Page 8

8

WARNER

“It seems you’re a fan of large dogs,” a snide voice comes from just ahead of us on the sidewalk, forcing me to take my eyes off of Zoey’s smiling face.

“Hello, Mrs. Applewood.” I keep my voice cordial, even as the sneering woman makes that hard to do.

Her animosity toward me is only slightly understandable.

I’m a wolf. She hates wolves.

Mainly because her daughter is dating one of the pack members.

As Zoey adjusts Bruce’s leash in her hands, she glances between the two of us, clearly picking up on the tension, but having no idea where it’s coming from. And it’s not like I can explain.

As much as I’d like to.

I’m a werewolf. But a friendly one. Can I please bury my face in your neck to smell more of your delicious, earthy scent that I pick up with my supernatural nose? And after that, can I carry you back to my place and show you just how friendly I can be?

But I don’t say any of that. Yet.

After a conversation with Roderick, I have a good idea what Zoey’s alluring scent means for me.

“Zoey, you met Mrs. Applewood at Sip ’N’ Stitch.”

Recognition dawns in my companion’s eyes, and she turns back to the frowning woman with a genuine smile. “Yes, I did. You were making quilting squares, weren’t you? I haven’t tried quilting yet, but I want to. Do you have any tips? Is there a good fabric store in town?”

With her curious questions, Zoey takes a step toward Mrs. Applewood, who looks stunned at the enthusiastic greeting. She opens her mouth, then glances down to see Bruce sniffing her immaculate heels. The stodgy woman shuffles back a step with a huff, glaring at the both of us.

“I don’t associate with dogs .”

Zoey’s smile fades, and the loss of it chips away at my normally unshakable good humor. The bigots in this town can insult me all they want, but Zoey doesn’t deserve any of their animosity.

“He’s friendly,” Zoey offers, her fingers fiddling with one of Bruce’s ears.

The woman sniffs, her scowl focusing on me. “Oh, I’m sure they seem that way.” Finally done with her not-so-subtle barbs, Mrs. Applewood clutches her purse tight to her shoulder and crosses the street before continuing on her way.

“Wow.” Zoey’s lips slowly circle the word, and I’m torn between my simmering fury and my fascination with watching her mouth move. Her chin tilts up, brown eyes catching mine. “Do you think she needs medical help with removing that stick from her ass?”

For a moment, I can do nothing but stare. Then, laughter explodes through me, and I lean back against the nearest building to keep my balance as I lose it. Zoey offers an almost-secretive smile. She crouches beside Bruce, muttering nonsense baby talk and giving his chest a scratch while he pants, his massive tongue lolling and his tail wagging.

I suck in air through my nose, trying to stifle my unrelenting chuckles. But the deep breaths only pull in more of her maple scent, and saliva collects in my mouth.

This woman is making me both horny and hungry.

As if reading my mind, Zoey straightens and waves for me to continue walking. “We’re wasting your lunch break.”

I shrug, but can’t get rid of my grin. “Any time I spend with you can’t be considered a waste.”

A lot of girls blush and giggle when I flirt with them. It’s a fun reaction. I love to hear people laugh.

But Zoey doesn’t get embarrassed. Instead, she offers me a solemn nod. “That’s true.”

Damn. She’s perfect. Getting her to crack will be all the sweeter because she doesn’t give her laughter away for free. She’s making me work.

I accept the challenge.

“Sandwiches?” I shove off the wall and take a chance by reaching down to twine our fingers together.

“Sandwiches,” she agrees.

She glances at our clasped palms, but doesn’t pull away.

I have to give her hand up when we reach the café and go inside to place our lunch orders. Once we’re sitting down at an outside table, I lose interest in my food. There’s maybe thirty minutes before I need to get back to the build site, and I want to spend them all getting to know the woman across from me.

“So, you’re in your grandma’s old cabin, and you’re buying up a shop’s worth of power tools. Is there a remodel on the docket?”

Zoey offers Bruce a potato chip while answering, “I wouldn’t say a remodel exactly. More like a revamp. And a clean-out. I’m just here to sort through Minnie’s stuff and make the cabin prettier for sale.”

“I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but didn’t your grandmother pass close to a year back?” Not my real questions. More like …

Why did you stay away for so long? Why haven’t you been here my whole life?

“She did. Someone should have come down here sooner. But my mom is really busy. She has a popular morning show on the radio up in Denver. Kinda hard to take a vacation. Still”—Zoey hesitates, fiddling with the pickle on her plate—“from the little she’s said about it, I think living here was a not-so-great childhood. I guess Minnie was kind of reclusive.”

She meets my eyes after that last bit, her honeyed eyebrows rising.

I nod. “Didn’t see her around town much.”

Zoey sighs as she scratches Bruce’s giant block head. “When I realized Mom might never come here, I decided to volunteer.”

“Really? Just like that?”

Zoey grimaces. “To be honest, I was also looking for a reason to get away from Denver. After the incident.”

“The incident?” I force myself not to lean forward, instead picking up my sandwich. One huge bite keeps my mouth full and too busy to pester for more details.

Zoey chomps down on a chip and stares off into space. I wonder if I’ve lost her attention or if she didn’t mean to let that slip. Still, I want to push her. I want to know all there is to learn about Zoey Gunner.

To distract myself, I reach under the table to slip Bruce a piece of roast beef from my sandwich. A fed dog is a good ally.

“Okay”—Zoey returns her attention to me—“I’ve decided. The embarrassment has dimmed enough that I’m willing to tell you what happened.”

Anything called the incident is bound to be a good story, and Zoey just agreed to share it with me.

Stifling my cheer, I recline back in my chair and give her a nod to continue.

“I have four brothers,” she starts. “They’re all big brutes, but they love me, and I love them.”

Sibling love is something I can relate to.

“I’m the youngest. The baby of the family, they say. I say they need to get their heads out of the Regency era. Just because I’m younger and a girl doesn’t mean I need four bodyguards poking their noses into every aspect of my life.” Zoey huffs, emotion coloring her cheeks.

“Makes sense,” I offer.

“Right?” She munches on another chip before continuing, “Anyway, I thought I was used to their overbearing version of love. My whole life, they’ve done their best to be good brothers. But I feel like the fact that there’re so many of them tips their helpful acts into bonkers town.”

My body shifts forward in anticipation.

“Like, there was one day, before school, I realized I was out of tampons. And I needed them, obviously. But my parents were already at work. Plus, I was thirteen. So, I couldn’t drive myself to the store.”

The noises of Main Street fade away as Zoey’s voice pulls me into the story of her past.

“Abram is the most responsible. I feel like he was born to be a dad. Or a drill sergeant. Maybe both. Anyway, I figured at eighteen, he’d be the one least likely to laugh.” She shrugs and eats another chip, drawing out the drama of the tale. “I was right. He told me to finish my breakfast and that he’d take care of it. But next thing I know, I’m alone in the house.” She waves her hands as if we were sitting in her kitchen, empty, silent house around us. “All four of my brothers disappeared. The bus was going to show up in, like, ten minutes, and I was sure I’d have to stay home sick.”

My lips pinch in a grimace, as I don’t find the story amusing anymore. Did all of Zoey’s brothers really abandon her just because they were squeamish about buying feminine products?

“Then, I hear the screech of tires on the driveway, and when I look out the window, I spot all four of the Gunner boys climbing out of Abram’s car, each one weighed down with shopping bags.”

Humor returns fast.

“Now, I know guys can be clueless about menstruation. If Abram had come back with a few extra boxes or the wrong brand, no big deal. But no. He recruited the rest of my brothers, and they drove to the closest drugstore and bought as many products as they could carry.”

“They didn’t,” I whisper in horrified wonder.

“They did. An entire aisle. You would’ve thought I was hemorrhaging. Good thing tampons don’t expire.” Zoey shakes her head, but I catch the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

That’s the way it tends to be with loving families. In the moment, you want to murder them, but later, everything just becomes a funny memory.

“And that happens a lot with them?”

“Taking things way too far? Oh, yeah. My parents and I refer to them as Occurrences with a capital O . I’ve had many Gunner brother Occurrences. There was the time in high school when they convinced the front office to let them all sing me ‘Happy Birthday’ over the intercom system. Don’t get me wrong; they’re fantastic singers. But my anxiety went through the roof when everyone in the school stared at me for the rest of the day. And, hell, don’t even get me started on prom.”

I want to get her started and never have her stop.

“Please. I need to know.”

Zoey smirks. “You’d think three college guys and a guy working on his MBA would have something better to do on a Saturday night than chauffeur their sister and her date to a school dance. Timmy was terrified to hold my hand after that car ride.”

It’s all I can do to shove the laughter down.

“Not that they threatened him.” She gives me a placating gesture, though I have to wonder if maybe Zoey doesn’t know the whole story of that evening. “I don’t even know if that was the point of them driving us. Sometimes, I think they just want to make sure all five of us are experiencing important life moments together. And that’s the thing about Occurrences. Each one was kind of embarrassing, but it was hard to get mad at them because they’re my brothers and they’re trying. After a day or maybe a week, I forgive them, and we move on.”

“But something happened?” I guess.

Sun shines off the streaks of gold in Zoey’s hair as she tucks the mass of it behind her fingers. I want to reach out and run my fingers through the strands to learn the texture.

She huffs out a breath and crumples her empty chip bag.

“The incident happened.”