Mary drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin, her mouth setting itself in a prim line. “It isn’t necessary to make fun of me, Mr. Mackenzie,” she said calmly, but her even tone was hard won. She knew she fell short in the come-hither department; she didn’t need sarcasm to remind her. Usually she wasn’t disturbed by her mousiness, having accepted it as an unchangeable fact, much like having the sun rise in the east. But Mr. Mackenzie made her feel strangely vulnerable, and it was oddly painful that he should have pointed out how unappealing she was.

Wolf’s straight black brows drew together over his high-bridged nose. “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he snapped. “I was dead serious, lady. I want you off of my mountain.”

“Then I’ll leave, of course,” she replied steadily. “But it was still unnecessary to make fun of me.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Make fun of you? How?”

A flush tinged her exquisite skin, but her gray-blue eyes never wavered. “I know I’m not an attractive woman, certainly not the type to stir a man’s—er, savage appetites.”

She was serious. Ten minutes ago he’d have agreed with her that she was plain, and God knew she was no fashion plate, but what astounded him was that she honestly didn’t seem to realize what it meant that he was Indian, or what he’d meant by his sarcasm, or even that he had been strongly aroused by her closeness. A lingering throbbing in his loins reminded him that his reaction hadn’t completely subsided. He gave a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of amusement. Why not put a little more excitement in her life? When she heard the flat truth, she wouldn’t be able to get off his mountain fast enough.

“I wasn’t joking or making fun,” he said. His black eyes glittered at her. “Touching you like that, being so close to you that I could smell the sweetness, turned me on.”

Astonished, she stared at him. “Turned you on?” she asked blankly.

“Yeah.” She still stared at him as if he were speaking a different language, and impatiently he added, “Got me hot, however you want to describe it.”

She pushed at a silky strand that had escaped from her hairpins. “You’re making fun of me again,” she accused. It was impossible. She had never made a man…aroused a man in her life.

He was already irritated, already aroused. He had learned to use iron control when dealing with Anglos, but something about this prim little woman got under his skin. Frustration filled him until he thought he might explode. He hadn’t intended to touch her, but suddenly he had his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him. “Maybe you need a demonstration,” he said in a rough undertone, and bent to cover her mouth with his.

Mary trembled in profound shock, her eyes enormous as he moved his lips over hers. His eyes were closed. She could see the individual lashes, and for a moment marveled at how thick they were. Then his hands, still clasped on her waist, drew her into firm contact with his muscled body, and she gasped. He took instant advantage of her opened mouth, probing inside with his tongue. She quivered again, and her eyes slowly closed as a strange heat began to warm her inside. The pleasure was unfamiliar, and so intense that it frightened her. A host of new sensations assailed her, making her dizzy. There was the firmness of his lips, his heady taste, the startling intimacy of his tongue stroking hers as if enticing it to play. She felt the heat of his body, smelled the warm muskiness of hiss kin. Her soft breasts were pressed against the muscular planes of his chest, and her nipples began to tingle in that strange, embarrassing way again.

Suddenly he lifted his mouth from hers, and sharp disappointment made her eyes fly open. His black gaze burned her. “Kiss me back,” he muttered.

“I don’t know how,” Mary blurted, still unable to believe this was happening.

His voice was almost guttural. “Like this.” He took her mouth again, and this time she parted her lips immediately, eager to accept his tongue and feel that odd, surging pleasure once more. He moved his mouth over hers, molding her lips with fierce pleasure, teaching her how to return the pressure. His tongue touched hers again, and this time she responded shyly in kind, welcoming his small invasion with gentle touches of her own. She was too inexperienced to realize the symbolism of her acceptance, but he began to breathe harder and faster, and his kiss deepened, demanding even more of her.

A frightening excitement exploded through her body, going beyond mere pleasure and becoming a hungry need. She was no longer cold at all, but burning inside as her heartbeat increased until her heart was banging against her ribs. So this was what he meant when he’d said she got him hot. He got her hot, too, and it stunned her to think he had felt this same restless yearning, this incredible wanting. She made a soft, unconscious sound and moved closer to him, not knowing how to control the sensations his experienced kisses had aroused.

His hands tightened painfully on her waist, and a low, rough sound rumbled in his throat. Then he lifted her, pulled her closer, adjusted her hips against his and graphically demonstrated his response to her.

She hadn’t known it could be like that. She hadn’t known that desire could burn so hot, could make her forget Aunt Ardith’s warnings about men and the nasty things they liked to do to women. Mary had quite sensibly decided that those things couldn’t be too nasty, or women wouldn’t put up with them, but at the same time she had never flirted or tried to attract a boyfriend. The men she had met at college and on the job had seemed normal, not slavering sex fiends; she was comfortable with men, and even considered some to be friends. It was just that she wasn’t sexy herself; no man had ever beaten down doors to go out with her, or even managed to accomplish the dialing of her telephone number, so her exposure to men hadn’t prepared her for the tightness of Wolf Mackenzie’s arms, the hunger of his kisses, or the hardness of his manhood pushing against the juncture of her thighs. Nor had she known that she could want more.

Unconsciously she locked her arms around his neck and squirmed against him, tormented by increasing frustration. Her body was on fire, empty and aching and wanting all at once, and she didn’t have the experience to control it. The new sensations were a tidal wave, swamping her mind beneath the overload from her nerve endings.

Wolf jerked his head back, his teeth locked as he relentlessly brought himself back under control. Black fire burned in his eyes as he looked down at her. His kisses had made her soft lips red and pouty, and delicate pink colored her translucent porcelain skin. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she opened them and slowly met his gaze. Her pale brown hair had slipped completely out of its knot and tumbled silkily around her face and over her shoulders. Desire was on her face; she already looked tousled, as if he had done more than kiss her, and in his mind he had. She was light and delicate in his arms, but she had twisted against him with a hunger that matched his own.

He could take her to bed now; she was that far gone, and he knew it. But when he did, it would be because she had consciously made the decision, not because she was so hot she didn’t know what she was doing. Her inexperience was obvious; he’d even had to teach her how to kiss—the thought stopped as abruptly as if he’d hit a mental wall, as he realized the full extent of her inexperience. Damn it, she was a virgin!

The thought staggered him. She was looking at him now with those grayish blue eyes both innocent and questioning, languid with desire, as she waited for him to make the next move. She didn’t know what to do. Her arms were locked around his neck, her body pressed tightly to his, her legs opened slightly to allow him to nestle against her, and she was waiting for him because she didn’t have a clue how to proceed. She hadn’t even been kissed before. No man had touched those soft breasts, or taken her nipples in his mouth. No man had loved her at all before.

He swallowed the lump that threatened to choke him, his eyes still locked with hers. “God Almighty, lady, that nearly got out of hand.”

She blinked. “Did it?” Her tone was prim, the words clear, but the dazed, sleepy look was still in her eyes.

Slowly, because he didn’t want to let her go, and gently, because he knew he had to, he let her body slip down his until she was standing on her feet again. She was innocent of the ramifications, but he wasn’t. He was Wolf Mackenzie, half-breed, and she was the schoolteacher. The good citizens of Ruth wouldn’t want her associating with him; she was in charge of their young people, with untold influence on their forming morals. No parents would want their impressionable daughter being taught by a woman who was having a wild fling with an Indian ex-con. Why, she might even entice their sons! His prison record could be accepted, but his Indian blood would never go away.

So he had to let her go, no matter how much he wanted to take her to his bedroom and teach her all the things that went on between a man and a woman.

Her arms were still around his neck, her fingers buried in the hair at his nape. She seemed incapable of movement. He reached up to take her wrists and draw her hands away from him.

“I think I’ll come back later.”

A new voice intruded in Mary’s dreamworld of newly discovered sensuality, and she jerked away, color burning her cheeks as she whirled to face the newcomer. A tall, dark-haired boy stood just inside the kitchen door, his hat in his hand. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to barge in.”

Wolf stepped away from her. “Stay. She came to see you, anyway.”

The boy looked at her quizzically. “You could have fooled me.”

Wolf merely shrugged. “This is Miss Mary Potter, the new schoolteacher. Miss Potter, my son, Joe.”

Even through her embarrassment, Mary was jolted that he would call her “Miss Potter” after the intimacy they had just shared. But he seemed so calm and controlled, as if it hadn’t affected him at all, while every nerve in her body was still jangling. She wanted to fling herself against him and give herself up to that encompassing fire.

Instead she stood there, her arms stiffly at her sides while her face burned, and forced herself to look at Joe Mackenzie. He was the reason she was here, and she wouldn’t allow herself to forget it again. As her embarrassment faded, she saw that he was very like his father. Though he was only sixteen, he was already six feet tall and would likely match his father’s height, just as his broad young shoulders showed the promise of being as powerful. His face was a younger version of Wolf’s, as strong-boned and proud, the features precisely chiseled. He was calm and controlled, far too controlled for a sixteen-year-old, and his eyes, oddly, were pale, glittering blue. Those eyes held something in them, something untamed, as well as a sort of bitter acceptance and knowledge that made him old beyond his years. He was his father’s son.

There was no way she could give up on him.

She held out her hand to him. “I’d really like to talk to you, Joe.”

His expression remained aloof, but he crossed the kitchen to shake her hand. “I don’t know why.”

“You dropped out of school.”

The statement hardly needed verification, but he nodded. Mary drew a deep breath. “May I ask why?”

“There was nothing for me there.”

She felt frustrated by the calm, flat statement, because she couldn’t sense any uncertainty in this unusual boy. As Wolf had said, Joe had made up his own mind and didn’t intend to change it. She tried to think of another way to approach him, but Wolf’s quiet, deep voice interrupted.

“Miss Potter, you can finish talking after you get into some sensible clothes. Joe, don’t you have some old jeans that might be small enough to fit her?”

To her astonishment, the boy looked her over with an experienced eye. “I think so. Maybe the ones I wore when I was ten.” For a moment amusement sparkled in his blue-diamond eyes, and Mary primmed her mouth. What did these Mackenzie men get out of needlessly pointing out her lack of attractiveness?

“Socks, shirt, boots and coat,” Wolf added to the list. “The boots will be too big, but two pairs of socks will hold them on.”

“Mr. Mackenzie, I really don’t need extra clothes. What I have on will do until I get home.”

“No, it won’t. The high temperature today is about ten below zero. You aren’t walking out of this house with bare legs and those stupid shoes.”

Her sensible shoes were suddenly stupid? She felt like flying to their defense, but suddenly remembered the snow that had gotten inside them and frozen her toes. What was sensible in Savannah was woefully inadequate in a Wyoming winter.

“Very well,” she assented, but only because it was, after all, the sensible thing to do. She still felt uncomfortable about taking Joe’s clothes, even temporarily. She had never worn anyone else’s clothes before, never swapped sweaters or blouses with chums as an adolescent. Aunt Ardith had thought such familiarity ill-bred.

“I’ll see about your car while you change.” Without even glancing at her again, he put on his coat and hat and walked out the door.

“This way,” Joe said, indicating that she should follow him. She did so, and he looked over his shoulder. “What happened to your car?”

“A water hose blew.”

“Where is it?”

She stopped. “It’s on the road. Didn’t you see it when you drove up?” An awful thought struck her. Had her car somehow slid off the mountain?

“I came up the front side of the mountain. It’s not as steep.” He looked amused again. “You actually tried driving up the back road in a car, when you’re not used to driving in snow?”

“I didn’t know that was the back road. I thought it was the only road. Couldn’t I have made it? I have snow tires.”

“Maybe.”

She noticed that he didn’t sound very confident in her ability, but she didn’t protest, because she wasn’t very confident herself. He led the way through a rustic but comfortable living room and down a short hallway to an open door. “My old clothes are boxed up in the storage room, but it won’t take long for me to dig them out. You can change in here. It’s my bedroom.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, stepping inside the room. Like the living room, it was rustic, with exposed beams and thick wooden walls. There was nothing in it to indicate it was inhabited by a teenage boy: no sports apparatus of any kind, no clothes on the floor. The full-size bed was neatly made, a homemade quilt smoothed on top. A straight chair stood in one corner. Next to his bed, bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling; the shelves were obviously handmade, but weren’t crude. They had been finished, sanded and varnished. They were crammed with books, and curiosity led her to examine the titles.

It took her a moment to realize that every book had to do with flight, from da Vinci’s experiments through Kitty Hawk and space exploration. There were books on bombers, fighters, helicopters, radar planes, jets and prop planes, books on air battles fought in each war since pilots first shot at each other with pistols in World War I. There were books on experimental aircraft, on fighter tactics, on wing design and engine capability.

“Here are the clothes.” Joe had entered silently and placed the clothes on the bed. Mary looked at him, but his face was impassive.

“You like planes,” she said, then winced at her own banality.

“I like planes,” he admitted without inflection.

“Have you thought about taking flying lessons?”

“Yes.” He didn’t add anything to that stark answer, however; he merely left the room and closed the door behind him.

She was thoughtful as she slowly removed her dress and pulled on the things Joe had brought. The collection of books indicated not merely an interest in flying, but an obsession. Obsessions were funny things; unhealthy ones could ruin lives, but some obsessions lifted people to higher planes of life, made them shine with a brighter light, burn with a hotter fire, and if those obsessions weren’t fed, then the person withered, a life blighted by starvation of the soul. If she were right, she had a way to reach Joe and get him back in school.

The jeans fit. Disgusted at this further proof that she had the figure of a ten-year-old boy, she pulled on the too-big flannel shirt and buttoned it, then rolled the sleeves up over her hands. As Wolf had predicted, the worn boots were too big, but the two pairs of thick socks padded her feet enough that the boots didn’t slip up and down on her heels too much. The warmth was heavenly, and she decided she would pinch pennies any way she could until she could afford a pair of boots.

Joe was adding wood to the fire in the enormous rock fireplace when she entered, and a little grin tugged at his mouth when he saw her. “You sure don’t look like Mrs. Langdale, or any other teacher I’ve ever seen.”

She folded her hands. “Looks have nothing to do with ability. I’m a very good teacher—even if I do look like a ten-year-old boy.”

“Twelve. I wore those jeans when I was twelve.”

“What a consolation.”

He laughed aloud, and she felt pleased, because she had the feeling neither he nor his father laughed much.

“Why did you quit school?”

She had learned that if you kept asking the same question, you would often get different answers, and eventually the evasions would cease and the real answer would emerge. But Joe looked at her steadily and gave the same answer as before. “There was nothing for me there.”

“Nothing more for you to learn?”

“I’m Indian, Miss Potter. A mixed-breed. What I learned, I learned on my own.”

Mary paused. “Mrs. Langdale didn’t—” She stopped, unsure of how to phrase her question.

“I was invisible.” His young voice was harsh. “From the time I started school. No one took the time to explain anything to me, ask me questions, or include me in anything. I’m surprised my papers were even graded.”

“But you were number one in your class.”

He shrugged. “I like books.”

“Don’t you miss school, miss learning?”

“I can read without going to school, and I can help Dad a lot more if I’m here all day. I know horses, ma’am, maybe better than anyone else around here except for Dad, and I didn’t learn about them in school. This ranch will be mine someday. This is my life. Why should I waste time in school?”

Mary took a deep breath and played her ace. “To learn how to fly.”

He couldn’t prevent the avid gleam that shone briefly in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. “I can’t learn how to fly in Ruth High School. Maybe someday I’ll take lessons.”

“I wasn’t talking about flying lessons. I was talking about the Air Force Academy.”

His bronze skin whitened. This time she didn’t see a gleam of eagerness, but a deep, anguished need so powerful it shook her, as if he’d been shown a glimpse of heaven. Then he turned his head, and abruptly he looked older. “Don’t try to make a fool of me. There’s no way.”

“Why isn’t there a way? From what I saw in your school records, your grade average will be high enough.”

“I dropped out.”

“You can go back.”

“As far behind as I am? I’d have to repeat this grade, and I won’t sit still while those jerks call me a stupid Indian.”

“You aren’t that far behind. I could tutor you, bring you up fast enough that you could start your senior year in the fall. I’m a licensed teacher, Joe, and for your information, my credentials are very good. I’m qualified to tutor you in the classes you need.”

He took a poker and jabbed at a log, sending a shower of sparks flying. “What if I do it?” he muttered. “The Academy isn’t a college where you take an entrance exam, pay your money and walk in.”

“No. The usual way is to be recommended by your congressman.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think my congressman is going to recommend an Indian. We’re way down on the list of people it’s fashionable to help. Dead last, as a matter of fact.”

“I think you’re making too much of your heritage,” Mary said calmly. “You can keep blaming everything on being Indian, or you can get on with your life. You can’t do anything about other people’s reactions to you, but you can do something about your own. You don’t know what your congressman will do, so why give up when you haven’t even tried yet? Are you a quitter?”

He straightened, his pale eyes fierce. “I don’t reckon.”

“Then it’s time to find out, isn’t it? Do you want to fly bad enough that you’ll fight for the privilege? Or do you want to die without ever knowing what it’s like to sit in the cockpit of a jet doing Mach 1?”

“You hit hard, lady,” he whispered.

“Sometimes it takes a knock on the head to get someone’s attention. Do you have the guts to try?”

“What about you? The folks in Ruth won’t like it if you spend so much time with me. It would be bad enough if I were alone, but with Dad, it’s twice as bad.”

“If anyone objects to my tutoring you, I’ll certainly set him straight,” she said firmly. “It’s an honor to be accepted into the Academy, and that’s our goal. If you’ll agree to being tutored, I’ll write to your congressman immediately. I think this time your heritage will work in your favor.”

It was amazing how proud that strong young face could be. “I don’t want it if they give it to me just because I’m Indian.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Of course you won’t be accepted into the Academy just because you’re half Indian. But if that fact catches the congressman’s interest, I say, good. It would only make him remember your name. It’ll be up to you to make the grade.”

He raked his hand through his black hair, then restlessly walked to the window to look out at the white landscape. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

“Of course it’s possible. It isn’t guaranteed, but it’s possible. Can you live with yourself if you don’t try? If we don’t try?” She didn’t know how to go about bringing someone to a congressman’s attention for consideration for recommendation to the Academy, but she was certainly willing to write to every senator and representative Wyoming had seated in Congress, a letter a week, until she found out.

“If I agreed, it would have to be at night. I have chores around here that have to be done.”

“Night is fine with me. Midnight would be fine with me, if it would get you back in school.”

He gave her a quick look. “You really mean it, don’t you? You actually care that I dropped out of school.”

“Of course I care.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. I told you, no other teacher cared if I showed up in class. They probably wished I hadn’t.”

“Well,” she said in her briskest voice, “I care. Teaching is what I do, so if I can’t teach and feel I’m doing some good, then I lose part of myself. Isn’t that how you feel about flying? That you have to, or you’ll die?”

“I want it so bad it hurts,” he admitted, his voice raw.

“I read somewhere that flying is like throwing your soul into the heavens and racing to catch it as it falls.”

“I don’t think mine would ever fall,” he murmured, looking at the clear cold sky. He stared, entranced, as if paradise beckoned, as if he could see forever. He was probably imagining himself up there, free and wild, with a powerful machine screaming beneath him and taking him higher. Then he shook himself, visibly fighting off the dream, and turned to her. “Okay, Miss Teacher, when do we start?”

“Tonight. You’ve already wasted enough time.”

“How long will it take for me to catch up?”

She gave him a withering look. “Catch up? You’re going to leave them in the dust. How long it takes depends on how much work you can do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning a little.

She thought that already he looked younger, more like a boy, than he had before. He was, in all ways, far more mature than the other boys his age in her classes, but he looked as if a burden had been lifted from him. If flying meant that much to him, how had it felt to set himself a course that would deny him what he wanted most?

“Can you be at my house at six? Or would you rather I come here?” She thought of that drive, in the dark and snow, and wondered if she’d make it if he wanted her to come here.

“I’ll come to your house, since you aren’t used to driving in snow. Where do you live?”

“Go down the back road and take a left. It’s the first house on the left.” She thought a minute. “I believe it’s the first house, period.”

“It is. There isn’t another house for five miles. That’s the old Witcher house.”

“So I’ve been told. It was kind of the school board to arrange living quarters for me.”

Joe looked dubious. “More like it was the only way they had of getting another teacher in the middle of the year.”

“Well, I appreciated it anyway,” she said firmly. She looked out the window. “Shouldn’t your father be back by now?”

“Depends on what he found. If it was something he could fix right then, he’d do it. Look, here he comes now.”

The black pickup roared to a stop in front of the house, and Wolf got out. Coming up on the porch, he stomped his feet to rid his boots of the snow caked on them and opened the door. His cool black gaze flickered over his son, then to Mary. His eyes widened fractionally as he examined every slim curve exhibited by Joe’s old jeans, but he didn’t comment.

“Get your things together,” he instructed. “I have a spare hose that will fit your car. We’ll put it on, then take you home.”

“I can drive,” she replied. “But thank you for your trouble. How much is the hose? I’ll pay you for that.”

“Consider it neighborly assistance to a greenhorn. And we’ll still take you home. I’d rather you practiced driving in the snow somewhere other than on this mountain.”

His dark face was expressionless, as usual, but she sensed that he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t budge. She got her dress from Joe’s room and the rest of her things from the kitchen. When she returned to the living room, Wolf held a thick coat for her to wear. She slipped into it; since it reached almost to her knees and the sleeves totally obscured her hands, she knew it had to be his.

Joe had on his coat and hat again. “Ready.”

Wolf looked at his son. “Have you two had your talk?”

The boy nodded. “Yes.” He met his father’s eyes squarely. “She’s going to tutor me. I’m going to try to get into the Air Force Academy.”

“It’s your decision. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I have to try.”

Wolf nodded once, and that was the end of the discussion. With her sandwiched between them, they left the warmth of the house, and once again Mary was struck by the bitter, merciless cold. She scrambled gratefully into the truck, which had been left running, and the blast of hot air from the heater vents felt like heaven.

Wolf got behind the wheel, and Joe got in beside her, trapping her between their two much bigger bodies. She sat with her hands primly folded and her booted feet placed neatly side-by-side as they drove down to an enormous barn with long stables extending off each side of it like arms. Wolf got out and entered the barn, then returned thirty seconds later with a length of thick black hose.

When they reached her car, both Mackenzies got out and poked their heads under the raised hood, but Wolf told her, in that tone of voice she already recognized as meaning business, to stay in the truck. He was certainly autocratic, but she liked his relationship with Joe. There was a strong sense of respect between them.

She wondered if the townspeople were truly so hostile simply because the Mackenzies were half Indian. Something Joe had said tugged at her memory, something about it would be bad enough if it were just him involved, but it would be twice as bad because of Wolf. What about Wolf? He’d rescued her from an unpleasant, even dangerous, situation, he’d seen to her comfort, and now he was repairing her car.

He’d also kissed her silly.

She could feel her cheeks heat as she remembered those fierce kisses. No, the kisses, and remembering them, begot a different kind of heat. Her cheeks were hot because her own behavior was so appalling she could barely bring herself to think about it. She had never—never!—been so forward with a man. It was totally out of character for her.

Aunt Ardith would have had a conniption fit at the thought of her mousy, sedate niece letting a strange man put his tongue in her mouth. It had to be unsanitary, though it was also, to be honest, exciting in a primitive way.

Her face still felt hot when Wolf got back into the truck, but he didn’t even look at her. “It’s fixed. Joe will follow us.”

“But doesn’t it need more water and antifreeze?”

He cast her a disbelieving look. “I had a can of antifreeze in the back of the truck. Weren’t you paying attention when I got it out?”

She blushed again. She hadn’t been paying attention; she’d been lost in reliving those kisses he’d given her, her heart thundering and her blood racing. It was an extraordinary reaction, and she wasn’t certain how to handle it. Ignoring it seemed the wisest course, but was it possible to ignore something like that?

His powerful leg moved against hers as he shifted gears, and abruptly she realized she was still sitting in the middle of the seat. “I’ll get out of your way,” she said hastily, and slid over by the window.

Wolf had liked the feel of her sitting next to him, so close that his arm and leg brushed her whenever he changed gears, but he didn’t tell her that. Things had gotten way out of hand at the house, but he didn’t have to let them go any further. This deal with Joe worried him, and Joe was more important to him than the way a soft woman felt in his arms.

“I don’t want Joe hurt because your do-gooder instincts won’t leave well enough alone.” He spoke in a low, silky tone that made her jump, and he knew she sensed the menace in it. “The Air Force Academy! That’s climbing high for an Indian kid, with a lot of people waiting to step on his fingers.”

If he’d thought to intimidate her, he’d failed. She turned toward him with fire sparking in her eyes, her chin up. “Mr. Mackenzie, I didn’t promise Joe he would be accepted into the Academy. He understands that. His grades were high enough to qualify him for recommendation, but he dropped out of school. He has no chance at all unless he gets back into school and gets the credits he needs. That’s what I offered him: a chance.”

“And if he doesn’t make it?”

“He wants to try. Even if he isn’t accepted, at least he’ll know he tried, and at least he’ll have a diploma.”

“So he can do exactly what he would have done without the diploma.”

“Perhaps. But I’m going to begin checking into the procedure and qualifications on Monday, and writing to people. The competition to get into the Academy is really fierce.”

“The people in town won’t like you tutoring him.”

“That’s what Joe said.” Her face took on that prim, obstinate look. “But I’ll have something to say to anyone who kicks up about it. Just let me handle them, Mr. Mackenzie.”

They were already down the mountain that had taken her so long to drive up. Wolf was silent for the rest of the drive, so Mary was, too. But when he pulled up to the old house where she was living, he rested his gloved hands on the steering wheel and said, “It isn’t just Joe. For your sake, don’t let on that you’re doing it. It’s better for you if no one knows you’ve ever even spoken to me.”

“Why ever not?”

His smile was wintry. “I’m an ex-con. I did time for rape.”