Chapter 2 #2
If a money-grab campaign sparks rumors and fear within the community, the potential for a witch hunt for the imaginary beast can blow out of proportion fast. The impact on the gray wolves that inhabit Montana’s mountainous regions could topple their population into the endangered category.
The thought fills my empty stomach with panic and I wonder if I can do anything to help avoid the oncoming mess.
Maybe I can drop by, if Winnie asks me to drop Sally at Coyote Falls again, and spend the day in the tiny town, chatting with the townsfolk.
My head begins to ache once the sun dips at the horizon, the last light flashing in my eyes constantly as I pass through the other side of the small town.
Traffic eases off for a while, thankfully, but the remaining headlights flicker on with the failing light to illuminate the trees looming either side of the road in the fast-falling twilight.
I reach for my water bottle, but it’s migrated to the passenger door pocket.
Not wanting to wake Sally by stopping to retrieve it, I set the cruise control after we pass the town’s outskirts and turn the radio up a notch.
Something country with a touch of classic rock can keep me awake for the next few hours.
If Sally’s unlucky, the drive will take long enough for her to hear me sing.
Headlights are not my friend. Years of staying away from civilization have desensitized me to night driving.
This evening has not worked in my favor.
My head splits with an incessant throb by the time I pull up in front of Winnie’s townhouse in northern Cloakton, the city she loves with its grand population total of thirty-three thousand people.
It’s perfect for her, but way too big for me.
Her shift will last a few more hours, and right now that’s a good thing.
The radio was a terrible idea. My head aches from the top down as I switch the ignition off, reveling in the too-loud silence, and then lean over to check on Sally.
I press one hand to the top of my head, though I swear the site of my oncoming migraine has shifted twice in the last ten minutes.
“Sweetie, we’re home.” I wince as I peel back the multicolored blanket. Sally snores in my face. “Right, chicken. Let’s get you into the house.” Cord’s endearments are rubbing off on me. I resist the urge to rub my eyes, wondering if that last word slurred or if I imagined it.
Get Sally inside, and then crash. Meds are in my room.
Simple. Follow the plan. It’s logical. Still, the fear of a massive migraine eats at me as my hands tremble and fear slams into me. Looking after myself is tough enough during an attack. Add another person, a minor at that, into the equation, and it doubles down on the terror.
I manage to unlock the door, juggling everything a nine-year-old needs; negotiate the dark hall, stubbing my toe only once; and get Sally settled in bed.
“Shooze,” I mutter, wincing twice as hard. I can’t even swear properly. “Shhh—gah.” Words don’t function for me the way they should during a migraine. The slurring doesn’t happen every time, but it means it’s one of the worst sorts coming on.
At least Sally is tucked in. That’s a mission in itself.
My toe still stings a little, taking the focus off my head for a mere second.
I pause in the living area, my fingertips resting on my laptop while I struggle with the concept of attempting to work once I find my meds.
I have mountains of data entry to write up from my handwritten notes on the juvenile wolf pack I tracked in Alaska.
But the road blurred by the time we pulled in to the row of matching townhouses where Winnie lives.
The thought of dealing with a backlit screen leaves me nauseated as hell.
Leaving the lights off, I down migraine pills—my last, I need a script refill—and change into a loose nightshirt.
I can’t deal with tight clothing right now.
Despite not having enough brain space to focus on more than one thing at a time, the ghost of Cord’s easy smile and carved physique keeps me company as I descend into pained oblivion.
His eyes are flashes of blue I can’t avoid even with my own squeezed shut.
The scent of black ambrosia wafts cheerily up my nose to break into my light-induced migraine hangover.
I pry my eyes open to find Winnie perched on the corner of my bed, still dressed in her softshell jacket and EMS pants from her shift.
Her light brown hair spills over from a mussed knot secured on top of her head, and she’s holding an aromatic mug out in my direction.
“Is that for me?” My head is still tender as all hell, and someone is playing drums in the background, but the worst of the mind-splitting pain has reduced to something manageable. “Thanks so much for the wake-up call.”
“You should. It’s after midday.”
“What?” I wriggle out of my safe, warm nest. Damn migraine pills. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.” Winnie passes the steaming coffee over to me and the warmth of the mug seeps into my palms. “You’ve been out for half a day. Just over, actually. Are you okay?” She peers at me with a distinctly professional eye.
“Stop that.” I swat at her, scalding my throat with a deep slug from her offering that revives every last sleepy neuron.
“The drive back brought on a migraine last night. That’s all.
Headlights and I do not get along.” I grimace.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to drive at night.
” Missing the morning work hours frustrates me.
Afternoons are traditionally my slowest time of the day.
“Oops.” Winnie wrinkles her nose. “Sorry I made you go all that way to get Sally. She could have stayed overnight at my brother’s. He’s a bit of recluse.”
He’s a hermit who can’t find a shirt on demand.
My cheeks heat at the memory of that body, so I distract myself by clearing my throat of fourteen hours of clog.
“S’all right. I didn’t have the headache when I left Coyote Falls.
” At least my brain and mouth have connected for my speech to function again, despite the dull ache in the back of my skull. Winning.
“You need to take care of yourself, lady.” The bed dips beneath Winnie’s weight as my housemate shifts to sit on my feet. “So, you like Rand?” she asks casually. Too casually. Her nose twitches again.
If Winnie has a tell, that nose twitch is it. I figured it out the first time we played poker at college. She lost spectacularly then… Much as I’m about to lose my morning—afternoon—peace right now.
“Dammit, Winnie. I don’t need a personal matchmaker. Focus on your own lack of love life,” I grumble, though my heart isn’t in it. “Could you not have used your brother’s first name? You confused the hell out of both Cord and me.”
“Cordell told you his name!” Winnie crows like she’s just won the local lottery.
“What’s so important about that?” I glare at her over the rim of my mug.
Her usually solid gaze is as shifty as a solar panel salesperson with a self-funded retiree in the hand. “He goes by Rand. The only people he gives his name to are family.”
Winnie leaves me alone to marinate on that thought while she cooks up brunch and my heart takes an eight-second spin over a rodeo rider who isn’t meant for me.
I settle back with my coffee and my laptop with the screen dimmed.
Delving into the world of lupine ethology and the endless task of deciphering my handwritten notes is the safest way to spend my day.
Sally comes in for a snuggle and to eat my marshmallow hotcakes that we gorge ourselves on until we’re overfull on a sugar high of epic proportions.
Even once we’re done, and despite my stubborn defiance, Cordell Rand remains a shadow that refuses to leave my overstimulated brain no matter how hard I try to ignore it.
Because—just maybe—Winnie might have gotten it right for once. There’s no place for a billionaire rancher in my world.
And there’s sure as hell no place for someone like me in his.