Page 57 of Wolf's Chance

Saying nothing, I put some money on the table. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Willow got up out of her seat. “You don’t need to pay for everything, you know. I have money.”

“Okay.” We held each other’s stare for a moment longer until I saw her slight nod.

Leaving the small diner to the side of the motel, Willow stopped and went back inside. The diner had a couple of shelves beside the cashier, offering snacks and magazines for sale. She came back out with a small bag and two magazines. Holding them up like they were the spoils of victory, she declared, “For the awkward silences.” She smiled at me impishly as she sauntered past. “There’ll still be silences but hopefully comfortable.”

I said nothing as I followed her to the truck, but I had to admit it was a good idea.

She got in the front with me again, and after I’d been handed a bottle of water and she was comfortable with her own water and a fashion magazine, I drove us out of the parking lot.

Willow looked up at me and then at the radio. “Do you mind?”

“As long as it isn’t country, pop, or shit.”

“What’s shit?”

“Everything else.”

She frowned at me. “That leaves what? Nothing.” She looked at me speculatively. “Let me guess, rock?”

“Sounds good to me.”

She mutteredfiguresunder her breath but, in the end, found a classic rock station, and with the music on low, she reopened her magazine, and we fell into a comfortable silence.

Maybe the next few hours wouldn’t be so bad after all. The shaman would hopefully have answers, and then Willow and I could go our separate ways. I could go back to my life and forget this ever happened.

Wishful thinking on my part that it would be so easy? Probably.

FIFTEEN

Willow

Long drivesin the country weren’t something I’d ever relished. With Jan and John, my foster parents, the only ones I’d ever used the term “parents” with, road trips had been few and far between. With anyone else, it meant I was being taken back to a care home. Or on my way to another foster family who didn’t want me.

So, sitting in the front seat of the truck with Caleb, who took the sayingcomfortable with silenceto a whole new level, was…pleasant.

I hadn’t expected that.

I hadn’t expected to relax, and I most definitely had not expected to enjoy it. I’d put the magazine down a while ago, simply content to watch the scenery go by while 90s grunge rock played on the stereo. I felt myself relax.

I had a desire to stare at Caleb, observing every detail to understand him. However, I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity, and I knew it was impolite to stare.

So I kept my attention on the outside, while I thought abouteverything I knew about the man inside. I went over every little thing he’d said or let slip. There wasn’t much. He was his own special brand of mystery.

I had no clue about where he came from. When he found his way to Whispering Pines, I was completely unaware of his actual destination. It didn’t seem to be my town. He was drawn there. Strangely enough, he seemed to be aware of my sketches of him, although he never revealed how he knew. I knew he had been observing me, but I wondered just how long he had been doing so. Was I the reason he came to Whispering Pines? Had he actually been going somewhere else?

Then there was the fact that he hadn’t been staying anywhere in town. He didn’t have a vehicle, and there was no camping gear with him. Where had he been staying? Had he been sleeping rough? But that couldn’t be right. He was always so clean, and he had fresh clothes. He had a backpack. Maybe it held more than I gave him credit for?

“You think much harder, and you’re going to have steam coming out of your ears from overheating your brain.”

His dry voice caused me to jump. “Wh-what?”

“Your thoughts are very loud.” Caleb looked over at me, and I grabbed the opportunity to twist in my seat and give him my full attention.

He had a laid-back approach when it came to driving. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his lap, he maintained a relaxed posture. He appeared at ease, with his shoulders loose, head slightly tilted, and his long legs stretched out comfortably. His hair was neatly styled, the longer length suiting him, with a few strands curling under his ear. The stubble on his face wasn’t quite a full beard, but it was morethan a typical five o’clock shadow. His clothing comprised familiar pieces, including a plaid shirt over a navy tee, worn jeans, and black boots.

He looked like either an extra fromSupernaturalor a logger.

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