What did that mean? Kellen had said there were other wolf shifters in town, and she figured that he would ask them to protect the people, but if they weren't a pack, what were they? Could they be rogues? How many roamed the town? Without a pack structure how could they survive in the same territory without killing each other? Did the townsfolk know that wolf shifters were real and not a myth?
That would be a hell of a story—humans and wolf shifters living together in peace. No way it could happen, not with packs like Riverstone controlling their territory with an iron fist—or paw.
On the other hand, Kellen could make it happen. Despite only knowing him for less than a day, she could tell he had the quiet strength needed to keep other wolf shifters in line without the promise of pain or death. His words repeated themselves before that thought finished: We are not a pack, and we never will be.
Samara needed to find out exactly how this town operated, and what Kellen's role was beyond owning a bar and grill. The best way to get that information was to shadow Carlie, who it appeared also knew everyone.
Pulling herself out of her reverie, she walked over to reintroduce herself to Carlie, who handed her a pad and pen to get her started. Carlie greeted each customer as they streamed in for brunch. The woman had a talent for handling people. She changed her tone and which daily special she highlighted depending on who she was talking to and if there were kids at the table. Not only that, since she knew everyone, she made sure to ask them something about themselves. How was your date last weekend? Did your sister's flight arrive on time? Are all of you enjoying school?
Each customer replied in kind before placing their order—after they stopped staring at Samara's blue fingers and lips. The brief, confused glimpses the adults gave her were understandable and easy to ignore.
Following Carlie had a soothing effect on her raw nerves but did nothing to answer her questions. For right now she could forget about the questions and let herself learn a new skill. Which worked fine until a family with three kids, all under the age of ten, appeared.
"Want to give it a try?" Carlie asked.
"Sure thing." Don't screw this up. You're just taking orders, not interrogating anyone. Samara took both in hand and sucked in a deep breath before addressing the parents. "Would you prefer a booth or a table?"
"Booth, please," the father said, grabbing hold of his youngest before he could wander off into the dining room on his own.
The taller boy stared at her. "Why are you all blue?"
"Paintball battle. My team lost, and I'm allergic to the dye." It was a constructed excuse she'd practiced in her head while sitting cramped in the railcar heading out of Dilworth. With nothing else to do, she even gave her teammates names and sketched out a few strategies...just in case she ran into a paintball enthusiast. The way her luck had been, it wouldn't surprise her if she did.
The boy's mother gave him a solid swat on the shoulder. "Joey, what did I teach you about not asking people questions about how they look? Now apologize to the lady."
The kid mumbled an apology, which Samara acknowledged with a smile before she checked the seating chart. After Carlie gave an approving nod, they both led the family to the only empty booth located on the upper floor.
It would take Samara years to get to know everyone, even in a small town like Winterbourne. Not that it mattered. She'd be here a month. No one would remember her after she got out of town.
Assuming there would be a town left if the Riverstone Pack tracked her here. Her faith in Kellen stood on shaky ground, which made her feel guilty for doubting him after he'd been so kind to her.
The question of where she would go still lingered like a pesky horsefly. Her original plan had been to pick up where she had left off: freight hopping—either west toward Barstow or east toward Albuquerque. The problem with those two junctions was that they only offered two choices to continue—north or south. Josiah could easily split his betas into groups to follow each trail, then howl back to alert the omegas if they found anything. If she could gather enough food and water to make the trip east to Dallas-Fort Worth, that junction had at least seven different routes out of the city. If she followed the one to Houston, that would double the number of routes Josiah would have to chase down. The bigger cities also offered more opportunities to refill her supplies without attracting attention.
If only she had a clue as to who had blown up the freight car? Had Josiah made an enemy aside from herself that wasn't afraid to attack the Riverstone Pack?
"Let's head to the kitchen," Carlie guided her off the upper level. "You did a good job. Those three are good kids, but sugar will send them through the ceiling before they leave here. Adding cinnamon and bananas to the oatmeal was a great idea."
"It was the only way my parents could make me eat oatmeal. Otherwise, it didn't matter how much sugar or honey they put in there. I hated it."
When they reached the kitchen, Samara ripped off the order and clipped it onto the order wheel.
Kellen must know a lot about the Riverstone Pack. Had he managed to escape too? Just like she had. If that were the case, they had more in common than she would have thought. It would also explain why he was so willing to help a rogue wolf shifter find their bearings.
Perhaps he’d done this before, either kept a rogue wolf shifter in check or forced them to leave.
Samara pondered the possibilities while Carlie guided her back through the employee door and into the kitchen. It turned out that the head chef, George, was Carlie's husband. He greeted his wife with a big hug and a noisy kiss.
"George, this is Maria, Kellen's new hire."
"Glad to meet you." George wiped his hands off on a towel before shaking hers. His grip looked like he could crush bones, but he kept her hand intact. "Kellen's already talked to me about you. Don't worry about meals. I've got you covered. If I'm not here I'll make sure there's something for you in the walk-in fridge. If you get tired of my cooking, just keep the food in there for the next day."
"As if anyone would get tired of your food," Carlie took a swipe at her husband's arm. "This man served thousands of sailors at one point."
"‘Join the Navy,’ they said. ‘It'll be great,’ they said. ‘You'll see the world.’ Next thing I know I'm below deck slicing six hundred pounds of turkey."
Carlie squeezed her husband's left bicep. "He walked into my father's hardware store, right out of service, flashing those muscles built on chopping, dicing, and carrying food up and down, what was it now? Eight decks?"
"U.S.S. Yellowstone. And don't you forget it."
