Lone Wolf. Sheri WhiteFeather

puppy stood on his hind legs, determined to check out the view. Hawk smiled. Even the dog wanted to see her.

      And then the image spoiled.

      Mrs. Pritchett, the snoop from across the street, was heading straight for Jenny.

      The older woman glared at Hawk’s truck, telling him all he needed to know. She’d seen him pull up, and now she was going to warn Jenny about him.

      He knew exactly what she would say. Watch out for that one, dear. He’s just like his mama. She seduced Archy Wainwright, ruining that poor man’s marriage.

      Hawk closed his eyes. His mother had died a long time ago, but her name was still being dragged through the mud.

      And Hawk, of course, had created his own scandal, the kissing escapade Jenny was sure to hear about.

      Jenny felt someone nearby. She turned and saw a gray-haired woman making determined strides to reach her.

      Sensing trouble, she adjusted the hose nozzle, shutting off the water. The lady wore an old-fashioned housecoat and a pair of white sneakers, her face pinched in a superior expression. She wasn’t collecting for a charity or selling door-to-door cosmetics. This busy bee had “nosy neighbor” written all over her.

      “I’m Mrs. Pritchett from across the way.” She pointed to a prim yellow house. “And I’ve been worried about you. The way that man watches you.”

      Jenny’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Did this have something to do with Roy? Had this lady see him lurking about? “What man?”

      “Why, that Indian, of course.”

      Jenny’s heartbeat stabilized. Roy wasn’t the man in question. “You mean Hawk?”

      “Who else would I mean? I saw what he did last week. He carted you right into his house.”

      “I wasn’t feeling well that day,” she explained, defending her neighbor. “I’d spent too much time in the sun, and I fainted. Hawk was kind enough to help me.”

      Mrs. Pritchett motioned to his driveway. “He’s sitting in his truck, watching us right now. Or watching you, I should say.” She pointed a bony finger, a gesture not unlike the one the Wicked Witch of the West used on Dorothy. “I’d stay away from him if I were you. He isn’t the type a pretty, young thing like yourself should trust.”

      Jenny glanced quickly at Hawk’s truck, catching a glimpse of him behind the wheel. “He was a perfect gentleman,” she countered, even though his rugged good looks and dark, penetrating eyes made her much too aware of being female.

      “How would you know? You were unconscious.” The other woman cleared her throat. “Do you know who he is? Who his parents are?”

      No, Jenny thought, but you’re just dying to tell me.

      “His mother is dead now, but she went by the name Rain Dancer. She was tall and slim, with hair down to her rear.”

      Was long hair a sin? Jenny wondered.

      “Well, Rain Dancer set her sights on a married man. A rich, prominent rancher, no less. And being the way men are, he couldn’t resist her. Slut that she was.”

      Jenny flinched. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Pritchett to be quite that cruel. “So this wealthy rancher is Hawk’s father?”

      “That’s right. Archy Wainwright. Surely you’ve heard of him.”

      Stunned, Jenny widened her eyes. She hadn’t just heard of him, she was indebted to him. The Wainwrights were founding members of the Lone Star County Club, and it was Archy who’d recommended her to Joe Turner, the architect overseeing the renovations at the club.

      Mrs. Pritchett moved closer, delighted by Jenny’s reaction. “Hawk isn’t a legitimate member of the Wainwrights, even though he uses their name. They don’t recognize him as one of their own. But who can blame them? That half-breed is trash, just like his mother. Why, a while back he actually kissed two white girls in a bar, one right after the other. Spicy kisses, if you know what I mean. Then he walked out of the place without uttering a word.” Mrs. Pritchett moved closer still. “It was quite a scandal, considering those young ladies were high-society types.” She snorted. “No one knows why he provoked a scene like that. But I’ve heard several theories. Some say—”

      A vehicle door slammed.

      Jenny and Mrs. Pritchett turned simultaneously.

      Hawk had exited his truck and now trapped Jenny’s gaze from across the yard. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what Mrs. Pritchett had been saying.

      “Oh, my.” The older woman took a step back. “He’s coming this way. Why, the nerve.”

      Yes, he was coming their way—all male and all muscle, the puppy from the market at his heels.

      “Hello, ladies,” he said. “Jenny. Mrs. Snitchett.”

      “Pritchett,” the old woman corrected, glaring at him with her wicked-witch sneer.

      “Of course.” One corner of his mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “Mrs. Bitchett.”

      The old lady huffed. “I don’t have to stand here and take this.”

      “Then don’t,” Hawk said.

      Mrs. Pritchett pointed her finger at him. “I warned her about you.” She turned to Jenny, her finger still raised. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

      With that, she stalked across the yard, holier and mightier than thou.

      Hawk and Jenny stared at each other. Suddenly neither of them knew what to say. She chewed her bottom lip and he stood like a statue, the feather on his hat lifting in the breeze.

      “She’s a malicious old woman,” Hawk said finally.

      “She certainly doesn’t like you.”

      “No, she doesn’t.” He paused, then blew out a breath. “But I would appreciate it if you reserved judgment and formed your own opinion of me. You know, instead of letting the gossip sway you.”

      Jenny nodded. “I think that’s only fair.”

      “Thanks.”

      He sent her one of those fleeting smiles, and she felt an uncomfortable stir of attraction. Did he really kiss those two girls?

      “I guess I should let you finish watering.” Hawk glanced at the flower beds. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

      Jenny turned and saw why he was apologizing. His new pet had uprooted every last one of Jenny’s geraniums and was grinning at both of them like a mischievous hyena. And to top it off, the dog was covered in mud.

      “You little scoundrel.” Hawk grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck, the way a scolding mother dog would do. “I’ll buy you another batch of flowers, Jenny.”

      He gave the dog an exasperated glance, and the little scoundrel swished his tail, spraying his master with mud.

      Hawk cursed, and Jenny stifled a giggle. A second later they both burst out laughing.

      “Will you help me hose him off?” Hawk asked when their laughter faded. He still held the dog by the scruff, but the pup squirmed something fierce.

      “Sure.” She turned on the water and decided she liked Hawk Wainwright. But then, she liked his father, too. She stole a glance at Mrs. Pritchett’s house, certain the old woman watched from her window.

      Was it true that the Wainwrights didn’t acknowledge Hawk? It did seem odd that he lived in a modest home, while Archy and his family resided on a sprawling ranch.

      “Can you adjust the water level?” he asked.

      “Oh, of course.” Jenny turned the flow to a mild spray, and between the two of them, they got the puppy clean.

      Hawk