Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Babe.” The single word was wrapped in male amusement, a reprimand and outright derision.
She raised an eyebrow as she moved away from the carcass.
“I scored about ninety-nine percent in protective traits when they gave me my psych eval. You’re the one woman I call mine. Do you really think I’m going to let you go into an unknown situation without me there? Not happening.”
“I don’t want you shooting her dogs.”
“Then your friend Helen had better keep them under control. If they’re that well trained, she can call them off.”
Harlow wasn’t going to argue with him. There was no point in it. She’d learned that much about him already. She did scowl, giving him her darkest look, but he simply raised an eyebrow, matching her pace as they continued walking away from the site of the goat carcass toward the front of Helen’s property, where the largest gate was. Pulling out her cell phone, she made the call to her neighbor.
Helen’s phone was either off or dead. Her call went straight to voicemail without even ringing. Helen always had her phone on her. She ran miles straight up difficult trails, and she did so alone in the wilderness. She saw to her animals outside daily, sometimes in hazardous conditions. She was safety-conscious. Her cell phone was her lifeline. More than once, she’d cautioned Harlow to keep her cell on her and make certain it was fully charged at all times. The fact that the call went straight to voicemail alarmed Harlow more than anything. That bad feeling inside of her that always warned her of trouble was now a full-blown, blaring alarm.
She had thought that ominous feeling was because of Wilder, that he was in danger. Or the foreboding could have been because she knew her parents weren’t going to leave her alone. She had never considered that Helen might be in trouble.
As she looked closely up and down the fence line, she noted random feathers both on her side of the fence and on Helen’s. Then there were more feathers and one or two decaying bodies of chickens.
“Wilder,” she whispered. “Her chickens must not have gone into the coop at night. There are so many predators. Foxes, weasels, bobcats, raccoons, skunks. Even bears. Where are Helen’s dogs? If she wasn’t home, she would have contacted me and asked me to make sure the chickens were in the coop. Something’s really, really wrong.”
There was a warning on the gate to call up to the house to get an entrance code. Helen always was careful with friends and neighbors, aware of the protective instincts of her pack. Harlow called up to the house, but just as she expected, there was no answer. Still, even with the anticipation of not hearing from Helen, her heart plummeted.
“Misha, go home now.” She gave the command and waited to ensure the beagle reluctantly turned toward her own home. She stood very still, following the dog’s progress until she was out of sight.
Harlow knew the code to the gate since she was the one to care for Helen’s mini farm and her dogs whenever her neighbor was away. She swung it open, but before she could enter, Wilder stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever danger they were about to encounter.
“I coded in to Rainier. They’re sending a helicopter with a medic just in case.”
The capricious wind shifted direction, and Harlow slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, trying not to gag. Ordinarily, the smell of blood, death, and decomposing flesh didn’t get to her, but this was personal. This was Helen and animals she loved. The animals Harlow had helped take care of the past few years.
“The predators mostly took the chickens. That smell isn’t coming from them,” she whispered. She had no idea why she was whispering. It wasn’t as if she thought an army of wolves or mountain lions would overhear her. Even if there were predators on the farm, they wouldn’t understand what she was saying. But she couldn’t make the statement in a calm, steady voice.
“Let me call out to the dogs,” she said. “Let them know I’m coming and that I’m friendly. If they’re guarding Helen or the animals, or they’re hurt, they might be dangerous until they realize who I am.”
She tried not to notice Wilder checking his gun. There was no sense in pleading with him not to shoot the dogs. If any attacked, there would be no stopping him. Wilder would protect her first. He knew she didn’t want the dogs harmed, and she trusted him to only shoot in an emergency situation.
Harlow whistled loudly, a one-two-three note Helen had taught her. She waited a few seconds and repeated the call. “At least step to one side, Wilder. If Helen is hurt, they’ll be doubly protective. Once they establish who I am, they’ll allow you to accompany me.”