Page 44 of Cuffed By the Wolf

“Her ID’s South Carolina. Address outside Charleston. Expired two years ago.”

Sasha goes quiet in a way I’ve learned means she’s turning something over hard enough it hurts.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she says finally, but there’s no conviction in it. “People move. IDs lapse. It’s not a crime to be from somewhere.”

“No. But it’s a lie, and you don’t tell a lie like that by accident. Nobody forgets which state they grew up in.”

“I know that.” It comes out sharper than she means it, probably. She presses two fingers to her temple. “I just — I like her, Gavin. She’s been kind to me since I got here. If she’s⁠—“

“I’m not saying she did anything. I’m saying be careful. Same as I’d say about anyone who lied to your face for no reason you can see yet.”

She’s quiet for a long stretch after that, watching the storefronts slide by, and I let her have it. I know what it costs her to hear this — another person in her life who might not be who they said they were. I’d take that away from her if I could figure out how.

“What do we do?” she asks eventually.

“We don’t do anything. I keep an eye on her. You keep being exactly as friendly as you’ve been. Don’t spook her before I know what I’m dealing with.”

“You want me to keep spending time with a woman you think is lying to me.”

“I want you safe more than I want you comfortable. Those aren’t always the same thing.” I glance over at her, just once. “I’ll be there when you need me.”

She doesn’t respond. Sasha caresses my bearded cheek, bringing me a new kind of peace. We listen to the radio for the remainder of the drive.

I’ll find out if Jenny means harm to my little omega.

Chapter Twelve

SASHA

ANNUAL LUPTON FESTIVAL

Barb, Lacy, Cassandra Saunders, and I make sure we have all the supplies we need for the long day ahead at the festival. Fitch helps us load the box truck. Shockingly, Gavin is giving away free toys to kids who come to our booth.

I can’t wait to see if I can catch him smiling at the children.

Thirty minutes later, we arrive at the festival. A large field has been turned into a sprawling carnival — a Ferris wheel throwing lazy shadows across the grass, strings of paper lanterns crisscrossing overhead, game booths painted in reds and golds that catch the early morning light. Somewhere a carousel organ wheezes out an old tune under the thump of a country band tuning up on the main stage. The ground is soft with churned-up hay and dust, and every few feet another vendor calls out over the crowd. The smell of funnel cakes, fried Oreos, kettle corn, and corn dogs hits my nostrils all at once, thick and sweet and greasy in the best possible way.

“It smells so good,” I say, closing my eyes to breathe it in.

The ladies laugh.

“Do you go to festivals back home?” Lacy asks.

“When I was younger, I did. Since I’ve been an adult, I think I was so busy finding my way in the world, I forgot how to live carefree.”

“This town will be filled with a different band every week. Make sure you check out Viola’s fudge. It’s the best,” Barb adds.

“And the peach pie Lorraine Cannery bakes,” Cassandra says, her eyes rolling back with delight. “It’s absolutely mouthwatering.”

“I’ll definitely be sure to let go a little and enjoy the festival.”

I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes so I can people-watch better.

Thankfully, we’re in a large booth with a fan. Throughout the day we hand out tons of free toys to the kids. I thought the sheriff would be here by now.

I feel like I’m stalking him now. He brought me to work today. First, we had to stop by his cabin so he could shower and change clothes. I wish he’d share the job of watching me with someone else. I plan to talk to him about it later.

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and the festival is in full swing. After we’ve locked our goods in totes under the table, the ladies and I say our goodbyes and set off in different directions. I sing along to a popular country song, watching a couple dance as the band performs.