LITMIR.BIZ

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Ronni’s mood and she barely felt the nip in the light autumn breeze. Strolling past Wyatt’s Automotive Service, she gave a finger wave to Rafe inside the garage and then crossed the side street to Mabel’s Diner.

      After an explosion at Rafe’s business last year had caused damage to the diner, the aging owner, Mabel Whitcomb, had considered retiring instead of reopening. She—like most humans—was unaware of the existence of wolf shifters and was not a member of the Walker’s Run Cooperative. But, because she was a pillar in the community and a friend to many Co-op members, Gavin Walker—the pack’s Alpha—had directed funds from the Co-op’s reserves to finance the diner’s remodeling project.

      On the outside, the town landmark still looked the same with its bright yellow walls and white trim. The interior, however, had been given a significant overhaul. Gone was the faded eighties decor, the stained and threadbare commercial carpet, the ripped vinyl booths, the wobbly aluminum tables and a lunch counter with a large, face-like coffee stain the servers had named Fred.

      Now the palette matched the cozy feel that Mabel’s always generated. The walls were creamy yellow with white accents, though some rich wood paneling kept customers from feeling like they’d been swallowed by a lemon meringue pie. Instead of carpet, the floor was now wood laminate. The worn and rickety booths, tables and chairs were replaced with solid, sturdy wooden ones. Red-and-white-checkered cloths decorated the tables, and lacy curtains hung over the windows.

      The menu was as Southern as ever. Just walking into the diner, one could hear the patrons’ arteries hardening. In an effort to not kill off all the customers with cholesterol-induced heart attacks, a few lighter and healthier menu options had been introduced.

      Mabel herself remained the most prominent fixture. Sporting her iconic red beehive hairdo and sky blue eyeshadow, she perched on her stool behind the cash register, ringing up the last customer in the restaurant.

      “Put your order in about five minutes ago, hon,” Mabel said. “Should be out any time.”

      “Thanks.” Ronni smiled as if she hadn’t received a letter announcing her entire world could come crashing down at any time.

      She continued on into the women’s restroom that wasn’t much bigger than a closet. After washing her hands, she splashed cold water on her face. The harried look her eyes had held after Zeke died was back. Fear, mostly, of what an uncertain future held.

      She stared at her reflection until the fear cowered beneath her determination. No man, no wolf, would take her son.

      This was the twenty-first century. Wolfans had evolved alongside humans. It was about time their laws did, too.

      Ronni returned to the dining area, empty except for one other person. A man. Sitting on her stool. Eating her lunch.

      A growl rumbled in her throat. Stealing a wolfan’s food could be a deadly mistake.

      “Hey!” She marched over to her seat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      The Native American man wearing the green slacks and gray button-down of a Georgia state ranger uniform didn’t startle. He merely finished chewing and slowly turned in her direction.

      Straight black hair fell to his shoulders and the shadow of a beard shaded his jaw and mouth. Leisurely, his gaze rose from her midsection to her face. Recognition flared in those whiskey-colored depths, though she’d never met the man.

      She had, however, heard talk about Bodie Gryffon, the town’s newest bachelor. Tall, handsome, mysterious.

      In a place as small as Maico, the rumor mill never ceased, especially when a single man was involved. There had been speculation as to why he’d declined interest from all the ladies who’d put themselves in his path.

      Ronni could tell by the way his eyes dilated and his nostrils flared when assessing her that at least one of the rumors was dead wrong.

      He was nice-looking, with high cheekbones balancing a well-proportioned nose that turned down slightly at the tip. And his naturally bronzed skin was simply flawless. Still, Ronni wouldn’t agree that he was as handsome as the gossip mill reported until she saw his chest. Broad and taut with muscles sculpted by hard work, yet warm and comforting when she needed to be held—that’s what made a man desirable in her eyes.

      It was difficult to really ascertain much about Bodie’s chest from the way he filled out his shirt because he wore a bulletproof vest beneath it.

      “I’m eating lunch.” His broad and toothy smile held no apology for pilfering her food, but it did speed up her heart. “Care to join me?”

      “I might’ve considered it, if you weren’t already eating my lunch.” Wahyas took food very seriously.

      Her inner wolf didn’t care and urged her to take a seat.

      “This is mine. I called in a to-go order.”

      Ronni flattened her hand on the counter and leaned close. “Does that look like takeout?” she said, catching a whiff of his clean, masculine scent. Hormones that had been dormant for quite some time took notice. Awareness spread through her body while bewilderment distracted her brain.

      Bodie wasn’t wolfan. Wahyas had a special sense that helped them recognize their own kind. But something about him was setting off her intuition.

      He stared down at the platter of food and drink. “You ordered a fried fish sandwich minus the tartar sauce, pickled okra, cheesy tater tots and an orange soda, too?”

      Ronni nodded.

      The double doors to the kitchen swung open and Mabel sauntered out carrying a takeout bag. “Here ya go, hon.” Her gaze slid from Bodie to Ronni.

      Eyes wide and apologetic, Bodie hopped off the stool. “My mistake.”

      “We can swap.” Smiling, because he was a gentleman after all, Ronni took the seat next to him.

      “Actually, I have a meeting and was going to eat on the way.” He tugged his wallet from his back pocket. “I ate a couple of your tater tots, so I’ll give you mine and pay for your lunch.”

      “Don’t worry about it. I won’t miss a few tots.”

      He handed Mabel his money and shoved his wallet back into his pocket. “By the way, I’m Bodie Gryffon.”

      “I know. Small town.” She shrugged. “I’m Ronni Lyles. I own The Stitchery down the street.”

      “Lyles?” Bodie studied her. “Do you have a son named Alex?”

      Ronni’s hackles rose along her spine. “I do, why?”

      “My daughter, Willow, is very shy. Alex and his friends have been very kind to her at school.”

      Ronni relaxed. “I would be disappointed to hear otherwise.”

      “The Stitchery? Is that a dress shop?”

      “Fabric store and sewing supplies, mostly. But I also do custom orders and alterations.”

      “Willow needs some things for a school sewing project.” He fished his cell phone from his pocket. “Do you have any of this?”

      Ronni read the list: two or more cute pieces of fabric, matching felt, piping, color-matched thread, straight pins, a sturdy needle, fabric glue.

      “I do. What is she making?”

      “Beats me.” He started to put the phone away and hesitated. “What’s your number?” The golden flecks in his curious eyes glittered.

      “Why do you want my number?”

      “To text you the list.” On any other man, the smugness in his smile would have immediately turned her off. Somehow on him, it worked. Maybe it was the tease in his eyes which she found more playful than arrogant.

      She took the phone from him, ignoring the static charge that nipped them both, and put in her name and number before returning

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