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“For what?”
“For my heart. I have a heart condition. But I had a surgery last year that’s helped a lot. Now we have the ranch and…” Herlight blue eyes fall to my belly, a sadness dimming them. “And other stuff to deal with.”
Silence as we walk.
“You own a bakery.”
I shake my head. My heart hammers. “Used to.”
Every award I earned for Milk & Honey pops into my head. Pastry Chef of the Year. Best New Bakery in DC—twice over. My creations pushed the envelope, and I was the best in the business.
But I don’t say any of that.
We continue walking, our breath puffing white as we pass the lodge. We circle behind it and come to a thick grove of fir trees bordering the national forest. It’s like a protective barricade around the ranch. A solid iron fortress of frozen wild.
My breath catches. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Ruby smiles brightly and spreads her arms. “It’s a woodsy witch winter.”
A laugh bursts out of my mouth, surprising me. “Followed by cynical spring and sad girl summer.”
We share another laugh, and the smile that curls my lips, along with the warm rumble in my chest, is a strange but not unpleasant sensation.
A sharp bark cuts the serenity of the morning, and we look over.
Davis is tossing Keena a ball, his flannel shirt jacket pushed up to his rippling forearms.
He gives me a nod.
A nod so perfectly platonic I want to scream.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Exhale. Open them.
As I stare into the desolate forest, the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Aiden.
He could be anywhere.
Fear crawls up my spine. What would he do if he learned about the baby?
I shiver.
He’d kill me.
He’d kill us.
That’s when I see the wolf.
The animal darts between the trees. A flick of a white-tipped tail, the snuffle of a gray snout.
Ruby gasps, gripping my hand in hers.
I’ve never seen one up close before. My father used to tell me stories about wolves. Folklore that he learned from a Cheyenne chief when he lived in Wyoming in his twenties. The duality of their meanings always stayed with me. A symbol of destruction and death? A primal reminder of our wild? Or a powerful guiding force?
The wolf strides closer. Five feet away.
I tense and watch. Searching for food, she weaves her way between two downed logs, cunningly avoiding the trap that’s been laid out.
