1. Caleb

ONE

Caleb

The town of Whispering Pines was quiet under the evening sky. The streets were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. Soon the streetlamps would light the paths for the townsfolk as they walked the sidewalks, hurrying home or heading out to meet friends and loved ones.

Standing under the canopy of an old oak tree, I watched the gentle bustle of the people as they went about their business. I’d been in the town for a few days, chasing a feeling , hunting down a sense that something wasn’t right, trying to unravel the puzzle that haunted my nights.

Whispering Pines held no sense of mystery. Nestled at the base of the Rockies, the town was aptly named, its natural borders the pine trees that enveloped the community, leading up to one of the many peaks of the Rockies. Whether the town or the pines came first, I wasn’t sure; no doubt a town history would be available if I cared enough to look.

I didn’t .

Whispering Pines held my interest for one reason and one reason only: the mystery of one inhabitant.

If mystery was even the right term.

Letting out a derisive huff at my inner musings, I cocked my head to the side as I heard the low thrum of electricity before the soft glow of the streetlights came on. Shadows formed, giving the street a slightly eerie promise of darkness.

Watching the stores along both sides of the road, I waited quietly, watchful for the one I was here for.

No one paid me any mind. In a town used to tourists, another stranger taking their rest after a long day was nothing new. The mountains closest to this town were popular with hikers all year round, so foot traffic was high.

Rubbing my hand over my jaw, the scratchy stubble reminding me that I needed a trim, I watched the door to the farthest store at the end of the parade. The store only had one display window, and while it was large, the viewpoint was still limited.

I didn’t need to see inside; I was familiar with the layout, even though I had never set foot in it. It was an art gallery come art studio. One half of the store was a gallery. It held local artists’ paintings and sculptures, while the other half had a workbench and a handful of easels scattered around.

It should reek of art and pretension.

It didn’t.

The ones who frequented the store were mostly there for the studio. I hadn’t seen a buying customer yet. However, in my research, I discovered the store’s website had the same content, and more, available to buy online.

Even so, I had seen no sign of a courier dispatching sold goods. My initial impression was that the store couldn’t be profitable.

My opinion hadn’t changed in the days that I had been here.

What had changed was my perception of the store clientele and the store owner, or more importantly, the object of my curiosity.

Willow Harper .

I didn’t know what drew my attention to her, I just knew that when she walked past me on my first day here, her scent caused me to sit up and take notice.

She wasn’t a shifter.

I knew shifters, and she was not one of my kind.

Her scent was human. Yet, the pull to her was undeniable.

Which was the puzzle I was faced with.

Who was she?

Who was Willow Harper and why did she hold my attention so?

Three days in this town had uncovered no answers. The only thing I’d learned so far was that I wasn’t leaving until I knew why I was drawn to her and why my wolf snarled whenever anyone looked at her.

There was something about her, and I was going to find out what.

“You staying at the lodge?”

Looking up from my breakfast as my coffee cup was refilled, I tried not to scowl. The people of Whispering Pines may not care too much about tourists, but they still asked questions.

“No, ma’am.” I took a bite of my toast. “Camping.” Pointing to the full plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage, I grinned at her, ensuring I was showing my full mouth of food. “Like my first meal of the day to be cooked by someone else.”

My poor table manners worked. The server failed to hide her reaction to my half-chewed toast and scurried away quickly.

Turning back to my breakfast, I ate my eggs and sausage quickly. Stuffing my bacon onto my toast, I folded it over, making a sandwich, and with a final swig of coffee, I placed my money on the table and left the diner, continuing to eat my sandwich on the way out.

I heard the low murmuring from my waitress complaining I had the manners of a dog as I left, which caused me to grin for real this time. Chewing, I wiped one hand on my jeans as I headed north, turning onto Main Street just as Willow was approaching the art store.

Her tall slender figure would have caught my attention anyway. Today, she was wearing loose light-blue jeans, a hole ripped out of one knee. A brightly patterned floral scarf was looped casually around her neck, sitting over her plain white tee, breaking up the solid white with a splash of color. Ash blonde hair hung to just below shoulder level. Today, it was loose in light waves that framed her face.

A large bag that carried her drawing pad and materials was on her shoulder, and I watched as she turned to greet a fellow “artist.” The guy picked up his pace, rushing to meet her before they went inside. Willow pushed her hair behind her ear, a trait I noticed she did when she was nervous.

Taking the last bite of my makeshift sandwich, I saw her weight shift to her other foot. The creep reached forward and pulled her into a reluctant hug in greeting. Willow stepped back quickly, but it had been enough for the loser lusting after her. When he walked ahead of her, I couldn’t hold back my scoff of contempt as she held the door open for him .

Willow looked up the street and our eyes met.

She hesitated as we stared at each other, and even from here, I could see her swallow. Her tongue flicked out quickly to wet her bottom lip as she looked away with uncertainty. She glanced into the store, she looked back at me, and then with narrowed eyes, she let her hold of the door go and started walking towards me.

As she advanced, I leaned against the wall and waited. Seeing my reaction caused her to slow down, but determination willed her onward. When she was a few feet from me, she stopped, her hand holding tight to the strap of her bag as she looked me over.

“You keep watching me.”

“Do I?” At my denial, her eyes widened slightly in disbelief, and a faint blush spread over her pale skin.

Squaring her shoulders, Willow lifted her head slightly. “Yes. You do.”

“How do I know you aren’t watching me?” Scratching my jaw, I looked her over one more time. Her sneakers were scuffed and marked, and the cuffs of her jeans were frayed and torn. Looking back up, I met her surprised stare.

Green eyes . I hadn’t been this close to her to note the color of her eyes before. The green was soft and muted. Scattered throughout the green iris were small, shimmering flecks of gold, brightening the color of the soft green. Her eyes were dull, framed by dark lashes, the opposite of vibrant, yet still, they captivated me.

“You’re doing it again.” The soft murmur of protest broke my reverie.

Blinking, I realized I had been staring into her eyes like a moonstruck fool. “I could say you were too.”

Willow huffed out a soft laugh, with a shake of her head. She looked over her shoulder, back to the store. “I need to go…”

“I wasn’t keeping you. You came to me,” I reminded her. Slipping one hand into my pocket, I waited for her to turn and face me at my mocking tone. She did and I bit back my smile when I saw her determination had returned.

“I did.” With a sharp nod, she took a step towards me. “You’ve been watching me, and?—”

“It’s a small town.” Straightening up, I still looked down at her. She was five eight, maybe five nine, but I had the height advantage. “I’ve seen the guy who owns the bakery every darn place I go. I haven’t been in the bakery once, but since I’ve been here, he’s been at the diner, the bar on the corner of Pine, and the grocery store twice.”

“How do you know he owns the bakery, then?”

I smiled at the question and the matching quizzical stare. “Because he wears a Baked with Love under the Pines T-shirt all the time.” I shrugged. Lowering my voice, I leaned in slightly. “I think he may sleep in it.”

Her soft laugh shouldn’t have stirred my wolf like it did. “So you’re not watching me? ”

Glancing over her once, I dropped the teasing tone. “Well…I am now.”

Willow’s playful smile faded as we looked at each other. “Um…”

“Yo! Harper, you plan on flirting with Mr. Handsome some more, or are we gonna make some art today?”

Willow cringed and whirled to face her friend, who had just brought attention to us from everyone else in the street.

“Shut up , Lily! I’ll be there soon!”

Facing me again, she was bright red and flustered, and I watched with amusement as she tried to make this less awkward while almost shrinking in front of me from the weight of all the curious stares.

“Harper?” I asked.

“Willow,” she corrected. “Willow Harper.” She fidgeted again. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she looked apologetic and pissed off at once. She was so out of her depth I wanted to laugh. “You’re not telling me who you are?”

“You need to work on your flirting.”

“Fli—” Anger cleared any awkwardness she may have been feeling. “I’m not flirting with you! I want you to stop watching me!”

I sniffed. “Why not?”

“Wh-what?”

I lifted my shoulder in a half shrug. “Why aren’t you flirting with me?”

“I…” Confusion was back. Willow’s mouth opened and closed twice, and her gaze dropped to her feet. She relaxed when she looked up at me again and saw me fighting ba ck a smile. “You’re playing with me.” Pushing her hair off her face, she looked me over again. “I need to go…”

“Again, I wasn’t keeping you.”

Her brow furrowed while she figured out what to say. “I…” With a deep breath, she leveled me with a look. “I know you’re watching me.” Her will faltered when I raised an eyebrow at her statement, but she continued. “Please stop it, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to date you, and it’s kind of creeping me out.”

Holding her stare, I waited for it to become uncomfortable once more. When she started to fidget again, I spoke softly. “Conceited little thing, aren’t you?”

Willow’s eyes widened at the accusation. “I am not!”

“Course you are. You harass me in the street, demand I stop watching you when I’ve given no indication that I was, and then tell me you don’t want to date me. Did I ask you out? No. So yeah, Willow , I’d say you have quite a high opinion of yourself.”

“You’re a dick.”

“And now name-calling.” Giving a low whistle, I pushed a little more. “You’re not winning me over with your charm.”

“I’m not trying to win you!” Her voice rose several octaves, no doubt causing more attention, a fact she was very much aware of as she winced. “I want you to leave me alone!”

Rolling my eyes, I gestured to the street. “I was. I was minding my own business. You approached me .”

“To stop you from watching me!”

“I’ve never noticed you, darling. You’re looking a bit desperate and, sorry to say, pathetic now.”

“I am not your darling! ”

Moving to walk past her, I grunted out a laugh. “ Finally , you’re right about something.”

“You’re walking away?”

“Look at that, right again. I’ve got things to do.” I left her behind me, listening to her swearing under her breath as I strolled away. When her friend came out of the store to look for her again, I winked as I passed her. “Morning.”

“Hey,” she greeted me with an easy smile. “ Willow ! Butt, here, now! Class doesn’t teach itself.”

Willow was the teacher? I hadn’t known that. Interesting.

I didn’t look back as I carried on down the street; I was too busy processing everything I had learned about her in our short encounter.

She had fire but she didn’t have the confidence to use it. When she was nervous, she fidgeted, either by shuffling her feet or pushing her hair off her face. Her clothes were worn. She pulled off a bohemian art teacher look well, but if I were a guessing man, and I wasn’t, I’d say that she was short on cash. Or she spent her money on more important things than her appearance.

Looking down at my own worn jeans, I smirked. Could we have something in common?

What we didn’t have in common was the fact that she was definitely, with no shadow of a doubt, not a shifter. That girl hadn’t a whisker of shifter in her.

So what the heck was I drawn to her for?

She was good-looking—I wasn’t blind—she wasn’t hurting in the looks department at all. Her skin was clear, and her hair smelled of honey and magnolia. She wore no perfume. Only the soft smell of soap lingered on her skin .

I liked that. As a shifter, my nose was extra sensitive, even in human form, and some of the perfumes and colognes that people wore were so overpowering they made me nauseous. Yet Willow had nothing to enhance her natural scent.

Her face had been clear of makeup too. The number of times she pushed her hair away from her face, I doubted she used any product on her hair.

She was all natural.

My wolf snorted, echoing my thoughts that the pull to her wasn’t natural. I almost looked over my shoulder, but I already knew she had gone inside the store. There wasn’t much I couldn’t hear, and I had heard her whispered shushing of her friend as they went into the art studio.

Looking at my watch, I checked the time. How long did an art class take? An hour? Two? Was it enough time?

Aware of my surroundings, ensuring no one paid any heed to me, I headed to the end of town. Traffic was quiet here; I was more conspicuous. A six-three shifter found it hard to blend sometimes. Luckily, the streets were relatively quiet, but I knew that the few people I did pass would know me again.

At my height, there’s not much of me that is hard to miss.

Because of that, I looped the neatly laid out rows of houses twice, appearing as if I was mindlessly wandering, caught up in the scenery, when in fact I was circling back to my target. When it was quiet, I quickly jumped the fence, scurried across the backyard, and pressed myself flat against Willow’s rear wall.

Her house faced the pine trees. Having spent the last two nights watching her house, I was familiar. Thanks to the neighbor’s son, I also knew where the spare key was hidden. They lived two doors down, and the young teenage boy unknowingly showed me the hiding place when he broke in yesterday.

I’d watched him as he let himself in, helped himself to a soda and some chips, and watched TV for an hour before leaving, taking his trash with him and returning home.

Was Willow so absentminded she wouldn’t notice her soda and snacks were missing?

If I were a better man, I’d maybe find some way to let Willow know. Or let the kid know I knew and make him stop. But I wasn’t a better man.

If she was stupid enough to leave a key under a plant pot, then I’d be stupid not to use it.

Which sounded like good enough reasoning as I slipped the key into the back lock and let myself into Willow Harper’s home.