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  “That is the scout motto,” said Steve, smiling. “And one I didn’t adhere to myself as you can well see.” He was just about to pull out a science fiction movie when a loud thud reverberated through the room and both Tia and Steve jerked violently. The wind howled fiercely and whoever was outside had to pound on the door in a terrific manner just to be heard.

  “Who could that be?” asked Tia, startled.

  “Maybe it’s my realtor,” muttered Steve, and followed Tia as she quickly hurried to the front door. Tia slowly opened the door, enabling an icy blast of whirling snow to hit the pair as a tall, dark-haired man screamed for help. A large flashlight set on the ground beside him, and near him a still, dark form lay.

  “Are you deaf, woman; I said I need some help!” cried the man, and Tia roused herself. The prostrate figure was none other than an unconscious gray loafer wolf.

  “Sugar!” screamed Tia, throwing herself upon the injured animal.

  Steve gasped in amazement.

  “Where’d you find him?” Tia demanded, helping the shadowy man in the dark snow-encrusted parka pull the injured wolf inside. Steve and Tia managed to close the door against the wind as the animal lay on the floor bleeding slowly, crimson drops seeping onto the polished wooden floorboards.

  “Get something to stop the bleeding,” demanded the dark-haired man, and Tia rushed into the kitchen to grab a green kitchen towel. The stranger pressed it against the wolf’s trembling leg. Steve edged away as the disheveled man glanced up from where he knelt upon the rag rug by the wolf, his boots forming muddy puddles upon the floorboards.

  “Would you perhaps have some first aid supplies?”

  “Ah,” mumbled Steve. “I... I really don’t know. Tia, do you have something?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Steve, help him carry the wolf to the fireplace where it’s warm. I’ll bring you the first aid kit.” The two men lifted the heavy wolf and placed him before the roaring fire. Steve noticed the canine teeth protruding over the wolf’s slack lips as they lowered the animal gently upon the rag rug. Even unconscious, the animal looked extremely ferocious. Tia quickly returned with the medical kit, and taking the cloth bent over the prone animal, trying to stop the seeping wound.

  “Here, let me,” said the stranger. “You’ve got to press harder or you’re wasting your time.” He grabbed the cloth from Tia and pressed it against Sugar’s leg.

  “Do you have a name?” asked Steve coldly, immediately disliking the abrupt manners of the stranger.

  “Yeah, it’s Jon Simons, and while driving home I noticed this animal upon the side of the road and pulled over. Upon glimpsing the lights of your cabin I knew it was the only chance the wolf had. I took a risk you’d have first aid supplies and be willing to help the creature. Most decent people would,” he stated abruptly, his tanned, work-roughened hands moving expertly over the wolf’s wounds.

  “Oh Sugar, what happened to you?” moaned Tia, working swiftly to patch up the injured leg before the wolf roused.

  “The wolf’s name is Sugar?” asked Steve, shaking his head in amazement. He’d retreated a good two yards away, settling down upon his haunches as he watched the two minister to the wounded creature.

  “That’s what my father and I named him after we found him as a young pup over fifteen months ago. His mother had died from blood loss after gnawing off her own leg when caught in an illegal bear trap on the other side of the hill. Sugar had escaped the trap, but his leg was broken and my father set it. Since the half-grown wolf wasn’t very mobile, I fed and nursed him through the worst, and I guess, probably domesticated him too much. I managed to reintroduce the loafer to the wild by the end of this summer. Sugar’s been hunting on his own but hasn’t joined a pack yet. He always checks the house out a couple times a day and sometimes at night I hear him howling outside the window. Guess he considers me part of his pack.” Tia stroked the gray wolf’s soft fur and glanced back at Steve who still appeared nervous.

  She sought to reassure him. “I believe Sugar is intelligent enough to recognize when you’re helping him. He never attacked or bit my father or me once the entire time we had him as a half-grown pup so I think you’re safe. What kind of wound is this?” demanded Tia, as she examined the gray wolf and the bloody torn wound at the spot where his right upper leg joined his torso.

  “He’s been shot,” said Jon bluntly.

  “I can’t believe people still shoot wolves on sight because of the unfair reputation they hold with many cattle ranchers down in the lower 48! Up here we know how important wolves are to the food chain and they remain one of the Alaska’s greatest treasures.”

  Tia seemed near tears and Jon spoke in a softer tone. “You’re right. It wasn’t until Adolf Murie began his long term study of the wolves near Mt. McKinley National Park that people began to understand how important wolves are.”

  Tia glanced up in surprise at the dark green eyes of the man leaning across from her. “I own that wonderful book; it’s called The Wolves of Mt. McKinley and must be at least fifty years old.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve read it,” said Jon quietly. “I also use his Field Guide to Animal Tracks a great deal in my work. Anyway, Murie concluded there’s a delicate balance between predator and prey in this region and by preserving the wolf we help ensure the survival of all sorts of other Alaskan creatures such as the Dall sheep and Sitka black-tailed deer. Without the intervention of the wolf these animals would over-run the region and disrupt the balance of nature.”

  Jon’s steady voice washed over her and Tia felt herself relaxing as she listened to his educated words. She watched nervously as he applied the pressure bandage to the entry and exit wounds.

  “The bullet passed clean through,” said Jon, pressing his dark fingers against the upper regions of the wolf’s right foreleg. “There doesn’t seem to be much tissue damage and I believe that with some rest your wolf will be one hundred percent in no time. May I use your knitted blanket over there?”

  Tia leaped to her feet and grabbed the dark red lap rug from the back of her recliner and spread it over the wolf. “Is there anything more we can do?”

  Jon hesitated. “While the bleeding seems to have stopped, I’m concerned Sugar will pull his wound apart when he awakens. We need to stitch up his wound.” Jon sat back upon the floor and crossed his legs Indian fashion. “I’m not sure I’m a good enough veterinarian to sew him up. Do either of you have any skills in that regard?” He first looked keenly at Steve, who shook his head vehemently.

  “I’m into advertising, not doctoring,” he protested, shrinking back.

  Tia hesitated and finally heaved a long sigh. “I might be able to do it since I’ve had a little experience with the injured and sick while volunteering in a hospice in LA. I suspect wax thread will prove strong enough as sutures. Our window of opportunity is limited however, since we need to pull this off is while the wolf’s still unconscious. One of you boil some water while I sterilize the needle.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Steve, glad to be of some use. Tia followed the blonde man across the room and as he set a kettle on to boil she rummaged through a side drawer and returned with a needle and thread.

  “Do you have anything we might use as a muzzle just in case the wolf wakes up and decides to take a nip at us?” asked Jon, observing the canine teeth drooping over the loafer’s lax jaw.

  “The only thing I can think of would be shoe laces. I have some extras in the top left-hand drawer of the desk.”

  Jon rose and searched through the desk, finally retrieving two long black shoe strings. He crouched by the wolf, gently wrapping the cotton laces around the wolf’s muzzle and knotting them firmly. Steve returned with steaming water and a small bowl into which Tia dropped the needles. Using some tweezers to pluck them out after a few minutes, she was ready to begin.

  “Alright,” she said between clenched teeth, after threading the needle.

  Tia bent over the wolf as Jon carefully removed the pr
essure bandage. Steve and Jon held the animal firmly as Tia slowly and meticulously sewed up the jagged round bullet wound. Now and again the wolf’s muscles twitched against the needle’s relentless intrusions, but the canine never regained consciousness throughout the entire operation. After Tia finished with the first wound she knotted and cut the thread and proceeded to work on the second. Within a matter of minutes the wolf was sewn up, its wounds no longer seeping. Jon swabbed some alcohol upon the two wounds before wrapping loose bandages over the damaged areas.

  “For all our sakes, I’d suggest we move your pet to the entryway. If he wakes up in a strange place he might attack,” suggested Jon.

  “That sounds reasonable,” answered Tia, and helped Steve and Jon lug the unconscious wolf through the wide doorway, easing the loafer onto the thick entry rug covering the wooden floor.

  Jon replaced the throw blanket over the wolf and double-checked the makeshift muzzle. The wolf could neither escape to the outdoors nor enter the main cabin.

  “That’s all we can do now. I’m afraid I don’t know your names.”

  “Oh,” said Tia breathlessly. “I’m Tia Heath and this is Steve Newcastle. I’m so glad you came along when you did.”

  “It was no problem,” said Jon, rising and stretching his long limbs. “You’d have made a fine doctor.”

  Tia examined the tall stranger who’d taken such concerned pity upon her wolf. Dark brown hair cut a bit too long framed a tanned, bewhiskered face. Dark green eyes dotted with flecks of hazel gazed steadily back at her, revealing no discomfort at her intense perusal of his features. The leanness of his face and frame, as well as his practical attire, indicated he was an outdoor man, used to the fickle whims of Alaska’s weather. At roughly six feet, while not striking, he was pleasant enough to look at. Tia guessed he was probably in his mid-to-late-thirties, though it was hard to be accurate because of his bristled face.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know you. Are you from this area?”

  “Not exactly, I’ve been working here for the past three months, off and on.”

  “And just what were you doing on the road this time of night?” asked Steve accusingly.

  Jon gazed long and steadily at Steve as Tia sensed the two men squaring off and sizing each other up. It suddenly occurred to her what a strange coincidence that two unacquainted men had suddenly converged upon her cabin within the space of a few hours; a cabin she’d lived alone in for several months.

  Jon answered quietly, “I’m a nature photographer and maintain a camp some five miles up the road in Bear Canyon, beyond Crane Lake. I’ve been photographing wildlife for a book I’m compiling with my friend Ben Oswald who’s rather a famous naturalist. He does the research and I take the photos. He’s to meet me at our camp on Thursday, but with this storm he’ll probably be delayed. You and your wife have picked out a lovely spot.”

  Steve suddenly laughed, sounding relieved as Tia choked out hoarsely, “We’re not married!”

  Jon looked surprised. “Oh?” and Tia recognized how that sounded.

  “What I meant to say,” corrected Tia, “is that Steve’s Kia died up there on the road and he’s marooned here. He’s staying at the Timberline Lodge and I’ve already contacted them via short-wave. Would you like to use it as well?” She disliked the measuring glance bestowed upon her by Jon’s dark green eyes.

  Jon shrugged, ignoring her embarrassment. “There really wouldn’t be any reason to call anyone since I’ve been staying at my camp alone and Ben hasn’t arrived yet. I really need to be getting back before the storm picks up any more force.” He stuck out a calloused hand to Steve who shook it firmly. Tia glanced at the tall living room windows, noting the snow flying against the dual-paned windows, which shuddered under the high-pitched wail of the wind.

  “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea,” stated Tia, suddenly making up her mind. It occurred to her that it would probably be safer if the two men remained here instead of her being left alone with Steve, though he seemed a nice enough fellow. She’d forgotten, after her secluded months here, that men didn’t always have the most noble of motives, and if Steve and Jon could serve as chaperones for each other so much the better.

  “Jon, I absolutely forbid you to return to your camp tonight. You’ve mentioned it’s only five miles away, but we’re in white-out conditions. Where’s your car?”

  “Parked near the blue Chevy Blazer by your cabin, which is yours I take it. I’m afraid that if I don’t return to my camp within the next couple hours I might not have a camp to return to. I hadn’t gotten around to weather-proofing the entire camp and with this fluke storm I’m certain my tents will blow away since I’m not there to secure them.”

  “Better your tent than you,” acknowledged Tia.

  Steve grudgingly spoke up. “She’s right Jon. I’m no expert, but this seems like a right nasty storm. Tia serves a mighty mean soup and some delicious bread if I do say so myself.” The wind screeched at that very moment, causing the logs to creak under the force of the gale.

  Jon still seemed agitated. “Alright,” he agreed, “but I have to return to my Jeep and retrieve my stuff. My photographic supplies are still in there and I don’t want to leave them in the car.”

  “Let me go with you,” offered Steve surprisingly, as Tia cocked her head quizzically, wondering just what he was up to.

  Jon puckered his dark green eyes before shrugging in agreement, “I could use the company. It’s getting pretty dark Ms. Heath; do you have a flashlight for Steve?”

  “Certainly,” said Tia, and followed the two men into the entryway.

  Steve looked at his thin parka and then back at Tia skeptically.

  “Why don’t you wear this one,” asked Tia, removing her father’s old navy blue parka from the cupboard. It will keep you a lot warmer than your windbreaker there.”

  “Very funny,” quipped Steve as he shrugged into the heavier jacket.

  Jon pulled up his hood and with a curt nod to Tia opened the door. The force of the wind caught the trio in an icy blast and the men bowed their heads as they headed into the night. Tia struggled to close the heavy door and immediately returned to the wood stove, shoving additional logs. The men would be stiff and frozen when they returned.

  Within five minutes Tia flung open the door for the cold pair. Jon carried two bags over his shoulder; one a small backpack and the other larger one obviously full of photographic supplies. Steve appeared more frozen than when he’d arrived at her cabin earlier that day and carried an additional black leather bag for Jon, which he dropped unceremoniously onto the floor before removing his borrowed parka and snow-encrusted boots. He rushed to the beckoning warmth of the dancing fire, rubbing his hands vigorously before the flames.

  “Things are a bit chilly,” Jon said in vast understatement and Tia had to smile. Jon certainly didn’t mince words.

  He hung up his parka neatly, and sitting on the entryway bench removed his hiking boots, while assessing Tia in her snug blue jeans and red-checked shirt as she returned to the main room, stepping over the sleeping wolf carefully. She spoke briefly to Steve before heading into the compact kitchen to rustle up some of that soup Steve had been boasting about. Jon’s serious face noted the advertiser’s appreciative stare follow the slender woman as he yanked thoughtfully at his troublesome boot laces.

  Steve strode quietly in his stocking feet to the entryway door and peered down at the unconscious wolf before raising his dark brown eyes to Jon’s. The two men locked stares for several tense moments until Steve moved nonchalantly into the kitchen, both suddenly wishing they hadn’t so foolishly left their weapons locked in their cars.

  Chapter 3

  “The snow was nearly shoulder level at the Jeep,” complained Steve, as he sat at the small round table where Tia now served both men brimming bowls of soup with melted parmesan cheese and crunchy croutons floating on top. Thick slices of fragrant bread with butter pooling over the brown dough enticed the starving men, and
as a special treat, she added some cut cantaloupe in a bright bowl painted in sunflowers.

  “Is that cantaloupe?” asked Jon, leaning forward, gazing in amazement at the bright orange melon.

  “It is indeed,” answered Tia, “and I’ve got two of them. If you stay good boys you might get some for breakfast as well.”

  Jon smiled across at Steve. “We’re lucky indeed; cantaloupes are a rare commodity in these parts.”

  “Well they’re a dime a dozen in Seattle,” answered Steve, who only forked a couple of pieces onto his plate whereas Jon piled seven or eight. Tia sat between the two men and sipped her overly hot soup.

  “So you’ve been in the area for a while,” said Steve casually. “Have you seen any nice properties for a city slicker like me to purchase?”

  Jon stared at him intently before taking a sip of his chicken soup. “Not really. Most of the lots around here are pretty primitive and it would take months of work to make them habitable. I do know up near Bear Canyon there’s fairly nice stands with some really nice lodge pole pines and paper birch trees. There might be some by Crane Lake, which is fed from a small stream not too far from here.”

  “Any fish?” asked Steve excitedly.

  “I don’t know. There might be some trout or catfish but I really wasn’t looking at the fish.”

  “And what were you looking at?” asked Steve sharply as Tia spread some butter on her warm oatmeal bread. His blonde, sun-bleached head tilted intently toward Jon.

  “Animals. Today I managed to photograph a badger digging between the roots of a large white spruce for some grubs. I obtained some fine shots while he actually had a worm between his two paws and ate it like a piece of popcorn. The night before last, as I photographed a porcupine clawing at the base of a cottonwood, I think I discovered a mole hole. I plan to set my camera up and hopefully photograph the blind creature when it comes out scrounging for tender shoots.”