“I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco.”
Oh no. No no no.
“We’d have her come here.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I love to travel to new places. Meet new people.”
“San Francisco is a big city.”
“Back to that again.”
“Why are you a country girl born in the city?”
She picked up the knife again. “I don’t know. I love plants. I work part-time at Blandon’s Nursery.”
“You have orchids in your room.”
“Yeah. I used to have a lot more. They’re hard to move with, but worth it.” Sadness flitted across her face. “I had thirty-seven different kinds. I could propagate more, but there’s no room in my truck. I...”
“What?”
“I want to go to college and get a horticulture degree. That’s why I work two jobs. I’m saving up.”
“Then what would you do?”
“Have a nursery of my own and raise orchids for sale. The plants, not the flowers.” A haunted expression flitted across her face, belying her nonchalant shrug. “It’ll never happen,” she said quietly.
The word “why” sat on the tip of his tongue. Her bleak countenance meant more than all her words combined, and the mating cord resonated with a complex mixture of hopelessness and resignation. Much more to this dwelled beneath the surface, he was certain.
He chose to focus on her words rather than what she’d left unsaid. The dream was big and might take years to achieve, but he could help. His hesitation was based only on how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I could talk to Neal. The clan needs a witch. We could hire you. It would help you make money.” I would buy her a damned nursery if it would keep her here, but I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who could be bought.
“It’s a good gig,” Bobby said, coming up behind her.
Crissy jumped. “I wish you would stop sneaking up on me.” She stared down at the cutting board. She rolled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. The mating cord felt hollow, as if she’d stilled herself inside, willing herself to feel nothing rather than whatever pained her.
“It’s a good gig,” Bobby said again, apparently oblivious to the struggle she waged inside. “You should consider it. You wouldn’t have to work two jobs, and you would still have time to go to school. Witches make a lot of money if they’re good. The clan would happily pay for your training. Wouldn’t they, Luke?”
He tore his gaze away from Crissy after a second and belatedly nodded. “We really need our own witch. Witches and shifters go hand in hand.”
Her head swiveled between them. “What are you, anyway. You look like a small bear.”
Bobby grinned, ferocious white teeth gleaming. “Wolverine. We’re fierce and strong.”
“You wish.”
“No, really.”
“She’s taking this rather well,” Luke said.
“I’ve been able to see shifters since I was small, although I’ve never seen so many in one place.”
“You stumbled onto clan territory. We’re normally pretty rare.”
Another customer came in and settled at a nearby stool. Bobby sauntered back to the kitchen with a “Think about it” said over his shoulder.
Crissy slid open the beer cooler and pulled out a Bud Light and set it in front of the new customer. Then she brought over a steaming cup of coffee, packets of sugar, and a genuine cream pitcher filled with heavy cream.
“I didn’t say if I wanted heavy cream or half-and-half.”
“Yes, you did. You don’t remember.”
He smiled down at his cup while he splashed in a dollop of cream. It was a mating thing, the ability to sense the other’s needs and wants, like how he knew she loved french fries and ketchup.
“So tell me about some of the places you’ve been to.”
She sighed and went back to her cutting board and celery. “Last place was Montana. Before that New Mexico, before that Florida, Louisiana, and California—Bakersfield.”
“Do you pick these places in advance? Wait. Bakersfield?”
“I didn’t stay long. I keep driving until I find a bar with a Help Wanted sign outside.” She poured out olives now, the tray almost full.
“And what makes you pick up and leave? It must be a pain to travel with thirty-seven kinds of orchids.”
She bit her full lower lip, making him wish to be doing the same thing himself. I should stop imagining her naked. It was entertaining but also very distracting. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“No, you said something about becoming too attached.”
“I get attached to people. It’s not good.” The knife slipped off the rind of a lime and thwacked against the cutting board.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“People hurt you. The less you care, the easier it is.”
Guarded. Someone hurt her.
“Who hurt you, Crissy?”
The knife sliced evenly this time, and she made more cuts, sectioning the fruit into even quarters.
“Everybody, I suppose.”
“So you run away rather than get settled down and close to people?”
“No, not at all. I’m looking for the right place to go to school. The right place to grow orchids.”
He nodded as if he believed her. “I see.”
“We’re not close enough to Chico State here, but the land is cheap.”
He nodded more. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you think so?” She finished with her prep work and carried the knife and cutting board to the sink, her normally fluid stride stiff and, to his eyes, a bit self-conscious.
She wasn’t aware she couldn’t lie to him. Like Eva, she didn’t trust him, he thought, fighting off despair. He amended his thoughts. Not like Eva, but still, her trust had yet to unfold, and he wondered if it ever would. He fought the desperate, urgent desire to make her see how badly he needed her. He couldn’t lose another mate—couldn’t watch another walk away. He clenched his fist around the coffee cup and forced himself to remain silent. To wait.
As she washed the cutting board and knife, and returned the jars to the refrigerator, he struggled for something to say to break the awkward silence between them. Crissy glanced over her shoulder, confusion in the lines of her face. She must feel something of the turmoil inside him. His fear was too strong for her to ignore.
He let the lie go and focused on what knew was true. She’d been running for years, and he wondered why. “Let me ask you something, Crissy. Something for you to think about. With all this running you’ve been doing.” He took a sip of his coffee, making sure he had her full attention. “Are you running from or running to?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Crissy pulled her small red truck into the gravel lot at Blandon’s nursery. In her rear-view mirror, she saw a white SUV pass the entrance and continue down the road. She could have sworn she’d seen it before, but it couldn’t possibly be Sean. It was too soon and, besides, he drove strictly luxury cars, the more costly the better. She wondered if his family still supported his expensive tastes. Even if his criminal record barred decent employment, he could always work for the McGowan family.
The white SUV passed by again, going in the opposite direction as she got out of her truck. Her hands went clammy and her knees weak. It had to be the same one. There must be a logical reason for it to have turned around, she told herself. There are tons of white cars on the road. Stop being so paranoid. But she couldn’t. Her heart sank. Whatever it was, she needed to go on alert early this time. So much for the grace period.
Crissy leaned her back against the truck door and stared at the small clouds scattered across the sky. With its friendly people and pretty mountain scenery, this was the nicest place she’d ever been. She didn’t want to leave so soon. Luke came to the forefront of her thoughts, sitting at the bar, smiling at her and drinking his coffee while he told her stories about old Germany. He was so different from the l
oners she would usually hook up with for a night or two. None of them had made her want to stay, to be safely wrapped up in his arms. To be caught and unable to run any longer.
When had it all become about Luke? She didn’t want to leave this town, but mostly she didn’t want to walk away from her growing feelings for him. Stop it, Crissy. It’s too dangerous to think that way. No one had ever been there for her, and no one ever would. Besides, she’d have to run soon to keep both of them safe. Crissy had a pretty good idea of what Sean would do if he discovered she had fallen for someone.
Distracted by these thoughts, she crossed the gravel lot to the door of the small building housing Blandon’s headquarters. Behind it loomed massive hothouses with clear vinyl roofs and siding. Blandon’s was a big operation. Crissy clocked in and went to her inbox. Her job was to cut flowers and monitor the automatic watering system. A small stack of orders rested in her tray. Maybe if she ran out of work, they’d teach her something.
In warm hothouses smelling of fertile soil, Crissy cut bird of paradise and anthuriums for several hours, but her mind wasn’t in it. She worried over the white car and thought of the broad shoulders and cute face of a certain bear shifter. “Cute” was the word that always came to mind when she thought of him. He was handsome, certainly, but something about his cheerful, boyish manners made her smile. She wondered what he would be like in bed—fun, definitely—and that thought led to more mental distraction than her job could handle. She firmly told herself to get a grip.
Toward the end of her shift, her boss, a small man with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard, took her on a tour of the hothouses. All the while, he quizzed her on how to identify the species, how to care for them, and how to cut the flowers.
“You really know your orchids, Crissy.”
“I’ve been raising them since I was nine,” she said. “I’d like to raise and sell the plants. Someday,” she said wistfully.
“I’ll have you work out here for a few days. If everything goes okay, I’ll have you transferred. What do you say?”
Tears stung her eyes, and she almost couldn’t answer. It was everything she ever dreamed of. The opportunity to work here would teach her so much she didn’t already know. She choked out a “Thank you” and her smile lit up the room.
She spent the rest of her shift in a state of near bliss, and allowed herself to daydream. Working in her own warm, fragrant greenhouses, her hands in soil every day. Imaginary customers admired her little world, and left satisfied with their purchases. Maybe she would join the Rotary, or whatever thing business people did. She was born plain white trash, but she sure as hell wouldn’t live a trashy life. Crissy would be respectable.
She strolled out to her truck with a buoyant step, and pulled out of the parking lot onto the two-lane road. She put “I Will Survive” on the stereo and sang along right up until the moment she glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw a white SUV. The song died on her lips. The imaginary bubble popped. She had so much to live and hope for now. Sean would take it all away.
Knowing it was a stupid move, Crissy slowed and braked in the middle of the road so the vehicle behind her either had to stop or pass. She sat, hands trembling a little at either her stupidity or her audacity and watched the rear-view mirror. The SUV also slowed at first but opted to pass. As the car slid by, she caught a glimpse of the driver. Expecting Sean’s rich auburn hair, it took her a moment to register the driver was none other than Bernie Schmitt.
She shook her head in both relief and disbelief and stepped on the gas. Two could play this game, she thought. She followed him for half an hour before he sped off, weaving among the traffic on the main highway, headed east at a speed she wasn’t willing to match.
Crissy didn’t know what to think. She felt deep in the part of her that Saw true things that Bernie Schmitt was no danger to her. To others, maybe. She wasn’t so certain he wasn’t a little unhinged. Clearly, he had to be to follow around a woman he met briefly in a bar. It must be about Luke and the history they shared. She wondered if she should tell Luke. Probably, but a true Knowing was an intimate thing, and it gave her a loyalty to this man she couldn’t explain.
She turned back toward town at the first opportunity, and spent the drive convincing herself to let him be. For now.
###
Bernie Schmitt barely understood why he’d been following Crissy around for the last few days. He didn’t need any trouble, and he did have a business to run. Now he’d been caught. He slammed his palm against the wheel. Caught. She would tell Luke, Luke would tell Neal, and Neal would tell Franz. Though many centuries had passed, he still remembered the cage Franz used whenever he thought Bernie had lost control. Once, his bear had slammed against those bars until bones broke.
She was so lovely, though. He wondered if Baumann knew what he had and how lucky he was. Bernie guessed he did. After all, they lost their mates within two days of each other. That was it, he realized with a start. If Luke, the killer who took his mate from him, deserved a new mate, then Bernie did too. He wanted what Baumann had. If Fate wouldn’t deliver, he would take a piece of his.
CHAPTER NINE
Crissy stood behind the bar in a quiet moment and searched for Luke. She hadn’t seen him for several days, and she actually missed him. Each day she followed their connection to its source, but he was always far away. Not the distance to the place he spent his days and nights—his farm she guessed—but much farther west. Only this morning did he return.
She slapped a damp towel against the bar. You would think with all his devotion he would have bothered to tell me he’d be gone. She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. She was actually hurt. Somewhere in all the coffee and conversation, she’d begun to think of him as hers.
Her Bud Light guy raised a bottle in her direction, and she grabbed him a fresh one, welcoming the distraction.
“How’s it going, Brad? How’s your daughter?”
Brad smiled without leering. She appreciated that, having been on the receiving end of more lecherous advances than she could count. “She’s all better. It was the flu, after all.”
“That’s—” She stumbled for a second as she felt Luke moving closer. “That’s great,” she said with her brightest smile in days.
She practically bounced to the coffee maker to make sure there would be a fresh pot when he arrived. If he came. Now she wasn’t so sure. Why wasn’t he here? She trembled and couldn’t muster a smile when he walked through the door. The joy coming through the cord faltered when he saw her expression. He sank onto his barstool, his shoulders sagging with weariness. She forced a smile for his sake.
“Hey, Luke.”
“Crissy, I’m so sorry I didn’t contact you. I should have called Bobby or something.” His expression implored her to understand. An insecure kind of fear traveled along the cord.
She poured coffee for him. “What’s up?”
He glanced at Brad, then said softly, “Someone in the clan had a house fire. A family. I’ve spent the last few days getting them settled in a rental.”
“Oh.” She tried for a second to think of something other than her hurt. “Was anybody injured?”
“No, they all got out okay, but the house is a total loss.” He rubbed his forehead. “The kids were so frightened and upset about their lost things.”
Impulsively, she placed her hand over his, and his mood lifted. “Let me get something for you.” She went to get a cocktail napkin and a pen to write on it.
“What’s this?”
“My number.” That pleased him, she could tell, and his mood brightened even more. “In case you ever have something you need to talk about.”
She sauntered over to a customer, grinning with a bubbly excitement of having done something daring. Susie asked for drinks for one of her tables, and Crissy was occupied doing her job for the five o’clock rush. An hour passed before she could sit next to him, though they exchanged smiles many times.
“What is that you alway
s wear around your neck?” Luke asked.
“Nana’s locket.” When she had leaned forward to reach beneath the bar, Nana’s locket slipped out of her tee, and she was too busy to tuck it in. “It was my great-grandmother’s.”
“What’s in it?”
“A lock of my grandmother’s hair.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “You miss her?”
“Yes. She was good to me.”
She didn’t want to pursue the subject; thankfully, a new customer sat at the bar. “I’m sorry,” she said and jumped from her stool. He normally stayed later into the evening, when the rush ended and they could talk more, but he put down some bills for his coffee and rose from his stool.
His voice filled with regret, he said, “I must go. I have three days of chores to catch up on.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. “You take care.”
He nodded and left the bar.
###
Luke spent the evening trying to work. He shopped for groceries—it was his turn—but had no idea what they needed. When he left the store, he had five loaves of bread, a roast, one pound of bacon, and three heads of lettuce. At home, Neal merely examined his haul, raised his brows, and said, “We needed toilet paper.”
“Are we out out, or can it wait until tomorrow?”
“Out out.”
Luke snatched his car keys off the counter. “I’ll get it now then.” It was ten miles to town, but on deserted country roads it took ten minutes.
“Get milk, too,” Neal called out behind him. “And Grape-Nuts. And—” Luke slammed the door. When he arrived at the store, he had a text message from Neal with more items he forgot on his first trip. He welcomed the distraction. He hadn’t wanted to leave the bar, but they did need groceries. Neal texted him two more times before he checked out.
He tried to work in his shop, catching up on a cradle he would give to a shifter couple who were expecting their first child. The scrape of his tools against wood echoed in the empty building. Over half of his inventory went to the Howard family after the fire. Three dressers, three bed frames, a dinette, living room furniture. He considered learning upholstery. They sorely needed a sofa.
Runaway (Fox Ridge Shifters Book 1) Page 7