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His lips twitch, and it takes him a hesitant second to answer, but he finally does. “Ma’s family grew up with a canna lifestyle, and if you meet her again, she’ll give you conspiracy theories that involve the paper industry, destructive propaganda, and the truth behind the banning of weed. At the end of the day, it’s a natural plant that can help with stress, pain, and various other things. It can also be a safer recreational tool than alcohol or any other substance that gets easily abused. In other words, we don’t see anything wrong with it, and we’re not the kind to play by the rules just because we’re supposed to. Tomahawk thinks for itself, and we’re completely self-sufficient.”
So…an entire town of anarchists. Got it.
“A group of hippies teamed up with bootleggers and actually founded Tomahawk,” he adds, grinning over at me. “Pretty sure they were called heretics back then, though,” he adds. “Anyway, Ma was always a flower child, and Dad’s family grew up in Tomahawk, bootlegging during prohibition and MJ farming after alcohol went legal.”
“Are you really a Wild One? Because I doubt it’s anything like the Wild Ones in Gran’s shifter books, so I have no idea what that means in the real world,” I tell him absently, taking in the new scenery as we cut down an old, narrow road.
“It’s just some made-up, embarrassing, bullshit label the locals tagged us with a long time ago. I’m not wild at all. I’m as tame as they get,” he says smoothly, smirking for whatever reason as he shifts gears.
I can’t picture him being wild. He’s just so mild and calm. Other than the cougar and his family, he’s actually more normal than half the guys I meet. Well, aside from the fact he’s an herb farmer and dealer.
And aside from the fact he seems okay with hatchets flying at him.
“The Malones are proudest of being called Wild Ones. Kylie Malone especially. She’ll bring it up at every given opportunity, but that’s mostly because she always wanted to be the opposite of her momma. Don’t mention her mom. She’s a sore spot still,” he says.
He apparently feels more comfortable with this conversation.
“The Nickels have the attention span of a gnat. They’re loud, obnoxious, and they’ll annoy the hell out of you too,” he goes on.
“This is how you talk about your friends?” I muse.
“You should hear the shit they say about us,” he fires back, his lips curving in a grin, as though this is a good thing.
“The Vincents are backasswards and completely determined to be the most ridiculous out of the four corners. Don’t ask Lilah if she’s planning to have kids. I didn’t bring any helmets,” he adds with a straight face.
Alrighty then. I simply don’t know how to contend with this.
“Kylie will play up Tomahawk like it’s the greatest shit to ever exist—the whole family of Malones will—and there’s no better place in the world to live. If you get tired of it, ask her about her boots,” he states like he’s giving me advice.
I’m not sure why I smile. Maybe it’s because it’s not something I’m used to. He’s not talking bad about them. He’s pointing out their quirks and ways around them…
It’s sort of the way I am with Reese.
“Krysta is actually the most annoying of the girls for right now. Mostly because she can be really high-strung, but also because she pretends she’s not a virgin to a somewhat disturbing extreme. She got turned down a couple of times for being an immature, inexperienced virgin, and…we’re living with the consequences of an insecure Nickel right now. Go easy on her. She may snap at any given moment.”
I see him less like a drug dealer now that I’ve heard the ‘sales pitch.’ It’s not so much because of what he said, but because that’s how he genuinely feels. I can’t see too much fault with that, considering the things in my life that I’ve done wrong and found a way to justify just to keep from being burdened with regret.
Great. Now I’m blurring all the lines for a guy I barely know.
“Why’d you save my life?” I ask him as I stare out the window at the quickly passing scenery, finding it a little difficult to ask that and look at him.
He snorts. “Seriously?” he scoffs.
Shaking my head, I realize what a stupid question that is to someone who risks their life just to pet a wild animal. Risking their life to save someone would seem simple enough, I suppose. Not to mention, Kai Wilder actually seems like a really decent guy, at the very core, anyway.
“Right. Right. Sorry,” I state quietly, eyes still on the window. “Where did you even come from? You were there so fast.”
“We watched you pulling that fawn out, and I could immediately tell it wasn’t going to end up good for you,” he adds. “We were all racing down that hillside, but you were clearly too distracted to notice. I even yelled at you, but you seemed oblivious. All’s well that ends well. I tracked down the fawn and tagged her that evening. She’ll never be shot unless an out-of-town poacher comes around. Cougar is too tame and has to be hand-fed. She doesn’t hunt very much at all, so it’ll likely be safe from her too.”
