Chapter 5
ORDINARY LIES
MICHAEL
Morning light cut through the windows of my kitchen, painting everything gold and amber while I sorted through the last of Daniel's financial records.
Three days of numbers. Three days of cross-referencing invoices with inventory reports, matching supply orders to delivery receipts, building a picture of how Callahan Lumber actually operated beneath the chaos of disorganized paperwork.
And the picture was... fine.
Better than fine, actually. The mill was profitable, well-managed, with expenses that tracked appropriately to revenue and inventory that matched what should have been on the floor.
No skimming. No creative accounting. Just a business run by someone who understood operations but hated the administrative side of keeping records straight.
Daniel hadn't been stealing from himself. He'd just been drowning in paperwork he didn't know how to organize.
I stacked the ledgers into neat piles, made final notes on the summary I'd written, and tried not to think about the fact that this meant I had a reason to go back to the mill today.
A reason to see Daniel. A reason to stand in that cramped office and feel whatever it was I'd been feeling since he'd put his hand on my shoulder three days ago.
The drive to Callahan Lumber took fifteen minutes through town.
I pulled into the mill's gravel lot and killed the engine. Sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, watching workers move through the morning routine on the other side of the bay doors.
My phone buzzed. Nate.
Nate
Good luck today. Text me after?
Michael
I typed back: Will do. Love you.
Nate
Love you too. And Dad? Try not to stare at Daniel's forearms too much. Evan says it's distracting for everyone.
Michael
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Nate
Sure you don't.
I shoved the phone in my pocket before he could say anything else and grabbed the box of organized files from the passenger seat.
Time to face the music.
Daniel's office looked the same as it had three days ago. But Daniel himself looked different. Tired in a way that went deeper than missed sleep, shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before, a tension in his shoulders that suggested weight he wasn't talking about.
He looked up when I walked in, and something in his expression shifted. Eased.
“Michael.” My name in his voice. Warm and rough and doing things to my chest that I wasn't going to examine. “You came back.”
“Said I would.” I set the box on his desk, started unpacking the organized files. “Though I'm starting to think you have trust issues.”
“I'm an Alpha. Trust issues come with the territory.” But his mouth quirked, almost a smile. “What did you find?”
“Good news and bad news.” I spread the summary sheets across his desk, pointed to the relevant sections.
“Good news: nobody's stealing from you. Your expenses track to your revenue, your inventory matches your records, and your profit margins are actually better than industry standard for a mill this size.”
“And the bad news?”
“Your filing system is a war crime. I've seen natural disasters with better organization.” I tapped a stack of invoices.
“These were sorted by date, except for the ones sorted by vendor, except for the ones that weren't sorted at all and just shoved into whatever folder was closest. It's a miracle you haven't lost money just from not being able to find things.”
Daniel stared at the organized files like I'd performed some kind of arcane ritual. “You fixed it.”
“I reorganized it. The fixing part is ongoing.” I pulled out a notebook, flipped to the page where I'd outlined a basic system.
“This is what I'm recommending. Invoices by vendor with monthly subcategories.
Receipts by date with expense type tags.
Inventory tracked weekly with a running log that cross-references supply orders.
It's not complicated, but it needs to be consistent.”
“And you'll show me how to maintain it?”
“That's what you're paying me for.” I met his eyes, felt that pull again, that magnetic something that made it hard to look away. “If you're still offering the job.”
“I'm still offering.” His voice dropped, went serious. “You're sure? This isn't just charity accounting for a grieving widower?”
“You're not a charity case, Daniel. You're a business that needs an accountant.” I held his gaze. “And I'm someone who needs a reason to get out of my house. We're both getting something out of this.”
The moment stretched. Weighted with things neither of us was saying.
“Alright,” Daniel said finally. “You're hired. Come on. I'll show you where you'll be working.”
He didn't just show me the office. He gave me the full tour again, walking me through every section of the operation like I hadn't seen it three days ago. Log intake, primary processing, drying kilns, finishing stations. All the same information delivered with the same careful attention.
But this time, he stayed close.
Not touching. Not crowding. Just... present.
Walking half a step behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could catch his scent every time I turned my head.
Pine and sawdust and something warmer underneath, something that made my wolf-educated brain think Alpha even though I was thoroughly, completely human.
It took me twenty minutes to realize what he was doing.
We'd stopped near the finishing stations, Daniel explaining something about lumber grades and quality control, when one of the workers approached. Young guy, maybe mid-twenties, with an easy smile and sawdust in his hair.
“Hey boss, got a question about the Henderson order—”
Daniel shifted. Subtle, but unmistakable. One moment he was standing beside me, the next he was between me and the worker, shoulders squared, blocking the guy's path like he'd done it a thousand times without thinking.
The worker's eyebrows rose. He glanced at me, then back at Daniel, and something that looked suspiciously like amusement flickered across his face.
“I can come back later,” he said, backing up with his hands raised. “Didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this is.”
“You're not interrupting anything,” Daniel said, but he didn't move.
The worker retreated, throwing a grin over his shoulder that suggested he was going to tell everyone in the building about this the moment he was out of earshot.
I watched him go. Then I turned to Daniel.
“Are you scenting me?”
Daniel's expression went through about six different emotions in two seconds. Surprise. Guilt. Something that looked almost like panic. Then carefully constructed confusion that wasn't fooling anyone.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“You've been hovering. Staying close. Every time one of your workers comes within ten feet of me, you find a reason to stand between us.” I crossed my arms. “That's scenting behavior. Even I know that much about wolves.”
“That's not—I wasn't—” Daniel stopped. Started again. “It's a protective instinct. You're new here. The workers don't know you. I'm just making sure—”
“Making sure what? That the guy with a clipboard doesn't ask me about lumber grades too aggressively?”
From somewhere behind us, I heard a snort. Then another. I glanced over my shoulder and found three workers very deliberately not looking in our direction, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
“Dad.” Evan's voice carried across the mill floor, equal parts amused and exasperated. “You're doing it again.”
Daniel's jaw clenched. A flush crept up his neck, visible even through the sawdust and five o'clock shadow.
“I am not doing anything.”
“You're literally standing between Michael and the exit.” Evan had appeared from somewhere, arms crossed, wearing an expression I recognized from Nate when he was about to be insufferable. “That's territorial behavior. We talked about this.”
“We have never talked about this.”
“We talked about it when you did it to the delivery driver last month. And the health inspector. And that tourist who asked for directions.”
“The tourist was suspicious.”
“She was seventy-three and looking for the café.”
One of the workers—the same guy who'd asked about the Henderson order—cupped his hands around his mouth. “Just ask him to dinner already, boss!”
“Ramon, you're on inventory duty for the rest of the week.”
“Worth it!”
Laughter rippled through the mill floor. Daniel looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. I probably should have felt bad for him.
I didn't.
“So,” I said, trying very hard to keep my voice steady. “Scenting.”
“It's not—” Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face, leaving a smear of sawdust across his cheek. “Wolves have instincts. Protective instincts. When someone new enters pack-adjacent space, there's a natural tendency to... assess. Evaluate. Make sure they're not a threat.”
“By hovering three inches behind them for an hour?”
“It hasn't been an hour.”
“It's been an hour and twelve minutes,” Evan supplied helpfully. “I timed it.”
“Don't you have work to do?”
“This is way more entertaining.” Evan's grin was shark-like. “Please, continue. I want to hear more about how you're definitely not scenting Nate's dad like a lovesick teenager.”
“I am not lovesick. I am not a teenager. And I am definitely not—” Daniel stopped, seemed to realize he was digging himself deeper with every word. “This conversation is over.”
“Is it though?” I asked.
Daniel's eyes met mine. Something flickered there—frustration, embarrassment, and underneath it all, something warmer that he was trying very hard to pretend didn't exist.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “It is.”
He turned and walked toward the office stairs with as much dignity as a man covered in sawdust and humiliation could muster. Which, admittedly, wasn't much.
Behind us, someone started a slow clap. Someone else wolf-whistled. Evan was laughing so hard he had to brace himself against a support beam.
“Is he always like this?” I asked.