Wolf Pack Page 9

  Unfortunately, I don't actually have a lot of cold weather gear—it's been a long time since I took a vacation to someplace in the winter. Usually people come to Florida for winter—people don't generally leave the balmy breezes and beaches of Florida when the rest of the country is a frozen ice box.

  So now that I've promised myself that I'm not going to do yoga—it's really, really just not my thing—I'm wondering what sort of skiing options are around Boulder. I've never gone skiing, but it seems like it'd be my speed. I drag my parka down from the attic and dig my snow boots out from under my bed (a really rotten place to keep them, actually, since my cat Reggie likes to stuff his millions of toy mice into them). I pack my suitcase, and I leave it by the door. I call my cat sitter and then go out and buy a case of Reggie's favorite wet food so that he's not too angry at me for leaving. I cuddle with him on the couch, smoothing his fluffy black fur while he purrs in my arms, and I promise him that it's just a short trip, and I'll be back very soon. This won't exactly help my case when I don't show up tomorrow and he gets Very Angry, but then Reggie forgives me after every trip. Usually.

  I have everything set out, everything prepared, and I fall into my bed utterly exhausted.

  And, the next morning, I promptly sleep through my alarm.

  I honestly haven't taken a vacation in...well. Let's see. Okay, so I can't actually remember the last time I took a vacation, which goes to show you that I really am in need of one. I'm so tired from all of the constant work that piles up at our little clinic that the very first moment of vacation—this morning—I sleep right past the annoying buzzer of my alarm, blaring about six inches away from my head.

  My sister was right. I really do need a vacation.

  I finally get up, my ears ringing with the alarm sounds, exactly an hour and a half before my plane is supposed to take off. In a pure and total panic, I leap out of bed, into my jeans and t-shirt and light jacket I'd laid out the night before, and after kissing Reggie's furry little head, I'm sprinting out of the house with one shoe on and one shoe off, hopping on one foot as I try to put the other shoe on, dragging my suitcase behind me.

  I speed pretty badly on the way to the airport, but thankfully there doesn't seem to be many cops out today. I get through security, running like the Devil himself is on my heels as I bolt toward my gate.

  And I'm the last person through.

  “You're lucky,” the flight attendant tells me, holding the door for me so that I can trot down the ramp and into the airplane. The flight attendant is a pretty thing, tall and blonde, with a sideways smile on as she actually winks at me.

  That smile and wink are the most action I've gotten in...again...well... Let's just say a very long time. As I pull my suitcase behind me, I feel a smile come over my face, like sunshine spilling out from behind a bank of clouds.

  I'm not the type to believe in luck or good omens, or, really, anything like that. But a pretty blonde flight attendant winking at me has got to be a good sign, right? I'd be stupid to ignore that, just like I would have been stupid, I realize, not to come on this trip.

  Once I sit down in the airplane and buckle myself in, I take out the brochure from my purse where I packed it, the one for the Rainbow Yoga place. It's a nice brochure, cleanly designed—surprisingly, it doesn't give off a very new age-y vibe, which I would have assumed from the name of the place. I wonder, in the back of my head, if maybe (just maybe) my assumptions about this place are wrong.

  I definitely have a bad habit of assuming things about places and people, but...come on. Rainbow Yoga? The very name conjures a place in my head full of sprouts and hemp and...that sort of stuff. And not that there's anything wrong with that...

  I put on my headphones, listen to my favorite classical music mix as the plane takes off. I know that I'm stuck in my ways and the way that I like things to be. I know that I don't usually go out of my comfort zone much at all anymore. And I'm definitely not going to do a minute's worth of yoga while I'm there, but...if I'm being honest, I'm pretty curious about the place, actually.

  I lean back in my seat, and I fall asleep again, because—hey—I'm on vacation.

  I wake up with a start as we touch down in Denver, Colorado. I can't believe that I actually slept through the entire plane ride and descent, but I must have been pretty tired. The plane taxis and docks successfully, and when the “fasten seat belts” sign goes off, I stand, stretching overhead, working at the knots in my shoulders with my fingers. I take down my carry-on from the overhead bin, realizing as I do so that I'll have to take a cab all the way to Boulder from Denver. My mind's starting to go a million miles a minute as I consider my options.

  I head out of the secure area of the airport into the regular section, and as I do, I'm struck by the fact that I haven't been to Denver in a very long time. I used to like coming to Colorado for the hiking—I loved the mountains here—and I came about twice a year just for the experience, staying at little hotels that were total holes in the wall, but that were close to some of the best hiking trails.

  I realize, a little uncomfortably, that I haven't done that in years. That, honestly, I haven't let myself take time just for me in years. It's all work, all the time, in my life and that's great—it pays the bills.

  But sometimes, in the back of my head, I realize that years and years of my life are passing by without any real enjoyment anymore. I'm stuck in my ways, I know, but if I was being really honest with myself...I'm afraid of trying new things. I'm not as tenacious or resilient as I was when I was teenager or even in my early twenties. I was so outgoing and excited about everything and had this real zest for life...

  But then a lot of things happened to me in my twenties. I lost my father. I broke up with the girl I thought I'd love forever. I went to school to become a vet. Hard things, all of them, that forced me to realize that life wasn't all journeys and adventures, like I'd previously imagined.

  But I know I've gone to pretty much the other extreme. My life used to be all fun, and now?

  Now it's all work.

  I've never been particularly good at “balance.”

  As I walk down the big, bright hallway of the airport, pulling my silent suitcase behind me, I know without a doubt that my sister was right. I really do need this weekend. I might just spend the whole time eating and watching shows on cable...but even if that's all I do, it'll be the most I've let myself relax in a very long time.

  And that alone will be worth it.

  As I'm walking toward the far entrance to the airport, I'm heading toward the wall of drivers holding signs with scribbled names and people waiting for their loved ones to arrive. What surprises me is that, in that whole muddle of people and signs...I spot my name.

  I stop in front of the tall woman with long, red hair holding the sign with my name on it, a clearly lettered “Trisha Dalton.” She's dressed in a traditional chauffeur's uniform, and is wearing shades (inside the building) beneath her smart, black cap.

  “Trisha Dalton?” the woman asks me, tilting her head to the side as she pushes her glasses down to the edge of her nose with a warm smile.

  I glance up at the woman in surprise. “Yes?” I tell her, suddenly sure she's looking for another Trisha Dalton.

  “Wonderful! I'm Reese Edwards—I'm from the Rainbow Yoga Retreat Center, here to pick you up?”

  I stare at the woman, blinking. “Wow...sorry...” I tell her, scrambling. “I...uh, I didn't know there'd be anyone here for me,” I tell her while Reese bends forward, picking up my suitcase easily.

  “That's an oversight on our part,” she tells me warmly. “Your secretary was in conversation with us, but we've never spoken with you ourselves, it seems. Your sister, Jacqueline Dalton, purchased the exclusive elite package for this weekend for you, so it comes with a lot of...perks,” she tells me, her smile warming even more as she tilts her head to the side and angles it toward the door. “Shall we? Do you have any baggage to pick up?”

  “No, I just brought this one
suitcase with me,” I tell her with a small shrug, my mind reeling.

  Elite package? Perks?

  “Oh, fine! Well, let's get started—it's about an hour and forty to the retreat center, and I want to get you there before sundown!” She turns smartly on her heel and begins to move smoothly out of the airport like the building's about to catch fire.

  Okay, so I think I should send my sister more than just a thank you card as I race after the tall chauffeur. Seriously—what kind of yoga retreat sends a chauffeur?

  Outside on the curb waiting for us is a big, black town car. Reese sets my suitcase in the trunk, and then holds the back door of the car open for me.

  I slide inside, and she shuts it behind me.

  The car's nice—a really plush interior with soft, smooth jazz playing on the speakers overhead—but I've got a lot of questions.

  “So, what's this place like?” I ask Reese when she gets into the driver's seat, shutting the door and buckling her seat belt.

  “Rainbow Yoga?” she asks me, glancing mischievously into the rear view mirror and smiling back at me. “Oh, Rainbow Yoga is a very special place.”

  And that's pretty much all I'm able to get out of her for the rest of the ride. She keeps evading all of my questions with polite deference and maddening nonchalance. I know I've probably misjudged this place, but seriously! I've never heard of a retreat center that would send a town car an hour and forty minutes to pick up a single participant. That's just crazy, no matter what kind of exclusive package my sister got me.

  It's afternoon in Denver, and the sun slicing through the clouds and back lighting the mountains is sublime. It's been such a long time since I saw those beautiful Rockies, and they still take my breath away, even after all these years.

  I remember when I was a teenager. I was so sick of how flat Florida is, was so sick of its torturous heat in the summer, how everything was old with peeling paint and kitschy in an often sad way. I wanted to leave Florida as soon as I could. I had what my mother called an “itchy foot.” I wanted to travel the world, see everything that could be seen...and, after all that, I actually wanted to end up living in Colorado.

  I never really told many people of my plan, but it was firmly planted in my head. Only Jackie knew about it, my sister keeping it a secret because she knew how precious it was to me, this eventuality. This dream.

  And then I got together with Clare.

  Clare wanted to move out to Colorado, too, which is what we first started talking about when we met: our mutual love for the mountains. Clare was just as passionate about animals as I was, I learned, and she wanted to start a farm, raise sheep in Colorado, maybe eventually get some horses. As the days passed, as I fell more and more in love with Clare, I realized that I wanted to do all of that with her, beside her. Together.

  I blink, taking a deep breath. As we drive towards the mountains, I watch the peaks loom closer and closer, leaving the bright lights and tall buildings of Denver behind us. I really didn't think that this trip would make me so nostalgic. I thought, after all, that this would just be a vacation. But it's dredging up all these old thoughts and feelings...all these old dreams that I stifled, over time, purposefully forgetting them.

  Don't get me wrong—I love my job. I love being a vet, and I love my clients. I have my favorite animals and people who come in to the office and examining rooms every single day and make that day brighter. I love taking care of animals, love helping them, love easing pain, and love helping their people. Even on the hardest days where I have to assist someone to make the difficult decision to let a loved, furred friend move on in peace, I cherish the knowledge I have, my practice and what I'm capable of.

  But staying in Florida was never something I thought I'd do. I came back to my hometown of West Palm Beach after college, and I thought I'd move elsewhere, set up my practice in a different city, a different state. But when I came back home...that was that. It was like my whole life suddenly had a nice, easy road map attached to it, a set path that I'd follow until the day I die.

  And I was totally okay with that. I mean, I am okay with that. Usually.

  I'm just tired. I know that. I'm overworked and I don't get out and do anything fun. When I get back home, I'll make that change. I'll start to run again. Heck, maybe I'll even get back out on the dating scene. Maybe that'd be...nice.

  As I watch the mountains come closer, I feel myself relax back into the plush seats of the car. It's pretty excessive and ridiculously luxurious, to be in the back seat of a chauffeured car, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying it.

  When was the last time I let someone else take the wheel?

  The skies darken as we begin the drive up the closest mountain. The hair pin turns on the road are executed professionally, and I don't feel jostled around in the back of the car at all. The high cliffs surrounding us and the steep drop offs are enough to turn anyone's stomach, but it's getting dark, so I don't need to look too closely at any of them, instead staring out of the windshield at the pavement illuminated by the headlights.

  When we turn off the main road (if that collection of severe curves could have even been considered a main road), and onto a gravel drive, I sit up straight in the back seat. I can't wait to catch that first glimpse of Rainbow Yoga, because now? Now I realize that I really don't have any idea what to expect.

  Between the tall firs, I begin to see bits of light ahead. It's hard to make out exactly what I'm seeing in the twilight on the mountains, so I sit back in my seat and do my best to drum up a little more patience.

  And then, finally, Reese pulls up in front of Rainbow Yoga.

  “Welcome!” she tells me brightly over her shoulder. She gets out of her seat, shutting the driver's side door firmly behind her.

  I stare up at the place.

  Wow. Very, very nice.

  The gorgeous, sprawling house is essentially one enormous log cabin, the walls made of beautiful logs that, to my limited knowledge, look hand-hewn. The retreat center has huge, floor-to-ceiling length windows that take in the purple light of dusk on the mountain. I can see a fire burning in an enormous stone fireplace inside, and the wooden chandeliers overhead—everything's very rustic—are turned low. The lighting inside the building, from what I can see, is all turned low, actually, sort of setting the mood. Probably setting it for romance (it is a singles retreat), which makes me have a little trepidation, butterflies fluttering in my stomach, but then I remind myself again: I'm probably staying in my room relaxing all weekend.

  And, even if I wasn't, the likelihood of a single lesbian showing up to this thing—besides me—is really improbable. In the “totally not going to happen” category, actually.

  Reese opens the door for me, and I step out of the car, wincing as I stand upright—my back's been bothering me for weeks now. She takes the suitcase out of the trunk, and then turns to smile at me. “Shall we?” she asks, and we both start up the wide, wooden steps toward the big glass front doors.

  Even with all of the enormous windows and the wide open views of the mountains, the place actually looks cozy. Maybe it's the roaring fire in the reception area, or the warm, plush couches that look so soft I want to sink down into them. The warmth, coupled with the splendor of the outdoors, is so gratifying and soul-satisfying that I can feel any remaining tension I had in me about the weekend begin to dissipate.

  Reese sets my bag down beside me, reaches forward and taps the bell on the oak counter. She tips her hat to me with her wide smile, and turns on her heel, heading back outside and to the car.

  I shiver a little, drawing my coat closer about me. It was miserably cold outside, but the snow...the snow is beautiful...

  “Hello...you must be Trisha Dalton.”

  I turn at that warm, low voice, and I take a deep breath.

  A woman is striding down the corridor toward me, her full lips pulled up into a dazzling smile. She's about as tall as I am, but that's about where our similarities end. She's muscular and lithe, and both of
these facts are made more than obvious by the fact that she's only wearing a deep blue sports bra and very clingy workout pants. Her thick, red mane of hair is swept up in a messy ponytail, and her bright green eyes flecked with amber glitter as she smiles warmly at me.

  God...she's so my type. She's actually the type that my knees go completely weak for. She has a sexy, upturned nose; a million freckles dotting her face; long lashes framing those brown-green eyes (with not a scrap of makeup anywhere to be seen) and she has such a perfectly kissable mouth. Her lips, in fact, form the most sublime, sumptuous Cupid's bow I've ever seen. But it's not just that. She has this raw grace about her, this predatory ease in movement.

  When she steps out from around the corner, moving toward me, it's like I'm looking at a wolf, prowling down the corridor to meet me.

  That's a weird metaphor, but it's the best I've got: she reminds me of a wolf.

  “Yes,” I tell her then, licking my dry lips because I realize she said “hello” about an entire minute ago, and I've been staring at her like I was born yesterday. Which, I promise you, I wasn't. “I'm Trisha Dalton, but everyone calls me Trish,” I tell her, sticking my hand out to her while I smile.

  “I'm Kennedy Butler,” she tells me, voice low enough that I feel the purr of her words drift over my skin, making me shiver. She smiles, tipping her head to the side, spreading her arms wide as she rocks back on her heels. “It's my pleasure to welcome you, Trish, to my retreat center! We're completely thrilled you could join us for this weekend.”

  “Wow...you own Rainbow Yoga?” I ask her, and her smile deepens coyly as she tilts her head back, her waterfall of red curls brushing back over her shoulder as she nods.

  “It's my pride and joy,” she tells me fiercely, and I can see that as her eyes move from me to drift over the reception area and the warm, inviting common room. Her face shines as she takes in what I was just pretty impressed by. Kennedy turns back to me, then, placing her hands on her curvy hips as her eyes now very deliberately travel up and down my body.

  I feel a zing of energy and attraction move through me at the speed of light.