Wild Wolf by Jennifer Ashley Read Free Book Online Page A

saw to her relief. He was a hiker—tall, with blond hair messy from perspiration, wind, and dirt, and wearing a T-shirt, canvas shorts, thick socks, and hiking boots. A backpack, one of the huge kind that could hold supplies for a multiday hike, lay on the ground near him.
    â€œYou lost?” he asked, peering at Misty. “Want some water?”
    Yes, she wanted water. “You didn’t drink from that stream, did you?” Misty’s voice came out a croak.
    â€œDidn’t have to.” The man held up a bottle. “Brought it with me. You sound terrible. You need help?”
    â€œMy friend does.” Misty went toward him, stepping carefully, her sandals not made for desert walking. “Some gangbangers shot him.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, jeez. Are they still around?”
    â€œNo, they ran off. Leaving us stranded.”
    His eyes remained wide. They were dark eyes, a nice contrast with his light-colored hair. The man wasn’t much older than Misty, she realized as she reached him. And in great shape. He was tall and lean, his muscles ropy, his skin tanned a liquid brown.
    He handed Misty the bottle and watched while she took a sip. Then a gulp. The water tasted good, silken and smooth, cool from the insulated canteen. Misty kept on drinking until the last droplet flowed into her mouth.
    â€œSorry,” she gasped. “Didn’t mean to drain it.”
    â€œIt’s all right. I have more. The water is supposed to be inside you, not the bottle. Did you call for help?”
    â€œAnother friend went. We couldn’t get a signal.” Misty looked hopefully at the cell phone on his belt.
    He shook his head. “Lost contact about five miles back. Let’s get your friend in here, out of the sun.”
    â€œThanks.” Misty felt better, first with the water wetting her mouth like sweet nectar; second, because she had someone to help her with Graham. This guy was strong. Everything would be all right.
    She handed the canteen back to the hiker, and he gave her another one. “Keep it. You need it, and so will your friend. Show me where he is.”
    The hiker followed Misty out through the crack in the rocks. The heat hit her like a wall, the sunshine seeming more intense after the cool relief of the cave.
    â€œThis way,” Misty said as the hiker emerged behind her.
    The shack was still in sight. Misty picked her way back down the wash, rocks rolling under her feet and those of the hiker behind her. Misty’s soles were burning by the time she reached relatively level ground, her toes bloody from loose rocks.
    Graham lay where she’d left him, on his back, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. Misty jogged the last few yards and dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed by the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. The blood had dried around the duct tape, but the flesh looked swollen and angry.
    Graham cracked open his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he could barely raise the lids. “You came back.” He sounded surprised, pleased, relieved.
    â€œLike I have anywhere else to go. I found some help. There’s a cave not far away, out of the sun. There was a hiker there, and he gave me some water.”
    Graham blinked a few times. He sniffed once, twice, then turned his head and inhaled in Misty’s direction.
    â€œI don’t like the way you smell,” he growled.
    â€œThanks a lot. You’re pretty rank yourself.”
    Graham didn’t smile. “I mean you smell . . . wrong. What hiker?”
    â€œHim.” Misty looked up to point at the thin guy, but he wasn’t there.
    She stood up, scanning the wash and then the desert around them. She didn’t see him anywhere. “He was right behind me.”
    Graham struggled to raise his head, grunting with effort. Misty knelt beside him again. “Stop. Let me give you some water.”
    Misty unscrewed the canteen’s lid, its slender