SECRET OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

Unless, when he was cured, he didn’t want her. Unless his interest was a patient’s preoccupation with his doctor, the desires of a man separated from the rest of humanity, bound to vanish when he was restored to health and sanity.

She laughed. How you build castles of air, Johanna. Be careful, lest they send you smashing back to the earth.

He waited for her in the hotel lobby as he had yesterday, a little more serious and less inclined to light conversation than he’d previously been.

That suited Johanna very well. They had much ground to cover, not least of all the issue of Quentin’s future care.

She refused to dwell on last night’s dreams, or how she’d awakened drenched in perspiration and aching with unsated needs. Quentin Forster was at the center of those dreams: red, seething, burning. Feodor Bolkonsky was cool, collected, the consummate professional, and just being in his presence reminded her that she was first and foremost a doctor.

She’d momentarily considered discussing Bolkonsky with Quentin that morning, but Quentin was nowhere to be found. Harper mentioned seeing him heading for the woods, and he hadn’t returned for luncheon.

Was he feeling chagrined about last night? Did he remember it at all? She was almost glad not to have to face him again so soon. Today’s meeting with Bolkonsky would surely give her a much-needed sounding board.

“I am very glad to see you again, Feodor,” she said when she and Bolkonsky were seated in the private room. “I have an important subject to discuss with you.” She readied herself. “Yesterday I mentioned the case of Quentin Forster, and you seemed particularly—”

He held up a gloved hand. “I beg forgiveness for interrupting you, but there is an urgent matter I must bring up before we continue.”

“Urgent?” She saw now that she had overestimated his tranquillity. His fair skin was flushed, and his lips were pressed tightly together. She determined that he was angry, though not with her. Someone—or something—else had upset him before her arrival.

“Of course,” she said. “Please go on.”

“You must understand, Johanna. I had not planned for it to be this way, or to introduce the topic in such unseemly haste, so soon after we met. I have no choice.” He cleared his throat. “It concerns another patient of yours, one May Ingram.”

May had been so far from Johanna’s mind that at first she was certain she’d misunderstood. “May? You know of her?”

“Yes. You see, I have been retained by May’s father, Chester Ingram, to consult with you about returning her to his care.”

With one brief sentence, Feodor set Johanna’s thoughts in complete disorder. May’s father.

Caught between fear and anger, she got up from her chair and paced to the window. She’d hoped never to be put in this position, though she had always known it was a possibility, ever since that night two years ago when a frantic Mrs. Ingram had brought May to the Haven.

Rain. A mother and young girl on the doorstep, soaking wet, carrying a pair of small traveling bags as if they were on a weekend visit to friends in the country.

“You are Dr. Johanna Schell?” the woman had asked. “I need your help.”

Johanna had let them in. In short bursts of speech, the woman—young, well-dressed, and with a haggard, careworn face, told Johanna why she’d come. Not very coherently, not in great detail, but enough to make clear the extremity of her errand.

May had confirmed the truth of her mother’s words when she’d suffered an hysterical fit right there in the parlor, and Johanna made her decision. With it had come certain promises and assumptions. May’s mother vanished into the night, and didn’t return.

Now May’s father had appeared out of the blue, a man whose role in her flight had only been hinted at in Mrs. In-gram’s hushed narrative. Those hints had been enough, more than enough at the time…

“Johanna?” Feodor stood at her elbow, frowning in concern. “I have upset you.”

“You have surprised me.” She made her way back to the chair and sat down, willing her heartbeat to slow. “I did not expect such deception from you, Doctor. This is the real reason you sought me out, is it not?”

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