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Thanks to a ramped up military presence in the Middle East, the SEALs she knew in Cotton Creek, Gunner, Riggs, and Grady, had been gone from home for almost six months. Once a month, she received a phone call from Gunner, and each time, hearing his voice made her miss him more.
He couldn’t talk about his assignment or even where he was. But he could tell her that Riggs was as sound as ever, and the foot prostheses didn’t hamper him at all. She bet Riggs’ family would be happy to hear that, but didn’t feel it was her role to share the information.
There were things happening behind the scenes that made her uncomfortable. The K9 program at Sanctuary was on indefinite hold. Not until Grady returned for good would they pick it back up.
She’d spoken with Mason again about it last week, and he admitted to having misgivings about Samir. Forhis money, Samir wanted to be allowed to clone Oakley’s wolves. That’s it. Six hundred million dollars for the right to create an as yet undetermined clone of Ba’Cho and Nashoba.
Oakley was dead set against it.
“Besides, why would someone want to do that?” Mason had asked.
To create an army. That’s what she believed, and once she’d spoken the words, it took root in Mason’s mind. The thought caused both unease. Cloning was possible, but creating an army of clones was unlikely.
Wasn’t it? She should ask Naomie about that. For herself, she would never agree to it. The wolves were listed as hers, had received all necessary vaccinations and inoculations, and were her responsibility.
She wouldn’t allow them to be used as some experiment that might harm them or their future offspring.
Oakley refused the condition. Mason wasn’t keen on it, but asked if they could negotiate some sort of middle ground. He asked her to think about it.
She had, and the answer was the same. Which probably meant the deal with Sanctuary was a dead duck. That disappointed her, but thanks to her pension, she could afford to live in the old house she inherited from her father.
The place was in worse shape than she remembered. It needed a lot of work, but she couldn’t justify spending her valuable funds on that when she needed fencing for the pups. If one of them got loose, there would be people gunning for it. Native and white. People sure seemed to love killing wolves.
It didn’t surprise her that the whites felt that way, but it disappointed her that her own people were as eager to destroy them. The Natives in this country might like to preach their pride in the old ways and beliefs, but their actions rarely backed up their words.
That made her feel ashamed. Why had she assumed her people were better? More caring or noble? She didn’t see much evidence of that, but fairness demanded she acknowledge their hardship. When life is hard, people become despondent and without hope. Maybe that’s what she saw here.
Whatever the case, she wished she had somewhere else to go, somewhere that the pups would be safe, and she could train them without having to deal with other people.
The wolf pups yipped for her attention, and when she looked at them, two tails began to thump on the bed, and the faces directed her way wore expressions of happiness. She’d learned to read them in the time they’d been here, and they’d learned to read her. What a blessing they didn’t realize the hatred directed toward them by the people here.
It was the pups who kept her feeling she’d made the right decision, retiring, and moving here. They were incredibly smart and easy to train, although both possessed a stubborn streak. She understood. They were, after all, born to run wild, and unaccustomed to being confined or forced to learn new behaviors.
It was the new behaviors that would keep them from becoming targets. Despite owning the deed to this land and house, there were people on the reservation who’d like nothing better than to see her leave. She wasno longer one of them. She served the military complex of the whites.
Oakley dismissed those thoughts. Being upset about what other people thought proved no benefit to her life. She couldn’t control or change the way they believed, and wouldn’t waste her energy trying.
Yesterday she received a surprise call from her Aunt Grace. Today, she and the pups were headed to Blackstone Ranch, where Grace lived with her husband Clayton Blackstone.
Clayton’s company, Blackstone Security, was interested in possibly funding her work with wolves. From what she knew of him, he was an honorable man, and probably the better bet when it came to partnering with someone. He just lacked something she wanted.
Gunner.
Damn, the man had taken up residence in her brain. How crazy was it that even after six months she was pining after a man she’d known for three weeks? Yet here she was, praying every night he was safe, and thinking about him every morning when she greeted the new day, wondering what sights he saw and if he was safe.
She’d never had this kind of feeling, this need for someone. No, that was a lie. She had it once. Until it was taken from her, and everyone she loved turned their backs on her. Everyone but Grace and her son Micah.
The saddest part was that she pretty much sided with the people who condemned her and declared her unfit to be here. Maybe they were right. It wasn’t for her to say. All she knew was that when she was with Gunner and the wolf pups, she felt like she belonged.
Now she wondered if she was hanging onto a pipe dream. Gunner might not make it home alive, and evenif he did, there was no guarantee he would want her. Separation dulls the emotions and dims the passions. Time changes everything.
The insistent yip pulled her back from those thoughts and turned her attention to the pups on the bed. “Okay, boys, who needs to go?”
There were eight paws on the floor before the words were out of her mouth. Oakley grinned and led the way to the door. No matter what the rest of the day brought, she had right now, and the moments she spent with her wolves were the best parts of her day.
With a smile, she grabbed her shoes, and within minutes, she and the pups were racing across the yard, headed for the wilderness beyond the confines of the small, fenced yard
CHAPTER TWELVE
