Claws & Crochet

Part 44

RODERICK

The woman living in the Gunner cabin smells like my brother.

Not enough to designate her as his mate. She only has a hint of him on her skin. As if they spent time together recently. Time where he touched her. Held her.

I find this curious and potentially disconcerting.

Warner enjoys the act of the playboy, but he's stopped following through these past few years. He smiles. He flirts. He goes home alone.

Until this woman. The one who keeps her eyes on me as she approaches. She smiles as if I am her friend. There is no fear or hesitation on her face, nor do I smell it on her. Even with the gasoline fumes rising from my tank, I should be able to discern the acrid scent of fright.

Nothing.

"Hello. I'm Zoey Gunner. You're Roderick Jameson." Even though she doesn't frame it as a question, the woman waits for me to acknowledge the statement. She stands just on the other side of my bike, watching me expectantly.

I nod, but only barely.

"Do you know where Warner is?"

After a moment, I offer another silent nod. Nothing more. And I wait, expecting her to get annoyed at my refusal to offer up the information.

Instead, her smile tilts in relief. "Good." Then she steps closer and adopts an interrogative slant to her brow. "Roderick Jameson, do you love your brother?"

I pride myself on the ability to keep my thoughts from showing. As the leader of the pack, it is important that I act as the unmovable, reliable axel that everything else turns on.

But this unexpected question hits my blind spot, and I find myself jerking back in surprise.

She wants to know if I love Warner?

He is my blood. My pack.

He is also the one person in my life who I believe I could say anything to without fear of judgement. Not that I experiment with that. But the knowledge of the freedom provided by that connection still exists.

Do I love him?

Of course, I do.

Intrigued despite myself, I nod.

"As you should." Her satisfied grin gives me the sense I would've gotten chastised if I had answered any other way. "Warner deserves your love. And he deserves to be treated with respect, doesn't he?"

For the first time in my life, I don't feel like a wolf.

Instead, I sympathize with a rabbit, slowly being led into a trap.

Still, I nod.

"Exactly. So when this wonderful man, deserving of respect, who you love dearly"—her addition of words has me suppressing a reluctant smile—"is wronged by someone, he is unequivocally owed an apology. Wouldn't you agree?"

Something has me hooked, wondering what her conclusion to these questions will be. I'm already caught up in the snare, dangling helpless from a branch.

I nod.

"Good. To review, we've established that you love your brother. If he is wronged, you believe he deserves an apology. And that you know where he is at this very moment. Have I got that all right?"

The truth would be easy enough to give, but for some reason, I feel like this woman has tricked me into revealing valuable information.

Still, I don't lie if I can help it, and I can't parse out any way another nod would put me at a disadvantage. So, once again, I tilt my chin.

"Perfect. Now, I must admit, with a great deal of chagrin, that I have wronged Warner. And, by our previously established logic, you would be betraying your morals, and the love you have for your brother, by not telling me where he is. Because if I don't know where he is, I cannot apologize. And Warner deserves an apology."

I was right. She is trickier than a fox.

Zoey Gunner hasn't even bothered to ask me to point her in the direction of my brother. She's simply explained why I am going to.

If she had asked, I could've said no. But now, that would only make me look like an ass.

Plus, I think I can see why Warner is fascinated with this woman.

He might have some competition if he doesn't put a more permanent version of his scent on her soon.

We stare at each other, the stalemate only breaking with the click of the gas pump to let me know my tank is full.

"Auto shop. Third avenue." I give her the answer as if it pains me, when really, I'm not all that reluctant.

Warner is a grown man. I don't need to protect him from intelligent women. He needs to learn to protect himself.

Zoey's face settles into a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll let Warner know what a devoted brother he has."

"Don't do that," I respond too quickly, already hearing the relentless teasing Warner would subject me to if he found out the circles this woman talked around me.

She shakes her head with a smirk. "Brothers. All right. I'll keep your secret. But only because you were helpful."

I watch her peer around until her eyes alight on the street signs.

Zoey offers me a nod of her own, which I pick up a slight teasing edge to.

Guess I did nod at her a lot.

I'm just about to throw my leg over my bike when—

"Roderick." She's on the curb now, staring at me with a stern expression. "You should be wearing a helmet."

Then she turns and strolls off, thankfully focused on tormenting another Jameson.

Author note: Hope you enjoyed your little trip into Roderick's mind!