LITMIR.BIZ

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of sheets, and walked down the narrow corridor to find Grace.

      He hesitated at the doorway to the kitchenette. The walls were painted the same flat gray color as the concrete floor. A 1950s-style white Formica table with chrome hairpin legs and two matching chairs sat in the middle of the small room.

      On her toes with her back to him, Grace leaned against the single basin sink. To her left, a tiny dish drainer on the counter held one black mug, one plate, one fork, one spoon, one knife. To her right, was his small microwave. In the space where a dishwasher would normally go, Rafe had wedged a dorm-size refrigerator. And instead of a stove, he had installed a stacking washer and dryer in the corner.

      Grace muttered, opening the cupboards above the sink. Regrettably, all Rafe’s pantry had to offer were three cans of sardines, half a loaf of bread, a bag of chips and a container of beef jerky.

      “I’m all out of porridge, Goldilocks.”

      Grace jumped. “Jeezus.” She turned toward him, clutching her chest. “Wear a bell or something. My heart almost stopped.”

      Rafe clenched his jaw to stop himself from admitting that he knew CPR. Neither of them needed to think about mouth-to-mouth anything. Especially since her light pink tank top fit her like a second skin and she was braless.

      “Put this on.” He tossed her the button-down shirt.

      She pressed it to her face and sniffed. A curious pride pearled in his chest at the innocent gesture of her scenting his clothes.

      “Hey.” Her eyes widened when she realized he was watching. “I’m making sure it’s clean.”

      “I know how to do laundry.”

      “Knowing how and doing it are two different things.” She shoved her arms into the sleeves.

      Rafe dumped the sheets into the washer, dropped in a detergent pod and turned on the machine. He pivoted on his heels with a ta-da, but she was too busy fussing with the buttons on the shirt to notice.

      “Nerves from last night?” He waved aside her trembling hands to finish the buttons for her.

      “Caffeine withdrawal.” She held her arms out for him to roll up the sleeves. “I usually have three cups before nine a.m. I’m a little behind schedule this morning.”

      “It’s almost noon.” He finished her sleeves.

      “Explains the killer headache.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I couldn’t find the coffee or the pot.”

      “Don’t drink it. Don’t own one.” He thumbed aside the blond strands curtaining the superficial cut at her temple. The slight wound had scabbed and a dark-purple goose egg had formed. His gut tightened.

      It was only a minor concussion, but the fact that she’d sustained an injury because of him made him sick to his stomach.

      “I need coffee, now! Isn’t there a diner across the street?” Her ponytail swished as she wandered out of the kitchen.

      He followed her down the lighted corridor. There was something about her wearing his clothes that made his insides warm and his heart kick a possessive beat.

      “I don’t know how you can live in this concrete bear cave.”

      “If I were an animal, it wouldn’t be a bear, Goldilocks.” He pushed open the heavy metal door.

      “Let me guess. A wolf?” She ducked beneath his arm and stepped into the R&L Automotive Services side of the building.

      “Yep, but he wouldn’t like being closed in.”

      “Do you?”

      “No, but I have a severe insomnia. When I converted the storage room into a living space, I decided not to cut windows into the cinder block walls. I didn’t want outside light or noise to bother me when I’m trying to sleep.”

      “So the pills on the coffee table help you sleep?”

      “Yep.” Although they weren’t very effective. Nothing seemed to be since he stopped drinking himself into oblivion.

      Rafe led Grace through the unused customer service area. People preferred to waltz in and out of the work area to see him. He opened the glass door that was next to a large viewing window. Ushering Grace into the garage, he jabbed the panel of buttons on the wall. The bay doors squawked, retracting to allow in streams of sunlight.

      “It doesn’t look too bad.” She stared at her car on the rack. “It won’t take long to hammer out the bumper and fix the flat, right?”

      “The right front side is demolished. The bumper has to be replaced. I want to change out the brakes and check all the operating systems. It’s gonna take a while before you get it back.”

      “Great.” Her voice sounded low and flat but her stomach growled as loud as any wolfan’s would when half starved. She pressed her hands to her belly. “Sorry.” She flashed an embarrassed grin. “I only had a salad for supper and my midnight snack splattered all over the interior of my car.” She sighed. “It’s going to stink, isn’t it?”

      “I cleaned the interior after you fell asleep the second time.” He’d needed the distraction after her hysterical scream had flooded him with adrenaline, and holding her until the effects of her nightmare faded had drowned him in hormones.

      However, he’d run out of steam before he had a chance to tackle the pile of magazines and books and whatever else she’d stowed in the backseat.

      “Thanks.” Gratitude shimmered in Grace’s big green eyes and his heart skipped a beat. “How much will the repairs cost? Wait, I don’t want to know. I have a high insurance deductible. Just get it running so I can make it back to Knoxville.”

      “You won’t pay a penny. My wolf would be dead if you hadn’t swerved.”

      “Your wolf? You own a wolf?”

      “It’s a Co-op thing,” Rafe said carefully. “No one actually owns the wolves, we’re more like handlers. Mine caused your accident so I’m responsible for the damages. Some of the work I’ll do myself, but I’ll send the car to a shop in Hiawassee for the bodywork. Paint fumes make me sick.”

      “I don’t know what to say.” A grateful smile softened the worry in her eyes.

      “I’m just glad you and the wolf are okay.” He offered her his hand. Why? He had no idea. Because he should’ve been pushing her out of the R&L and out of his life instead of providing her a physical connection.

      She stared at his open palm, roughened with calluses. “How did this happen?” Her fingertips traced the scar running from his thumb to his wrist.

      His breathing went wonky. Too much air, too little air. It seemed his lungs had forgotten how to function.

      “Stepped on a piece of glass.” He swallowed a gulp.

      “Most people cut their foot when stepping on glass. How did you manage doing it with your hand?” A soft breath caught in her throat. “You weren’t drunk, were you?”

      Well, that was like a stab to the gut. At least he covered the gasp with a sigh.

      Small town, big gossip. He should’ve known Grace would’ve heard more details about his life through the grapevine than he was comfortable with her knowing.

      “I was twelve.” He shook his hand free of her touch. “I didn’t start drinking until after my wife died.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      The second time in a matter of minutes that she’d said “sorry.” He found it peculiar humans apologized for things they weren’t responsible for doing and events they couldn’t control.

      “I tripped and fell on a piece of glass while playing in the sanctuary with my wolf.” Although he had been in wolf form when he’d stepped on the shard. It was as close

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