White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul by Jianne Carlo Page A

Hadn’t Doc G. told Mike last night that he wanted to discuss something with him? What on earth could Doc G. want from Mike?
    “Do you want me to lock up? No need for you to come back if nothing’s happening.” That would get both Mike and Doc G. out of her hair, and with a little luck and spit, she’d have time to read more of the journal.
    “If I’m not back by eight forty-five, go ahead and lock up, but I’ll drop you home tonight. No arguments, young lady.”
    That solved that. No cabin and Mike for her tonight, not that she’d worked up the courage to actually be so forward. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d decided not to go for the brass ring per se, but to not rule her and Mike making love again as totally impossible.
    “I’ll take you up on that.” Melanie grinned when Doc G. gave a little head shake. She usually refused his offers to drive her to the reservation.
    Melanie caught up on the billing and organized the prescription refills for the next couple of weeks. She took inventory, did up orders for new cleaning supplies, and listed all the callbacks for appointments. Busy work, but the time flew by. When a humming Doc G. stuck his head through the examination room, she glanced up. “Need me?”
    “Nope. Not in the mood to do any more paperwork, so I’m going to head over to the Caboose. I don’t think we’re going to see much traffic tonight.”
    Doc G. had been hanging out at the Caboose more and more. Being a bachelor and not much of a cook, he had almost every meal at the diner. But Melanie figured Brinda was the magnet who kept drawing him there.
    “I’m fine and I can always holler if a client arrives.”
    “I’ll go wash up, and then I’ll go out the back. I’ll yell when I leave.” Doc G. shrugged his white coat off and hung it on the hook behind the door.
    Melanie grabbed the sweeper and tray and began clearing the floor. Just as she filled a bucket with disinfectant, Doc G. yelled, “I’m off.”
    “Have a good time,” she shouted back and set to work mopping. No longer could she hold back all the questions zinging around her head.
    Mrs. Dorland wasn’t Drake and Mike’s birth mom. How in Mother Mary had that happened?
    She had vague memories of Mike’s father. He’d been a tall, stern-faced man who didn’t invite approach and who always wore a jacket and a hat, even in the middle of the summer. He was the one the town looked to for guidance. If Mr. Dorland endorsed someone for mayor, that person won. If he favored a position, the majority of the town adopted it.
    She couldn’t reconcile the responsible, community-oriented Mr. Dorland with a man of deep, dark secrets. How had Mike found out about his birth mother? Why had he asked Shuman for sanctuary? Even more important, why had the tribe refused? Her temples throbbed. She wrung the mop. Swiped up, down, ran the sponge edge into the tile creases.
    Had he really said, “ Love you ”? Claimed her as his mate?
    Could sheer, piercing, all-encompassing desire cause hallucinations? Could years of dreams and fantasies cause a body to lose all sanity? Did she have the strength to resist him? Did she even want to? No, no, and no.
    Melanie leaned against the wall. Fall’s dampness had seeped into the plastered-over ancient bricks, but the clammy chill didn’t help to cool her fevered skin. Even if he had actually said those two words, nothing lasting could ever happen between them. Her father had killed his, and his mother detested the White family for that very reason.
    Besides, Mama had only just begun to heal. Eighteen months sober and holding down a cashier’s job at the casino. Mama was determined to get back to normal, and if she heard even a rumor about Melanie seeing Mike, well, that could send her back to Jack Daniels in a heartbeat.
    She had no choice. None at all. A relationship, even a temporary one, with Mike wasn’t an option. Heck, but she’d give anything, anything at all for one, one more measly