A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing by Joan Johnston Page B

Wildlife agent to say. The thought of wolves somewhere on her property was terrifying. “Wolves?” she repeated.
    â€œA renegade timber wolf killed two of Luke’s sheep,” Abigail continued. “I wondered if you’ve suffered any wolf depredation on your spread.”
    â€œNot that I know of,” Harry said. “I didn’t even know there were any wolves around here.”
    â€œThere aren’t many,” Abigail reassured her. “And there’s going to be one less as soon as I can find and capture the renegade that killed Luke’s sheep.”
    Harry watched a strange tension flare between her two visitors at Abigail’s pronouncement. Before Harry had time to analyze it further, Abigail asked, “Have you seen any wolf sign at all?”
    Harry grimaced and shook her head. “I wouldn’t know it if I saw it. But you’re welcome to take a look around.”
    â€œI think I will if you really don’t mind.”
    Abigail carefully looked the grounds over with Luke by her side. Harry did her best to keep them headed away from the tiny log cabin. She’d already tasted their disapproval once and was reluctant to have them observe the primitive conditions in which she lived. However, before Harry knew it, they were all three standing at her kitchen door. There wasn’t much she could do except invite them inside.
    Harry felt a flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks when both Luke and Abigail stopped dead just inside the door. The scene that greeted them in the kitchen was pretty much the same one that had greeted Nathan the first time he’d come to visit. Only now there were six lambs sleeping on a blanket wadded in the corner instead of just one. The shambles in Harry’s kitchen gave painful evidence of how hard she was struggling to cope with the responsibilities she’d assumed on Cyrus Alistair’s death. Harry didn’t know what to say. What could she say?
    Abigail finally broke the looming silence. “I’d love some coffee. Wouldn’t you, Luke?”
    Grateful for the simple suggestion, Harry urged her company to seat themselves at the kitchen table. While she made coffee, Harry lectured herself about how it didn’t really matter what thesepeople thought. The important thing was that she’d survived the past two months.
    Harry poured three cups of coffee and brought them to the table, then seated herself across from Abigail, who was saying something about how wolves weren’t really as bad as people thought, and how their reputation had been exaggerated by all those fairy tales featuring a Big Bad Wolf.
    Harry wasn’t convinced. She took a sip of the hot, bitter coffee and said, “I’ve been meaning to learn how to use a rifle in case I had trouble with predators, but—”
    Abigail leaped up out of her chair in alarm. “You can’t shoot a timber wolf! They’re an endangered species. They’re protected!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t know.” She shook her head in disgust. “There’s just so much I don’t know.”
    Abigail sat back down a little sheepishly. “I’m afraid I tend to get on my high horse whenever the discussion turns to wolves.”
    Harry ran her fingers aimlessly across the books, magazines and articles that littered the table, shouting her ignorance of sheep ranching to anyone who cared to notice.
    â€œYou really shouldn’t leave those dead lambs lying around, though,” Abigail said. “They’re liable to attract predators.”
    Harry chewed on her lower lip. “I know I’msupposed to bury them, but I just can’t face the thought of doing it.”
    â€œI’ve got some time right now,” Luke said. “Why don’t you let me help?”
    Harry leaned forward to protest. “But I can’t pay—”
    â€œNeighbors don’t have to pay each other