She stared at the food like it might bite. “I don’t take charity.”
“Eat, Julia.” I leaned against the fridge, tracking the pulse fluttering in her throat.
The fork clattered from her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Your choice.” I grabbed my keys, leather cut sliding heavy over cotton. “Truck leaves in five.”
As soon as I turned my back, I heard the crunch of the toast as she took a bite. She ate standing up, shoulders angled away from me as if guarding the plate. Each bite precise, mechanical—the table manners of someone who’d survived state dinners, fancy brunches. When I turned to see her lick yolk from her thumb, my wolf growled low in my chest, satisfied we’d provided food for her.
The engine hadn’t finished warming up when she slid into the passenger seat, laptop bag clutched like a shield. Her perfume today was crisp. Forgettable. But beneath the drugstore floral notes, that wild ginger scent lingered.
I cranked the defroster. “Seatbelt.”
Her fingers fumbled the clasp. “Do you always follow traffic laws?”
“Only the fun ones.” Gravel pinged the undercarriage as we reversed. In the rearview, a tumbleweed swirled across the pasture where the pack’s sentries would be patrolling. Julia’s reflection watched them too, lips moving silently—counting? Calculating?
Halfway to town, she spoke to the window. “The kiss was a mistake.”
My grip tightened on the gearshift. “Noted.”
“It won’t happen again.” She strained out the words.
“Planning to muzzle yourself?”
She turned, cheeks flushing beneath cheap foundation. “I’m trying to be professional.”
“So file a complaint.” The stop sign loomed too suddenly. Brakes squealed as we lurched forward. Her hand shot out, bracing against the dashboard.
Silence pooled thicker than the mud splattering the windshield. At the shop’s back entrance, I killed the engine but left the keys dangling.
The slam echoed through the parking lot. I got her set up in the office space directly across from my office. Through the grimy office window, I watched her attack the ledger books like they’d personally offended her, spine rigid, pen slashing margins. Whatever ghosts she was running from, they’d better pray I found them first.
The scent of burnt coffee and gun oil followed Wrecker into my office. He leaned against the doorframe holding two mugs, steamcurling around fingers tattooed with kill counts. “Your stray’s got teeth. Bought her breakfast yet?”
I didn’t look up from the parts manifest.
“I fed her. Don’t you worry about it.” I growled.
Through the grease-smeared window, Julia hunched over the office desk inside the main shop. That thrift-store blouse gaped at the collar when she reached for the calculator, revealing twin scars along her clavicle—those bones had been broken and more than once. My wolf stirred the way she winced when she moved certain ways.
“Find info on her. Dig deep,” I said.
Wrecker’s eyebrow twitched. “Even if she’s clean?”
“She’s runnin’ from someone. I wanna know who it is and why. She’s not the dirty one.
The neon cowboy boot above Pearl’s Bar & Grill sign buzzed like an angry hornet colony, casting fractured pink light across gravel. Julia hovered at the truck’s passenger door, fingers whitening on the handle.
“Chicken-fried steak’s better here than at your overpriced Chicago bistros,” I said, coming around the hood. My shadow swallowed three parking spaces whole.
“I wouldn’t know.” Her voice came out sharp, irritated. She smoothed the thrifted cardigan hanging off one shoulder; its pilled wool looked out of place on her delicate frame.
Inside, sawdust and cayenne bit the air. A pedal steel guitar’s mournful wail tangled with laughter from pool players. Behind the scarred mahogany counter, a silver-haired woman wielded a cocktail shaker like a conductor’s baton.
“There’s my boy!” Ma’s smile could light up a room. She emanated class, standing in a biker bar wearing a pink dress and a triple strand of pearls. “And you brought a stray.”
My palm pressed low on Julia’s back, warmth bleeding through thin cotton. “Ma, this is—”
