Chapter 16
WOLF
Ican’t stand trying to make small talk with a woman in a bar or at a barbeque. Ten minutes in, and I feel like sticking my head in a meat grinder. So how is it that sitting on a bed and playing cards with Molly felt so damn easy? Probably because she took the expectation away.
I was resistant, and then something changed in her eyes while she was looking at me.
It was like we were two kids playing hide and seek and when she found me, she put the covering back on and pretended she never saw me.
And then it was just quiet, and I wanted to go sit with her, to sleep next to her.
I sat on the bed, and every stress or worry I had seconds before seemed to melt away.
Nothing was left but a comfort that felt more natural than sitting under my favorite tree.
Now, a week later, I watch her as she bustles around the kitchen in a pair of pink scrub pants and a top that has cartoon cats with bandaged heads.
Ridiculous, yet on her it’s somehow fucking sexy.
She takes a dainty slurp from her coffee before scooping a measuring cup into a big bag of flour on the counter.
“Jesus Christ, is this more of that stress-relief baking? Should I go into town and clean out the bakery aisle for you? Or maybe take you fishing so you can chill out a little?”
Without a beat she says, “So you can point out how many regulations I’m breaking the whole time? Yeah, sounds really relaxing.”
The corner of my mouth turns upward—she’s feisty.
“And no,” she goes on, dumping the flour in a big metal mixing bowl, “I’m just making some brownies to take into work.”
“So what are you going to do tonight then? Come home and bake some more?”
Molly stops what she’s doing to glare at me with narrowed eyes, her hands resting on the countertop like she’s ready to have a face off. “Baking is not all I do, you know.”
“I know,” I say, a faint wave of a white flag in my voice.
“Anyway, I’ll probably come home and read a book or watch a movie or maybe even wash my hair.” She takes a whisk to the mixture in her bowl.
“Oh hey, speaking of washing…” I turn to my equipment bag and throw my wallet inside. “When are you doing laundry next?”
She doesn’t look up but increases the speed of the whisk. “I did some yesterday.”
“Well, I’ve still got a pile of dirties by the bedroom door.”
“Yeah, I know, and it’s starting to stink. You should take care of that.” Molly taps some excess brownie batter off the whisk on the edge of the bowl without looking at me.
“You mean— – Never mind.” I stop before I expose myself for being a spoiled brat who’s had a housekeeper washing his boxer briefs all this time. “I’ll see you later,” I mumble, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.
“Bye,” she calls, her voice light as the air it follows me on.
We’ve established a decent rhythm, Molly and I. Though neither of us seems to be ready for any kissing or touching since the reception, we’ve gotten comfortable in each other’s space.
Work goes about as expected. I dodge stupid-ass prying questions from my brothers, meet with the Tribal officials at the boundary line to make sure they didn’t have any problems overnight, and patrol through the woods, mostly on foot.
The world is so fucking loud except for my haven between the trees.
My thoughts are still racing around my head, but with no other sounds but the breeze and the birds, I can actually hear them, deal with them.
At the end of shift, I check in at the office on our family compound before heading to Beth’s Diner to finish up paperwork on my phone. The bell jingles like a familiar greeting when I push through the door and head straight for the open seat at the far end of the counter.
“Hey, Wolf.” Darcie says without looking up from setting a customer’s tuna melt in front of them while grabbing a straw from her apron.
I give her a chin jut she can’t see, but she knows I did it all the same. This isn’t the same as the bar where people want to get rowdy and hit on each other. The diner actually has a calming effect, and no one usually bothers me as I update data on our official park apps.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and bring up my TrackDuty app as Darcie sets a mug down without asking and pours a cascade of the local brew into it.
The steam is a comfort to me, like a reliable touchstone as I scroll through the report page to see if there were any disturbances, wildlife abnormalities, or arrests.
My eyes are glued to my screen, and I barely note the presence taking the seat beside me as I switch over to the forecast column for tomorrow.
The faint lilt of a woman’s voice sounds, followed by Darcie’s consoling tone, saying they don’t serve cappuccinos.
Definitely a tourist. Right down to the strong perfume that screams pretentious sophistication in your face.
I search for any reports on more of those bogus foothold traps like the one that got Finn but find no other developments.
Moving on, I get lost in a report about Riley Development reps scoping out nearby parcels of land having to be escorted off the reservation for trying—and apparently failing—to steal soil samples and take pictures of the nearby creek.
Get the fucking message already.
My blood is already boiling about this fucking situation when someone primly clears their throat and follows it with a chipper and breathy “Hi.”
“Afternoon,” I grunt without looking up.
I hear nothing else besides a little fidgeting as I tap my empty mug, signaling to Darcie I’m ready for my refill. Then the person clears their throat again. It’s already annoying.
“Could you tell me where I can get a good lavender latte around here?” the woman next to me asks.
I lift a shoulder as I switch over to the TribalScope app to dictate my outgoing shift report. “There’s an espresso stand about half a mile east that will probably have what you’re looking for.”
“Oh,” she responds, soft and absent. She’ll hopefully be taking my patent hint any moment.
I’ve had plenty of tourists approach me—usually of the lady variety—but my caveman grunts and lack of eye contact are enough to send the message to move on. If they want to socialize, there’s plenty of bars down this stretch of road.
“I take it you live here?”
Or she’s a chatty pain in the ass. “Yeah,” is all I offer as my cup gets refilled.
“Oh great!” she exclaims. “I’m actually from out of town…”
No shit. I let out a sigh as I pocket my phone. There goes my afternoon wind down.
“... was just here to escape for a few days and was hoping to find someone who could show me where all the great hiking trails are!”
“On your tab today, warden?” Darcie asks as she does a drive by.
I tilt my chin in her direction again and take another chug of coffee, hoping to finish it up. By the way the brew scalds my throat, I’m stuck here for at least another couple of minutes.
“Warden?” Little Miss Sunshine asks brightly, sounding intrigued. “Is that your name?”
Fuck my life.
“No, I’m one of the game wardens in the area,” I correct her, swirling the coffee in my cup, willing it to cool down. I take another sip anyway.
“Oh, like a park ranger? So I’ll bet you definitely know your way around.”
I nod.
“So um…” She leans in, once again assaulting me with her perfume that probably costs eighty dollars a capful. “Do you, maybe, have some downtime today?”
She walks her fingers over to the back of my hand that still grips my coffee cup.
I feel my body go rigid at the unexpected touch, like I’ve been injected with an instant paralytic. I’m locked in, unable to move. A second ticks by, and then another before my brain tells my lungs to resume breathing, but nothing else moves.
She’s turned toward me, leaning her chin on a hand.
Giant hoop earrings tell me she is definitely not here to hike, not if she knows the first thing about it.
And I don’t know jack shit about designer jeans, but I know she didn’t get the ones she’s wearing from the local Harvest Tractor co-op.
She’s made up more than a prize winning show pony and her blonde ponytail is sleeker than the deck of some asshole’s private yacht.
Out of town? Definitely. Here to take in nature and wildlife? I don’t buy it. And what the fuck does she think she’s doing to my hand?
I look down to observe her actions as she traces a manicured nail up my wrist before gripping onto it. Her squeeze is gentle but assertive, and this time, I inwardly scream at myself to move.
Jerking my arm away, hard enough to make her shoulders jump, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then my brain reminds my mouth how it works.
“One block over from that espresso stand is the visitors center. Someone there can help you out,” I say, trying to dismiss her, and this time, I throw back the remains of my coffee, tonsils be damned.
“Well… I was hoping for a guided experience that’s more one-on-one, if you know what I mean,” she coos as I rise from my stool.
“I’m sure you don’t work all day, everyday…
” Her tone turns what I interpret as suggestive.
“You could carve out a little time to help a visitor get their bearings, couldn’t you? ”
Despite the newfound movement, my muscles are still tense, and my heart rate is spiking as I look for a way to shut this woman down without being an outright dick.
That’s when I realize I have a shiny, brand-new card to play.
“I’m married,” I inform her as I grab my jacket off the back of my chair, and fuck does that feel good to say simply because it gives me a concrete, legit reason not to entertain these tourist concubines and their ridiculous games.
Hoping that’s enough, I turn without giving the woman a second look or a chance to respond and head for the door, slinging my jacket over my shoulder as the bell announces my departure.
The crisp afternoon air is a welcome respite as I stalk out to my truck, but it’s short-lived—the bell jangles and the door bangs shut behind me.