“That’s what you’re going with?”
“That’s what I’m going with.”
The laugh almost gets out. I feel it rise, warm and real, and I choke it back. But not fast enough. He catches it, and the way his expression shifts in response is dangerous. Not predatory. Pleased. Warm. The face of a man who’s just learned something about a woman, and likes what he’s learned.
“I gotta get going,” I say.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Depends,” I say.
“On what?”
“On whether you got work for me?” I stick with my story.
He grins. “It’s like that, huh?”
I shrug, unapologetic.
“I’ll check with the foreman.”
“Thanks.” I nod, then get in my truck and start the engine. Then I sit for a moment, facing forward, aware that he’s still standing at the pump, watching me. Aware that every second I stay is a second I’m not driving away.
Briar said let him come to me. She didn’t say anything about what to do once he did.
“I don’t know anyone here,” I say without turning. “And I don’t trust easy.” The words come from somewhere I didn’t plan. “But Dutch’s coffee is growing on me.”
I pull away.
Don’t look in the mirror. Don’t look in the mirror. Don’t—
I look in the mirror.
He’s standing in the lot, hands at his sides, watching my truck turn the corner. The expression on his face is the one I saw at the Railhead, right before everything went sideways. Not lust. Not calculation. Something open and undefended that a purist enforcer has no business showing a woman he doesn’t know.
I drive back toward the motel with the windows down and my wolf vibrating in my chest and the taste of something reckless on my tongue. I just invited Conner Forrester to coffee. Not because the mission required it. I invited him because I wanted to, and the wanting scares me more than any pack of purist wolves.
Briar’s truck isn’t at the motel. Still in the hills. I call her from the parking lot instead of waiting.
“How’s the trail?”
“Still heading south. Found another section past the flats. Faint but readable. I’m going to push another mile before I lose the light.” A pause. “You?”
“Made calls to two ranches. No one’s hiring, but both pointed me toward the Forresters. That’s where anyone looking for work in this area would end up.” I pause. “And I ran into Conner at the gas station.”
Silence. The Briar kind, which means she’s processing.
“He came to me,” I say. “Like you said. With any luck, he’ll come looking for me at Dutch’s.”
More silence. Then: “Good. If he shows up, that’s his choice. You didn’t push. He came to you.” The sound of brush scraping against clothing. She’s still walking. “Just remember what you’re there for.”
“I know what I’m there for.”
“I know you do.” She ends the call.
I lean back in my seat. The afternoon sun is warm on the windshield. The bond-thread pulls south, faint and steady. Somewhere past the hills, my people are waiting.
And somewhere behind me, in a gas station lot on the main street of a town I shouldn’t trust, a man is standing with a full tank of gas, and I can’t stop thinking about him.