don’t want to be your friend, Grace.’” She mimicked Rafe’s deadpan delivery.
“I told Brice the same thing.” Cassie giggled, pointing her index fingers at her belly.
“Not funny.”
“Don’t analyze Rafe. He says exactly what he means and only what he means. Simple, concise, no hidden context. So, he doesn’t want to be friends. He left the door wide open to be something else.”
“Not interested.” A smidgen of a fib she’d stand by.
“I wish you would put Derek behind you and move forward with your life.”
“I have, and I’m a pro at moving.”
“You sound like my mother.” The corners of Cassie’s mouth sagged. “Imogene died never finding her happiness. She ran from life instead of making it her own.”
“My life is my own. I have a comfortable, portable web design business and I’ve traveled the world. What more could I want?”
“Someone meaningful to join you on those travels.” Cassie rubbed slow circles across her abdomen. “Someone you love to the moon, someone who loves you beyond it.”
“I’m happy you’ve found that with Brice.” Grace swallowed to soothe the burn in her throat. “Be happy that I’m happy with the life I live.”
Most days. Sometimes the loneliness ate at her.
“Still have your old dream book?”
“Yes.” A school project from their days in Mrs. Haverty’s art class. “I’m surprised you remember it.”
Grace had carted the old scrapbook with her on every move. The opening pages displayed pictures of the perfect house, a two-story stone and log-plank house with floor to ceiling windows. Clippings of an antique apothecary, a Queen Anne couch, Tiffany lamps, and everything else she thought would make a perfect home filled the rest.
“It’s filled with the dreams of a seven-year old,” Cassie said.
It was much more. Grace had added to it over the years, up until she’d lost the baby and Derek asked for a divorce.
“Burn it.” Cassie’s pointed look meant business.
“I’m not burning it.”
The tattered scrapbook served as a reminder. Broken hearts, broken dreams and broken trust were all she got from the men in her past. No way would she trust one with her future.
“I expected you in my office yesterday.” Gavin Walker’s voice scraped down Rafe’s spine.
The screwdriver slipped and stabbed Rafe’s right hand. He dropped the rail glide he was trying to fasten to the end panel of the changing table. Cursing, he shoved the bloody knuckle into his mouth. A strong, iron taste pricked his tongue.
At sixty, the Alpha wolf still had a keen nose, agile steps and a paw in everything happening within his territory.
Apparently Rafe’s senses were skewed since he hadn’t heard or scented Gavin’s approach. He blamed Grace for mucking up his nose and filling his head with distracting thoughts.
He’d hoped the nursery project would keep him too busy to think about how yesterday, he’d almost drowned in the rich green depth of her eyes, or dwell on the rush of excitement he felt whenever she gifted him with a smile.
“Are you all right?” Gavin’s gaze narrowed on him.
“Peachy.” Rafe shook out his injured hand and picked up the wood screw that had fallen out of the precut hole.
“You were supposed to see me after safely delivering Grace to the resort. Maybe it slipped your mind.”
It hadn’t. Rafe simply didn’t want to hear another lecture on being reckless and putting the past behind him. The pack needed to mind their own damn business and leave him the hell alone.
“I heard Grace went home with you after her accident. How did that go?”
Rafe fumbled the screw again.
Gavin was baiting him and Rafe wasn’t interested in playing the Alpha’s games, particularly if it involved Grace. “Your experience must’ve been pleasant, considering your butterfingers at my mention of her.”
Gavin entered the room and sat in the rocker. He rested his hands across his waist and laced his fingers over his belt buckle. “Grace. A lovely woman, don’t you think?”
Awareness flared in Rafe’s body. He recalled the sweet musk of her true scent, the dimples produced by a real smile and the golden sheen of her shoulder-length hair.
Suddenly, he sensed the inexplicable gentleness of her presence and knew at that exact moment she was happy and safe.
Gavin’s laughter disrupted the fragile connection that Rafe discounted as a figment of imagination. After all, how could he possibly know what Grace was feeling?
“With all due respect—”
“I doubt that.” After all these years, the old wolf still had a burr in his paw about the time Rafe and Brice had painted Gavin’s entire office in silly string. As boys, they’d faced a grueling inquisition. Neither of them had confessed culpability. Likely, they never would.
Rafe smiled, remembering the abject horror on Gavin’s face when he saw their handiwork. A few remnants still remained on the exposed wood beams in the ceiling above his desk.
“Ask your question or make your point,” Rafe said. “You wouldn’t want your granddaughter’s crib to fall apart because you distracted me while putting it together.”
Gavin’s thumb tapped his buckle in an aggravated cadence. “The sheriff’s office is involved with Grace’s accident.”
“Tristan said he would file a clean report.” Most notably, he promised to omit the detail of Rafe’s nudity at the scene.
“The new sheriff isn’t Co-op friendly. Tristan mediates Co-op issues when he can, but it’s putting him in an uncomfortable position with his employer. He thinks the sheriff is looking for a reason to investigate us.”
“The pack has been good to the people of Maico.”
“Humans are fickle. They can be swayed by bad press, especially when it preys on primal fears.” Gavin’s dark brows, a contrast to his snowy-white hair and short-cropped beard, slashed over his eyes. “I imposed the curfew to reduce friction between us and the sheriff’s department. I will not allow rule breakers to jeopardize the safety of my pack.”
“Alex wasn’t the only wolfling to break curfew.”
“I’m not only talking about the wolflings, Rafe. You shouldn’t have been out as a wolf. The curfew also applies to you.”
