I released her so fast she stumbled. “Alright, as long as I have keys, I can get to you quickly if you need me. But until we get you a car, you ride with me.”
The glare she gave me said she didn’t like it. But she also had no choice. I could arrange a car for her in a heartbeat. Wasn’t going to.
I opened the passenger door of my F250 for her and waited for her to haul herself inside, offering no help. Couldn’t keep the smart-ass smirk off my face as her short legs struggled with the height. At least she had running boards and the ‘oh shit’ handle for leverage. Her breath caught when I leaned in and pulled the seatbelt across her chest and fastened the clasp. My mouth was mere inches from hers.
“Fun traffic laws.” I breathed, my lips almost touching hers.
The night sky whispered promises I wanted to make but wouldn’t as we rode in silence, pack land only a few miles away. She asked if I could stop at Walmart so she could grab some art supplies. This woman. Apparently she sketches. An artist. What I wouldn’t give to see her work. I went in with her and loaded her up with every kind of charcoal pencil, ink, paint, and brush I could find to fill the cart. She stood with her mouth hanging open when we checked out.
“I told you I don’t like charity.” She huffed when we were back in the truck.
“Maybe I’m simply a patron of the arts.” I told her with a grin, never taking my eyes off the road. Her tiny huff in response was precious.
From the corner of my eye, I could see how she watched my hands. Calculated their movement. I’d barely put the truck in park and she was out, standing by the door, waiting for me to bring her supplies. I trailed her up the stairs and into her apartment where I carefully set everything on the kitchen counter.
“I hope you enjoy creating beautiful things with your supplies. Maybe they can bring you some peace in your downtime.” I told her as I headed for the door.
Just as my hand touched the handle, she called out to me.
“Bronc. Thank you so much for your kindness. That was honestly about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I didn’t even turn around. How could anyone not cherish this woman? If I turned to her at this moment, I’d have her wrapped in my arms, and I might never let her go.
“It was my pleasure, Julia.” I said as I walked out the door.
The fragrance of her shampoo lingered in my truck cab. Not flowers. Green apples mixed with uncertainty. I’d clocked the mismatch when she climbed in earlier—badly dyed black waves framing a face too adorable to belong to a soon-married suburban wife, ankle boots paired with dime-store cardigans. Every contradiction screamed mine from my wolf.
My comm squelched, cutting through the silence. “Yo, Prez?” Bridgers’s voice came through. “We still got church in ten?”
I thumbed the key fob’s jagged edges. Ran my tongue over the tiny chip in my front tooth from a bar fight in Lubbock. Habits died harder than men in these parts. “Reschedule.”
Static crackled. “You sure? We got—”
“Tell ’em not tonight.” I squeezed the comms button ‘til I thought it’d bust through. Several feet away, a lit window in the garage apartment behind my mother’s house told me she was pacing. Prospect’s shadow passed the garage door—gangly kid better not scare her pissing in bushes all night.
Leather creaked as I leaned against the truck’s seat. Memory served up today’s crime scene. Julia bent over ledgers in the shop office, pencil behind her ear, muttering depreciation schedules like battle plans. She’d caught me staring. Those espresso eyes held steady while her fingers worried that scar along her collarbone. Those old wounds. Broken bones? Stitches?
My wolf also paced behind my ribs.
The intercom buzzed again.
Cicadas ratcheted up their dying symphony. Somewhere beyond the fence line, a steer lowed. I catalogued each sound, each tremor in the dark. Julia’s apartment light winked out.
Truth was a greased pig in these parts—slippery, messy, best cornered with allies. But the way she’d said no more cages earlier, voice splintering like cheap plywood… Let Wrecker do his job. Let him turn over every stone.
The first fat raindrops smacked my windshield as I headed toward the clubhouse. I grinned into the gathering storm. Tonight, the wolves would run.
Chapter 5
Juliet
It had been a few weeks since the Walmart run where Bronc had loaded me up with art supplies. On the nights when I heard the mysterious songs of wolves, my hands would almost automatically sketch the beautiful black and silver wolf of my dreams. I liked to pretend he was one of the wolves somewhere outside my window. I’d started drawing when I was a little girl. It was one pastime my mother indulged. Probably because it was a quiet activity that kept me out of her hair. She kept me supplied with sketchbooks, colored pencils, and crayons. Then, as I got older, I had her buy charcoal pencils and chalks, even watercolors. YouTube was the best teacher. These days, when I wasn’t sketching the wolf, I’d sketch Bronc. My bottom dresser drawer was filled with countless sketches of him. I’d be so embarrassed if he ever knew about my obsession with his beautiful face.
I’d grown accustomed to his rhythms—the gravel-dust scent of his leather cut filling the truck cab each morning. We’d fallen into a natural routine of him picking me up each morning for work. Right on time, I heard his truck rumble up the street, and that gave me the signal it was time to meet him downstairs.
His truck crunched over gravel and came to a stop, and I waited at the foot of the stairs as he came around to help me up into the cab. His hand still lingered on my lower back every timehe helped me, though today seemed longer than yesterday, and I still counted those seconds. Late August heat clung to my Walmart tank top as I slid into the comfortable leather seat.
“Morning, trouble.” His breath was close to my lips as he fastened my seat belt for me, as always.
