Wolverton by Julie Steimle (best romantic books to read TXT) 📕

Henry nodded, pulling on Rick’s arm. His father turned around to face the supervisors again.

“Now none of this would have happened if you had followed my instructions to the letter,” Mr. Deacon bit out. “And I don’t think anyone from Wolverton will return because of it.”

“Wolverton?”

“Where do you think my son was this entire time?” Mr. Deacon snapped. “You have caused an entire walkout. This factory will have to be temporarily closed down because of this…”

Rick was out of earshot, dragged along by Henry. He was feeling a little dizzy. Of course his father was angry with him. Because of one schedule change by a presumptuous manager, the domino effect had happened, collapsing the very infrastructure of his factory. Maybe his father had known there was a wolf pack down in Alabama. It would have been true to character for him to have kept it a secret. He was all about secrets. Rick felt a swell of annoyance at that.

Henry was also being extremely pushy. His hand on Rick’s arm, Rick felt steered—like Henry was afraid he would run off.

Outside with Henry, him steering Rick to the car, Rick noticed the sheriffs pulling in. He wondered what Mr. Whidbee had told them. He wondered if his father was going into have more trouble, all because of him. Henry did not give him any time to watch, though. Henry opened the car door and urged Rick inside. Rick went in, and almost climbed out the other side again—but the child lock was on and he couldn’t get out.

Turning to Henry who had rushed to the driver’s seat, he called up, “Really? How old do you think I am?”

But he sat back and obediently let Henry take them both out of the parking lot.

The drive to the bed and breakfast in Newsom Springs was a quiet one. Rick felt subdued. He knew his father was going to shout at him. Not that his father was a shouter, but that he could tell his father was beyond agitated. This full moon had been for his father an unmitigated disaster. His son had not been able to start his training as planned, but had been forced to take shelter with a pack of wolves that apparently his father did not approve of. And, of course, Rick had not yet told him about Daisy.

That last thought sent a shudder through him. How was he going to tell his father? Especially about her pregnancy. His father held him at a higher standard than himself.

When he reached the bed and breakfast, Henry dragged Rick to their room and pushed him in the bathroom where he handed Rick the soap his father wanted him to bathe with.

“The old lye soap?” Rick moaned when he stared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me! We only ever use this when covered in garlic oil.”

“Your father’s orders,” Henry said, leaning against the wall and breathing as if he were in pain.

Rick peered out at him. “Do I really stink that bad?”

Henry laughed, agony in his eyes. “Please. Just do as he asks.”

Peering more at him, Rick took in a long sniff. His senses were fine. In fact, though he had his own sweaty body odor, he could also smell Daisy’s scent, which he did not want to wash away at all. In fact, he wanted to find her that very moment and get back to what they had been doing.

“Why this soap?” Rick snapped. “Wouldn’t just any soap do?”

Henry flinched. “Please. Do as your father asks.”

Leaning near him, Rick said, “You are acting weird.”

Nodding, Henry smiled with pain. “I know. But… please go bathe.”

“Fine.” Rick stalked back into the bathroom. He stripped and turned on the hot water. He knew the drill with the lye soap. It was a harsh soap which seemed to even take off a layer of skin and hair every time he used it. But it was the perfect soap for removing stubborn painful oils such as garlic oil that the witches sometimes liked to rub on him just to torture him. It was part of a werewolf’s survival kit. When he finished scrubbing with the soap that left his skin stinging, including in his hair, as it was necessary, Rick washed with the regular, softer, moisturizing soap which smelled like vanilla and strawberries.

Rick breathed it in and sighed.

As he did, a kind of soft fog lifted from his mind. His head felt lighter, like he had taken off a heavy hat or wig. He was surprised by the sensation. And it was such a relief. He breathed in once more, and shut off the water. Rick stumbled out and groped for a towel. Drying himself off, Rick then looked around for clothes. His dirty things were gone, including his boxer shorts.

“Hey, Henry?” He looked around. But Henry was gone. On the bed, however, was his suitcase. It was open.

He went to it and got a clean pair of everything. As he was dressing, he noticed the contents of his wallet, except for his cash, were spread out on the bed. A bottle of vinegar was next to it with a rag. The wallet itself was gone.

“Hey! Henry!” Rick rushed to the door, making sure his pants were up. “What happened to my wallet?”

He stuck his head out, but Henry wasn’t there. Grabbing his shirt, Rick pulled it on to cover his scars, including a fresh mildly-bleeding graze on his upper right arm, then jogged out barefoot to find Henry. He had to go down a flight of stairs, but he found him in the dining area, talking on his cell phone and with a bagel on his plate and a cup of orange juice to the side. Rick was about to say something, but he overheard Henry say into the phone, “…yes, they are in the incinerator right now…. I understand. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“What is in the incinerator?” Rick asked, marching up to him.

Henry popped to his feet, and stuck out his hand to make Rick stop, shutting off his phone. “Wait. Let me smell you first.”

“What?” Rick stared at him. “Are you crazy?”

“I need to know you have thoroughly washed,” Henry said with warning. Rick also noticed that he had changed his clothes and his hair was damp.

Leaning back, Rick said, “Am I carrying an infection or something?”

Chuckling, Henry relaxed, coming closer. “Uh, no. Not exactly. I am just following orders.”

Moaning, Rick held out his arms and let Henry smell him. It wasn’t like a human nose could sense what he could anyway. And Rick had a feeling that when his father arrived he would get sniffed all over again.

“Smell anything?” Rick dryly asked, leaning back.

Laughing now, Henry shook his head. “Only shampoo.” He then gestured to the table. “Sit down. I’ll order you breakfast.”

Rick sat, then he stared at the bed and breakfast dining room, feeling tired and somewhat lost. He finally looked to Henry and said, “Where is my wallet? And for that matter, all on the money in it?”

Scratching the back of his head, Henry said, “Getting laundered?”

Rick stared dryly. “Who are you? And which mafia member has replaced our Henry?”

Their family steward relaxed more. “You are acting more like yourself. Your eyes are a little more normal. Good.”

His eyes widening, Rick stared more. “What? What do you mean?”

Cringing, Henry peeked at him. He hesitated before saying, “I think your father should be the one to talk to you about it. This really isn’t my jurisdiction.”

Rick stared more. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Henry looked pained. He met Rick’s gaze and said, “You fell in among some dangerous folk.”

Thinking back on Wolverton, Rick shook his head. “No…. They were good people. They helped me out.”

Henry nodded, refraining from arguing.

“No, seriously. Henry. They were good people,” Rick said growing distressed.

“We should wait for your father.” Henry then lifted a finger to hail waiter. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“No, Henry. I want to have this out now,” Rick said, rising.

Henry pulled back. Then he pointed back to the stairs. “Go back to the room and take another shower.”

“What?” Rick threw up his hands.

“And scrub under your fingernails,” Henry said. “And behind your ears.”

“What does this have to do with bathing?” Rick protested.

“Go!” Henry pointed harder, not meeting his eyes but turning away, “I will not have this conversation with you until you are completely clean.”

“For what reason—?”

“Your father’s orders.”

 His father’s orders.

Rick half felt like stomping back to Wolverton in his bare feet. He could find Daisy before the pack left. He could spend one more hot moment with her. He could maybe even leave with them. Who wanted to be CEO of Deacon Enterprises anyway?

“Go!” Henry rose.

Flustered, Rick then stepped away then rushed up the stairs.

He tromped his feet into the room, slammed the door. Then he tromped the bathroom and stripped off his clothes, dropping them onto the floor. Grabbing that vile soap, he scrubbed all over with it again, paying attention to under his fingernails, his scalp and behind his ears and in his belly button for good measure. All crevices, just so his father would be happy. He scrubbed everything so he didn’t have to do it all over again.

Henry snuck in and took his discarded clothes. Rick barely caught sight of him.

“Hey!” Ruck called after him.

“It’s for your own good!” Henry ran off.

Once he was entirely clean and sore, and his skin achy all over—especially in a scape on his arm—Rick climbed out of the shower and found that his towel had been replaced with a fresh new one.

His father was also sitting in the room on the bed.

Rick jumped back, wrapping the towel quickly around him. “Dad! Don’t do that!”

“Good response,” his father uttered. Then he rose from the bed. “Your eyes aren’t wolf dilated anymore. Let me smell you.”

Rolling his eyes, Rick groaned. “I can’t believe this. If anybody ever heard you say that, do you know what they would think?”

“Another good response.” And his father smiled. However, he also sniffed Rick, especially his hair and his hands. He nodded. “Good. It is all off.”

“What is?” Rick stared at him.

Walking back to the bed, his father replied, “That oily substance which was all over you.”

Blinking, Rick tried to think of an oily substance. His mind then went to Daisy’s bug repellant. “Oh that. Mosquito repellant.”

“That’s what they told you, huh?” His father sighed.

Rick followed him out of the bathroom. “What do you mean by that?”

Shaking his head, his father muttered. “It doesn’t matter. The damage is done.”

“What damage?” Rick peered at him.

Sighing again, his father face him. “You hunted with them, am I correct to assume?”

Rick nodded.

“How was the pack hunt?”

Thinking about it, Rick sighed. “It was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. One with the pack. Really belonging.”

His father nodded. “Damage done.”

Staring at him, Rick’s hackles raised. “How is that damage?”

Gazing sadly into Rick’s eyes, his father asked, “While you were with the wolves, did you make any choices counter to your own conscience?”

Rick flinched and pulled back, thinking about what he had done with Daisy. A stab of shame went through him like a wooden stake. His chest hurt. The worst part was, he had known it was wrong from the beginning.

Where had his brain gone? The color washed from his face.

“Being all the same, belonging for the sake of belonging…” His father’s voice broke through his thoughts. “It is intoxicating. It is comforting to belong to something. It feels safe—but it really isn’t healthy. You don’t grow as an individual if you are so busy blending in. In doing that, you give away your will to the mob, and you make decisions you regret.”

“But they were nice to me,” Rick murmured, wondering what had happened.

His father sadly chuckled. “As Pastor Cartwright used to say: you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“Oh…” Rick groaned and dropped on the edge of the bed, clenching his hair. “Oh….” It really hit him hard now, what they had