The Werewolf Meets His Match
Outside of her father, nothing in her life had ever scared her quite so much. She couldn’t let her heart get involved, couldn’t let herself care. She’d be the one who ended up getting hurt. Especially when Hank found out the truth.
She grabbed the money he’d laid out on the counter, tucked it safely into her bra and left the house. She slipped into the squad car, front seat this time. The dash was covered in police equipment, a laptop on a movable arm, a radio, a mounted camera and some other things she didn’t recognize.
She clicked her seat belt into place and folded her hands in her lap while Hank drove. They were both wolves, both equipped with the same sense of smell. There was no way either of them could deny the pheromones they were each giving off. The kiss had started something. Or unleashed something. It was like a bad case of full moon fever. Maybe the worst case.
And yet they were both quiet on the way to the grocery store. As if that could stop whatever they’d just started. She kept replaying the kiss and he…she had no idea what went on in his head. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about the kiss. Maybe he was thinking about the next person he was going to arrest.
He pulled up and idled out in front of the Shop & Save. “You have everything you need?”
She nodded and unclipped her seat belt.
“You don’t have a purse.”
“I don’t need one.” She opened the door and climbed out, in desperate need for air untainted by Hank Merrow’s male scent.
“Where’s the money I gave you?”
She leaned back into the car. “In my bra.”
His gaze went right to her cleavage, then he jerked his head away like he’d accidentally stared into the sun and suddenly remembered it could make him go blind. “Oh.”
She grinned.
He swallowed, eyes straight ahead. “Call me when you’re done.”
“Don’t you want to know where my cell phone is?” It was in her back pocket, along with her ID.
“No.”
“See you later.” She closed the door and gave him a little wave.
A couple of people gave her curious looks as the squad car pulled away. People talked in small towns. She could only guess what stories they’d be sharing over dinner tonight about the tattooed woman getting out of the sheriff’s car. Handsome Hank was going to get a rep. With a smirk on her face, she grabbed a cart and headed into the store.
She’d been given the nickname Poison in high school. Tuning out gossips and bullies was nothing new to her. It was how she’d survived her childhood and her father’s endless berating.
She took a second to suss out the unfamiliar layout of the store, then pushed the cart toward produce. Hank said he’d eat anything, but she knew how to cook for men. Especially shifter men whose metabolisms meant they were always hungry. Meat, potatoes, sweets and beer.
Red skin potatoes were on sale, but russets were the best for baking. She weighed the choices until she remembered she had three hundred dollars to shop with. Hank didn’t seem like the kind who cared if she used coupons or not, either, and what mattered most right now was making him happy.
She got a small bag of each.
Shopping without a list was tricky, but she mentally planned a week’s worth of suppers, with leftovers that could be had for lunch and then some basics for breakfast. By the time she was done, her cart was full and she felt like nothing had been forgotten.
Including the dinner she planned to make him tonight. Steak, baked potatoes with all the fixings and chocolate cake made with her secret ingredient: coffee instead of water. Not that secret maybe, but still delicious.
She got in the checkout line and dialed his number.
“Merrow.” His gravelly voice filled her ear and raised happy little goose bumps on her arms. Okay, her hormones really needed to chill out.
“Hi, it’s Ivy. I’m in the checkout lane.”
“Be there in five.”
“See you then.”
He grunted in acknowledgment and hung up.
She tucked her phone into her back pocket as the line moved forward. It took her a second to get her cart going, too long, apparently, for whoever was driving the cart behind her. It bumped her. She turned to see who the responsible party was.
“Sorry about that,” the older woman clutching the cart’s handle said. “It got away from me.”
Not likely, but Ivy let it go. “It’s all right.”
“Say,” the woman continued. “Didn’t the sheriff drop you off?”
Small towns never disappointed. Ivy squinted at the woman. “Is that who that was?”
Confusion clouded the woman’s face.
Ivy turned back around, pushing her cart up to the conveyer. She went to work unloading her groceries and humming Going To The Chapel while smiling to herself.
“Paper or plastic?” the cashier asked.
Crap. She didn’t have any canvas bags. “Plastic. You have a recycling bin for those where I can bring them back?”
The woman nodded. “Up front.”
“Okay, plastic is fine then.”
“That’s very conscientious of you,” the woman behind Ivy chimed in, her cart still following way too close. “Not many young folks these days care about the environment.”
Ivy leaned toward the woman. “You know who else loves the environment?”
The woman grinned, apparently tickled to finally have gotten a conversation going. “Who?”
“The sheriff,” Ivy whispered.