourished in this county set in the Superior Forest. Not a day passed that he didn’t get to wander through tall grasses, spot a blue heron or, if he was lucky, spy on a timber wolf from a local pack.

He smiled widely and tilted back the steel canteen of lukewarm water for a few swallows. This job was what made him wake with a smile and dash out to work every morning. Nothing could give him more satisfaction. Except, that is, when he finally nailed the parties responsible for the rampant poaching in the area. Someone, or many someones, had been poaching deer, beaver, cougar, turkey and the animal most precious to Joe’s soul, the gray wolf. But tops on the list was the bald eagle. Taking down the other animals without a proper license was considered a gross misdemeanor. Taking down a bald eagle was a federal offense. And recently he’d begun to wonder if the poachers were using something beyond the usual snare or steel trap. Like death by poisoning.

The autopsy on Max Owen had shown he’d been poisoned by strychnine. He hadn’t consumed it orally, but rather, it had permeated his skin and entered his bloodstream. And even more surprising than the poison? His lungs had been riddled with cancer. That discovery had troubled Joe greatly. If he had known what was growing in Max, he would have taken him to a doctor long ago. The poison had killed him, but it was apparent the cancer would have been terminal. The coroner had ruled his death accidental. There had been no evidence of foul play. Max must have handled the poison improperly, it was determined.

Joe knew the old man was not stupid. He didn’t handle poison. Strychnine was rarely used, and if so, only by farmers for weeds and crops. Max had immense respect for wildlife and would never use or put something into the environment that could cause harm.

After saying goodbye to his mentor in the ER that night, Joe had gone directly to the site where Max set up his campsite from April to October. It had been past midnight, but Joe had tromped through the woods, confident in his destination. Yet when he’d arrived at camp, he had been too emotionally overwhelmed to do a proper evidence search. Instead, he’d sat against the oak tree where Max had always crossed his legs and showered wisdom on Joe. He had cried, then fallen asleep. In the morning, Joe had pulled on latex gloves and gathered evidence. There hadn’t been clear signs of unwelcome entry to the site, no containers that might have held the poison, but Joe had gathered all the stored food and the hunting knife Max used and taken it in to Forensics. The forensic specialist had reported all those items were clean. Whatever Max had touched was still out there, had been tucked somewhere away from the campsite or had been thrown.

And while the county had seemed to want to brush it off—the old man was dead and he hadn’t had any family—the tribe had seen to the burial of his body.

Joe had insisted he be allowed to continue with the investigation. The tribal police had given him permission, as they were not pursuing the death, having accepted the accidental poison ruling as final.

He might not have been family by blood, but Max was true family to Joe. He’d been there for Joe when he was a kid, and had literally saved his life. And he had been the reason Joe had developed his voracious love for the outdoors and wildlife.

Touching the eagle talon that hung from the leather cord about his neck, Joe muttered, “You won’t die in vain, Max.” He’d been allowed to take the talisman from Max’s things after the lab had cleared it as free from poison. The talon had been given to Max by his grandfather; a talisman earned because he had been a healer. It had been cherished by Max.

But the tracks to whoever had poisoned Max—and the reason why—were muddled. Did Max have enemies? Not that Joe had been aware of. He’d strayed from close tribal friendships and had been a lone wolf the last few decades. Not harming any living soul, leaving peaceably. A life well lived, and yet, it had been cut short.

The thought to tie Max’s alleged murder to the poaching investigation only clicked when Joe remembered Max once muttering that he knew exactly who poached in the county, and that they would get their own someday. Joe had mentioned a family name, and Max’s jaw had tightened in confirmation. Everyone knew the Davis family did as they pleased, and poaching was only one of many illegal activities in which they engaged—and got away with.

Now he needed new evidence, a break in the investigation, that would confirm his suspicion. So far, the Davis family had been elusive and covered their tracks like the seasoned tracker-hunters Joe knew they were.

The police radio crackled on the dashboard, and Dispatch reported an incident close to Joe.

“Anyone else respond?” he replied. Generally, if the disturbance was not directly related to fish and game, Dispatch sent out county law enforcement.

“We’ve got two officers in the area, but both are at the iron mine cave-in.”

This morning a closed taconite mine had reported a cave-in. It was believed three overzealous explorers who had crossed the barbed wire fence closing off the mine could be trapped inside.

“No problem,” Joe said. “I can handle it. What’s the call?”

“Skylar Davis reports she’s been shot at on her property. Her address is—”

“I got it.” Joe shoved the canteen onto the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. His heart suddenly thundered. He knew Skylar Davis. Too well. “Is she hurt?”

“Not sure,” Dispatch reported. “Sounded pretty calm on the call. You know where she lives?”

“I’m ten minutes from her land,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

He spun the truck around on the gravel road and headed east toward the lake where Merlin Davis—brother of Malcolm Davis, who owned Davis Trucking—had owned land for decades. Skylar had inherited her father’s land years ago after cancer had taken his life. His daughter now lived alone on hundreds of forested acreage set at the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. She was a strong woman. A beautiful woman.

She was…the woman Joe could never sweep out of his thoughts. The one who had gotten away.

And she’d been shot at?

He slammed his foot onto the accelerator.

SKYLAR OPENED THE door and sucked in a gasp. Joseph Cash stood on the front stoop, dark hair swept over one eye and looking smart in his uniform. The forest-green short-sleeved shirt and slacks served to enhance his tan skin. Hand at his hip where a gun was holstered, he had been looking aside until she’d stepped onto the threshold. When he turned to her and his stunning green eyes connected with hers, she clasped a hand over her heart.

“Skylar, are you all right?” She heard genuine concern in his urgent tone.

She had so many things she wanted to say to him. Yet at the moment, she didn’t know how to assemble a coherent sentence. Joseph Cash was the kindest person she’d known, and had always seemed to be there when she’d needed protecting. Be it in high school when she’d been bullied for sitting at the unpopular kids’ table, or even when she’d had to struggle for customers when she’d been working as a small-animal veterinarian in town and most took their animals to the big city of Duluth. And yet, despite his kindnesses, she’d pushed Joe away, wanting to prove to him that she was her own woman. Independent and strong. That she didn’t need a man to look over her.

Her rushed choice in fiancé had proved just that point. What a fool she had been.

“Joe,” she said. “I didn’t expect you. I called the county sheriff. I thought…”

“Well, you got me.” He cast her a smile that surely made every woman in the county swoon. But Skylar had never known how to react to his easy charm and shyness, save with a thrust back of her shoulders and, admittedly, a stupidly stubborn need to prove herself.

“I was close when the call came in,” he offered. “Just down the road coming off Lake Vaillant after a patrol. You okay, Skylar? Dispatch reports you were shot at? What’s going on?”

“I’m okay. And yes, I believe I was shot at.” She absently stroked her fingers over her ear, covering it with her loose blond hair. “I didn’t expect you,” she said again, rather dumbly.

Because if she had known Joseph Cash would be the one standing on her front stoop, she might have brushed on a little blush and combed her hair. At the very least, changed into some clean jeans.

A squawk from behind Joe made him turn sharply on the creaky lower wood step. Skylar noticed his hand instinctively went to his hip where his gun was holstered. A chicken in a pink knit sweater scampered across the crushed quartz pebbles that paved the stone walk up to the front steps.

“What the hell?” Joe said.

“That’s Becky. She wants you to see her. She’s very concerned about her looks. Do you like her sweater?”

The man scratched his head and then bobbed it in a nod, even while squinting questionably. “Yes?”

“She’s one of my rehab residents.”

“That’s right, you rehabilitate animals. I’m not even going to ask about the sweater.” He followed the chicken’s retreat across the yard until she scrambled around the side of the house.

“Uh…come inside.” Skylar stepped back and allowed him to enter the log cabin where she’d been living for two years.

When her father passed, the family land had become her possession, as she was his only child. At least, it was hers according to a handwritten note Merlin Davis had written a week before his death. Skylar had lived in the house until she’d moved to Duluth for college. Eventually, she’d made her way back to the town of Checker Hill and set up shop as the resident veterinarian. She’d never gotten much business. The townspeople were leery of the name Davis. Now this home felt too big for one person, but it was a comfort to nestle onto the aged leather sofa in the evenings, blanket wrapped about her shoulders, and admire the photos of her and her dad that she kept on each and every wall.

“You want something to drink? I’ve got lemonade.”

Joe grabbed her by the upper arm to stop her from fleeing across the open floor plan living area and into the kitchen.

“What is it?” She shrugged out of his grasp with a huff. He looked concerned now. Too much so. She didn’t want any man’s pity.

“Seriously? Skylar, I’m not here for lemonade. I’m here to make sure you’re okay. And not bleeding.” He looked from her head down to her shoulders and all the way to her feet, then back up again. “And—where did the shots come from? Do you know who it was? How long has it been? I should go outside and take a look around. It’s this way, right?”

He headed through the living area and skirted the long quartz kitchen counter. Toward the back of the house sat the screened-in sunporch that stretched the width of the cabin and overlooked the lake. Once before, he’d been in this cabin. When her father had been dying, he’d come to pay his respects. But how dare he traipse on through—

Skylar stopped herself from reprimanding him. He was here on duty. And she had called the police for help, much as her better judgment had screamed for her not to. Would she hear about this from her uncle? On the other hand, maybe Malcolm Davis already knew about the incident. And, yes, that thought sickened Skylar.

“Just through the sliding doors,” she called to Joe. “You can take the deck stairs down to the backyard.”

After grabbing her cowboy hat, which rested on the back of the couch and which she wore like any other woman might wear earrings or a favorite necklace, she followed the man’s bowlegged pace out to the deck.

Standing on the high wood deck, which was stilted ten feet up due to the slope of the ground below, Joe took in everything. The perimeter of the yard was round, echoing out from the firepit in the center. Surrounding the yard were striped hostas that grew thick and lush in the shade provided by the paper birch and sugar maple.

He took the stairs down to the ground. “Where were you? Were you burning a fire?”

He walked over to the fire pit and peered over it. Burnt cedar lingered in the air. As well, the grass was speckled with gray ash flakes from her hastily dowsing the flames with the garden hose after calling the sheriff.

Skylar cringed when she noticed the wedding dress was only half burned and melted among the charred logs. She hadn’t thought to cover up what she’d been doing. It had been a personal moment. A much-needed ritual of release. A reclaiming of her power.

Joe scratched his head. Hands at his hips, head cocked downward, he stared at the remnants of the dress. Skylar didn’t want to answer the question that must be lighting all the circuits in his brain right now.

“Tell me everything,” he said. Then he stretched his gaze around the backyard and out toward the lake. “Did you get a look at the shooter? Were they on your property? Cruising by in a boat? Partyers out for a spin on the lake?”

“I don’t know.” Skylar walked over to the smoldering fire pit and stood beside the hitching post, which she utilized as a stand to hang roasting sticks and an emergency water bucket she always kept filled when she was burning.

“I was burning a few things. And… I was about here.” She stepped to the right a few feet and Joe turned to eye her intently. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. The golden evening light, beaming through the tree canopy, granted his eyes a rich emerald cast. Everything about the man was intense, dark and—waiting on her.

“Yes, here,” she decided, stomping her boot toe into the grass. “I was talking to Stella—”

“There was someone else here?”

“Stella, my wolf.”

“Your…wolf?” He hooked his hands in the back pockets of his pants and looked about. “What the—? You took in a wolf cub?”

“Stella has been with me a few years. I found her in a snare trap when she was a pup. I hate it when hunters call those things humane. They are anything but. I took her to the office in town and had to amputate her back leg. Since then, she’s flourished. She’s not around right now.”

Skylar scanned the area. The wolf must be off with the half-dozen chickens—surprisingly, her best friends. Stella was protective of Skylar, but she always left the immediate area when visitors or company arrived. She was a little skittish until she could scent out the newcomer, and then she would eventually put in an appearance.

“I do rehabilitate animals,” Skylar pointed out to Joe, who nodded.

“Right. I just thought keeping a wolf as a pet…”

“I have a permit.”

“Sure. Still, they are a wild animal.” He gave her a side glance that dripped with judgment.

“She had nowhere else to go. I tried to get her to return to the pack, but they wouldn’t have it.”

“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t having it, either.

Yes, wolves were wild and should never be kept as pets. Skylar agreed with that wholeheartedly. But when injured and abandoned by their pack, the wolf’s only future was living as a loner. And for a pup living out in the wild populated with predators, the fate was most certainly a cruel death.

It didn’t matter to her what Joe thought of her choice to keep Stella. Skylar loved her like a family member.

“So you were standing right there and…?” he prompted.

“I was watching the flames, talking to Stella and…at first I felt something on my ear. Thought it was a wicked mosquito bite.”

She touched her ear and Joe stepped forward. It was well past the supper hour, and the forest edging her backyard filtered the setting sun, turning it into a hazy twilight. He dug out a small flashlight from a back pocket and shone it on her ear. The man stood so close she could smell his aftershave—something subtle yet masculine with a hint of lemony citronella.

He examined her ear, which had been nicked on the top and had bled minimally. Of course, she’d gasped at the sight of it in the bathroom mirror. She’d never been so close to being killed in her life. And that had angered more than frightened her. What would have become of Stella and the other animals she cared for if she had died? The thought of them being relocated, or worse, was heart wrenching.

As Joe looked her over, she studied his face. There were three Cash brothers, all born and raised in Crooked Creek, a sister town to Checker Hill. There wasn’t a female in either of the two close towns who didn’t know who they were, because those boys were genetic anomalies, fashion models roughed up by the wild. Sinuous and muscular. So sexy. And Joe’s deep green eyes were a thing to behold.

“If that bullet had been half an inch closer…” The man suddenly bowed his head and winced.

Skylar was taken aback by his reaction. “Joe? What’s wrong? I’m okay.”

“Right.” He lifted his head and his jaw pulsed with tension. “You always were able to take care of yourself.”

He’d learned exactly what she’d hoped to teach him about her. Regrettably.

Skylar lifted her chin bravely. “Still can take care of myself.”

“Being shot at is no way to go about it, Skylar. If anything would have happened to you…” He winced again and looked aside, toward the fire pit.

Skylar found herself leaning forward in hopes of him finishing that sentence. Then again, she suspected how he would finish it. He’d never hidden his interest in her. And she wasn’t prepared for such a statement right now.

If only he’d said as much to her two months earlier. Of course, then he’d been avoiding her like the plague.

It was well deserved on her part.

He placed his hands akimbo and scanned the lake. “Do you know what direction the shot was fired from?”

She pointed out through the gap in the bowed birch trees that she’d always thought of as a sort of pulled-back curtain to the stage of the lake. “I feel like it came from that way.”

“See anyone down by the shore?”

She shook her head. Then she remembered, and turned to point out the bullet holes that had splintered and pierced the hitching post.

“Two?” Joe bent to study the post with the flashlight. “These are clean, and one goes all the way through.” He paused and glanced at her as if to temper his words for her tender ears.

“I’m a big girl, Joe. You can say the bad stuff without offending or scaring me.”

“I guess so.” He returned his attention to the holes and tapped the post with a finger. “I have some evidence bags in the truck. I’m going to grab them, but I should also call in someone to take some photos and—” His attention veered to the ground behind the post. “Here’s a bullet.”

He tugged out a black latex glove from his pocket, pulled it on and picked up the bullet from the ground. It was long, and Skylar leaned in to peer at it as he did.

Joe swore.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My dad collects guns, and he taught me and my brothers a lot about the different types and their ammunition. This is most definitely from a high-powered rifle, Skylar.”

“I don’t understand. Not the usual hunting rifle?”

“Nope. If that had been the case, that hitching post would be pocked with lead shot. As well as you.”

Skylar sucked in a breath.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that.”

She nodded, no longer feeling quite as strong as she wanted to.

Joe turned and again cast a glance across the lake. “I don’t think the shooter was close. Could have been across the lake. Which means this is some serious business.”

He turned to face her directly and asked, “What’s going on? Why would someone be shooting at you? Skylar, is there something you need to tell me?”

Chapter Three

Joe had rushed to Skylar’s home upon getting the call from Dispatch. Simply hearing her name had been all he’d needed to become immersed in those old familiar feelings he always got whenever he thought about the tall, sexy blonde. Feelings he wasn’t prepared to let emerge right now, because then he’d have to struggle with what had once felt like heartache.

Hell, who was he kidding? It had been, and still was, heartache.

Save for occasionally spying her walking into the grocery store or out of the local café, he hadn’t spoken to her for almost a year. That had been a purposeful avoidance.

Long, tawny blond hair spilled over her shoulders. And that cowboy hat she always wore shaded her blue eyes, but in the rich evening twilight, a flash of sun from across the lake created glints like sapphires in those irises. And when she parted her soft pink lips to speak, Joe’s heart thundered.

“I don’t know what you think I should know, Joe,” she said. “How can I know who was shooting at me?”

Drawn back to the moment, he briefly met her gaze—and almost fell into that heartache again. But he managed to snag a grip on the present and pull himself up and into business mode.

“It’s standard procedure to ask a lot of questions after an incident like this,” he said. “Any details you can provide that might help me figure this out?” He cast his gaze across the lake again. “It had to have come from across the lake.”

“Really? That far away? It’s a good three-quarters of a mile to the other side.”

“Sniper rifles can hit a target miles away. My brother, Jason, used to be one of the best when he was…well.” Jason didn’t like his family to talk about the fact he used to be a CIA agent. And most didn’t know that he had been. “Not that it was such a rifle. Nothing’s been confirmed yet. But whoever made that shot…”

It wasn’t right to be impressed at a moment like this, but that was some distance to the other side of the lake. Had to have been a boat driving by.

Skylar blew out a breath, but it had a nervous vibration to it. She suddenly stepped to the side and wobbled. Joe caught her arm and shoulder against his chest and hugged her. The scent of pine and lemons teased his nose. He slid a hand down to her waist and across her back to offer her a sturdy hold.

“You okay?”

She nodded, but her expression indicated she was far from okay.

“Let’s get you inside. I don’t think it’s wise to stand out here.”

“You think they could still be out there? It’s been over an hour.”

“Unlikely.” He helped her walk toward the deck. “But you could use a cup of tea or something.”

“Brandy,” she said, then laughed. “Oh, Joe, I guess it did throw me. I was fine after I called the police. But now…”

As they approached the deck stairs, a dog came padding out from the forest that edged the north side of the house.

But wait. That was no dog.

“Stella has finally decided you pass muster.” Skylar gripped the deck railing and sat on the second step from the bottom. “Just give me a minute, will you?”

“Of course.” While Skylar sat to settle her nerves, Joe whistled to the approaching animal. “A timber wolf.”

“She’s my rescue sweetie. Hey, Stella.”

The beautiful wolf approached on light footsteps, her gold eyes and coal nose aimed for Joe. Her tail was held slightly erect, with a bit of a kink to it. Warning, but cautiously optimistic. He’d known that Skylar had found a wolf pup in a trap a few years ago, and thought she’d rehabilitated it and sent it off to its pack. But to keep it as a pet?

By instinct, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head as Stella neared. One thing a human should never do was look a wolf directly in the eye. It was a sign of challenge and authority that he dared not risk with this unfamiliar wolf. He noticed a slight hop to her step. She managed very well on three legs.

Raising his head, Joe held out his hand but did not stretch toward the curious animal. She would sniff him out, decide what she thought about him. As she had likely been doing when she’d been hiding in the woods. A wolf’s sense of smell was far superior to that of a dog’s. Stella had already decided whether he was friend or foe. Because of that, he felt honored that she’d come out to greet him.

The wolf approached on careful footsteps, stretching out her neck to sniff at Joe’s fingers. Her tail unkinked and waggled slightly.

“I spent a lot of time with her in the early months,” Skylar commented from the step. “Nearly twenty-four/seven, sleeping with her on a mattress for weeks, acclimating her to my human self and letting her know I would not harm her.”

She’d taken the right steps for a wolf to live with humans. But Joe always favored reintroducing the animal back into the wild before such drastic measures were taken. On the other hand, if her pack had abandoned her, as they may do to the sick or wounded, he could be thankful Skylar had been there for her.

“I suspect her mother was killed. Otherwise, I’m sure she would have stayed around her pup in the trap.”

“Very possible. Wolves will never be pets,” Joe said quietly. “They will always have the wild in them. Right, Stella?”

The wolf’s tongue lashed his fingers, and he let out the breath he had been holding. Just one lick. She wasn’t going to get overly enthusiastic about a new human, but she did seem to trust him. As proof, she allowed him to ruffle his hand over her fur and he went for the sweet spot behind her ear, giving it a light scratch. The wolf sat before him, reveling in the attention he gave her.

“She’s beautiful. I’m honored to meet you, Stella. But where’s your pack?”

“Pretty sure she was from the Boundary Edge pack,” Skylar said. “I checked the records with the wolf center. They hadn’t recorded any births, but they don’t have twenty-four/seven watch, either. And only one of the pack males is tagged with a tracking device. They were able to tell me about a year after I’d had Stella that one of the females was missing. They hadn’t found her body. So I’m sticking with the dead-mother theory. Stella was a long way from home. That pack travels about ten miles north from here.”

“I’m familiar with that pack,” Joe said. “Well, their territory. Never gotten close to any of them, but I have tracked them before. So Stella was found in a leg trap?”

“It was actually a snare. She was near death. Had been gnawing at her own leg. I waited and watched for other wolves, but there were none close. I figured she was about three months old at the time. It’s been almost three years. She’ll never be mine, but I am her person. I did take her to the pack rendezvous point about a month after she’d been with me. Not a single wolf showed.”

“They were watching,” Joe guessed. “But by then Stella was marked by human scent.” He combed his fingers through Stella’s soft summer pelt. The brown, gray and black fur had likely received a good combing from Skylar, for he didn’t notice any unpreened winter undercoat. She lifted her head, luxuriating in his touch. “That’s too bad. She would thrive with others of her kind.”

“She’s not doing so terribly with me.”

“No, she’s not. Looks healthy and happy.”

The wolf tilted her head against his head and he took a moment to relish the contact. It was rare he got to experience the wild so close. And, yes, she was still wild. He’d wager any man who came toward Skylar with intent to harm, or whom Stella hadn’t properly sniffed out, would risk a bite or worse.

“You haven’t started your own pack, have you, Skylar?”

“Of my own design. I rehabilitate all breeds here. Goats, chickens, cats and snakes. Even had a baby moose once, but thankfully, she went back to her mother. Stella was my first and so far only wolf. Which reminds me, I have to run into town tomorrow to pick up some red yarn.”

“For rehabilitation purposes?”

“You met Becky. She wants a change of sweater. Very fashion forward, that chicken.”

Somewhere on the edge of the yard, a goat bleated.

“Beyoncé knows we’re talking about her,” Skylar offered. “She’s a dancer.”

Joe didn’t even know how to respond, so he let that one pass without comment.

Now Stella licked his face. So he sat on the ground and she stepped forward onto his legs. The wolf was big, perhaps eighty pounds, but not as big as some could get in the wild. Standing on their back legs, a wolf could rise well over a tall man’s head. Their weight could range from seventy to one hundred fifty pounds, and they were strong and powerful. Stella seemed amiable, willing to accept him.

“This is the first time she’s ever welcomed a stranger so freely,” Skylar said. “There’s always been something special about you, Joe. I think you’re a wolf whisperer.”

Joe shook his head. She’d never teasingly called him Nature Boy, as his older brothers were apt to, which he appreciated. It was a nickname that had stuck since that fateful weekend he’d gotten lost in the Boundary Waters. Just thinking about it brought up memories of Max Owen, and that forced Joe back to the present. Because he would not let Max’s bizarre death be ignored without discovering the reason behind it.

“I just like animals,” he offered. “All animals. And I respect them. They have souls and are more a part of this land than we will ever be. But enough of the greeting—we have to get your person inside,” he said to Stella. “She’s been through a lot. And I want to head across the lake to look around.”

As Joe stood, the wolf followed, watching him guide Skylar up the stairs by her arm. She was reluctant to accept the assistance—he could sense her tug in resistance—but finally she relented and her body hugged his as he walked her across the deck toward the patio doors.

Skylar Davis possessed an independent streak deeper than his ability to express his true feelings toward her. They’d known one another since high school, and he’d pined over her from afar since then. They’d become friends as sophomores—biology class had paired them over a frog dissection—and following high school, college had separated them for years. But they’d both found their way back to Checker Hill, and one another. A few years ago, they had decided to take a chance at dating. Thing was, their schedules had never meshed, and each time Joe had asked Skylar if she was free, she had been seeing someone else. Vice versa, for one time she’d asked him out when he’d been dating a girl from Duluth.

There had been that time at a wedding reception for a mutual friend. They’d both been drunk. And, well, what had ensued that night—or rather, hadn’t—had changed things between them.

And then Joe’s best friend had stepped into the picture and had turned Skylar’s head completely away from Joe. And that was the reason he hadn’t spoken to her in a year.

Joe cast a glance down toward the extinguished fire pit. A wedding dress lay smoldering in bits and pieces. He’d like to ask about that, but he’d wait for a better time.

SKYLAR WATCHED AS Joe pulled onto the long, pine-bordered driveway that curled out to the county road. He intended to cruise to the other side of the lake and take a look around. All in a day’s police work, she felt sure. Impressive, since she was aware he’d worked a full shift today and she’d thought conservation officers generally stuck to checking hunting licenses and beach patrol.

No, she knew that wasn’t right. The conservation officers in the Boundary Waters had their hands full with poaching, theft of natural resources, search and rescue of lost hikers, and they were even called in to consult on murder cases when a body was found in the woods. They carried all the usual authority and powers a police officer would.

Much as she hadn’t expected Joe to knock on her door this evening, she was thankful now that it had been him. Because she needed…something. Help? Support? This keeping her mouth shut about the minor indiscretions Davis Trucking employees committed and hoping her relationship with her uncle would improve was getting her nowhere.

Still, Malcolm had offered to buy a section of her land. Then she’d have seed money to build the shelter. But at what price was her alliance to her uncle? Would her dad have wanted that? He’d kept the land pristine. Had always refused to sell to his brother so he could fulfill plans to expand the business. Malcolm had no love for the environment, while Merlin, Skylar’s dad, had been a certified tree hugger.

And now she’d been threatened. Seriously. She could have been killed. Had the threat come from Malcolm? That didn’t make sense. If he wanted to buy her land he should be kissing up to her. And yet…

Two days ago, Skylar had stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have seen. She wasn’t sure what had been in those freezers in the Davis Trucking warehouse, but the man with a rifle in hand who’d discovered her had not been happy to see her.

What to do?

Because, much as Uncle Malcolm had stood for the opposite of everything her father had, he was still family. And family meant something to her.

But family didn’t fire warning shots at one another.

Chapter Four

The drive around the lake did not bring Joe to the spot where he’d determined the shooter might have been standing. Calling for backup, he got an answer from a state patrol. An officer could be around in twenty minutes. Joe predicted a hike through the woods to get to the position across from the lake to the Davis home, so he waited for the patrol officer to arrive. Otherwise, they’d never find each other in the thick pine and birch forest that offered only narrow trails here and there.

As a conservation officer, he spent 90 percent of his time roaming the woods and lakes in his territory. He knew this area. But he hadn’t spent much time on this lake. It was small and usually only boated by the residents living around it.

Antsy, and wishing he’d taken an hour in the gym this morning to work out, he bounced on his feet. His hiking boots were not the most comfortable for such movement, but he liked to stay limber. He snapped up his knee and kicked out in a Muay Thai move that could knock an opponent flat.

He’d developed an interest in martial arts from watching his mother practice her moves from the karate class she’d taken when her boys were younger. He’d started with karate, but after watching a few National Geographic specials and sports TV, he’d fallen in love with the ultrahigh kicks and swift elbow strikes Muay Thai offered. It was all about brute power. It worked his body in every way possible, and kept him limber and sharp. And a well-honed body only enhanced an ever-growing soul. He was constantly learning. His greatest teachers? Nature and the wildlife he had taken an oath to protect.

But honestly? It was a good means to get out his anger by kicking the sandbag now and then.

Pausing at the harsh, croaking call of a blue heron, Joe lifted his head and closed his eyes. He had to smile at that sound. Such utter peace here, away from the city and major highways. He opened his eyes, scanning the treetops in hopes of seeing the heron nest, but the canopy was thick. The last slivers of sunlight glinted like stars.

A car honked and Joe waved to the approaching patrol car. Brent Kofax was with the sheriff’s department. In cases where someone had been shot, or threatened, they usually joined the investigation. He stepped out of the car and gave Joe a thumbs-up. Joe had worked with Brent on a few occasions when backup was necessary. Usually when he knew he’d be approaching a boat full of drunk fishermen, or that one time Joe had needed someone to help him sort out steel traps from a burned-out Quonset building.

“What do you have tonight, Cash?”

Joe shook Brent’s hand and pointed over his shoulder toward the lake. “The Davis woman who lives across the lake was shot at earlier this evening. Judging by the trajectory of the hit, I’m guessing the shooter might have been in the woods about a quarter mile up. I need another set of eyes. You ready to do some hiking?”

“I always know you’ll give me a workout when I answer your calls. Already changed into hiking boots. Let’s do this!”

From his car Joe grabbed a backpack that contained evidence-collection supplies, water and snacks, as well as a compass and other survival equipment. He never ventured into the woods without it. At his hip, he wore his pistol, a Glock .40 caliber. Brent carried a 12-gauge pump shotgun, standard issue nowadays.

The two men picked carefully through the brush and grasses, dodging roots and ducking low-hanging pine tree branches. Brent was an avid hunter, unlike Joe, but he wouldn’t criticize the man’s need to kill innocent animals for food. The day he started doing that was the day he volunteered to have his life held under a microscope and examined for faults. He had many, but cruelty to animals was not one of them. His anti-hunting stance got him some razzing from his fellow conservation officers. They tended to think that COs with wildlife management training let their love for nature get in the way of their police work. The opposite was true. Joe protected the citizens as well as the animals.

They hiked half a mile through thick pine and aspen. The sun had set, and he and Brent were now using flashlights, but the moon was three-quarters full and there was still some ambient light glimmering off the calm lake water. Thanks to Joe’s sharp eye, they found a deer trail, as well as scat droppings under some fallen maple leaves. Their path kept them within a thirty-foot distance from the lake shore. The shooter would have gotten close enough to the edge of the forest for a good, clear shot, Joe decided. Thankful for the beaten-down brush, he tracked until he spotted shell casings. Ballistic evidence. Excellent.

They stood twenty feet in from the lakeshore, well camouflaged by tall brush and a frond of wild fern. With shell casings just behind him, and the grass trampled down around them, Joe figured this was where the shooter had been positioned. He studied the ground, which was folded-down marsh grass and moss. If it had been dirt, he might have found impressions from a tripod the shooter would have surely utilized to hold steady aim and sight in the Davis property nearly a mile across the lake, as well as shoe tracks.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Brent commented as he bent to shine his flashlight on the shell casings. “What? Did you grow up in the woods like Mowgli, or something?”

“I think Mowgli lived in the jungle,” Joe commented. But there had been a time, in his family, when his brothers had referred to him as Mowgli, until they’d decided on the more annoying Nature Boy.

It wasn’t often a boy found himself lost in the woods for three days, and was finally led out and home by a pack of wolves. That experience had changed Joe’s life. First, his parents had hugged him and showered him with kisses. Then, they’d grounded him for wandering off by himself without taking a cell phone along, despite the fact that it wasn’t easy to call home in the middle of the Boundary Waters where cell towers were few and far between. But Joe had taken the punishment and had used it to study up on wolves, and from that day forward his direction had been clear. He wanted to work with wildlife and protect them from the hazards of living so close to humans.

“You got an evidence kit in that backpack?” Brent asked. “I left mine in the car.” He stood and flashed his beam around where they stood, hooking his rifle up on a shoulder.

“Always.” Taking a pair of black latex gloves out of the backpack, Joe collected the two metal shell casings and put them in a plastic bag he usually used for collecting marine specimens from boats docked on lake shores. He’d seen the two bullet holes in the hitching post by the fire pit.

That the first bullet had nicked Skylar’s ear told him someone did not want her dead. Whoever had pulled the trigger had skills similar to his brother Jason. To come so close without harming her? Such a shot required nerves of steel and perfect timing.

The second shot must have zinged within a foot of her body. Enough to scare the hell out of anyone. Any woman—or man—would have fainted or run screaming. He’d figured Skylar had taken it calmly, until he’d seen her falter beside the fire pit. He’d left her sipping brandy with Stella curled at her feet. She’d insisted she didn’t want protection overnight, but Joe considered sending out a patrol officer to park down the long drive that led to her property.

Or he might do that himself. He’d been up since five, had hit the lake at six and had spent a hot day out on the water. It was late now, and he was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep if he left Skylar alone. He’d park at the end of the drive, and she’d never be the wiser. There were worse ways to spend a summer evening.

As he stood up from collecting the casings, his gaze caught something that was neither flora nor fauna. Brent took a step forward, his attention focused across the lake, and—

Joe swore and lunged into a kick that caught the officer on his hip, hitting none too gently and throwing him off course.

“What the hell, man?” Brent had dropped his flashlight and rifle, and splayed his hands in question before him.

The flashlight rolled and stopped with a clink. Both men looked to the spot where Brent had almost stepped. Joe cautiously approached the oak tree. His flashlight swept the ground, taking it all in, watching for a steel trap. But he knew he wouldn’t find it, because the set snare wasn’t usually used in tandem with such a trap.

The flashlight beam fell over the snare trap—a light wire cable anchored to the base of the oak. If any animal stepped on that, the loop would tighten about their leg. Or worse—if they sniffed the bait peeking out from under some wet aspen leaves, it would become a noose and string them up, likely breaking their neck. In a worst-case scenario, the noose would not snap and the animal would be suspended, alive, left to slowly suffocate until the poacher returned.

“Bastards,” Joe muttered.

“I almost stepped on that.” Brent eased a hand down his hip where Joe had kicked him. “You could have just called ‘stop.’”

“I owed you one for that upper cut in the gym a few weeks ago.”

Brent chuckled. “Yeah, that was a good one. Pretty rare I get the upper hand with you.”

Joe picked up a branch and used it to nudge the snare. The trap sprang and released the snare in a flutter of leaves. Joe would disassemble the entire thing and take it in to the county forensics lab for a thorough study. With any luck, they’d find fingerprints.

“You got wire snips in that backpack?” Brent asked as Joe sorted through his pack. When he proudly displayed just that, Brent shook his head. “Never mind. Mowgli knows what he’s doing.”

Yeah, he didn’t care for the moniker so much from people who weren’t family. Joe snipped the cable and, latex gloves still on, untangled it from around the tree trunk. Brent gathered it into a loop.

The disturbance uncovered a few bits of bait meat. The smell was rancid, but Joe bagged it as well. The forensic lab could determine a lot from testing bait meat, such as the animal it had come from, and possibly even pick up some fingerprints. Briefly, he wondered if the meat was poisoned. It was an important detail that he wouldn’t have proof of until tests had been run.

Stuffing the evidence bags into his backpack, Joe stood and looked out over the chrome-and-hematite-sheened lake. His investigation into the poaching hadn’t taken him quite this far south. Now he’d expand that range. First, he needed to check whose land this was. He’d thought it was state owned, but he couldn’t be sure until he checked a map.

The poachers weren’t even sneaky; they seemed to be growing bolder every month, leaving traps everywhere. And the thing that had tipped Joe off initially had been an ad on Craigslist. Selling deer antlers and bear claws online? Blatant.

Yet he hadn’t run into the poison that had been found in Max’s system, even with the samples he’d sent in to the lab. He could be way off course in trying to connect the man’s death with the local poachers, but Joe sensed he was on the right track. Every bone in his body pushed him to continue with the search for Max’s killer. The man had not been accidentally poisoned. No one handled strychnine without taking precautions.

And now there was a new twist to the investigation. Could the one who had set this snare have been the one who’d shot at Skylar? It couldn’t be coincidence that the shooting site was so close to a trap.

Joe narrowed his gaze across the calm dark waters. A small light showed from what was probably Skylar’s living room. He hoped she would sleep well, with the wolf keeping guard outside. But he didn’t guess Stella would provide protection, and he wouldn’t expect it. The animal seemed skittish and hesitant to approach strangers, and that wasn’t a bad thing. But that meant Skylar was not safe.

And yet, why would a poacher shoot at her? It had to have been some kind of warning. Did she know something that someone wanted her to keep silent about? And if it had been a warning, whoever had fired would have known his target would take it as a warning.

Which meant Skylar might know more than she was letting on.

“Lieutenant Brock said something about finding illegal guns in an Ely residence.” Brent looped the coiled cable over his forearm.

“I found a cache of guns with the serial numbers filed off last week,” Joe offered. “They were in a shed with a dozen illegal deer racks.”

Brent shook his head. “You need help with any of it?”

Joe nodded. “Always. You can take this in to the county forensics van, for a start.”

“I’m heading toward Ely. I think Elaine Hester is on shift tonight. Smart chick. What are you up to now?”

“Headed back across the lake.”

He needn’t tell Brent he had decided to stand vigil outside the target’s home because he feared losing her more than his heart could stand.

STEPPING OUT OF the shower, Skylar dried off, then reached for the brandy goblet on the vanity. She downed the last two swallows. Whew! That burned. But she instantly felt the calming effects ease through her muscles, and the need to close her eyes and drop into a heavy sleep.

“Come on, Stella.”

She padded naked down the hallway to her bedroom, followed by the three-legged wolf. Stella generally slept outside, but she would never ignore an invite to stay indoors. The security panel for the entire house was positioned at eye level in the bedroom, by the door. She turned on all the door locks and the perimeter alarm, which was set only for the weight of a vehicle since she had so many animals wandering around at any given time.

Stella jumped onto the end of her bed. Her spot. And let no man try to prove otherwise.

Pulling on a long T-shirt that hung past her thighs, Skylar crawled onto the bed and lay on top of the sheets across the middle of the mattress, so she could smooth her palm over Stella’s fur.

She hadn’t seen Joseph Cash in…must be a year. He got more handsome every time she saw him. He had the “tall, dark stranger” thing going on full force. Except he wasn’t a stranger, and…she wanted to see him again.

Under better circumstances than getting shot at.

“It was a warning,” she whispered, tracing the top of her ear, which felt tender from the bruise. She caught a swallow at the back of her throat, followed by a single teardrop slipping down the side of her face.

She’d walked into a warehouse on Davis Trucking land, and before calling out for her uncle, she’d glanced around. There were crates everywhere, marked with company names. Standard inventory for a trucking outfit, she figured. But the freezers, six of them, had stood out. They were the large white chest kind, probably close to twenty cubic feet in volume.

What had been in them? With a trucking business, it could be anything. And while she’d always assumed they didn’t store goods on-site, she didn’t know enough about the operation.

A man standing over one of the opened freezers hadn’t noticed her, so she’d cleared her throat. He’d lifted his head and swung a look over his shoulder, focusing his gaze on her. She hadn’t recognized him, and he’d immediately slammed down the freezer cover and grabbed a rifle. The feeling of utter dread had overcome her. Skylar had turned and run. As she had, he’d called after her, “Don’t tell, bitch! This is none of your concern.”

She’d run straight to her truck, past a few truckers who had called out to her and whistled. The stranger hadn’t followed her. Forget talking to her uncle. She’d been creeped out, and had put her truck in gear and gotten the hell out of there.

She hadn’t told anyone. Because she wasn’t sure what she had seen. But it had been something. Because tonight they had warned her.

And yet, she’d dared to call the police. Because she would not be scared off by some idiot assholes who thought they had a right to threaten a woman. Hell, the shooter could have killed her.

Now, dare she ask Joseph Cash to protect her?

Chapter Five

Joe woke and winced. He was sitting at an angle—ah, hell. He’d fallen asleep in the truck parked at the end of Skylar’s driveway.

The rapping noise that had woken him thumped again on his window. Sliding upright in the driver’s seat, he moaned at the tug to his aching back muscles, then managed a blinking glance to his left. And then he opened his eyes wide and took in the view.

Could a woman look more beautiful in a cowboy hat, no makeup and plain denim shirt unbuttoned to just there? He voted no. She was like sunshine and all those pretty things guys liked to look at but were always afraid to touch for fear of smearing them with dirt or breaking something delicate.

Skylar Davis was not a delicate woman. She’d made that clear to him over the years he’d known her. And he expected some stern words to follow the admonishing look she was giving him now.

Turning the keys in the ignition, Joe pushed the window button, which slid down slowly. “Mornin’, Skylar.”

“Really, Joe? Did you sleep out here all night?”

“Most of the time? Nope. Wasn’t sleeping. I was on watch. Must have fallen asleep a few hours ago.” He wasn’t sure what time it was and glanced at the dashboard. Seven o’clock. He may have gotten two hours’ sleep at most. The night had been spent with the radio turned low to the ’90s top hits, his eyes half-closed, as he’d kept an eye toward the Davis house.

“I told you I didn’t need looking after.”

“Just doing my job, Skylar. You were in danger last night. It’s not clear that danger has passed. I wouldn’t be a very good law enforcement officer if I’d walked away and left you vulnerable. How’d you sleep? Where’s Stella?”

“She’s playing with Becky. And I’m headed into town on errands.”

“Right. Pink yarn, wasn’t it?”

“Red. That, and groceries. Will you move your truck so I can drive through? Or are you now a permanent fixture that I have to learn to live with like some kind of skin growth?”

Someone was not a morning person. Still, her pretty eyes made up for that touch of rancor. “Listen, Skylar, I know you don’t care for me—”

“My feelings for you have nothing to do with what’s going on right now, so don’t bring that into the situation.”

She had feelings for him? Joe raked his fingers through his hair and sat up a little straighter.

“I appreciate you investigating the shooting,” she said. “And I understand you’ll have further questions for me. I’ll cooperate as much as I can. But I already gave you my statement.”

“As much as you can?” Joe opened the car door and stepped out. Another tug at his back muscles reminded him how little time he spent sitting all night in a car keeping a vigilant watch for intruders. “What’s going on, Skylar? I feel like you know something you’re not willing to tell me. Or are you afraid? Is that it? Is someone threatening you?”

“Of course I was threatened!”

“Yes, but why? If it was a threat, then generally the person being threatened has an idea about why.”

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, paced to the front of his truck and then swung out her arms in surrender. “It’s not what you think, Joe. I just… Did you find the place where the shooter may have been positioned?”

“I did. As predicted, I found a couple shell casings. Sent them in to forensics for analysis.”

Now she gave him her full attention. Sunlight flashed through the tree canopy, gleaming on her smooth skin. That someone had wanted to hurt her, or at the very least threaten her, tightened Joe’s resolve to find the culprit. No woman, especially Skylar, should ever be put in such a position of fear.

“I found a snare, set and waiting to spring.”

Skylar nodded subtly, taking it in. She didn’t seem surprised. And for as rampant as poaching was in the Superior Forest, it wasn’t as if most people ever encountered such a situation unless they went looking for it, as a conservation officer would.

“You ever catch poachers on your land, Skylar?”

“Catch them? No. I’d be a fool to go after an idiot with a gun and the mentality that animals are there for the taking, no matter the pain they cause the poor creatures.”

Joe nodded. They were of the same mind regarding treatment of animals. All animals. Not just the ones society had designated as pets.

“Most of the land owners around here carry a gun,” he said. “And while the majority are law-abiding and only hunt with a license, there are those idiots, as you call them, who think they can do as they please. I’ve been investigating a poaching ring close to this area for months.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. She was interested, but she was also holding back on the conversation. She knew something. He sensed it. Could she have information that might lead him to whoever had poisoned Max?

“You know it’s your duty to report poaching activity, Skylar.”

“I know that.”

“Don’t approach the culprit, just get a name or description, location of the trap or snare, and call it in.”

“I can do that. And I will. If I ever happen upon something like that.”

“You gotta be careful trekking through these woods.”

“This is my property.”

“Is it clearly marked? Fenced?”

“No.” She hooked a hand at her hip and lifted her chin. “My father had a good relationship with all the area families. We all respect boundaries and will often allow one another to hunt on our land, with permission. I’ve never had a problem…”

Joe waited as her words seemed to hang. She wasn’t saying something, and he really wanted to wrench it out of her, but he didn’t want to play hardball and force their relationship into something uncomfortable for her.

Not that they had a relationship. Well, beyond that he’d considered her a friend up until a year ago.

“What about your uncle?” he prompted. He knew Malcolm Davis’s land hugged Merlin Davis’s—now Skylar’s—land in some manner. It had all originally been owned by their father, Skylar’s grandfather.

“What about him?” Skylar now studied the ground intently.

Joe shrugged. “I see Davis Trucking driving the highways all the time. In Duluth, too.”

“They are the third biggest trucking company in northern Minnesota. I’m sure they have a loading dock on Superior.”

“Been around forever, too. You have a good relationship with them?”

“Davis Trucking? I can’t say it’s good, bad or ugly.”

“I mean your uncle Malcolm. Didn’t I hear something about him and your dad having a feud of some sort? I think you mentioned that to me once.”

“My dad has been gone for two years, Joe. Leave the past in the past.”

“Sorry.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets.

That had been a cruel means to try to get more about Malcolm Davis out of her. The patriarch of Davis Trucking was on Joe’s suspect list. But he’d yet to get hard evidence on him, save a few random deer pelts and a couple bald eagle talons found in one of his truckers’ glove compartments.

“I have to get to the store,” Skylar said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s still early, and I have some mowing to do, plus I need to move the chicken house. I like to do that before the hot afternoon sun beats down. You going to move your truck?”

“I will. But I do have more questions. They can wait until after I’ve had a better look at the evidence. I’m not going to stand back and let you face alone whatever the hell is going on, Skylar. Just a warning. I’m here for you. Like it or not.”

She nodded and looked aside. “Sure thing, Joe. Thanks,” she said on a tight whisper. “Talk to you soon.”

She turned and strode off toward the cabin. Her long legs moved her swiftly, as did her swinging arms. No-nonsense wrapped in a tease of femininity. Had Cole Pruitt really married her? Last Joe had heard, the date had been set. And that wedding dress. So many questions he’d like to have answered.

“She’s hiding something,” Joe muttered.

And that hurt him almost as much as losing his chance at dating her had. Was she involved with the poachers his investigations were centered around? It was a quick and harsh judgment, but it was something he’d have to consider. She was a member of the Davis family, after all.

“Don’t do this to me, Skylar,” he said as he slid back behind the wheel of his truck. “I have too much respect for you.”

SKYLAR PAID FOR the two bags of groceries—pleased the small market offered sundries such as the red yarn—then grabbed the bags and headed out to her truck parked in the grassy lot in front of the store. The old Ford she drove had once been red, but the paint job had faded over the years to a rust-mottled pink. Cole had been good with the small fixes it had needed. That was about the only thing she missed about not having him around.

She set the paper bags on the passenger seat and closed the door to walk around to the back, where she paused and leaned against the tailgate to watch passing cars. She was no longer in an irritated mood caused by thoughts of Joseph Cash and his soulful green eyes. Because, mercy, that man had cornered the market on sexy.

Why had she never hooked up with him?

They almost had that one night. And then…

And then. The big rejection from him. That still hurt a little. Even though she could understand where he’d been coming from—she being drunker than a skunk. And he had been toasted, as well. That he’d had the mental fortitude to refuse her suggestion of sex was either because he was a strange beast or because he hadn’t been as interested in her as she’d thought.

Either way, at the time, his refusal had humiliated her. After that, she’d thought pushing him away was the smart thing to do. Really, the idea of being happy and in love with any man had only driven her mad after losing her father. He’d been torn apart when her mom had left. Skylar had been twelve that morning she’d found a note from her mother placed directly on top of her bowl of shredded wheat. She’d missed the school bus after reading the two sentences: I can’t do this anymore. I love you, Skylar. Mom.

And she hadn’t seen or heard from her since. No check-in calls. No Christmas cards. Not even a “hey, I’m still alive, don’t worry about me” message on the phone. Her teenage years had been depressing. Skylar had once been confident and self-assured in her schoolwork, but middle school had been merely going through the motions. By her sophomore year, Skylar had decided to put her anger into her schoolwork and had graduated a year early. As if that would show her mom.

It hadn’t, but it was how she’d coped with the situation. If her mom didn’t need her, then she certainly didn’t need her, either.

But her father had not been the same after his wife left. He’d refused to even date after that, telling Skylar Dorothy had been his soul mate. On his deathbed he had smiled and whispered Dorothy’s name before drifting away.

The woman had not deserved such reverence. Had she ever appreciated her husband’s love for her? That was a question Skylar wanted an answer to, but she knew it would never come. So she’d moved forward, and was doing as well as she could now that her dad was gone. Life had felt empty for a while after his death, but her focus on the animals she rehabilitated had worked like a jolt of life infused into her system. She didn’t need anyone to make her happy. Nor did she want to risk falling for someone and having them walk out of her life.

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