Page 5 of Roaring Heat (Shifters of Redwood Rise #2)

The next morning, I go into town. It looks different—less eerie, more alive.

Sunlight pierces through breaks in the fog, painting the redwoods gold.

I head down the narrow road into the center of town, notebook in hand, determined to check in at the ranger station.

But Redwood Rise isn’t like other towns.

There’s no Starbucks, no chain stores. Just a scattering of weathered wooden buildings that look like they’ve stood for a century and intend to stand another.

I pass the café where laughter drifts through an open window. A chalkboard out front advertises 'Bear Claws Fresh Baked Daily'—charming, if slightly over-committed to the theme. Still, something about it makes the hair on my neck lift.

A man sweeping the porch nods at me but doesn’t speak.

Two women near the flower shop follow me quietly when I pass, their eyes tracking me with a curiosity that carries a hint of something sharper—wary, maybe even guarded.

My spine straightens instinctively, like I’ve walked into a room mid-conversation and everyone forgot to stop whispering.

By the time I reach the ranger station—a squat cabin with peeling green paint—I’m ready for a dose of normalcy. Instead, I get Beau. Again. He’s leaning against a truck out front, grease on his hands, with that same unbothered grin curving his mouth.

"Stalking me already?" I ask too sharp.

"No," he says easily, tossing the rag into the truck bed. "Just fixing Elsie’s truck."

"Elsie, the owner of the general store? Why would her truck be out here?"

"Because I needed to drive it to see if I could hear what she was hearing, and Carson wanted me to look at something. I heard what Elsie heard, and I had my toolkit with me... so here I am."

"It's just a little odd. You seem to find me wherever I go."

"This is my town, remember? You’re the one who keeps showing up where I am."

He isn't wrong. "That's pure coincidence, but it feels more like you’re the one following me."

His grin widens. "Wouldn’t blame me if I were."

I roll my eyes and push past him into the station, determined not to let him rattle me.

Inside, I meet the ranger on duty—a wiry man named Carson, whose weathered face creases deeper when I introduce myself.

"Wildlife biologist, huh?" he says, not unkindly.

"Hope you’ve got steel nerves. Things have been a bit weird lately. "

"Weird how?" I ask.

He hesitates. "Nothing you can really pin down or follow up on. Just predators out of place. Deer moving strangely. A couple of nights ago, someone swore they saw a strange shadow cross the road, but it was a Friday night and the tavern here is usually pretty busy on Fridays."

The way he says it—too calm, too precise—tells me he doesn’t believe it was just alcohol. There's a flicker in his expression, not quite fear, but something close. Like he knows exactly what they saw and just doesn’t want to put it into words.

Before I can ask any follow-up questions, Beau strolls in, leaning on the counter like he owns it. Carson shuts his mouth with a snap, like someone turned off a faucet.

I glance between them. "Really? You were about to tell me something, and now you’re clamming up?"

Carson scratches his jaw, then glances toward the window, his voice dropping a notch. "You’ll see soon enough. Just… keep your eyes open and stay safe."

Beau gives an almost imperceptible nod before heading back to Elsie's truck. Carson has turned away from the counter, and I'm left feeling nothing I can say will induce him to part with more information.

Outside, Beau waits, arms folded, as if he knew Carson wouldn’t say a word with him there. The grin he gives me is infuriatingly sexy. It isn’t much, and I should be angry, but it’s enough to make my pulse quicken.

"You scare people into silence everywhere you go, or just when I’m asking questions?" I demand.

He meets my gaze, calm and steady. "Some truths you don’t get from other people. You need to learn them for yourself... or from me."

"And you’ve decided I’m not ready."

His expression flickers as he gives me a dismissive shrug. There's something dangerous and protective simmering just under the surface of Beau's cool demeanor.

"I’ve decided I don’t want you hurt. That’s all," he says before turning back to Elsie's truck.

The words should feel reassuring, but they land somewhere between a promise and a warning. Part of me wants to believe him, to let that certainty wrap around the sharp edges of my doubt. But another part—older, more cautious—bristles at being protected without consent.

I take a step closer before I can stop myself. "You don’t even know me."

He straightens and faces me directly, his eyes darkening. "Don’t I?"

The ground between us hums with tension, and for one reckless heartbeat, I swear the air itself leans in.

Beau’s jaw tightens, his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s holding back from reaching for something—or someone.

He doesn’t move closer, but the intensity in his eyes sharpens, steady and unflinching.

Before I can ask what he means, a shout rings out from down the street.

Someone is yelling about an animal near the schoolyard.

Beau’s attention snaps toward the sound, sharp and immediate. He doesn’t hesitate—just bolts, boots hitting the ground, every line of his body taut with purpose.

And I, against all logic, run after him.