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The wolf moved in the darkness to below the window of the cottage. He knew from the sound of the steady breathing and the man's scent coming thru the open window that the man was asleep. The sleep was calm. No hint of the tenseness and anguish that the wolf had sensed from the man the first time he had lain under the open window. The man, his man, was at peace. So the wolf settled in the sparse grass beneath the window and slept for a while.

I slept later than normal. There had been no dreams during the night, and I was rested and refreshed. Wyatt's last words from the previous night kept running through my head. He said he loved me. And I knew I loved him. As I puttered around the kitchen making my breakfast, I kept catching myself smiling or humming. It was going to be a great day!

I packed a large picnic lunch. I was always amazed at how much food Wyatt could put away, and I wanted to have enough to satisfy him. As I put together the sandwiches, I marveled at how well my hand had healed. I had a full range of movement; my grip was as strong as ever; and the scars from the entrance and exit wounds were nothing more than blemishes on the palm and back of my hand. I still had no explanation for the rapid healing. I'd spent several hours in front of the computer using every search engine at my disposal to look for other cases of this remarkably rapid healing. All I'd found so far were references to Indian fakirs who, in a self-induced trance-like state, pushed metal skewers through their cheeks or walked on glowing coals with no apparent injuries. I also ran across some stories connected to the medieval witchcraft hysteria in Europe and Russia, where many unfortunate souls had been accused of being witches, and the only evidence against them was their reputed unusually fast powers of healing; so they were condemned and tortured to death or burned at the stake.

When lunch was packed, I headed to the bathroom to shave and shower. As I shaved, I thought there was something different about my face. I finished shaving and leaned closer to the mirror to try to figure out what was out of place. Then I saw it. Way back in grade school, I'd fallen on the playground, cracked my face against the base of the swing set, and opened a gash in my left eyebrow. It had taken three stitches to close the wound, and I'd had a scar in that eyebrow ever since. It wasn't there anymore!

I sat down on the toilet. It wasn't just my injuries from the shooting in El Paso that were healing, every injury or scar I'd ever had was disappearing. I looked down at my abdomen. There was absolutely no sign of any scars from my recent surgery. It was as if the surgery hadn't happened. I looked at my penis. The head was almost completely buried in skin. Then it hit me! Jesus! It wasn't that my penis was more drawn up and shorter than usual. I was growing a new foreskin! Oh, Lord, Oh Lord, what was going on? Did I have some kind of disease? Was this a novel expression of a cancer?

Shaken to my core, I took my shower and dressed to go meet Wyatt. Should I tell him that I had some sort of medical condition?

Just as I was getting ready to leave, my phone rang. It was young Jack Kuusisto asking if it would be okay for him to come out to the cottage the next afternoon, which was Memorial Day, to put in the dock. I agreed, said good-bye, and headed out the door.

Before I could get the Pilot started, I got a call from Wyatt saying that his nephews were going to arrive around dinner time.

"I thought they weren't going to be here until next week."

"So did I. Change of plans. Can you deal with it?"

"Can you?"

"I just hope we bought enough food."

"How about a Memorial Day cookout at my place? Jack Kuusisto is going to be out in the afternoon to put in the dock. I can call him back and see if he'll stay for dinner. That way, your nephews can meet someone around their own age. It might help if they have some local friends."

"Good idea. That's one of the reasons I love you."

"Love you, too. See you in a bit."

My mind was racing on the drive down to Big Bay de Noc to meet Wyatt. My brain flipped back and forth from my 'problem' to what would Wyatt's nephews think of me. I wasn't the most alert driver on the road, but I did finally take note of a big Lexus sedan keeping a fairly steady distance of a hundred yards or so behind me. It was Memorial Day weekend ‑ the traditional start to the summer tourist season ‑ so seeing a big luxury car on the road wasn't all that odd. Indeed, it wasn't the only one on the road, but it was keeping a steady separation between us. It made me curious.

I pulled into the parking area at Big Bay de Noc Park. Trails from the parking area led down to the shore of Lake Michigan and several vehicles were in the parking lot. Some families were enjoying lunches at the picnic tables spread around the edge of the parking lot. I spotted Wyatt's Suburban and maneuvered into the open spot beside it. A family ‑ man, woman, three small children ‑ were eating sandwiches at the table in front of Wyatt's truck.

I grabbed the back pack containing our meal from the seat beside me, locked my Pilot, and headed to the trail Wyatt had said he would use. It took me about fifteen minutes to negotiate the trail to the place on the rocks above the lake shore where Wyatt had planned to set up his camera equipment.

Sure enough, Wyatt and his equipment were there. We greeted each other with passionate kisses and a little crotch groping before settling down to the meal. We made small talk, and I held everything together until the end of the meal when I had a meltdown. It just all sort of came out that I loved him, but was afraid that something was seriously wrong with me. I blubbered about the healing of my hands, about the disappearance of the scars, and about my newly restored foreskin.

He held me and seemed to take it all in stride. His comments were, "So, my cool, steady, no-drama boyfriend is human. There's an explanation for all of this, and I know the healing isn't some sort of nasty disease. I love you."

"And I love you, too. I'm just afraid that now I've found you something's going to happen."

"Nothing's going to happen, but we do need to talk about a lot of things. I've got to explain some things about my family before my nephews get here, and we've got to figure out how to find places and times to make love under the watchful eyes of your uncle Nathaniel."

That brought a chuckle from me. "Uncle Nathaniel would like nothing more than to watch us, but he has enough of the gentleman in him not to do it. I don't know if the same goes for Jeremy. What about your nephews?"

"I'll make sure they give us the time alone, so we don't get too horny."

"What are you going to tell them about me?"

"They already know about you."

"Huh?"

"I talk with my brother and his family on Skype or FaceTime two or three times a week. I told them right after we met that you were the man who was going to be my life partner."

"Life partner? Are you sure? I mean, you just told me you loved me last night."

"Oh, I've been in love with you since we first met. I just wasn't sure you were ready to hear it."

I swatted his arm. "You're really bad. Do you know how arrogant that sounds?"

"It's not arrogant, if it's the truth." He was smiling. "Do I need to demonstrate to you why you love me so much, even if you've just admitted it to yourself?"

"I guess I could use a little demonstration."

The demonstration came in the form of some gentle kisses that became more urgent, and led to us having a 69 right there on the rocks above Lake Michigan. I didn't think anyone could see us, but after the first couple of kisses and his hot mouth on my hard cock, I didn't care if the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir was watching.

After recovering from our impromptu love making and finding the pieces of clothing that had been hurriedly tossed aside, we finished the remains of the lunch, packed up Wyatt's camera equipment, and headed back down the trail toward the parking lot.

The day had grown very warm, and both Wyatt and I were sweating heavily when we emerged from the trail into the lot. The lot didn't have as many vehicles as earlier, but it was still fairly busy with cars, SUVs, and vans pulling in and out at a reasonable pace.

Wyatt grew tense as we approached our parked vehicles. "Someone's been messing with your vehicle."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone has been all around your car. Stay here."

Wyatt set his camera equipment down on the ground and approached my Honda Pilot. He walked with a strangely stiff gait . . . almost moving on his toes with his face turned slightly upward. I could see him breathing.

"There were two men here."

"How can you tell?"

"Uh, I've got a really good sense of smell, and I don't think they'd showered for a couple of days."

I started toward my Honda.

"STAY THERE! I don't like this."

"Wyatt, what the hell is going on? You're making me nervous."

"Sorry. I know this seems strange, but please trust me on this. We . . . , uh, I've always had a really good sense of smell." He turned and smiled at me, "By the way, you always smell great and sexy. I love your scent."

I had to laugh, "You are one crazy dude. Okay, I'll play along. What do we need to do?"

"You just stay there. I'm going to get on the ground and look around under your Pilot."

He lay down on his back and looked under the driver's door. He pulled back out quickly.

"There's something under here. I think we need to call the cops."

"What is it? Let me see."

Reluctantly, Wyatt nodded. I moved forward, lay down beside him on the hot blacktop and wiggled my body partway under the frame of the truck.

I saw it. It didn't take a genius to figure out what it was. A metal pipe about ten inches long, capped on both ends with wires leading toward the engine could only be one thing.

I was on my feet and a good twenty feet away from my truck in a heartbeat. Wyatt moved more calmly and came to stand beside me.

"Holy shit! It's a pipe bomb."

"Yup, that's what it looks like to me."

"What do we do now?"

"Well, I think you should go sit at that picnic table over there in the shade. I'm going to check out my truck, then I'll join you."

Still shaking, I followed Wyatt's suggestion and plunked my butt down on the picnic table.

Wyatt slowly moved around his Suburban with the same tip-toed gait with his nose held high. Then he got down on the pavement and looked under his truck. He checked under the driver's side; crawled under the engine compartment; checked under the passenger's side; and finally looked under the back of the big vehicle. Satisfied that there wasn't anything taped to the underside of his truck, he opened the driver's door, seemed to sniff the interior, then climbed into the driver's seat. He slowly backed his truck out of its parking spot, and moved it far away from my booby-trapped Honda.

Wyatt sat down beside me on the picnic table and heaved a big sigh.

"Okay, that's done. Guess it's time to call the bomb squad."

I fished out my cell phone and dialed 911.

After just a few minutes, a Delta County Sheriff's Deputy pulled into the parking lot. The deputy checked on us first, then set about putting crime scene tape around my truck, at a safe distance of course. Within an hour the bomb squad was there. They didn't take long to remove the bomb from under my Honda. They took dozens of photographs, then placed the pipe bomb in a bomb-proof steel box, moved the box to a remote edge of the parking lot, and detonated the bomb inside the box.

By that time, the parking lot was crowded with curious onlookers, three more sheriff's cars, the sheriff's crime scene van, a state police car, and a very pushy reporter/photographer from the local paper. Wyatt and I had been moved to different picnic tables, and were in the middle of separately describing to Delta County Detectives how we'd found the bomb. Prior to the arrival of all the emergency responders, Wyatt asked me to say he'd dropped a water bottle as we'd been approaching my Honda, the bottle rolled under the driver's door, and Wyatt discovered the bomb when he crawled under the truck to retrieve the bottle. I'd protested lying to the authorities, but Wyatt told me that no one would believe he'd been able to smell the traces of the bombers on the car. Reluctantly, I agreed. So that was our story to the police . . . and we stuck to it.

The sheriff's detective, who was questioning me, was coming to the end of his questions when my cell phone rang. I ignored the call and let it go to voice mail. Shortly afterward, a uniformed deputy came up and whispered in the detective's ear.

The detective turned to me and said that Special Agent Rick Enriquez of the FBI had called my cell phone, left a message, and I was to call him back as soon as possible. The detective excused himself. I found the missed call on my phone, hit reply, and Agent Enriquez answered on the first ring.

"Dr. Wolf, I understand you've had some excitement down there."

"You could call it that."

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?"

"No, I'm completely stunned. I did see a dark Lexus following me when I came out here this morning. I've given the detective here all the details I can remember about it."

"I have to tell you, Dr. Wolf, I'm concerned that this could be connected to the Mexican drug gang. That's something we're going to discuss up here in the office. As a precaution, I'd like you to let one of the sheriff's deputies bring you up here to Marquette, so we can put you in a safe house for a few days."

"Agent Enriquez, I appreciate your concern, but I have guests arriving this evening, and others arriving later in the week. I can't just go and hide somewhere."

"That's your choice, sir, but I don't think it's the right one. If we find evidence positively linking the drug gang with this attempt on your life, I will insist on your entering protective custody."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, sir, it's a statement of fact."

"I'm not going to go to some secret hideaway, away from my partner and my family. If you force the issue, Agent Enriquez, I won't be a very cooperative witness for you."

"Is that a threat, Dr. Wolf?"

"No, sir, it's a statement of fact."

"Touché. When you say 'partner', I'm assuming you're referring to Mr. Johnson."

"That's correct."

His voice softened, "Alright, I understand. We can leave things as they are for now; but I want you to call me twice a day every day ‑ and promise you'll report anything suspicious to me."

"I can do that."

"Okay, Dr. Wolf, we have an agreement. I look forward to hearing from you."

It was near dusk when Wyatt and I were finally allowed to head back to Nowhere. My Pilot had been impounded and was on its way to an FBI crime lab somewhere downstate. I was both mentally and physically exhausted. Wyatt seemed to be in better shape. He told me he'd gotten a call from his nephews saying they'd arrived at his cottage. Bless his heart. He'd told them they were on their own for the evening. His plans were to take me home, feed me, and 'put me to bed.'

I was fine with all of those things, especially the 'put me to bed' part.