Page 6 of Wildfire (Owl Creek #1)

Callie talks to me about the boat festival, which is kicking off in a week. She's soft-spoken and smiles at me while she talks, which makes me feel like things might work out.

After a couple of minutes, she calls Cole over her shoulder. "Don't bother sticking around. I can get her squared away."

We spend the afternoon discussing the two wooden boats she's trying to finish and the gazebo she's building for the event. It grows yearly, and someone is getting married on her property this year.

"If you can work under the pressure of these deadlines, it would be a big help."

"Yes. Of course. I can start tomorrow morning."

"Great. Let's go inside and grab a cup of tea."

I already sense that spending time with Callie is like being hugged, and I jump at the chance for tea.

She leads me into a spacious, bright kitchen with wood everywhere—wooden cupboards, counters, a chopping block, and a bar separating it from the dining area. Everything was kept in a natural look. No stains or paint to cover the grain of wood.

"I hear your car broke down on the way into town."

"It did. And your other son Caleb—"

"Oh, he's something, isn't he?"

"He is. Nothing I can't handle. I've got two brothers of my own."

"Well, don't worry your pretty head about your car. It's in good hands. My husband taught him everything he knows, and he is a well-respected mechanic in this county. People used to come from all over to get their cars worked on by him."

"Used to?"

"He's retired. Helping the kids at the high school with a robotics team."

"Wow. That's cool."

"I'll say. They're at a State Championship right now. Caleb bought the business and the building from him when he retired. This was great for everyone because we didn't want to split that up when we die."

My heart lurches in my chest.

"You alright, dear?"

"Yeah. It's just…my mom died when I was young, and then no one talked about it. One day, she was there, and the next day, she was gone. I'm still not…I don't know how to talk about death, I guess."

She reaches over and puts her hand over mine. "We don't have to talk about it, but I'm a good listener if you ever need one."

I swipe at my eyes and nod in response.

She puts the cup of tea in front of me with cream, sugar, and a plate of cookies. "Eat as many as you want. No one can eat them all with my husband out of town."

My chest aches in an unfamiliar way, and I try to mask my confusion. When we finish our tea, she offers to drive me back to Cole's.

"Thank you, but I want to walk. It's pretty out here, and I could use the exercise."

"Alright, dear. Let's start at eight sharp. Bring your tools, but don't bother with lunch. I'll cook us up something to keep us fueled all day."

I nod at her and leave, slowly walking toward Cole's.

When I get to his place, I grab my guitar and sit on the deck until my stomach rumbles again. All I have in my backpack is a protein bar and an apple, so I chow on those until I hear the gravel crunch under the weight of Cole's truck in the driveway.

I tear down the stairs to greet him when he arrives.

"You made it home alive."

He said home like this is where I belong.

I push the thought from my mind. "I did. Um, can you please drive me into town to get some groceries? I know I said I'd take care of it, and I'm sorry to bother you about it, but—"

"I've got plenty of food in the house, and I picked up a couple of steaks. You eat meat, right?"

I laugh at the thought of growing up with my family and not eating meat. My brothers hunt like it's going out of style. I've had more deer and bear than cow or pig meat. "I do. Thanks. But I still need groceries. I don't have anything for breakfast."

"I've got you covered. Let's get these steaks on the grill, and we can talk about setting you up later."

I help him unload a few things from his truck and carry them into the house. It's my first glimpse of his man-lair, and it's just as tidy as the garage—only the interior looks like it was plucked out of a magazine.

Everything is natural wood with raw edges, similar to his mother's but more masculine.

There are the requisite mounted antlers on the wall over a mountain painting.

A couch made of soft brown leather with Pendleton blankets draped over the back sits in front of a river stone-edged fireplace.

The kitchen and dining area open to the living room, making the whole thing look like one giant, cozy living space.

When we step inside, I notice a low wooden bench with boots underneath and coats neatly hung.

"This is nice. Did your mom make all the wood furniture?"

"I did. I learned from her, but I wanted to do it myself. Stubborn son syndrome, I think."

"Stubborn son syndrome?"

"Yeah, when you do something that you don't have to because you can't let go of control."

"So you're a control freak?" I poke him in the belly and am met with the resistance of some rock-hard abs. I draw my hand back with a start.

"Careful there, Wildfire. I might poke you back."

My heart skips a beat, and I turn away shyly, which is weird. I'm not shy with guys. I can usually meet them punch for punch.