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“You know what? It’s not my place to push for information you don’t owe me. My name is Timber Rosemary Harris. Rosemary, for my grandma.”
“Timber is a unique name.”
“My dad was a logger for twenty years. Timber was his choice.”
He chuckled, and relaxed more deeply into the seat as he drove. “Your dad sounds like he has a sense of humor.”
“Mmm,” she said in a noncommittal way. She didn’t really feel like paying either of her parents compliments at the moment. Maybe a few years ago, but not now.
“Is your family local?” he asked after a few seconds of heavy silence.
She shrugged, and looked over to find him staring at her. They’d stopped at a stoplight, and his eyes had an eerie quality to them. They were a little lighter and seemed to glow slightly.
He pulled a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, looked forward again, and hit the gas at the newly-turned green light.
“Are you…” It was very rude to ask, she knew, but now something was clicking into place. “Are you one of those shifters? From Damon’s Mountains?”
“I live in Laramie. Damon’s Mountains are near Saratoga.”
He hadn’t answered her question. Timber narrowed her eyes. “Am I in danger?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Her eyes went wide and her heart started pounding. “W-what kind of danger?”
“Danger of getting kicked out of my truck if you don’t stop asking so many stupid questions.”
“Oh. Ha. Good one.” She settled back into the seat, but couldn’t quite relax all the way. Not now that she was pretty sure he was a shifter. His non-answer was answer enough. Unable to help herself, she lowered her voice like she was telling a secret and said, “I’ve never been this close to a real shifter.”
“I bet you’re wrong,” he said, and his voice was deeper, darker and grittier. “Most of them don’t advertise what they are. You’ve probably sat by one in a restaurant, or stood in line at the bank next to one, and didn’t even realize it.”
“So youarea shifter,” she poked at him. She wanted to know for sure.
“I’m a man. Here we are,” he said, turning into the parking lot of the gas station that held the greatest Slurpees in all the land.
She hesitated, because he didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt.
Wreck cast her a glance behind his dark sunglasses. “What are you doing? Waiting for me to open your door for you? This isn’t a date, lady.”
“Oh. Oh, no, I thought you were going in with me,” she said, heat flooding her cheeks. “Um, I would never expect you to do that.”
She had no way of knowing what he was thinking, especially with his eyes hidden like this, but he put the truck into park and gritted out, “I’m staying here.”
“Okay, do you want me to get you anything?”
It was getting really hot in here for some reason, and the AC even seemed to be blowing hot air now.
Wreck didn’t answer, just dragged his attention straight ahead.
Timber pushed open the door and got out, toting her purse with her. The movement shot pain through her burned arm. She winced hard and gasped softly, hovering her hand over the bandage on her arm, careful not to touch it and make it worse.
“It’ll heal,” he said gruffly.
“You pulled me from the car,” she uttered, trying to remember the exact details of everything.
“I was only there for a minute.”
“Did I…did I knock my head on the steering wheel or something?” she asked, feeling around her forehead with her fingertips.
