by Aubrey Rose
Wren cast her eyes over the room, but didn't see Dawson anywhere. Her eyes refocused to find the teenage gas station attendant standing in front of her.
"Partner?" Shawn asked, grinning as he held out his hand. Wren smiled back and let him guide her into their place around the circle.
"Did your dad make you come here?" Wren asked.
"Make me? Nah, I don’t mind dancing.” The teenager raised his hand and twirled her in place. Wren nearly fell sideways on the third spin.
"Don't worry," he said. "We switch partners every minute or so. You're not stuck with me."
"Darn," Wren said, smiling at the teenager. The hotel owner led them through the first few steps of the dance. Wren had learned the basic moves a while back, and she was happily surprised to find that Shawn knew more about dancing than he'd let on before. Soon they were ahead of the group, with the teenager leading her into spins.
"Ladies to the left! Switch partners!" Matt called out. Wren thanked Shawn for the dance, and moved to the next person in the circle, a middle-aged man who told Wren he was on vacation with his wife and daughter. They were on a road trip.
"All the way up the coast to Canada!" the man said. "Do you live here?"
Wren shook her head no, and before she could say anything else Matt called for a change of partners again. She moved around the circle, chatting with all of the different people, trying to suss out whether or not the locals knew anything about any bears living around here. None of them mentioned anything when she asked about wildlife. It was frustrating, but at least she had the fur samples to go on.
The lesson finished, and music came on for the social dance. Wren turned to find Dawson standing right behind her.
"Oh! Hi," she said. "You missed the lesson."
"There was a trail washout," Dawson said, offering his arm. Wren took it, and he led her onto the dance floor. "But I've been through Matt's lesson a hundred times. Most locals have."
Indeed, the room was beginning to fill with more people. Wren looked around at the new group, checking to see if there was anyone who looked suspicious.
"So you learned how to dance?" Dawson asked.
"A little," Wren said. "I don't normally swing dance. You already know how, though?"
"I just said I'd taken Matt's lesson a hundred times. I never said anything about learning anything." Dawson winked and pulled her into the dance with him.
Despite his assurance of being a bad dancer, Dawson was surprisingly graceful for such a large man. They danced in open position, his palm cupping her fingers. Her hand felt so small in his huge grip, and yet he guided her through the moves with a gentle but firm touch. He danced simply, without much in the way of flare, but his rhythm was impeccable and Wren found her focus drifting to the music, her body moving unconsciously under his lead.
They were in open position for the whole dance, but at the end Dawson pulled Wren in and led her into a slight dip, pressing her into his arms. Her hands braced against his broad shoulders, one hand grasping his arm. Wren gasped slightly as he tilted her back, his body so close to hers.
"Thank you for the dance," he said, nodding to her as he pulled away to a respectful distance.
"My turn," a voice said from behind. It was Shawn, standing next to a young girl that Wren guessed was his sister. "Daws, will you take Eliza please? Dad made me bring her."
"It would be my pleasure," Dawson said, bowing and holding his hand out regally to the ten-year old girl. She took his hand shyly. Shawn grabbed Wren's hand and nearly dragged her out onto the dance floor as a new song started.
This song was much faster than the last, and Shawn was relentless, leading Wren into a new move on every spinout. She was barely able to keep up with him as he moved from inside turn to outside turn and back. Next to them, Dawson and Eliza were spinning just as much, if completely off-beat. The little girl squealed as Dawson spun her in circles, her dress flying out in twirl after twirl.
The song finally wound down and Shawn pulled Wren into a huge dip, nearly smacking her head on the floor in the process but stopping just in time. He grinned madly and thanked her for the dance.
Wren spotted the daughter of the man she'd danced with earlier during the lesson. She was leaning up against the wall, looking completely out of place. Wren nudged Shawn's shoulder.
"You should go ask her to dance," she said.
"What?" Shawn looked over, and Wren smiled when she saw his face flush a bright red.
"I don't know," he said, frowning slightly.
"She was watching you the whole time we were dancing," Wren insisted. "Come on. She's on vacation. She probably doesn't know anyone here."
"Okay," Shawn said nervously, and crossed the dance floor toward the girl. Wren watched as he leaned against the wall next to her, his fingers tapping his leg anxiously.
"Matchmaker," a voice whispered from behind her. It was Dawson.
"Not at all," Wren said. "But I know what it's like to be the shy girl."
"Do you?" Dawson asked. "I wouldn't have guessed. Dance again?"
Wren nodded and took his hand. The next song was much slower, and he pulled her into closed position, her arm resting over his, his hand on her lower back. She swallowed hard as his touch sent soft thrills up her spine.
"Good to see you found your way to the dance without getting lost off-trail," he teased.
"Good to see you found your clothes," Wren retorted. In fact, Dawson looked like a different man dressed up. His crisp white shirt set off his tanned skin, and in suit pants he almost looked like a businessman. Almost. His hair was still wild, uncombed, and the flashing amusement in his tawny eyes belied the way he dressed.
"Now that we're not spinning in circles, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself," Dawson said. "What do you do?"
"Consulting work," Wren said, her ready response to the question. "Not quite as interesting as squirrel wrangling, I'm afraid."
"And you ride motorcycles."
"For fun. What about you?" she asked. She turned her head so that her cheek was close to his chest. Her eyes scanned the people entering the room. There were a couple of men whom she hadn't met yet. She would have to find out who they were. Later.
"I wrangle squirrels," Dawson said. "And wild women.”
Wren’s lips pressed together at the mention, but she did her best to ignore the flirting. Dawson moved her confidently across the floor to the beat of the music.
“What about your family? Parents?"
"They died a while ago," Wren said, the lie coming out automatically. "Car crash."
"I'm sorry," Dawson said, sympathy in his eyes. Wren wanted to reach out and take back the lie, but there was no way. "Brothers? Sisters?"
"Nope. Only child." That at least was true.
"Was that lonely growing up?"
"Not really. I hung out with my uncle a lot," Wren said, thinking of her dad when she said it. "He's the one taught me how to ride motorcycles."
"So you were a tomboy."
Wren smiled.
"How'd you guess that?"
"The mud bath you were taking today kind of tipped me off. Also, the gun."
Wren sensed that he was steering the topic towards something dangerous. She didn't want to give any more away about herself than she had to. She'd already told him too much.
"What about you?" she asked instead. "Any brothers or sisters?"
"I... I have a brother."
His voice caught oddly on the end of the word, and Wren could tell that there was something off about it. Something about his family. Before she could ask, though, he had drawn away from her. Wren was surprised to realize that the song had stopped. She looked over and saw Shawn talking with the teenage girl, his face brightly animated. She smiled. Good for him.
"I'm going to catch a breath of fresh air," Dawson said, nodding towards the back of the hotel. "Join me?"
"Sure," Wren said. She walked with him to the back of the hotel, where a small porch overlooked the two trailhea
ds.
Looking up, she gasped. The stars here shone clearly, and there were hundreds, no, thousands of little pinpoints of light in the sky.
"Wow," she said breathlessly.
"It's pretty amazing," Dawson said, coming alongside her. "Do you know any of the constellations?"
Wren shook her head. "You can't see any stars in D.C.."
"That's where you're from?"
Wren blinked, pulling herself back to earth. She couldn't give herself away like this. But it seemed like every time Dawson was around her, she ended up telling him something she shouldn't.
"I...I was there last week for a consulting job," she said.
"Look there," Dawson pointed up. "You see that?"
”The Big Dipper,” Wren said. She smiled.
“The Big Dipper is just part of Ursa major. The great bear. You see the legs there at the bottom of the dipper?” Dawson pointed. “And the tail is the handle of the dipper. And there, next to it, there’s Leo and Leo minor.”
Wren watched as he pointed out stars she had never seen before. Or never noticed. Finally Dawson finished the list of constellations.
"Do you ever want to stay somewhere?" he asked her bluntly.
Wren tore her eyes away from the night sky and back down to Dawson. He was looking at her with an intense stare.
"What do you mean, stay?"
"Your eyes are always moving, like you're anxious to get somewhere else. To the next thing. And you fidget."
"No, I don't."
Dawson nudged her foot with his, and she realized she'd been tapping her toe nervously.
"Okay, maybe I do fidget. I can't help it. I've always been raring to go. To run. Consulting's a good job for me."
"Have you ever considered settling down? Even on vacation you can't stop. Take a little time to rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead," Wren said.
Dawson smiled but said nothing. For a while they looked out again into the sky. A shooting star flashed on the horizon and fell below the black line of the pines.
"Are you staying another night?" he asked.
"Yes."
"How long are you staying?"
"Why do you want to know?" Wren asked. She turned and rested her chin in her palm.
"I'm curious what you're doing here."
"I told you, I'm on vacation."
"I don't believe you."
A pulse of fear shot through Wren's body. What did he know? He didn't believe her. Had she given herself away so completely?
"Why do you care?" Wren asked cautiously.
"Because I'd like to keep you here." He reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She pulled her fingers out of his grip. She was sorry to lose the touch of his palm, but she knew this had already gone farther than it should have. She took a deep breath.
"I—I have a boyfriend. Back home. I should have told you earlier, I know. I'm sorry—"
"It's alright." Dawson turned to look out into the woods. His eyes were dark, inscrutable. He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Wren bit her lip. She felt horrible for hurting him. She'd thought—
Well, no. She hadn't thought. In fact, as soon as she'd met this guy, her brain seemed to be on vacation. Apart from the mission, Wren hadn't been nearly as careful as she should have. Her job was clear. She was here to track the shifter and kill him. This—all this—was a distraction she didn't need.
"I'm sorry," Dawson said, breaking her out of her reverie.
"Sorry for what?"
"About earlier. I wouldn't have kissed you if I'd known. I just didn't think you'd be out on vacation alone unless you were... alone. You know." He ran his fingers through his hair, a deflated look on his face. "Sorry."
"No. It's my fault," Wren said. She wanted to hold his hand and squeeze it back, comfort him, but of course that would just make things worse. She didn't know how things had ended up like this, but she hated the guilt that spread through her when she looked at his disappointed expression. His eyes flicked down to her hand.
"You're not engaged?"
"Not yet," she said.
Another silence. Then Dawson bit his lip and pushed himself back from the railing.
"He's a lucky guy, to have such a beautiful woman. You can tell him that," he said.
"Thanks."
"And sorry again, for before."
"Me, too," Wren said. She couldn't keep her misery from edging her voice. Her heart was being torn in half, it felt like. She was sure she'd hurt him more. All she could do was apologize.
"It's nice to have you around here," Dawson said. "See you back in the dance."
"Sure," Wren said, her throat catching tightly. Her mouth was dry and something dark and hurtful twisted itself up inside of her. It felt like she was going to suffocate. Then Dawson went back into the hotel and she was alone outside on the porch. She looked up at the stars again. They seemed dimmer than before, and they shimmered and swam as tears filled her eyes.
She blinked the tears back. There was no reason to be sad. This was all for the best. She'd done the right thing, told the truth, saved anyone from any more hurt. Then why did she feel as though something had gone terribly, utterly wrong?
It was another few minutes before she could bear to go back into the dance. When she did, Dawson was already gone.
Chapter Thirteen
It was five o'clock in the morning and Wren tossed and turned before finally giving up on any more sleep. Her night had been filled with dreams of bears running through the woods. The furtive chase.
The sky was a dark gray hinting toward dawn when she crossed the road and picked the pay phone up from its cradle. Her fingers punched the numbers in staccato tones. The phone rang, and rang again. She slouched against the gas station wall, ready for another disappointment.
"Hello?"
"Hi." Surprised by his picking up, she straightened herself against the wall.
"You left two messages."
"I wanted to talk to you." He didn't say anything, and she coughed. Was she really going to tell him that her life as he knew it was a work of fiction? "I have something to tell you. Something important."
She paused and waited for a response.
"You know, Wren, me too. I have something to talk about with you. But I'd rather talk about it in person."
Wren tangled one of her fingers in the phone cord. Phone booths—god, how ancient. Marriage, too, was an ancient institution. More ancient.
She was sure he meant to propose.
"I can't...I'm in California for another couple days." Thinking about their vacation, she imagined him sitting across from her in a fancy restaurant. "I'll be back soon."
"That's part of what I want to talk with you about." His voice was smooth, calm. It made her even more nervous.
"My work?"
"Yes."
Wren took a deep breath.
"Olivier, I need to tell you something about what I do."
"I need you to quit."
Wren closed her eyes. She had to have heard him wrong. The pay phone was broken. Something.
"Excuse me?" Her voice came out high, girlish. Stupid sounding.
"This isn't working. You leaving on a whim for days at a time. Leaving me when I need you."
He was so calm as he spoke. It made her stomach churn even more to think that he had practiced this speech, thought about how he would say this to her.
"Olivier, it was an emergency." Her throat strained and she pressed her fingertips to her temple.
"I'm sure it was. But we lost the AeroCon rider and now they've pulled out of my re-election campaign."
"The election is more than a year away."
"You know how it is in Washington, Wren."
"Yeah. I know."
Wren's fingers fluttered at her forehead, brushing back strands of hair that weren't there. Was this really happening?
"I need you by my side," Olivier continued. Reasonable. So goddamn reasonable. Except that he had no idea what this actua
lly was to her. "I need you to be able to help me. And that isn't going to happen if you keep this consulting job."
"I can't— I can't quit." Her eyes were closed, but she could not stop the image of Tommy from filling her vision. She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. There was no way she could be dizzier than she already was. The clouds were wisps of shadow against the lightening sky. In them she saw figures, animals racing across the sky, hands and guns and trees, all in shadow.
"I can't quit," she repeated. The clouds moved and she followed one of them, a face in the sky. It twisted slowly under the unseen high winds. As though it was trying to escape before the sun rose to burn it away.
"Do you understand what you're doing, Wren? Do you understand what you're saying?"
Wren blinked and the figure was gone, melted into another form.
"Olivier, you don't understand what you're asking me to give up."
"I can take care of you. I have the money."
"It's not about the money. It's about—"
"No, Of course not. It's about you." Olivier's voice turned mean, low. She wondered idly if he was in the office, trying to keep his colleagues from overhearing. "It's always about you. What you want. All your selfish desires. You know what, Wren? Fine. I'm done with it. If you can't compromise on anything—"
"I can! Just not on this!"
"Tell me why. Tell me, Wren."
She thought about Tommy's hand over hers in the bar, the blood pact he'd given her. Her dad, lying in the hospital, his useless legs in front of him like two dead things. About the bear, and the wolf she'd killed before retiring early. About all the shifters she'd killed.
She realized that she had never told him because she couldn't. She didn't trust him.
"Wren? Wren?"
"I'm sorry, Olivier."
All this time, and she had never really trusted him. What had her dad said? To trust her instinct. She hadn't. She's made the right decision, the reasonable decision. She'd dated an ambitious, handsome man, someone who would complement her and give her a good facade once she was ready to step into the world. She'd weighed the variables, one by one, and ignored the most important variable of all: what her heart told her.
