Chapter 4 Violet
VIOLET
The knock on my car window makes me jump so hard I nearly crack my skull on the roof.
Excellent. Just what I fucking need, another confrontation with a local who thinks I'm ruining their scenic mountain town by existing.
But when I crack the window, it's not an angry alpha glaring at me. It's a woman, maybe in her fifties, with dark hair and the kind of smile which probably made kids confess to stealing cookies for decades.
"Hello, dear," she says, and her voice carries the authority of someone accustomed to being heard. "I'm Meredith Blackwell. Are you all right?"
I consider lying. I've gotten good at it over the years. Fine, great, just passing through, nothing to see here.
Instead, what comes out is: "My car died."
Brilliant. State the obvious, Violet.
"I can see that,” Meredith says gently. "What I meant was, are you all right? You've been sitting out here for hours, and it's getting colder."
When's the last time someone asked if I was okay and actually waited for an answer?
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
Meredith raises an eyebrow as if she has heard such lies before. "Dear, you're sitting in a broken-down car in two-degree weather. It's not fine by anyone's definition."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, as though I haven't used it in ages. I take in a deep breath and for a second it’s as if we're stuck in time.
I may be cold, but it's nothing compared to how she's feeling out there.
"You're right."
"There we go," she says, as though I've just admitted something important. "Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on?"
And somehow, sitting in this freezing car talking to a stranger, I find myself spilling everything. Not the details. I'm not stupid. But enough. The car breaking down. The fact I'm broke, and heading to Texas but I don't have money for repairs.
What I don't tell her is about Mark. About the bruises finally faded last month. About the way he'd corner me in our apartment, backing me against the kitchen counter while he explained in his calm, reasonable voice why I was wrong about everything.
Some stories are too burdensome for a stranger's shoulders.
Meredith listens without interrupting, occasionally making sympathetic noises which don't feel patronizing. When I finish, she's quiet for a moment.
"You know," she says finally, "I taught elementary school for three decades. You develop a sixth sense about people running from something."
My chest tightens. "I'm not…"
"I don't want the details," she says quickly. "What I'm saying is sometimes when you're running, you end up exactly where you need to be."
"In a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere?"
"In a place where people still help one another." Her smile is warm but determined. "Now, you can't sleep in this car. You'll freeze to death, and I'll have to explain to my book club why I let a perfectly nice young woman turn into a popsicle on my watch."
Despite everything, I smile. "Your book club sounds intimidating."
"They are. They'll give me the riot act if anything happens to you." She straightens up. "There's an apartment above the bakery. It's furnished, it's warm, and it's sitting empty. You'll stay there until we figure out your car situation."
"I can't afford…"
"We'll work out the details later. Right now, my maternal instincts are screaming at me to get you somewhere warm before you catch pneumonia."
I want to argue, and insist I can handle this myself, I don't need charity from strangers. But I'm so tired, and the thought of another night in this car makes me want to weep.
"Okay," I whisper. "Just until my car's fixed."
"Wonderful." Meredith claps her hands together. "Gather your things. We're getting you fed and settled."
Walking behind Meredith across the empty street feels surreal. Like I'm watching someone else's life through a window. The bakery glows warm and golden, and even from here I can smell bread and something else. Something which makes my stomach growl despite my nerves.
Coffee. Rich and dark with hints of cedar.
"The men are having their Friday poker game," Meredith explains as we approach the door. "Don't mind them. They're mostly harmless."
Men. Right. The alphas I've been studiously avoiding.
The bell chimes as we enter, and I'm immediately hit with a wave of scents so complex my omega hindbrain goes into overdrive.
Fresh bread and cinnamon from the baker, the asshole with the attitude problem.
Dark coffee and cedar from someone else.
And something clean and calming, like chamomile and cotton.
Three alphas. In a confined space. Looking at me like I'm some exotic animal which wandered in from the cold.
My fight-or-flight instincts scream flight, but I force myself to stay still. To breathe through my mouth so their scents don't overwhelm me completely.
"Gentlemen," Meredith announces like she's presenting me at court, "I'd like you to meet Violet Morrison. She's going to be staying here for a little while."
The silence which follows is thick enough to cut. I can feel them cataloging me. The way I'm holding myself, the smell of two days without a proper shower, the way I keep glancing toward the exit.
The baker looks like he'd rather swallow glass than have me here. Good. The feeling's mutual.
One of the others flashes a smile probably working on most women. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, the kind of confidence born from never hearing the word no. "We've met, actually. Sort of. I'm Xaden."
I remember him. The restaurant owner who let me use his bathroom and then watched me like I might steal the silverware.
I give him a nod which could freeze water.
I wonder if he cooks too, because the bread wasn't bad.
I mean it was pretty good, then again his restaurant is next to a baker, so no doubt the baker bakes his bread.
The third man, blonde, younger-looking, with kind eyes, waves instead of approaching. Smart man. "I'm Liam. The town vet."
Naturally. He's got the gentle, steady presence which probably makes scared animals feel safe. Too bad I'm not trusting.
"Okay," I say, keeping my voice neutral, "I don't want to impose on anyone. I'm sure I can figure something out."
"Nonsense," Meredith declares. "You'll stay in the apartment above the bakery. Garrick's been trying to rent it out for months anyway."
All eyes turn to the baker, and I watch his jaw work like he's chewing on something unpleasant. He looks like he wants to object, but apparently even grumpy alphas don't argue with determined elementary school teachers.
"I don't think…" he starts. The ogre's name is Garrick. Figures.
Meredith cuts him off with a look which probably stopped misbehaving children in their tracks for four decades. "What, dear? You should help someone in need?"
"Look," I say, crossing my arms, "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not after charity. I can take care of myself."
It's my default response. The same words I used when my sister tried to help, when my coworkers asked why I always looked tired, when neighbors pretended not to hear the shouting through our apartment walls.
"Of course you can," Meredith says, and her tone is gentle but unyielding. "But it doesn't mean you have to."
"Sometimes accepting help comes with strings attached," I shoot back. "I've learned the lesson the hard way."
But the vet, Liam, just nods like he understands. "What if it's not charity?" he says quietly. "I could actually use some help at the clinic on Monday. Filing, answering phones, basic stuff. Nothing fancy, but it pays enough to cover rent and then some."
I stare at him. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious. My last assistant moved to Denver last month, and I've been drowning in paperwork ever since." His smile is gentle but genuine. "You'd be doing me a favor."
Something in his voice makes me want to trust him. Precisely why I shouldn't.
"I'm not staying," I say firmly. "I'm just passing through. As soon as my car's fixed, I'll be gone."
"Then consider it temporary help," Liam suggests. "However long you're here."
I look around at these four people. Three alphas who could easily overpower me without breaking a sweat, and one beta woman who's being kinder to me than I deserve. Every instinct I have says this is too good to be true. There's a catch I'm not seeing.
But I'm so tired. Cold. Hungry. And the thought of another night in my car makes my chest tight with panic.
"Just until my car's fixed," I hear myself saying. "And I pay my own way. No special treatment."
Liam nods seriously. "Fair wages for honest work. I'll swing by around nine tomorrow morning to show you around the clinic."
Meredith beams like I've just made her day. "Wonderful. Now everything's settled."
As if summoned by the mention of settled, my stomach chooses this moment to growl loud enough to wake the dead.
Heat floods my cheeks. My suppressants, a thing of the past, because I can't afford to pay for anymore.
My scent must be filling up this bakery, it's too dangerous for me to stay, so why do I feel so safe.
"When did you last have a proper meal?" Liam asks, and there's professional concern in his voice.
"Yesterday, or maybe the day before."
The dark-haired one, Xaden, mutters something under his breath sounding like profanity, and I give him a look which could strip paint.
"Garrick," Meredith says in her teacher voice, "surely you have something she can eat."
The baker looks like he'd rather perform surgery on himself, but he disappears into the back without argument. I hear sounds of industry. Pots clanging, something being heated.
While we wait, Meredith bustles around gathering keys and supplies, keeping up a steady stream of chatter probably meant to be soothing. The alphas clean up their card game, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
I stand near the door, ready to leave if this turns out to be some kind of elaborate trap.