Chapter 1 #3
Merchandise covered every inch of the store.
Hats hung from the ceiling, the walls were covered with items like metal signs and pictures, a deep freezer filled with ice cream bars jutted out from the wall by the drink cooler.
The black bear wearing a fishing hat pissed off a few bear Shifters, but Justin refused to get rid of it.
From the outside, the general store resembled a run-down building with rust on the roof and chickens wandering around.
But for the locals, it was a necessity for food, tackle, beer, burgers, and meeting up with friends.
It was also the only grocery store within walking distance. Most people drove to the larger cities nearby and stockpiled supplies from the supermarkets.
A striking man captured my attention. Not many men around these parts wore their hair in a topknot. He dropped something into his handbasket without noticing me.
I know him. Where do I know him from?
He stared at the ingredients on a can of mixed nuts while scratching his short beard, then placed the can in his basket.
He’s so handsome.
His beard wasn’t overgrown the way some locals wore theirs, and his topknot made me wonder about the length of his hair and how wearing it down might change his whole appearance.
When he disappeared down an aisle, I hurried to the adjacent one and spied on him through the gap in the shelves. His prominent brows pulled attention to his brown eyes. Soulful eyes.
Where have I seen him? I know him…
Then it dawned on me—the healer from the peace party! The one who carried me in his arms and mended my foot.
I excitedly rounded the corner and knocked right into the display of sunglasses. When the whole stand teetered, I panicked, dropped my bag, and wrapped my arms around it. A few glasses noisily clacked against the floor, and I cringed at the thought of them breaking.
The man hurried over and stared at my precarious hold on the flimsy display.
I gingerly let go, two more glasses tumbling to the floor. “I know you. You’re the guy who made me scream.”
Wow, I really made this awkward.
His eyebrows knitted, and color dabbed his cheeks.
“Who broke what?” Justin called out.
I dropped to the floor to gather the glasses. “Everything’s fine!”
The man knelt and picked up the remaining glasses.
“Do you remember me?” I asked. “You pulled glass out of my foot at the peace party and then stitched me up.”
“I recall. Is your foot on the mend?”
“I should hope so. It’s been months. The stitches dissolved and left me with a scar, but now it’s fading away. That makes me a little sad.”
His eyebrows gathered, and two lines appeared between them. “Why?”
“It reminds me of that night.” After setting the glasses back on the stand, I stood. “You were a real-life Superman.”
He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “It’s my job. And you shouldn’t walk around barefoot.”
I smiled at his remark. “I love my feet touching grass. Don’t you?”
He bent over and picked up his basket.
“I’m terrible with names,” I said. “It was chaos that night, so if you told me your name, it’s gone from my brain. I’m Quinn.”
The man inclined his head. “Salem Lockwood.”
I threw out my hand. “Charmed.”
Instead of taking my hand and kissing it, Salem cleared his throat and offered an apprehensive grin—one that made it clear he didn’t freely throw his affections around at strangers.
Intriguing.
I retracted my hand and lifted my own bag. “Well, I just wanted to say thanks for saving my life.”
He jerked his head back. “That’s an exaggeration. Don’t you think?”
I remembered when he swooped me into his arms, rushed through the crowd, and hiked up the steps to the house. Most of all, I remembered how that felt. The surge of protectiveness, his desire to heal, his confidence.
Boy, did I love a confident man. The most attractive men were intelligent, confident, and courageous. All three qualities were a trifecta of perfection.
A peculiar warmth radiated in my chest while we stared at each other. I remembered his compassionate gaze when he mended my foot that night and the gratitude I had never gotten a chance to show. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Salem Lockwood.”
He switched the basket to his other hand. “Watch where you’re going.”
Was that a hint of a smile on his face?
I observed him weave around displays with catlike skill until he stopped in the section that sold medical supplies and emergency equipment.
After paying for my groceries, I headed home, lost in my reverie.
I often thought about that night. No one else in Storybook had ever invited me to a party.
Sure, they bought my art pieces and were courteous, but they never included me in any events.
Obviously Shifters focused on forging alliances, trading packmates, and keeping the peace, which explained why they might’ve limited it to only their Breed, but not everyone around here was a Shifter.
I had so much fun that night! The drinks, the music, the lights, the laughter—and Tak invited almost everyone regardless if they were in a pack.
A laugh escaped. I must’ve eaten at least three hamburgers.
As I marched up the road and thought about the embarrassing display I’d put on after stepping on glass, I cringed.
Yes, I could be dramatic at times, but that glass in my foot really hurt!
The long-haired biker guy they called Krys had given me a ride home on his motorcycle afterward, but I wished all night it had been Salem.
Admittedly, I had a crush on him. Not because of his handsome face or quiet demeanor—I suspected it was the residual effect of him swooping in like a hero and carrying me to safety. That was only something I’d seen in the movies, so it caught me off guard just how much I actually enjoyed it.
Salem was also unflappable in what was a chaotic moment. He took control of the situation, spoke calmly, and explained everything he was going to do in explicit detail. I’d known men who had emotional breakdowns because of a flat tire, and even I knew how to change one of those.
When a horn honked behind me, I stepped aside. Instead of passing me, the car stopped.
Speak of the devil.
The passenger-side window automatically rolled down on the green sedan. “Where do you live?” Salem asked. “I can give you a ride.”
“I don’t accept rides from strangers,” I said teasingly before continuing my walk.
The car rolled alongside me. “It’s a long walk.”
“And a lovely day. Look at all this sunshine!” I gestured to the cloudless sky.
“Can I change your mind?”
“It depends how hard you try.”
“If that’s what you wish.”
The car abruptly sped off and disappeared over the hill.
I blinked in surprise. Eagerly jumping into a stranger’s car wasn’t my style, so I had wanted to hear a little reassurance first.
“Okay.”
Continuing my walk, I glanced into the brush.
Evergreens were ubiquitous in Texas, so it was never a depressing view in winter.
While there were no wildflowers to admire this time of year, I could still appreciate the tall grass, live oak trees, and mesquite brush.
Normally in spring, thousands of Indian paintbrushes dotted the road with their jagged red petals rimmed in yellow.
A herd of horse Shifters owned the property ahead, and I often stopped to watch them grazing in the field.
Shifter groups always seemed so happy, the bond extending far beyond their instinctual need to assemble for protection.
When I crested the hill where the road curved to the right, I spotted the green sedan parked on the side of the road. Salem was leaning against the bumper, his arms crossed.
His tan pants weren’t too tight, and yes, I noticed.
But his blue-grey cardigan sweater was casually loose.
Salem looked like he belonged in a fashion catalog for Irishmen in the countryside.
Most guys, especially in Storybook, were all about jeans, T-shirts, or plaid long-sleeved shirts in winter.
Some actually walked around shirtless as if to prove their manhood could withstand the biting wind. Salem dressed sensibly.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, shuttering my relief that he hadn’t actually abandoned me. I set my heavy tote on the ground. “I wasn’t sure if you were serious or playing a joke.”
“I was serious. It’s not lost on me that most women won’t jump into a car with a stranger, so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by pressuring you.”
I chuckled softly. “Yet here you are, blocking the road like a serial killer.”
His gaze skated off to the grassy field to my left. “I’m not a dangerous man, but you can’t be sure about the next car that drives by. It didn’t seem right leaving you. If something happened, it would be my fault.”
I drew closer, but he didn’t meet my eyes.
Salem was clearly one of those men who said what he meant and didn’t joke around.
“Didn’t you used to be mated?” I asked, remembering how I’d seen him and Joy together when they first arrived in town.
But lately it was quite obvious by the gossip that she and the Vampire Atticus were now married.
“Sort of. Why don’t you have a car?”
“Because money doesn’t grow on trees. If you buy any of the glass pieces in Justin’s store, that’ll go toward my car fund.
” I rose up on my tiptoes for a moment as a mockingbird changed its tune from a nearby bush.
“The walk is pleasant, especially when it’s cool outside.
The downside is I can’t buy ice cream. It always melts, even in the thermal bag.
Sometimes in the summer I buy an orange Popsicle and eat it on the walk.
I love orange-flavored anything,” I added, wondering if he thought I rambled too much.
“Doesn’t your pack stockpile for the apocalypse?
What are you doing all the way out here, shopping in a tiny store? ”
He dropped his arms to his sides and locked eyes with me. “I like getting out.” Salem’s attention swung down to my feet. “You have big shoes.”
I flew forward, and my knees buckled.
Salem caught me in a flash and looked bewildered. “What are you doing?”
“Swooning.”
His brow furrowed.
I laughed mischievously and straightened up. “It’s not every day a man tells me how big my feet are.”
The blush of embarrassment on his cheeks put butterflies in my belly. Salem rubbed his eyebrow in a perplexed manner, so I decided to let him off the hook.
I touched a button on his sweater. “I’m not insulted.
Your observation surprised me is all. But you’re right.
Well, not about my feet. My boots are oversized since my feet swell when I walk long distances.
Maybe they’re a little too big, but I’m not a fan of shoes anyhow. Feet aren’t meant to be housed.”
“So your feet are homeless,” he said, his tone deadpan.
I giggled and walked back to grab my bag. “Did you want to offer me a ride?”
“Tak is my Packmaster. I also work as a healer in the community and have a steady job with a local pack. I’m not much of a talker, so it’ll be a quiet ride. You can call Tak and speak with him if that would make you comfortable.”
I carried my bag to the car. “Don’t worry, Salem.
I trust you. I’ve got a sixth sense about people.
Can I put this in the back?” I opened the back door before he answered and shoved my heavy tote onto the seat.
“You’re a real lifesaver! I bought extra canned food today, so it’s heavy.
” Being nosy, I peered inside one of his plastic sacks to see what he had bought.
“Holy moly! What’s with all the black licorice? ”
Three grocery bags’ worth.
It was not only an absurd amount of candy that most people hated, but it was now the most intriguing thing about him.
I had to know more.