Page 15 of A Wolfe in the Woods

She was petite with dark copper hair—more auburn than red, catching hints of fire when the sun hit it. A faint scatter of freckles dusted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, standing out against her fair skin. Her eyes were hazel. Warm but guarded, and too curious for her own good.

Immediately, I knew who she was.

Blanchette Redfield.

Her grandmother, June, had been the first person to welcome me back into this town. After my father had died, I’d been drifting—raw, worn down, just trying to keep my head above water. She’d seen straight through that and given me a place to land.

In return, I’d helped her when I could. Fixed things around her charming albeit rundown cottage in Everwick, near the sea. Checked in when I’d thought she might need company.

She’d talked about Blanchette. A lot.

Now here I was standing face to face with the woman I had heard so many stories about.

There was a quiet sort of uncertainty in her eyes, like she hadn’t meant to interrupt but wasn’t sure what to say now that she had. She shifted, half stepping forward, then stopped. It wasn’t every day you saw amanget crushed under a twelve-by-twenty-foot load-bearing support beam.

I didn’t say anything. Just watched her processing the shock.

She looked younger than I’d expected. Something in her eyes didn’t match her appearance. A quiet sadness. Like it was something she’d learn to live with and couldn’t escape. I knew the look. I’d worn it myself.

She might’ve been my type…if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew too much about her.

I didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, my gaze flicking back to the mess. Dust still hung in the air. My hands were shaking. Not from fear but from strain. From everything I’d just lost in the span of a breath.

“Timing,” I said finally, more to the wreckage than to her. “Hell of a thing.”

When I looked back to June’s granddaughter, she looked embarrassed, apologetic even.

“I’m very sorry,” she said quietly, guilt flickering across her face as if she was only just realizing the damage. “I didn’t know there were cabins this far up here.”

“These cabins are in bad shape. Dangerous, actually.No oneshould be coming anywhere near here because they’re a liability…that’s why I posted a sign,” I replied, a tinge of sarcasm coloring my tone. “What are you doing up here?”

She looked around as if trying to take cover, then deflected with, “Oh, I really didn’t see the signs,” she murmured. She waved her hand up at the canopy of the forest. “It’s just that I rarely get a chance to see anything like this anymore. It’s been so long since I’ve been out here. It really is beautiful, and I got distracted by it all. I’m sorry.”

For a moment she looked lost, not in the woods but in its magnificence. The kind of lost where you recognized you’d found something…something good.

“Oh, but I heard there are wolves out here and other creatures too? So, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be exploring without a guide,” she continued. I could tell she was trying toredirect the conversation, make small talk after embarrassing herself. Irritation pricked in the back of my mind. I couldn’t stand people like this.

“There are more than wolves out here. You shouldn’t be exploring this area alone. It isn’t safe. You should’ve stayed on the path,” I said sternly.

Sheepishly, she replied, “I thought this was the path.”

I stared at her. Not just the girl who’d caused all this, but the girl who hadn’t come back—not even once—until now.

June had been proud of her. Always bragging about her job, her degrees, her city life. But I’d also seen the way her face had changed when she’d realized Blanche wasn’t coming to visit. Not this week. Not for the holidays. Not even toward the end.

And now here she was, standing in the ruins of something she’d managed to wreck in seconds.

She didn’t match how I’d imagined June’s granddaughter. Not even close. I’d expected someone sharper—colder, maybe. Not this. She was attractive. Like a startled fawn…wide-eyed, a bit wary, with an unguarded sweetness that was hard not to notice. I didn’t like how aware I was of it. Her nerves hung thick in the air, unsettled and sharp, raising the hair on the back of my neck and setting mine on edge.

I’d seen pictures of her before framed on June’s mantel and on walls. In them, Blanchette had always appeared ordinary, dull, even boring. Just another plain Jane with big-city aspirations and a polished résumé to distract from where she’d come from. The kind of girl who left a place like this behind so she could convince the world she’d become something else…something better. Even if it was just a facade.

I’d judged her for it. But I knew the story well because I’d lived a version of it myself. Hypocrisy was an easy talent for anyone to own.

The narrative I wrote wasn’t hers—it was mine. Built off assumptions and formed from scraps. Best way to deform someone’s identity and also the quickest way to get them wrong.

Because it was obvious to me that the woman in front of me…I had to reassess. There was more here, and I couldn’t stop watching. Like a predator, mesmerized with new prey.

I didn’t respond to her. Just stood there, trying to catch my breath, staring at the wreckage. My hands still shook, my ribs ached, and my patience—already worn thin—was gone.