Chapter 2
Russell
Tomato soup cans. Canned potatoes. Canned… hmm, canned carrots? Where are the carrots? I glance over the open boxes scattered around me. Was that the last of them? I should’ve ordered more. I didn’t expect so many people to come to stock up.
The bell at the front door rings. A chilly wind gusts in from outside as someone enters. I hear them sniffle, huff, then wipe their shoes on the mat.
I stand and straighten my back, looking over the display shelves.
“Dot. Jonah,” I say with a smile. They’re covered in snow, and Dot holds their baby girl against her chest. With how thick her pink snowsuit is, the baby’s arms and legs stick out at odd angles, like an unusually cute, wiggly starfish.
The fur along the hood nearly drowns out her chubby face, too. She looks as snug as a bug.
“Hey, Rus,” Jonah says. Dot smiles and waves.
“Doin’ some last-minute shopping?” I ask, walking toward them. “No canned carrots, I’m afraid. Forgot to order them.”
“Huh, that’s alright. Just need some milk.
You got some, right? Dot’s supply has been dwindlin’, so she’s been all stirred up about the baby having nothin’ to eat when the storm comes.
” Jonah takes off his at and runs his hand through his short brown hair.
Dot only gives me a timid glance, focusing more on the babe.
She’s a shy one. Rarely ever speaks.
I raise my brows and nod. “I’ve got milk. You really should use formula, though. It’s easier. And better than cow’s milk, the science says,” I suggest cautiously.
Instantly, there’s a scowl on his face. “We want none of that,” he mutters. “It ain’t good for the baby. Ain’t made for us.”
“Plenty of venusfolk use formula,” I say lightly, already off to where I keep the milk. Jonah isn’t a person to argue with. Not if you want to win. He’s set in his ways, and no one’s going to convince him otherwise.
Well, I tried. And what do I know, anyway? I’m probably not the best person to give advice about anything to anyone.
“Gimme three,” he shouts at me while I’m in the back.
I gather four glass bottles of milk and make my way back over to them. “Here. Should be more than enough.”
“I only got cash for three,” he says, his eyes glancing up at me with unease. I know they struggle sometimes, and I don’t want them to feel bad, especially Dot.
“Bring me some rabbit next time you slaughter some, yeah?”
Dot smiles behind him, meeting my gaze with a thankful nod. Jonah sighs but then steps forward to shake my hand before grabbing the milk. “Lemme put it on the sled. You pay, hon. Saves the babe bein’ out in the cold longer than she has to,” he mutters and walks off.
I move toward the cash drawer with Dot. The baby coos, so I wave my finger playfully in front of her face. I smirk to see that my hand’s bigger than her entire head. Bless her heart, the little cutie pie.
“Are you doin’ okay?” I ask softly. Now that the whole alpha intensity is gone from the air, we can talk more honestly. Omega to omega.
“Mhm,” she says with a nod and fishes in her pocket for coins while I lean against the counter by the register.
“Have you had your heat yet? Since the baby?”
Dot’s eyes flare wide. She looks up at me and shakes her head.
“Sorry. Wasn’t tryin’ to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that I heard the milk supply gets better after the first heat. Some don’t get it for months, so maybe…have Jonah use his pheromones to try to trigger it. Reckon it could help.” I lower my voice and look down as she hands me the coins.
Slowly, one by one, I count them and put them in the register.
I feel her eyes on me.
“Have you ever had it happen?”
I blink up, ready to tell her that no, I’ve never been pregnant, before I realize what she means. “Oh, had my heat triggered? A couple of times. It’s… Might not work for everyone. Don’t feel bad if it doesn’t. Everybody’s different.”
Dot seems pleased enough with the answer. She doesn’t look as on edge as before, at least. She gazes down at the baby, waving her little hand at me. “Thank you,” she whispers before heading for the door.
“Stay safe out there. The blizzard’s really supposed to be somethin’.”
“You too, Rus.”
With another ding, she’s out. I watch them through the small window, slowly swallowed up by the white void outside as they get further and further away. After a moment, they disappear completely.
I don’t expect any more customers today. Everyone has known about this storm coming—it’s all people have been talking about, and all the mountain folk know when to stay away from nature’s might. This is the perfect example.
Well, not everyone everyone…
The boxes are still an ocean in the aisle, and the icy wind that came in with Jonah and Dot brought some snow that’s now melting in front of the entrance and needs sweeping.
A bunch of other things need doing. Instead of doing them, though, I go to the back door and peek out.
It’s still there. The same bright green car shining through the endless white that I saw there parked last night, right outside Mrs. Compton’s house.
Hank was the one who informed me of her passing. Apparently, her body had been rotting there for a good while before they found her.
I feel bad, considering I’ve been her closest neighbor, but that woman never liked people. She’s kept to herself ever since I’ve known her, and I barely did know her.
Then Jonah said he had seen a man in a fancy suit sniffing around the house a couple of weeks ago. A lawyer or an estate agent from town, we figured. Paola confirmed that suspicion after bringing gossip and confirmation from her visit to Ridgelake.
Apparently, Mrs. Compton had a son. My memory’s crap, and I’ve spent half of my life on the other side of the mountain with my parents, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t remember that.
It must be him, right? Who else? The boy disappeared days before his eighteenth birthday, according to Auntie Elmira.
No one has seen him around here again after he ran away… until now.
Does he know about the upcoming storm? Surely, he must. He probably has a weather app and all the other fancy modern stuff. He ain’t stupid.
None of that is my business, anyway…
With a sigh, I turn away from the window and get back to work. At least for a few minutes, until the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“My darlin’! How are you doing?”
I smile. I knew Elmira would check up on me. “I’m fine. Stocking up. Forgot to order canned carrots.”
She laughs in that melodic way that reminds me of how Momma used to laugh. “As long as you have enough food and wood for the fire. I hear this storm is a blizzard now.”
“Yeah, I heard the same. I’ve got plenty, don’t worry.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being there all alone.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I say, glancing around. “Besides, I’m used to bein’ here alone. You know that.”
“Oh, how I wish it weren’t so, darlin’,” she mutters, sounding like she’s shaking her head with that deep frown of hers. She worries too much. “I wanted to come visit, but Hunter wouldn’t have it. Said the weather’s been too unpredictable.”
“He’s right. No one wants your wheelchair stuck in the snow or you getting hurt.”
She grumbles something. The line cracks, and for a moment I can’t hear her clearly. “You sound just like him.”
“Well, he’s a smart man. And a good alpha. I reckon you should listen to him more.”
“So, you have plenty of food and wood, for sure?” she asks again, her voice tensing up.
I chuckle to myself. “Yes. This isn’t my first time being stuck indoors in a storm.
” I swear, sometimes she forgets I’ve lived away from here.
Out there in the wide, scary world. That I was in combat zones.
She still sees me as the little kid she needs to protect, and it’s…
sweet, if a bit annoying. “I bought some books the last time I was in Ridgelake. They’ll keep me busy.
You know how I am with books. It’ll take me a while to finish them, but they looked simple enough, even for me. ”
“Oh, stop it!”
Smiling, I play with the phone cord, twisting it around my finger.
“I hope you enjoy your books, then. You’ll tell me what they were about when see each other again, alright?
I’ll have some more cookbooks for you, if you’d like.
Hunter is so picky about the food he likes…
” she laments in a low voice, as if he could overhear her, but there’s a hint of amusement there, too.
“More for me,” I say, injecting some excitement into my words.
They’ve only been dating for a year, but it feels almost like Hunter’s always been around. The two are good together. Like two peas in a pod. He cares for her well. I hope to the gods they last.
“Ah, guess what?” I blurt out as I lean against the wall.
“What, darlin’?”
“I think Mrs. Compton’s son’s at the house.”
She lets out a surprised, intrigued sound. “Bless her heart, poor woman.”
I clench my jaw and glance toward the door. Not that I wished death on Mrs. Compton or anything, but Auntie Elmira always sees the best in people. She doesn’t have it in her to sense the bad in them.
“I think that boy of hers is around the same age as you. What was his name…hmm, I’m not sure. Warren or Wright or something of the sort.”
“You reckon he’s movin’ in?”
A chuckle comes from the phone, muffled by interference.
“I doubt that very much, dear. From what I heard, he never visited after leaving. Some alphas get cocky like that. Awful. She must’ve been so torn up about it, I can’t imagine.
My bet is he’s one of those fellas who think they’re better than the rest of us once they get a taste of city livin’. ”
“People said that about me,” I note quietly.
Auntie Elmira snorts. “That is different. You were in the army. That’s a respectable career. Honest work. And you came home as soon as you could. Slotted right back in, took over the store… Some of these ungrateful younglings, though, think this life ain’t good enough for them.”
“You reckon he’ll be selling it?”
“Probably.”
“I just hope he knows about the storm. His car, from what I can gather, don’t look like it’s made for driving around these parts. Especially not in this weather.”
“Ha, I bet. Well, bother only about yourself, you hear? Make sure you stay warm and safe. We’ll come visit you as soon as the weather’s settled down.”
“Alright.”
“I love you, darlin’.”
“Love you too,” I say with a smile. She sends kisses through the phone, like she always does, before the line goes dead.
I stand there with the receiver in my hand for a moment, motionless and lost in a thought that I can’t quite get a hold of. With a blink, I shake my head and hang the phone.
I ought to finally finish the work I started.
By the time it starts getting dark, the store is stocked, the counter wiped, the floors swept, and I even manage to bring in some more firewood upstairs to stock up for the storm.
That way, I don’t have to keep going downstairs and outside.
The wood stacks are sheltered under a roof, but the less I have to go out once it starts, the better.
Just when I’m fixing to go back up the stairs to lift some weights, because I haven’t worked out in way too long, the bell rings.
I freeze behind the counter and dart my eyes to the door. With a quiet cough, more of a throat-clear, really, someone comes in.
A man. A man who’s most certainly Mrs. Compton’s son, since I’ve never seen him around before, and no tourists are hiking in the mountains in this weather.
But what makes him stand out most as a city dweller is the fact that all that protects him from the snow is the hood of his oversized black sweatshirt and the rather thin, brown leather jacket he wears over it.
Gods, he must be freezing.
The moment his gaze finds me, his blue eyes go wide as his gaze flicks up to my face. It’s a familiar look. One I’ve seen countless times in my life.
Dirty blond hair pokes out from under his hood, reaching down to his shoulders. He’s pale, damn near sickly lookin’, and as he makes a few uneasy steps inside, I glance down at his jeans wrapped tightly around his long, skinny legs. He’s not much shorter than me.
I open my mouth to say hello, but my words get lost when his faint scent—muffled by the layers of clothes and the sharpness of the cool outside air—wafts in with the draft.
Licorice. He smells like licorice.
And behind that is that other note; the unmistakable, indescribable one telling me that he is an alpha.
Some little part of me stirs. I quickly blink and swallow to clear my throat. “Howdy,” I finally say after being quiet for a bit too long. I hope he doesn’t think I’m rude.
Pressing his lips together, he looks around like some spooked doe and gives me a nod. Without saying anything else, he disappears between the shelves to look for something.
I keep watching him as he browses.
Not much of a talker, huh? Well, that’s fine. Neither am I…
He’s clearing out his dead mother’s house, after all. I know how hard that can be. No matter his reasons for leaving, it must be a struggle. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to chit-chat with strangers, but should I…say something? Offer my condolences? Ask if he needs any help?
Even though he keeps his shoulders down—either because of the cold or to make himself smaller—I can tell they’re broad when he turns his back to me to bend down and grab something from the lower shelf. Words can wait a minute, I decide. I lean on the counter, resting my elbow beside the register.
He comes up after a minute or two, holding a pack of rice crackers, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of root beer. I cock my brow at the chocolate bar, wondering if it’s still good to eat. Most people around here don’t buy that stuff, but I stock it anyway. It should be fine, though. I hope.
“I don’t suppose you take cards,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes. His voice is quiet, but much deeper than I would’ve expected. It has a little rasp to it, and it doesn’t quite fit his thin frame.
“Nah, sorry. The signal’s too bad up here for the readers. They won’t work.”
He hums and digs into his pocket. After a beat of silence, he pulls out a few coins, and a crumpled note.
I study the top of his hood, now patchy with melted snow. A part of me wants to say something about his mom. Reach out. I know how hard it is to lose a parent or two. But another part of me tells me that a city alpha would probably look at me strangely if I did that. So I don’t.
We don’t even know each other. I don’t even know his name, and clearly, he doesn’t want to talk.
“Here you go.” I give him back his change with a faint smile.
I open my mouth to warn him about the storm at least, but he’s already grabbing his things and heading for the door. Frowning to myself, I watch him leave with another ding of the bell, the scent of licorice still swirling in the air. I wet my lips and exhale, squeezing the edge of the counter.
I should’ve asked his name.