Page 7 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"Next week."

"Ahh, No worries. I'll take you wherever you want to go in the meantime."

"Thanks, girl."

"You betcha."

"Alright, I have to go; my terminal is in fuckingTimbuktu, I guess. And I'mstarving."

"Ooh, airport pizza." I agree, stomach rumbling.

"You get it."

"Of course. Don't die."

"I'll do my best." She answers, then hangs up the phone.

While I stumble into the bathroom, a quick text to Jay is all it takes to tell him about Sam taking over my lease of one of the rooms and staying on the couch in the meantime. I'll leave the duty of telling Magnus to him.

You know, since Jay's the Alpha of this little pack. And, since I don't have Marcus' number Jay will have to send him a message, too.

Before I do anything else, though, I need to wash the sweat from my skin. Cranking up the hot water, I step into the shower to do just that, and by the time I'm done, I feel clean— and clear-headed. Brushing my teeth makes mealive.

At least I have that going for me.

Still, I can't help but think about how Sam avoided telling me what happened to make her want to uproot everything and moveall the way over here.

I dress for work in my favorite black jeans and a cropped tank top under a green long-sleeve so I can shed a layer at the bar when I inevitably get hot. Even in November, the bar can beoutrageouslywarm—particularly on fire night. The bar hasn't opened yet, so I still have time to call Ivy. She has been so stressed with the bar lately, and I know she feels like she hasn't taken a break in a long time. Knowing she has a new bartender should takesomestress off her shoulders…

Tell her we'll be late since we have to get Sam... My wolf's voice rumbles through my head.

Yeah yeah.

Ivy answers on the third ring with a cool "Wassup, bay-bee?" chirped into the phone, along with the sound system of Coyote Bills already playing in the background as she prepares the bar for opening.

"I have a treat for you," I reply, smiling to myself while pulling socks over my feet, phone pinched between my shoulder and ear.

"Treats? I like treats."

"Everybody likes treats."

"So what is it?"

"I found you a bartender." I sing, grinning.

"Ooh, you did?" Ivy answers, skepticism apparent in her voice.

"Yep. My friend Sam is moving in from California. She's trustworthy. Shifter. She's also a graphic designer. Maybe she can help with your plans for the bar." I rattle Sam's qualifications off like a rap sheet, suddenly nervous Ivy will say no.

My friend hesitates for all of a heartbeat. "Alright. I'll give her a shot. What's her name?"

"Sam Dainae. She lands at two today, so I will be a little late, but I'll bring her with me, and you can get a feel for her," I hesitate before adding, "I know she will do slap shots with me."

"When does she want to start?" Ivy asks, and I hear her shuffling papers, likely looking over the schedule.

"As soon as possible? Probably?" I wince, realizing too late that I should have asked Sam that.

Ivy snorts at me, then says, "Thanks, Artemis," softly.