Natasha pushed through the kitchen doors, spotted me, and immediately made a beeline to me. “I think Harlan should take a look at you,” she said.
Harlan Bennett was one of two physicians at the Longtooth clinic. He was an outsider from Georgia, and he was rooming at The Spruce. I didn’t want Harlan confirming that there was no reason for me to such a mess, so I brushed away Natasha’s concern.
“No, really. It’s probably just a little stomach bug,” I lied. “I’ll be fine.”
“Where do you want the stereo, Tasha?” Caleb Kinoyit’s voice sounded from behind me. Sudden tension stiffened my spine, but I didn’t turn to look at him.
“On the back table,” Natasha directed him. She turned her attention back to me. “If you have a stomach bug, you need to rest,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.
“Stomach bug?” I jumped at the sound of Caleb’s voice again, directly behind me. He hadn’t walked away like I’d assumed. “Where’d she get a stomach bug? There’s nothing going around right now, and she only eats at The Spruce.”
Anger and anxiety warred with each other, churning my stomach. I finally turned to face Caleb, putting my shoulders back and smoothing the weariness from my face. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize you were a pilot and a doctor.”
He scowled at me, clutching a massive old boombox in his arms, and lifted his gaze to Natasha. “She looks fine,” he said, and it was very decidedly not a compliment.
The impulse to argue with Caleb stood in diametric opposition to the need to hide my pitifulness. “Your opinion has been noted,” I told him dismissively.
“Gracie,” Natasha said gently, calling my attention back to her. “If you’re not feeling well—”
I wasn’t, but that was entirely my own doing.
“—then maybe you should skip the party and get some sleep.”
My sympathetic nervous system heard skip the party and lit up like a Christmas tree. But no, I refused to be a slave to wonky brain chemistry. I was going to that damned party, and I was going to stand in that crowd of strangers, and I was not going to freak out.
“And you don’t want to get anybody else sick,” Natasha added.
I deflated on that one. Explaining to her that my condition was definitely not contagious was too mortifying. I shrugged. “Alright, if you think so.” I got up from the counter. “Sorry to be a party pooper,” I added lamely.
“There will be other parties,” Natasha assured me. “I will send something up for you to eat. Go rest.”
Not long after I’d returned to my room, Natasha appeared with a tray bearing a bowl of soup and a sleeve of crackers. Her thoughtfulness made guilt twist in my gut like a hot knife. I thanked her profusely and took the tray. While my hands were occupied, she felt my forehead again.
“Still so cold,” she said worriedly.
“I’ll be fine,” I promised.
While I ate my soup, I could hear the distant beat of music and the indistinct rumble of voices. The muffled noise of the party drifted up the stairwell, crept beneath my door, and circled around me. Coward, coward, coward the bass line whispered.
“I know,” I hissed back.
Long after the party had dispersed, I was still awake. The surrounding silence was deafening. An unfamiliar restlessness filled me. There was nowhere to go, nowhere I wanted to go. But I couldn’t stay here, locked in this tiny room, staring out at the same stretch of road for hours on end. I pulled the wool blanket off my bed, wrapped it around my shoulders, and stepped into my slippers. Treading lightly, keeping close to the wall where the floor was less creaky, I made my way silently downstairs.
The dining room had been cleaned, but ghosts of the party remained. Tables weren’t in their usual places. The rich, greasy smell of party food still lingered in the air. A pair of forgotten glasses sat on the diner counter. I crossed to where a small table was pushed up against the windows. I sank into the chair, drew my knees up to my chest, and gazed out into the night.
The sky was clear, the moon a thin sliver. Far to the right stood the garage for Spruce residents, a low, metal building. The rest of the view was uninterrupted Alaskan wilderness. A snow-blanketed forest climbed the sloping foothills, rising higher and higher, then giving way to the harsh beauty of the mountains. Their jagged peaks stood starkly against a star-flooded sky. After several years in Chicago, I’d almost forgotten how overwhelmingly beautiful the stars could be. A faint, green iridescence pulsed against the sky, fading and shifting almost imperceptibly. I squinted at it, tilting my head. Was that the northern lights?
Movement drew my eye down to the edge of the forest. From beneath snow-covered pines, three wolves emerged. I drew in a shallow breath, stunned. They were massive, and yet they moved with such powerful grace. Two of the wolves were creamy white, while the third and largest wolf was silvery gray. I stared as they drew nearer and nearer to The Spruce, until they were only a few yards away from the window where I sat. Margaret had warned me the wolves came into town, but I hadn’t expected to see any so closely.
Suddenly, the big gray wolf froze, lifting his head. The other two halted, looking back to him. He lifted his snout, scenting the air. He turned his head slowly until, finally, he was looking at the windows. Disturbingly perceptive amber-gold eyes seemed to stare straight at me. There was no way he could see me through the glare of moonlight against the glass, but I was pinned in place by the force of that gaze. After a long moment, the wolf finally looked away. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until then. I let it out on a slow exhale. The gray wolf surged back into motion, followed by the other two, and they raced along the side of The Spruce, looping past the garage, and then cutting behind it, disappearing from my view.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. I’d never seen anything like it.
I sat for a long time, staring into the night, hoping the wolves would return. The Spruce was utterly and completely silent. The stars glittered overhead while the darkness of the dining room enveloped me like a cocoon. I felt like the only person in the world.
“What are you doing?”
I nearly jumped through the ceiling. Heart pounding, I twisted in my seat. A man’s silhouette stood in the darkness at the other side of the dining room.
“Who’s there?” I asked, drawing the blanket more tightly around my shoulders.
He stepped forward, and the faint glow from the windows slid over him. Caleb Kinoyit. Wearing a parka and gray sweatpants, with his feet jammed into unlaced boots. Had he been outside? At two in the morning?
“I’m just stargazing,” I told him.
He leaned against one of the thick wooden support beams, folding his arms as he regarded me. “You’re over that stomach bug, I see.”
I flushed, looking down at my hands. “How was the party?” I asked.
He let out a soft huff of laughter. “You don’t care.”
Irritation had my shoulders rising. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care.”
We were both quiet for a while. I tilted my head back and nearly jumped out of my skin again. He’d closed the distance between us, moving with perfect silence. He eased into the chair opposite me, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. His face was mostly shadow, but I could see the outline of his profile, the dark gleam of his eyes. His parka was only partially zipped, revealing the hard lines of his collar bones, the shadow of dark hair on his chest. I tore my gaze away from him, looking back out the window. Why had he been outside, shirtless, at two in the morning? Before I could ask, Caleb spoke.
“For whatever reason,” he said in a low voice, “Natasha and Margaret are both pretty attached to you.”
I was silent, waiting for him to make his point.
“They’re going to take it hard when you leave.”
He said it like I already had plans to go. When I actually had no idea what I was going to do. I didn’t really belong anywhere. I didn’t belong in Longtooth, but I had nowhere else to be, either. My hometown was
essentially one giant cornfield, and the idea of returning to that featureless flatland filled me with an odd melancholy that felt like the dark side of nostalgia. I’d lived in Milwaukee for several years, and still knew people there, but none of those relationships were significant. Nothing about the city beckoned to me. Chicago had never particularly felt like home either and, since ending things with Alex, it had become my worst nightmare—an endless labyrinth filled with shadowed alcoves, glinting windows, watching eyes.
A place like Longtooth would be ideal, I realized. The town was quiet without being dead. People were close without being everywhere. And then there was the staggering beauty of the land—no flat farm fields, no dingy concrete. Just towering mountains, rugged forest, blankets of pristine snow, and brutally crisp air.
But it wasn’t mine. I wasn’t part of the Valley, I didn’t have the history or the familial ties or the cultural connection that all the locals had. Caleb knew it. I knew it. Still, it stung. “Why do you assume I’m going to leave?”
His face was hard, but there was something bleak in his eyes when he said, “Because your kind always do.”
I bristled, twisting back to face him. “My kind?”
“I’m just saying, don’t let them get too attached. Don’t let Natasha make you into the daughter she never had. Don’t let Margaret—”
“It’s none of your business who I do or don’t get attached to.” I pushed away from the table, got to my feet. “Good night.”
Caleb got to his feet as well. “I’m not the bad guy for noticing you don’t want to be here. You hide in your room as soon as you’re done eating. You faked sick so you wouldn’t have to spend a few hours getting to know people.”
I went to my room every night because the effort of living was an exhausting, uphill battle. I faked sick because the idea of standing in a crowd of strangers made me want to peel my own skin off. It was nothing personal against the people of Longtooth. I knew if I’d met them on a one-on-one basis first, the party probably would’ve been fine.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
I turned away from him, headed angrily for the stairs.
Chapter Five
After my witching hour run-in with Caleb, I didn’t see him for several days. Not in the dining room, not in the hallway. One morning, on my way to school, I saw his plane take off, arcing over the Valley, then growing more and more distant. Occasionally, late at night, I heard the creak of his bedsprings as he got into bed. It was my only indication that he even still existed. I would’ve preferred to have no indications. He was a constant reminder that the weakness inside me wasn’t just my own burden to bear—it affected other people, offended them, hurt them. I had to find a way to get over Alex, get over Chicago, so that I could behave like a normal human being. Seeing or hearing Caleb reminded me of my abnormality, my weakness, my failure.
So, when Lucia Alvarez sat next to me in the staff room at lunch and invited me to the Blue Moose—Longtooth’s only tavern—I forced myself to accept.
“A bunch of us ‘outsiders’ need to get together for drinks,” she said. “Harlan and Andrew already said they’d be there.”
“Sounds great,” I lied.
“But don’t go to the Moose alone,” Lucia warned me, with the wary eyes of a woman who’d learned her lesson firsthand.
“Is it dangerous?” I’d had no intention of going to the tavern anyway, but it was good to know where the bad parts of town were. Even tiny towns had that one sketchy place that locals knew to avoid.
“Only that you might die of pity,” Linnea Teague chimed in wryly. “Most of the locals are relation to each other, some way or another. And not many outsiders want to live up here. So the competition for your fresh, genetically distant lovin’ is steep.”
“I knew it!” I stabbed an accusatory finger at nobody in particular. “Natasha’s been shoving me at any local who walks into The Spruce.”
Lucia gave me a commiserating look. “I had to put my foot down with her. She’s a little frosty with me now, but at least I can eat my breakfast without being evaluated as breeding stock.”
I shrank a little. “I don’t think I have the nerve for that.”
Natasha had that well-meaning, broody-hen kind of maternal nature that I’d always been a sucker for. My own family wasn’t neglectful, exactly, but they weren’t quite as affectionate as other people’s parents seemed to be. They’d always made sure I was fed and clothed, drove me to volleyball practice, and uncomplainingly paid for the cello I’d halfheartedly played throughout school. But they’d rarely showed up to my volleyball games or orchestra concerts. They could never remember my friends’ names, never knew or asked if the boys I was hanging out with were friends or boyfriends. They never pushed me too hard to achieve, and they also never came down particularly hard on me when I messed up. My mom was always occupied with her life’s passion—breeding, training, and showing her champion Norwegian Elkhounds—while my dad was usually either fishing on the lake or in the garage, trying to fix his boat.
Natasha was the polar opposite—interested in my life, concerned over my well-being, actively involving herself in my future. And besides, I didn’t think of her attempts to pair me off as turning me into “breeding stock.” I saw her more as a matchmaker who just wanted to see her kith and kin happily settled and loved. If her efforts made me uncomfortable, that had more to do with my brokenness than anything else. Alex had ruined me for other men, and not in a good way. The thought of a relationship made me feel caged, sweaty. The faintest glimmer of interest from a man made me want to run for the hills.
“Are the men pushy?” I asked.
“They get friendly if you encourage them, but you don’t have to worry too much. We’re a tight community. Word gets around pretty fast, and everyone knows there’ll be hell to pay when the aunties find out you’ve been up to no good,” Tamsyn explained.
As far as I could tell, “auntie” seemed to be a Valley catch-all term for an elder woman. Since all the Valley locals seemed to be at least third cousins with each other, the odds were good that any older woman was an aunt to a good portion of them, anyway. But being an auntie wasn’t about blood ties. It was about status. Even a woman with no children, no nieces or nephews, became an auntie once she passed a certain age, or carried a certain amount of authority. I could think of a few women off the top of my head who seemed to have “auntie” status, and I could easily picture any one of them giving absolute hell to somebody who’d crossed lines of acceptable behavior. It gave me a small measure of comfort.
“Alright,” I said, feigning excitement. “Friday it is.”
The week passed much the same as the previous one had—if I didn’t find some way to occupy my mind, then I obsessively fretted about the upcoming drinking plans. The Blue Moose might be even worse than a party at The Spruce. At least, under Natasha’s roof, people were sure to mind their manners. The same couldn’t be said of the Blue Moose. Anybody and everybody could walk into a bar.
By the time classes ended on Friday, I was a sweaty mess of pointless adrenaline. I drove back to The Spruce and took a shower in the time I had before we were supposed to meet at the bar. I changed into something more casual than what I wore to school, and then I sat on my bed and… waited.
When I was with Alex, and he never wanted to do anything or go anywhere, it had often been a relief. I knew I should go see friends, maintain relationships, even if only for my own sake. But doing so was frustrating and anxiety-inducing. My extroverted friends always wanted to drag me to some loud, crowded place where there were tons of other people I didn’t know and where I had to put on my exhausting fake-extrovert persona. While spending every night on my couch, staring at the television wasn’t my preferred alternative, it seemed better—safer—than the endless whirl of bars and festivals and pop-ups and whatever other venues could cram a bunch of outgoing strangers together.
In fact, one of the many reaso
ns Longtooth had appealed to me was for the distinct lack of nightlife.
So, as the clock struck down, I sat tensely on the edge of my bed, mind spinning through plausible excuses not to show.
Stomach bug? No, you already used that one.
Can’t use a family emergency, they all know I have no family here.
Can’t use a work emergency, half of them work with me.
Claim to be a recovering alcoholic? No. They’ll all wonder why I agreed to meet at the tavern in the first place.
Time wound down and I had nothing believable. Angry at myself for being such a shivering little coward, I stood up and marched out of my room with maybe too much force.
“Ah!” Harlan just managed to jump out of my way before I mowed him down. Although, considering his size, it would’ve more likely been a case of me getting knocked on my ass. Harlan’s build would’ve made rugby players weep with envy.
“Sorry!” I stumbled and righted myself against the wall.
Harlan stood with his hand on his heart for a second, eyes wide. “Jesus. Is the place on fire?”
“No. I was just…rushing.”
Harlan seemed to recover, straightening his coat with exaggerated dignity. “Couldn’t wait to see me?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed with a genuine smile. We’d had a few conversations here and there—before being politely broken apart by Natasha—and I’d come to the conclusion that Harlan was easy to like.
He returned my smile and the flash of his teeth against his neatly trimmed beard brought to my mind another man with a black beard and attractive smile. Unlike Harlan, that man seemed to hate me, so why he even crossed my mind was an annoying mystery.
“Well then, can I escort you to the Blue Moose, Miss Rossi?” He proffered a bent arm and I looped mine into it.
Cold Hearted: An Alaskan Werewolf Romance Page 4
