Chapter 2 #2
"Otherwise, no one coming ‘round here will ever take us Wolf Lakers seriously.” Both of them share a laugh before Marianne looks at me. Or near me, with her cataracts as milky as they are.
“Wolf Lake?” I can’t believe Ariana has the gall to interrupt their chummy little conversation when clearly the sheriff is trying to de-escalate before Tyler makes this a real damn problem.
But she does, and edges closer, glancing between the woman who’s older than The Grand Canyon and the sheriff who’s hot, rugged, and by my reckoning, no more than thirty-five.
Were there no other candidates for sheriff around here? Considering his age, I can only imagine that his deputies have just graduated high school.
“Yes, ma’am,” the sheriff dips his head. “I’ll assume this isn’t where you’re trying to be?”
“Who the hell would want to be here?” Tyler asks coldly, interjecting once more. “This place is just a shitstain on a map. Hell, not even that important.” He smiles, looking proud of his statement, and glances at Ariana for confirmation that he did such a good trick and clearly deserves a cookie.
She gives him a pained smile and goes back to her phone, lips forming words that never hit my ears as she looks something up.
“Is Wolf Lake not where we’re meeting your friend? Or near there?” I can’t help asking, though Tyler is quick to roll his eyes.
But it’s Sheriff Fox who answers. “Doubt it,” he chuckles, his voice notably cooler and more distant than it had been when he was talking to me about snacks.
“This isn’t where most people want to be, if they can help it.
” He nods to Marianne and gives Tyler one last look, who doesn’t bother looking ashamed.
Fuck, if I were him, I’d be apologizing and planning to never come back here again. Not after sticking my foot in my mouth so perfectly and in the worst way. But Tyler just stands there with a shitty grin on his face while the auburn-haired sheriff heads out the door.
I hesitate, torn. It’s none of my business, and none of my responsibility, but still.
“Shit,” I whisper to myself. Delicately putting the brownie-cookie-cake back on the shelf, I jog toward the door, nearly tripping over the threshold before I realize he left out the back door of the small, musty-smelling gas station shop instead of the glass front door I came in.
When a dog woofs I glance down, seeing the black and tan face I spotted around the front of the building. “Hey pretty girl.” Instinctively my hand goes out to touch the dog’s ears, and only belatedly do I consider that I know absolutely nothing about this dog and if petting her is a good idea.
Her big, blocky head jerks up, and I freeze. My hand is paused in the air, waiting to see her open her mouth to snarl or bite. Instead, she sniffs loudly at my fingers, her tongue darting out to lick in approval moments later.
“You shouldn’t be trying to pet her.” The sheriff’s voice makes me look up, and my hand lowers to rest on the dog’s head, like I’m purposefully disobeying him.
Which, really, I’m not. Well, not exactly. But a childhood full of being told not to pet a dog—only to pet it anyway—has led me to this moment where my hand is on the Rottweiler mix’s head, scratching her slick, short fur.
“She yours?” I assume, forgetting all about my intention to apologize for Tyler.
“Fuck no.” He shakes his head, eyeing the dog at my side.
“She’s just a stray that runs around. I assume someone feeds her, though she’s just as likely to bite someone for helpin’ her as she is to run away.
Lord knows some folks in town have tried.
” He tilts his head, a surprisingly shrewd, scrutinizing look on his face as he stares at the dog.
“Does she have a name?”
My question has him looking up at me, that confused furrow of his brow deepening. “You care that much?”
“Yeah, of course.” Now it’s my turn to look bemused right back at him. “She’s a dog. She’s sweet, and she’s adorable.”
“She’s a hundred pounds of usually pissed-off Rottweiler, with a scarred up tail, and missing half an ear,” he deadpans right back to me.
“Like I said.” Meeting his eyes still, I shrug. “Adorable. Sweet. And perfect.”
That elicits a bark of laughter from the sheriff, surprised and genuine. “Pearl,” he says finally, arms crossing over his chest as he straightens. “I’ve been callin’ her Pearl for a while.”
Pearl.
Well, it’s not to my taste in dog names, but it could be worse. But now that’s situated and no longer a question, I find myself fidgeting, shifting in place. This isn’t my apology to make, but I’ll make it anyway. “I’m sorry.”
Fox’s confusion is back, clear as day on his tanned, slightly freckled face. “Sorry?” he repeats. “What for? It’s your hand if she bites—”
“No, not that.” Not meaning to interrupt him, I push forward with my words anyway.
“For my—for Tyler. Fuck, he’s not my friend.
” I’m sure the sheriff doesn’t care, but I sure as hell do.
I could never be friends on purpose with someone like him.
“I didn’t think you were being weird or hitting on me or…
” Trailing off, I grimace apologetically. “I’m just really sorry.”
From overhead, thunder rolls, as if echoing my apology. It makes the sheriff glance upward, his eyes searching the clouds like they yield clues about the storm. But if there’s anything up there other than the occasional flash of lightning, I sure as hell don’t see it.
“You guys should get on the road,” the sheriff suggests finally, his voice somehow different, more thoughtful. Less put on than it was in the store. “Pretty fast, if you can.”
“Because of the rain? We’re from Tennessee, rain isn’t really—”
“Not the rain,” he interjects with a shake of his head. “Wolf Lake isn’t a great place to be for long, unless you aren’t looking to leave.”
His words make something Hilll up my back that feels like a cross between a spider and a tremor. I straighten up, trying to meet his eyes, but he continues stubbornly staring at the clouds. “That almost sounds like it’s not a joke,” I say finally, my voice quiet.
Even with his head upturned, I can see the rueful smirk that Hillls over his lips, and the way his eyes crinkle with some kind of unfriendly amusement.
“It doesn’t, does it?” he agrees. Then he drops his chin, his long-lashed brown eyes, so warm and deep, fixed on mine from a few feet away in the old, dirt parking lot.
“It’s just better for everyone, I think.” He nods to the gas station, back toward my friends and the car we came in. “If you guys head on your way without making any more stops in my little town. Who knows?” That small grin grows, amusement building in his eyes.
“The excitement might kill someone.”