“That’ll give me away.”
“Better that than getting in serious trouble. Use your judgment. I trust you.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think anyone in the pack has said that about me before.”
“You wouldn’t be doing a supply run if Damien didn’t trust you. And Garrett sure trusts you. I don’t know how you did it, but you pulled him out of the hole he’s been living in since we lost Marla. If you don’t mind me sayin’, I hope you’re gonna stay with us. We’d hate to lose Garrett. You too, of course, but he’s family, which makes the idea of losing him hard.”
“What makes you think he’d leave with me?”
“Shoot, Lina, you only need to watch the way his eyes never leave you to know he’d be lost without you. He’d follow you to Hell and back.”
I’m smiling as we pass the Welcome to Devil’s Peak sign, not only because of what Pryce said about Garrett, but because someone drew a wolf on the bottom corner. I suspect more people in the area know about their shifter neighbors, even if Damien doesn’t allow his shifters to go to town too often.
The sound of cars, kids, and Christmas music piped along Main Street relaxes me, even though I’ve never been here before. Joe’s General Store reminds me of home, and Pryce’s insight into Garrett has me flying high.
After I introduce myself to the store manager, he assigns one of his employees, a young skittish man, to help me gather everything on my list. Pryce pops in at least twice, makes eyes contact with me, and leaves again. Each time I see him, he has another handful of supplies. Part of me worries someone’s going to steal them from the truck bed. That black tarp isn’t a deterrent, but Pryce doesn’t seem worried.
Just the same, I conduct a quick count of all items in the truck bed while Jackson packs the dried goods in boxes. Together, we lift them into the back and secure the tarp.
“Thanks for all the help, Jackson,” I say with a wave before heading a few storefronts down to Hank’s Hardware for the rest of what we need. The store manager, whose name is Mike, not Hank, runs his eyes over my list, without commenting about how tiny the print is. With a whistle, he calls a teen over to be my personal aid.
“Can I rip it in half?” Kevin asks. “It’ll go faster, Miss Ulfson.”
“Only if you call me Lina, not Miss Ulfson.”
“Yes, Miss Ulf—I mean Lina.” He tears the paper down the middle, handing me one half, then practically flies through theaisles, grabbing items left and right. By the time he fills an entire cart, I have two items.
“You have the homefield advantage, Kevin.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
So much for Lina. “Hey, Kevin, I’ll be right back. I want to check on my truck.”
“Almost finished with my half of the list.”
“Then can you grab a box of three-inch nails, five rolls of electrical tape, and a box of serpentine belts for generators? Oh, and an assortment of O-rings, PVC pipe fittings, and… here, take the list. Fill what you can and I’ll catch up with you when I get back, okay?”
“Sure thing, Miss Ulfson.”
“Seriously, Kevin, you can call me Lina. Ulfson isn’t the prettiest sounding name is it?”
“No, ma’am. I mean, that’s not for me to say, ma’am.”
I chuckle as he disappears with the list.
“You make him nervous,” a voice says behind me. A voice I swear I know.
When I turn around, no one’s there. I scent the air to confirm if someone’s there or if I’m imagining Ronin’s voice. I pick up nothing, except the usual hardware store smells. Metal, oil, paint, and wood.
Why would I imagine Ronin’s voice now, after all this time?
The world nearly spins as I remember the last time I went shopping in a town. Ronin and I had done supply run. That was the day we were attacked on our way home. The day he was killed, my pack destroyed, and I was taken.
I scent the area one last time. Nothing. Absolutely nothing but guilt seeping in to destroy an otherwise pleasant day.
Garrett would tell me to focus on the job, not let myself be bogged down by the guilt. I wish he were here. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, imagine his arms wrapping around me.
I release the breath, nice and slow, slightly calmer. One glanceat the line of four baskets by the register, and a new guilt strikes. Kevin’s doing all the work. We already have a lot to lug to the truck and he’s still filling out my list.
