Wolf Next Door by Heather Long Page A

Here, the mom and pop stores thrived because they were owned by pack, employed members of the pack, and stayed funded by pack shopping.
    Inside Sexton’s Grocery, she stopped and took a deep breath. God, it even smelled the same as when she was a child—baking bread, sweet treats, fresh meats, and aging cheeses. She caught the hint of sawdust and hay along with a wild variety of spicy scents—and pack. It smelled of all the wolves who came and went.
    A.J. said nothing at her hesitation, but when she reached for the cart, he took control of it. “Go ahead and shop,” he told her. “I have to pick up a few things for Vivian, too.”
    Vivian, his mate. “Do you mind if I ask about her?”
    “No,” he smiled. “She’s a good woman. You’d like her. Ty and Linc adore her.” The casual ease of the words belied any hidden agenda or dig. “She writes video games, creates them. They love to be her guinea pigs. They love her cookies, too.”
    Reminded of an old habit, she diverted to the fresh fruits section first—always get the vegetables before the meats. Because frankly, nearly every meat tasted good, but vegetables were an acquired taste. Other shoppers made no pretense of not staring at her, but they’d made it to the canned aisle when Sarah Sexton huffed toward her and gave her a huge hug.
    The sudden affection caught her off-guard and she froze. The woman’s wide arms and vivacious smile did little to ease the need to disengage from her touch. She was too close and could seriously wound Claire. “It is so good to see you, baby girl. Your mother would have been beside herself.” The owner of the grocery store, the woman used to slip her sweets whenever she came in to shop with her parents.
    Claire fought down the initial urge to reject the hug and endured it for as long as she could manage. Mrs. Sexton glanced at her cart and added, “Go back by the bakery. We have some wonderful cakes in, and I want you to have one. Get your favorite cookies, too, on the house. So glad you finally came home. We’ve missed you.”
    Clearing her throat, Claire could only manage a nod. “Thank you. It is good to be here.” The huskiness of the words earned her a sharp glance from Mrs. Sexton.
    “Well, I won’t make a fuss, but I am happy to see you. Come in later, and we’ll have some tea. I’d love to hear all about you.”
    No way would that ever happen. Mrs. Sexton smelled like baked goods, tea and vanilla. Sugar and gentleness. She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without some kind of protection in Sutter Butte. Her kind and generous heart would have been bloody attractive to the hunters.
    All Claire said, however, was, “I’ll try.”
    “You do that, dear.” Another pat on the cheek, and Claire dug her fingers into her palms, cutting them bloody to keep from blocking the action. She couldn’t strike her or defend herself, not under A.J.’s watchful authority.
    “Take a minute,” A.J. said quietly after Mrs. Sexton hustled away. Until he said something, she wasn’t even aware of the harshness of her own breathing.
    Claire unclenched her hands. The wounds she’d given herself would heal. She blew out a breath between her teeth. “I’m done. I don’t want anything more.”
    “We’ll get you meat.” Quiet authority rang in his tone. “I’ll do the talking this time. Can you handle the aggravation?” Nothing snide lived in the question, and Claire chanced a look at him.
    Quiet sympathy echoed in his manner, but she found only understanding in his eyes. “I can.” The urge to shift, to defend herself, rode her hard. Her wolf paced back and forth, agitated at the personal liberties Mrs. Sexton took in touching her so easily.
    “Good. Keep breathing. It takes time to remember that pack doesn’t use touch to punish or harm, but to reaffirm their connection.” More than understanding lived in those words, they bespoke kinship.
    Latching onto the unspoken offer, she asked, “How long did it take