The author, a maestro of mush, writes novels in which the hero, fatally wrong for the heroine in the world's uncaring eyes, tenderly kisses tears from the corners of her mouth. Always tears; always mouth corners. So it was in The Horse Whisperer, and so it is in The Loop, a wolf opera set among haters of government and the Endangered Species Act in darkest Montana. She, this time out, is a wolf biologist, luscious but a doddering 29; he is a very young 18, the sensitive son of a bull-witted rancher. The kid learns fast: "He felt that her life...
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