Amanda's Wolves(5)
About fifty men were feverishly working the land. Two trees fell while he watched. The rich scent of pine filled the air while the normally hushed sounds in the forest were disturbed by the numerous engines of the logging equipment and semis. Logan blinked, a bad taste filling his mouth as he stared at the hazy cloud forming over the site from exhaust.
His hackles rose with every breath. Something was off. Something was horribly wrong. And not just the over-logging. He couldn’t bring himself to move. In fact, his gaze focused on something dark and menacing in the center of the action.
He froze, not blinking. Was it possible? Was he actually seeing one of the Native American spirits coalescing in the center of the logging site?
No one in or around the dark figure seemed to notice. In fact several men walked right by the gathering smoky substance or even through it. But Logan stared at it, not willing to glance away for a second. He’d heard tales of this very thing from his older brothers and their mates.
He knew it was unusual for him to spot such a thing himself. For one thing, he wasn’t native. For another thing, he wasn’t mated. When each of his brothers had mated, they’d experienced repeated visits from the spirits, warning them of danger. But the visions usually started with his brother Trace’s mate, Melinda, or her grandmother, Mimi. They had extra abilities he couldn’t even describe, a sense when things were out of whack with the universe. They could read through the lines and predict things.
Not Logan. He stiffened. He was a regular guy.
What the fuck?
He turned on his heels and ran back toward the ski resort. He needed to call his brother or Melinda. Whatever was happening in the woods was eerie and unnerving, and he hoped it wasn’t going to be up to him to solve the mystery.
»»•««
The tiny hairs on the back of Sawyer’s neck stood on end even before he heard the car engine. He didn’t have to lift his head or turn around to follow the vehicle’s progress. It was a small car, moving slowly along the gravel path he’d laid last week to make it easier to get to the spot he’d chosen to build his house.
He remained leaning over the folding table he’d set up outside next to the small trailer he was temporarily living in. Even when the car engine shut off yards behind him and a door opened and shut, he stayed still, fighting the need to whip around and face whoever the unwanted guest was.
It wasn’t Laurie. She was at home with the baby, and she almost never came to his homestead site. It was in the early stages and extremely boring to her. It wasn’t one of her mates because they all drove trucks.
His father was at work. His mother was with her volunteer group.
He inhaled long and slow as the visitor approached, not lifting to his full height and turning around until his guest was a few feet behind him and had stopped.
A soft voice finally reached him. “Hello?” A woman.
With a deep breath, intended to give him the strength to face her, he finally spun on his feet. He wasn’t able to force a smile, though. That was asking too much.
He twirled one of his many plain yellow pencils between his fingers as he met her gaze. “You must be Sharon.”
“You must be Sawyer.”
“How did you find me?”
“Laurie.”
“Of course.” He didn’t know whether to be elated and relieved or frustrated and angry, but Sharon was not his mate.
And she realized this at the same moment as he watched her shoulders relax and lower.
Instead of addressing the obvious, she glanced around and made small talk. “What are you doing?”
“Building a house.” He’d claimed his share of the family land within days of arriving in the area. The property was located on several acres his grandfather on his mother’s side had left for his grandchildren. When the man had died many years ago, he hadn’t known he had more than two grandchildren, Miles and Melinda, the twins he’d helped raise after their mother—and Sawyer’s for that matter—left town to spare their lives.
Nevertheless, when Miles and Melinda found out they had three half siblings, they’d eagerly divided their land into five parcels and shared the stretch of rolling hills perfectly located halfway between Cambridge to the north and Sojourn to the south. Prime property between two small towns that often experienced strife, considering one was nearly all Caucasian and the other was nearly all Native American.
It seemed Sawyer and his siblings were part of a giant conspiracy orchestrated by Fate to unite the two races. All of the three matings so far had included a mixture of residents from both towns. Hell, Sawyer, Laurie, and their younger brother, Cooper, were mixed themselves. Joyce, their mother, was Native American. Gene, their father, was Caucasian.