But tonight, standing outside the pottery barn with my wolf and my community celebrating inside, I felt something entirely new, the deep peace of knowing exactly where I belonged. No more running, no more fear—just this place, these people, this life all of us were building together.
The sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention. The dark sedan looked out of place among the pickup trucks and SUVs that usually traveled these roads. They stopped in front of the saloon and a man in a suit stepped out, looking around before his gaze fell on me.
Something about his posture made me tighten my spine. He was too alert, too focused for a tourist.
Tressa stood up beside me, her hackles rising as she watched the stranger approach.
A chill that had nothing to do with the evening air ripped through me.
Chapter 29
Allie
The stranger walked toward me, his suit creased from travel. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick manilla envelope, the paper making a sharp crackling sound.
“Allison Wilson?” he asked in a flat accent that didn’t belong in our part of the world. He checked my name on the envelope.
“That’s me,” I said, my voice small. Hail stepped out of the building and came up behind me. When I leaned back, he placed an arm around my chest, pulling me closer.
My heart beat faster as I wondered who this man was and what he wanted.
“Courier delivery.” He held out the envelope. The paper felt expensive and heavy in my hands, the letterhead catching the sunset light. “You were hard to find. Had to track you through news about the Carmichael arrest.” He nodded. “Have a good evening.”
He walked back to his car without another word. The engine started with a soft purr as he backed out.
I stood still, staring at the envelope while people celebrated around me. I felt suddenly disconnected from everything, as if I was standing on an island while life flowed past.
The return address said Yarrow & Associates, Attorneys at Law, Portland, Maine. My old hometown now seemed like a part of someone else’s life. My palms got sweaty just holding the envelope.
“What do you think is in-inside?” Hail asked.
“No idea.” I turned the envelope over, feeling its thick texture.
The celebration sounds continued, laughter, clinking glasses, someone tuning a guitar, but they seemed far away, like I was underwater.
“I need to sit down to open this. Some place away from all the noise.” My belly spasmed as I imagined what might be inside.
Hail studied my face the way he examined clay before shaping it. His hand moved to my elbow. “The bakery will be qui-quieter.”
The walk there seemed to take longer than usual. My legs felt wobbly. I gripped the envelope so tightly my knuckles turned white, and my fingertips tingled.
The bakery smelled like bread and sugar, and it was empty inside.
Hail guided me to a corner table away. The wooden chair creaked as I sat down, still holding the envelope tightly.
I finally laid it on the table between us, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to open it.
“You’re staring at it like it might explode,” Hail said.
“It’s from a lawyer in Portland,” I said. “That’s where I grew up. Where my father was still living when he was murdered.” I bit my lower lip, tasting the waxy lip balm I’d applied earlier.
Hail’s hand covered mine on the table, his skin rough yet warm and familiar. “Whatever it is, we can handle it. But you won’t know until you open it.”
The paper tore with a sharp sound, and I slid the contents out.
“A letter,” I said.
Dear Ms. Wilson,
