Page 44 of Strawberry Moon

We stuck close together as we finally dressed, him offering me the last bottle of water as he gathered up the empty ones into the trash bag Linden had left us—the pack alpha had truly thought of everything.

“You okay?” he asked repeatedly as we walked through the woods, back toward town.

I leaned into him and nodded a lot.

When we reached my car, the silence settled between us, and my stomach cramped with worry. Would he go back to hating me now? Ignoring me? Or were we maybe, just a little... together?

Just the thought of that left me breathless with want, the wolf in my chest wriggling and hopping around, demanding exactly that.

Ford.

Always.

The sight of my car was a reminder, though, of my work, my life, and my ridiculous piles of money that I had yet to deal with.

“I gotta get back to the farm,” he said, voice gruff, after we’d been standing next to my car for a few minutes in silence. “Gotta make sure everything is okay, since I left ’em hanging for the last week.”

I ducked my head, flushing bright at the reminder of exactly why he’d left them. “Yeah. Sorry about, um, about that.” It was getting hard to breathe through the sheer embarrassment.

He reached up and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for. You’re a wolf, and that’s how being a wolf works. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Something about the way he said it made alarms go off in my head. I didn’t know if it was his tone, or the way he stressed “you,” like maybe someone else had done something wrong, or just the way he wouldn’t meet my eye, but something wasn’t right with Ford.

“Are you okay?” I asked. It came out in a whisper, and I had to push the words out, like I was in middle school asking the hot boy if helikeliked me again. But damn it all, I was almost thirty years old, and I wasn’t going to avoid a conversation just because it was scary.

He squeezed my shoulder and gave a nod, but he didn’t answer, not really. Instead, he turned in the direction of the Hill Farm. “I’ll see you, Archer.”

I’ll see you.

Not like I’ll see you tomorrow, or call me because I care when that happens. Like see you around town, or see you when I see you. Like we were strangers, who hadn’t just spent the last handful of days fucking like rabbits. Like my ass wasn’t still sore as hell from having him inside me, over and over and—

Nope.

See you.

“Yeah,” I barely managed to breathe the response, leaning hard against my car and watching him walk away.

I stood there and watched till he disappeared around a corner, heading up the street, still smelling of me, but having dismissed me completely from his life.

I wasn’t sure when I’d have managed to get my shit together, because a moment after that, Linden was next to me, a hand on my shoulder.

He glanced in the direction Ford had gone, a flash of emotion in his eyes, but it had disappeared by the time he turned to me, all soothing smile and alpha solidity. “Why don’t we head over to Grove House? We can wash your clothes, and you can take a shower and have a hot meal.”

In part, that was the last thing I wanted—to be around Linden and maybe his mate, and who knew how many other Groves and pack members, all knowing what had happened. But mostly, a shower sounded like heaven.

Also, Linden’s sympathetic gray eyes were exactly what I needed right then. So instead of doing what I’d spent my whole life doing, assuring everyone that I was fine, and everything was fine, and going home alone and uncared for... I leaned.

And Linden was there to catch me.

I showered at Grove House, and changed into what had to be Colt’s bathrobe since it wasn’t comically large on me, but smelled of Grove House and alpha and pack. Then, Linden led me into the kitchen, where Rowan was once again baking.

He set a bowl of something in front of me that looked a little like a horror movie, red and goopy and unnameable, but the second I took a bite, I was once again transported to a higher plane.

“What is this?” I mumbled around a second mouthful.

Rowan giggled at the mess I was, but motioned to a pan. “Rhubarb strawberry crisp. I usually only make it for the family, because it’s kind of gross looking.”

“But it’s the best, so we don’t mind hoarding it,” Linden added, grabbing a bowl for himself. “Want some ice cream with it? Cliff brought over the fresh vanilla bean kind last night. He makes it himself.”

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