Page 45 of Wolf's Chance

“How?”

“Because it was a necessity; it wasn’t my choice.”

“Is that all?” I grinned at her, and she took a slight step back. “Why didn’t you just tell me to kidnap you if it makes it easier for you?”

“I…kidnap?What!”

“Relax, it won’t even hurt.” I turned away from her to look at the amount of art. “Help me pack this up first, and I’ll tie you up first thing in the morning. Deal?”

TWELVE

Willow

Caleb was insane.He had to be. No one suggested that, did they? The problem was, I knew he wasn’t joking, and I knew in his own weird way, he thought that threatening to kidnap me would help me.

I was going to pass out again.

“I’m going to faint.”

Caleb pierced me with a stare. “Seriously?” His eyes ran over me briefly in a cold clinical manner. “For dramatic purposes or your ME?”

“Drama, obviously,” I snapped at him. I never considered myself a violent person until I met Caleb, but since meeting him, andtalkingto him, I’d had the urge to punch him more than once. I was sure I heard him mumble a curse under his breath, and I almost,almostmade him repeat it, but instead, he pointed to one of the stools.

“Sit there, hold on, and just direct me, okay? I can’t have you passing out. I have a lot to do, and you slowing me down isn’t going to help.”

I knew my eyes were wide with disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you just say that your plan to kidnap me needs to be on your schedule?”

“Definitely dramatic,” he muttered. “Willow, we both need this done. Remember”—he reached out and started taking art off the wall—“this is for you.”

“Am I supposed to say thanks?” I retorted waspishly.

“Some gratitude would be nice.” He wasn’t looking at me, too busy removing my carefully hung paintings with zero consideration. He missed me flipping him off, but even so, the pettiness inside of me, which seemed to show up whenever he was near, was satisfied.

“Could you be more careful?” He was stacking up the pieces like they were building bricks or something equally as sturdy, and his carelessness was making me anxious.

“They’re fine.”

“They’re not fine!” Getting off the stool, I went over and picked the first piece up. Carrying it over to the counter, I started to wrap it.

“Are you doing that for them all?” Caleb looked between me and the pile, his mouth a thin firm line. “Do we have time for that?”

“Make time.”

“You’re being unreasonable. These are never coming back here,” he told me. When he saw my look, he sighed. “Willow, what did I just say? We need to take these to the people I know, and they won’t care if they’re bubble-wrapped. You’re being unreasonable.”

I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at him. “Do you have kids?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched. “No.”

“Me neither, but what I have is my paintings. These are my babies.”

“That’s not only stupid, it makes you sound like a crazy person.”

“I don’t care. I had a friend at college who was doing English Lit, and she wanted to be an author. She said every book she wrote would be her baby. Her characters were her children, and that’s how she would treat them. With the care, love, and attention that each book, each character, deserves. Like a child. Her child.” I pointed at my painting in front of me. “This is exactly the same, my heart and soul are in this painting, ineverythingthat I create, so I don’t give a damn if yourfrienddoesn’t care what conditionmyartwork reaches him in.Ido. Until they are paid for, they aremine.” Caleb’s arms were folded across his chest, his face impassive. “Do you understand?”

Once more, those dark eyes swept over me. “Yeah, I understand that both you and your friend from college need therapy.”

Dick.“The more I get to know you, Caleb, the more I don’t like you.”

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