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“Shit.” Brandy ground her teeth so hard she could hear them crunch together. “How many times do I have to beg Hank Swift to keep his goddamn traps away from us?”
“At least once more it appears.” Parker took a few slow steps forward.
Approaching a wounded wolf took a great deal of caution. The animal didn’t always recognize a helping human from a jackass bent on catching it in a trap for no good reason. Hank didn’t have livestock anymore for wolves to prey on. He’d gambled them all away about a year ago, but that hadn’t stopped him from being able to afford these metal jaws of death he kept leaving around.
“I’m getting the sheriff involved this time. That poor wolf doesn’t deserve this.”
“The trap isn’t technically on your land though, B.”
“I know, but it’s still a safety risk for our wolves. What’s our point in doing all this rehabilitation when they could set one foot out of the sanctuary and end up like this unlucky fellow?”
“Hey, I agree with you, but I’m not sure Sheriff Olsen can do anything.” Parker motioned her over with the light as he got closer to the injured wolf. “It’s still worth a shot though.”
Brandy put calling the sheriff on the top of her to-do list for tomorrow. “Why isn’t this wolf whimpering or something? It’s as if he let out that one howl and that was all he had. He’s got to be in incredible pain.” She huddled behind Parker to get a better look. “Ah, shit. Is that bone?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Poor baby.”
As soon as the words left her lips, the wolf—a giant black one—curled its lips back and let out a low warning growl. Its teeth were razor-sharp and quite ready to tear into any humans who were stupid enough to get close.
“So yeah,” Parker said, “we tranqing this dude?”
“He does appear to be less than friendly at the moment,” Brandy agreed. “But who can blame him? I’d be pissed if my leg got mangled in steel jaws.”
“You get pissed when someone drops wine in your lap, never mind legs caught in traps.”
“Shut it, Parker. You wouldn’t have been comfortable wearing wine-soaked jeans either. Pull the trigger, will you?” She poked him in the shoulder.
He let out a soft laugh and squeezed off a shot. The dart landed in the wolf’s rear flank which released another growl from the angry, injured beastie.
“We’re not making friends with him so far.” Parker shouldered the tranq gun again while he and Brandy crouched together about twenty feet away from the wolf, waiting for it to pass out.
“He’ll thank us when he’s all healed up.” Brandy had never had a wolf reject her help or turn on her. Meredith said it was because she knew how to connect with animals on a level most humans didn’t. Whatever the case may be, she valued the relationships she had with all her wolf tenants. She’d offer this new wolf the same level of care and hospitality she gave everyone at Silver Moon.
“That break looks pretty bad,” Parker said, taking the flashlight and shining it directly on the wolf’s back leg as the creature’s head drooped.
“Nothing like a little midnight surgery, right?” Brandy squeezed his shoulder.
“And here I was hoping to get laid before bed, not set a wolf’s leg.” Parker sighed.
Brandy cupped her hands over her ears. “La-la-la-la. Don’t want to hear about your sex life, Dr. Daniels.”
“What? You weren’t hoping to get busy with Marshall?”
“I’d probably crush him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that skinny before.” Brandy wasn’t super picky about her dream guy, but a little bulk—something that told her he could hold his own in a street fight—would be nice. Not that many street fights broke out in the Vermont woods, but she needed a guy who was solid and could bring a pair of work boots to life. Cheap flip-flops would have been too much for Marshall to lift.
They huddled in the darkness until the wolf’s head hit the ground and it stayed motionless for a few minutes.
“Nighty-night, big boy.” Brandy approached first, going immediately to the trap and hitting the release mechanism on it. Fresh blood spurted out of the puncture wounds and she worked quickly to pack the leg and wrap it tightly with bandages from the medical kit.
“He looks too heavy to carry,” Parker said. “One of us should run back for a vehicle. Evens or odds?” He held out his fist ready to shoot for staying or going. That was how he and Brandy made most of their job delegation choices.
“Odds… you know, to go with my night so far.” Brandy held out her fist too.
“Once, twice, three times, shoot,” Parker said.
He held out two fingers, while Brandy held out one.
