The next morning, I wake alone. That I’m in my panties and nothing else tells me that at some point Jackson came up to bed, even if I have no memory of it.
For several seconds I lie there thinking about this situation with the boy and why it’s made me so angry.
Even though I’ve only known Jackson for a couple of days, I sensed he wasn’t a bad person. But his refusal to help this boy who needs it, proves I was wrong.
I thought his eagerness to re-build and create a new pack in Dawley hinted, at least to me, that he’d be just as eager to help the boy as I was. But it looks like he isn’t the sort of shifter that Jackson is interested in joining his new pack.
After shaking off my disappointment at Jackson, I grab my phone from the bedside table and check for messages.
Other than a couple from Dayne and Luka asking me how I am, there’s no response from Talis about who put me to bed. I tap a question to Dayne, but halfway through the message, I start feeling stupid for getting black-out drunk like that and delete it. I decide to wait a little while longer for Talis to reply, thinking she must be busy trying to resolve the situation with Jenna and Marshall.
Once I’ve replied to my messages, telling Dayne and Luka that I am definitely returning in a couple of days, a week at the most, and that I hope I won’t be returning alone, I climb out of bed and head for the shower.
An hour later, once I’m showered, dressed and I’ve put a load of laundry on since I am running dangerously low on clean clothes, I head for the kitchen.
There’s no sign of Jackson, but there is a new post-it note on the fridge from him thanking me for dinner, and telling me he had to go to the site to speak with some contractors.
He has, to my surprise, washed his plate and I spot a couple of the brownies I baked the other day missing from the plastic containers, so I’m guessing he decided on brownies for breakfast.
With Jackson gone, the house feels so much larger than it ever has before. It’s strange to be alone, especially in such a big home. So, for a few minutes, I just wander around, not really knowing what to do with myself.
I’m no great lover of cleaning or laundry, but with nothing else to do and a hope that maybe the boy might eventually want to stay in the house, at least while I’m here, I set to work cleaning.
Nearly three hours later, and I’ve hoovered, mopped, dusted, changed bedsheets, aired out rooms and I’m ready to eat some lunch since I skipped breakfast.
After heating some leftovers and eating quickly, I check outside and find the bag I left the night before gone. This time I don’t intend on leaving a grocery bag out. No, I fully intend on taking advantage of Jackson’s absence.
Outside, it’s a bright and clear day with no clouds in the sky and a freshness in the air that makes me want to go for a run. Soon, maybe, but not today. As I scan the forest from the porch steps, I don’t see the boy anywhere.
That doesn’t stop me from walking down them and gazing into the forest.
“I don’t know if you’re there, but I’m making chocolate chip cookies today. I’m leaving the back door open, and I’d like it a lot if you came. There’s an island in the kitchen, and I’ll leave a plate and a glass of milk for you. I won’t look at you if you don’t want, and you can eat as many cookies as you want and drink as much milk, and you can leave whenever you want.”
I wait for a second, but when I neither hear nor see any movement, I turn and walk back into the house, using a doorstopper to wedge the back door open, hoping that I’m not literally inviting a bear inside.
I don’t have a lot of confidence that the boy is going to trust me enough to not only enter the house but also shift so he’s able to eat cookies and drink the milk. But I’m determined to try because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not staying in Dawley forever, which means my time is limited. So, the sooner I can get him to trust me, the sooner I can broach the idea of him coming with me to Hardin.
After moving some laundry from the washer to the dryer, I head to the kitchen and set to work baking.
I’m two trays of cookies in when I hear chewing behind me.
I smile, but I don’t turn around.
I keep mixing up another batch of cookies as I hear what sounds like a starving boy eating his way through the plate of cookies, and gulping down the glass of cold milk from the fridge that I left out for him.
Once I’ve slid another tray out of the oven, I’m getting ready to fill the next when a small cough stops me.
Guessing it’s a sign that it’s okay for me to turn. I peek over my shoulder and find a skinny boy with long dark blond hair which touches his shoulders, large brown eyes, and the only thing he appears to be wearing is dirt on his body.
My eyes go to the empty plate and glass in front of him.
That he put away a dozen cookies and the milk in a little under five minutes is impressive, but it’s also deeply disturbing because it’s clear he was beyond starving. I’m guessing he’s about thirteen, but if he’s gone so long without eating, he may even be older but malnourished.
“You want more?” I ask softly, returning my gaze to the empty plate and glass.
“Yes, please.” His voice is so low, it’s barely audible, but at his politeness, I meet his eyes for a second and grin.
“No problem.” I start toward him to grab the empty plate and glass, and other than a slight tension in his shoulders, he doesn’t move.
I’m in awe that he’s taken even one step into the house in the first place. That he doesn’t feel threatened by me is another sign that things are going so much better than I’d ever hoped they would.
“You want just normal chocolate chip?” I glance at him once I’ve refilled his glass. He blinks at me in confusion.
“I have normal, double chocolate, triple chocolate, some with nuts, or I have some with chocolate and caramel coming out in a minute.”
His eyes widen, and I’m pretty sure I see his mouth watering.
“How about a few of each?” I offer.
He nods so fast that I can’t help but laugh. “Coming up.”
This time, when I approach, he doesn’t tense up. Probably because all his attention is on the pile of cookies that I leave on the counter in front of him.
I back up and watch him demolish the cookies for a few seconds, before I turn back around and resume mixing. “I’m glad you like them. As you can tell, I love to bake, so I’m not sure what I would’ve done with all these cookies if you hadn’t come.” I turn to grin at him, and he nods happily as he shoves cookie after cookie in his mouth.
Now that he’s human, he smells less like a wild wolf and more like unwashed body, but I ignore it. His eating and feeling safe is more important than a shower.
Although I’m desperate to know who he is, where he came from, and what he’s doing in Dawley, I bottle up my questions because again, the most important thing is feeding him first.
Hopefully, this will be the start of him trusting me, and feeling like he can come into the house so he’s not eating all his meals outside in the forest. That’s okay if he’s a wolf, but he’s a shifter with a boy side that needs a warm bed, food, and to feel safe and loved.
So, for the next thirty minutes, as I continue to bake and top up his plate and milk, he gradually relaxes and slows his eating, as if realizing the food isn’t going to run out.
Later, I’m pulling out the last of the cookies from the oven when the sound of someone dragging a chair back has me glancing over my shoulder.
In place of the boy, who’s left behind an empty plate and glass, is Jackson. “You got him to shift and come into the house,” he says, looking impressed. “He trusts you already.”
I shrug. “No. He doesn’t, he’s hungry now. Trust comes later, or it won’t. You want milk and cookies?”
“Sure.”
After filling a plate with freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk, I place both in front of Jackson, and since I could do with a break as well, I prepare some for myself and join him.
We sit eating our cookies and drinking milk in silence for several minutes before Jackson speaks. “You know, you’re wrong about the trust. That comes first. If he didn’t trust you, it wouldn’t have mattered what you served up, he wouldn’t have taken one step in the house.”
Just as I’m about to snap at Jackson because I imagine this is another roundabout way of him telling me the boy is dangerous, I stop and think about what he said.
Although his tone was casual, there was something about the way he spoke that made me think he’s talking from experience.
I remember what he said about him and Jeremy moving about a lot, and I struggle to picture Jackson ever being in a similar situation to the starving boy.
It seems impossible because I look at Jackson and he’s all muscle, he’s confident, and rich enough to rent a house when it’d be cheaper to buy one.
But he wasn’t always, Regan. Once, he was just a boy.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Though I’m not sure milk and cookies is a lunch food.”
I take in the speed he’s demolishing his plate of cookies with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“It is,” he says gravely.
Shaking my head, I turn away and pick up a cookie. “Says the man who had brownies for breakfast.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t ask him to stay.”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
I feel his gaze on the side of my face, though I don’t turn. “Was it because of me?”
“No. It was because of him. He’s not ready for that yet.”
To my surprise, Jackson doesn’t respond to my assumption that I know what the boy is or is not ready for. He goes back to eating his cookies and drinking his milk, and I do the same.