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“I’m up if you want to come over for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I’m just going to go home and change, then go for a run.”

“All right, honey, love you.”

“Love you too.” I hang up with her and put my car in reverse.

Arriving home a few minutes later, I get out of my car and walk to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. There isn’t much mail, but there are a couple of pieces that I need to get to Mrs. Carberry. As I’m closing the box and turning toward my house, I notice a younger girl wearing an oversize hoodie and baggy sweats coming from between my house and the house next door with a backpack on her back.

“Hey.” I’ve lifted my hand to wave when she seems to startle at the sight of me. “I’m Genevieve. I just moved in next door.”

“Oh.” She looks at my house, then me, and I wait for her to introduce herself, but she doesn’t.

Okay then. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure.” She does a little jump, recentering the bag on her back, before she heads toward the road mumbling, “Later.”

“Yeah, later.” I watch her walk away, thinking the encounter was odd, before shaking it off and heading into my house.

I kick off my boots when I get through the front door, then walk down the hall to my room and quickly change out of my jeans and sweater, putting on my leggings and sports bra. I grab one of my cropped sweatshirts and tie it around my waist just in case I need it, then dig my EarPods out of my purse before I walk out of the house, leaving my cell behind since I can use my watch for my music.

I don’t even bother with stretching like I normally would before I take off at a jog down my driveway. I have always loved running. When I was in high school, I was a cheerleader and ran track, and in college I joined a running team. After college I was always training for one marathon or another. Running is one of the very few things I do where I don’t have time to overthink the things going on in my head and my life because I have to focus on my breathing, the way my feet are hitting the pavement, and my speed. Turning up the song on my headphones, I jog down the street. Because it’s so early, there is no one out, and the air is still cool. Montana is in that odd space of time between fall and winter when you never know if you’re going to need a jacket, a light sweater, or a T-shirt. Concentrating on my breathing and the sidewalk ahead of me, I pass by a yard with a sign that says the people of Gooseberry should elect Joe Doolittle for county sheriff, with a photo of Mr. Doolittle and his big belly and even bigger cowboy hat. If anyone was wondering where my stereotype of small-town sheriffs comes from, his sign is a prime example, especially when you consider that he looks just like every sheriff on TV or in the movies. I wonder if Wyatt has signs with his picture on them posted up around town. I haven’t seen any, so if he did, they were probably stolen and are now hanging in the bedrooms of grown women like they are boy band posters. The thought makes me smile.

Slowing when I approach the stop sign at the end of my block, I look both ways, then jog across the street and notice a familiar-looking pickup truck parked in one of the driveways I’m approaching. Since I have yet to hear back from the sellers of Lavender Hill about our counteroffer, I haven’t had a reason to speak to Wyatt, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t crossed my mind a few gazillion times. I start to pass his truck, which sticks out like a sore thumb among the nicer vehicles on the block, and hear a dog start to bark over the sound of the music blasting in my ears. As the barking gets louder, I look to my left and see a huge black dog, one of those ones you see on TV taking down bad guys, running toward me. My heart, which is already speeding, speeds up further while I skid to a stop. I might not know much about dogs, but I’m pretty sure that if they think you are running from them, they will chase you down. I look from the dog to the door of the house when I hear someone shout, and I see Wyatt jogging my way, wearing athletic shorts and a tee, with his feet bare and his mouth moving.

Breathing heavy and heart pounding, I rip out one earbud.

“Storm,” Wyatt says in a clipped tone, and the dog, now sitting a foot from me with its tail sweeping the ground, looks back at him. “Get over here.” Obviously ignoring him, the dog turns back to me and barks once, loudly, making me jump and my pulse skip a beat. “He won’t hurt you; he just doesn’t know any other way to make friends.”

“I don’t know. He’s kinda looking at me like I might be his next meal.” I lift my eyes to Wyatt’s when he places his hand on top of the dog’s head. The dog barks again.

“Is your mom still alive?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t she be?”

“You mentioned killing her yesterday, and Storm is training to be a cadaver dog. His fixation would make sense if you smelled like a dead body.”

“I do not smell like a dead body.” I look down at the dog. “I do not smell like a dead body.”

He barks again, getting to his feet, and comes toward me with his tail wagging. I don’t know how big a wolf is, but I imagine that he is the size of one, and his teeth are huge. As he gets closer, I back up a few steps and slip off the edge of the sidewalk behind me. Not wanting to fall, I overcorrect and misstep, twisting my foot in the process, and cry out from the sudden shock of pain that shoots across the top of my foot. I fall to my bottom on the pavement and then squeeze my eyes closed and bite my lip hard enough to sting.

“Let me see.” Wyatt’s hands cover mine, and he pulls them away from where I have them wrapped around my shoe. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?”

“Ten.”

“Babe,” he mutters, and my eyes spring open. “How bad, one to ten?”

“I don’t know.” I honestly don’t know, because he called me babe in his deep, rough voice, and I have never been called babe in my life by any man, and I like it, or at least I like the way it sounds when he says it.

“Genevieve.”

“Five.”

“All right.” He leans back, or I think he’s going to lean back, but instead I’m suddenly up in his arms, bride-style.

“Wyatt,” I cry out, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Relax.” He holds me tightly against his hard chest. “I’m going to get you inside, and we’re going to put some ice on it and check it out.”