Enchanting Wilder (3 page)

“Shut up.” She slaps my hands away, tugging the blouse down below my waist. “It’s supposed to be tight.”

I narrow my eyes in the mirror at her. “It’s supposed to be tight? Candy, you can see what I ate for lunch in this shirt!”

Candy licks her lips and cracks a smile. “Ugh, fine. Then you choose something. We’ve been here almost two hours and the only things you’ve picked up are a pair of combat boots and skinny jeans. I’d hardly say that is party attire.”

I glance at my bags on the ground. I love a good pair of boots—and Converse. Can’t forget those. They’re sensible and stylish. Whoever said it was a good idea to force women into wearing heels every day to work must have been a man. No woman would subject herself to that kind of torture. It’s a pain in the ass—or feet—whatever.

“I like my boots and jeans, thank you,” I say, tossing the red shirt onto the bench, grabbing another possibility off a hanger.

I know the moment it falls onto my shoulders that this is the one. A light off-white top flows perfectly against my delicate skin. The matte embellishments just below the neck of the shirt glow in the florescent store lights and I touch them with my fingers. “This looks like mom.”

I don’t know why I say it because it doesn’t look like anything mom ever wore, but it reminds me of her. My eyes begin to water and I look away from my reflection.

Candy places her hand on my shoulder and I look back up at her, the Sephra Link
taking over. “She would have loved this.”

I sniffle a bit. “Yeah.”

“Then we’re taking it home. Plus…” She slaps me on the ass looking all too proud of herself. “It’ll look badass with those boots.” She points to the bags on the ground and I grin.

I haven’t had a drop of alcohol to drink and my vision is blurring. I don’t know if it’s the drone of the music or the smoky atmosphere, but I feel drunk. Resting my head on my hand, I look over at Candy dancing with a random guy on the tiny dance floor.

Thankfully, she didn’t drag me to some hip-hop club like I originally thought she would. Instead, she brought me to a biker joint just off the highway. The Nest. It reeks of peanuts and stale beer, the leather seats are cracked and the band is obnoxious—definitely more my scene.

The bartender offers me a drink of whiskey and I throw it back, wiping my mouth as I slam the shot glass back on the stain-covered bar.

He tosses a towel over his shoulder and leans on his elbows in front of me. “Rough night?”

I grab the beer next to the shot glass and let the slow burn of the alcohol numb my body. “Rough life.” I look at him. His deep brown eyes bore into mine and I hiccup. “But I’ll get over it.”

“Eddie.” He extends his hand to me and I shake it.

“McKenna.”

“Nice to meet you, McKenna,” he offers. “I was wondering…” He’s stopped by a guy shouting his name a few seats down from us. “Hold that thought.”

I watch him walk away and take note of the way his hips sway just a bit.
I could be into him
. He’s good looking and he’s got a nice smile. Doesn’t have the best hair, but I can try to get over that.
Try
being the operative word. You know how most women say the first thing they notice about a guy is his smile—or his eyes? For me, it’s hair. If a guy has a good head of hair, he can pretty much get me to do anything. Couple that with a good sense of humor, he’s golden.

Eddie on the other hand doesn’t really have what I’m looking for.

I take another swig of my beer and let my eyes drift around the bar. No one in particular catches my eye, so I move away from the bar and Eddie, in favor of a booth in the back.

“What can I get cha’?” the waitress asks the moment I sit down.

“Umm.” I glance at the menu and then to her nametag. If I’m not going to find a guy, the only woman-like thing to do is eat. “I’ll take a burger, Fran. Cheese and hold the onions,” I say, slipping the menu back down on the table.

“You got it.” She winks and walks to the kitchen.

The band begins to play a slow song and Candy walks over and plops down on the other side of the booth.

“What’s up, chickie?” I ask, pulling the label off of my beer bottle.

Candy wipes the sweat off of her forehead and fans her face. “It’s hot out there.” She points to the dance floor.

I nod, moving my eyes out to watch the couple’s two-step in rhythm to the song.

“Having fun?” She steals my beer and takes a sip, wincing when it hits her tongue.

“I am, actually.” It’s nice to get out of the house. And this place is just laid back enough that I can hang out without having to worry about sleazebags bothering me.

“Good.” She smiles, watching as Fran appears with my dinner. “Ooo, I’ll have one of those, please.” Her eyes light up and she almost salivates the moment I take a bite of my fries.

Fran snaps her fingers, and writes down Candy’s order.

We sit in silence for a few minutes as I eat my dinner. I haven’t had a good, greasy bar burger in far too long.

“Eddie keeps looking over here.”

My eyes snap to the bar and I quickly wipe the grease dripping down my face.
Good God, how could anyone find me attractive?
But sure enough, there he is with a goofy grin on his face staring at me like I’m the most adorable little puppy he’s ever seen. “What’s he looking at?” I ask, clearly questioning his judgment as I catch another drop of burger grease in my napkin.

Candy turns her attention to me and I set my burger down. She shakes her head.

“What?”

“Dude.” She reaches across the table and slaps my shoulder. “He likes you.”

I look down at myself. “What? No.”

My eyes immediately return to the bar to find Eddie still gawking. Candy slaps me again. “You’re a fox. Go get some.”

I scoff, sputtering into my napkin. “Go get some? Who are you?” I laugh a good hearty laugh that I haven’t heard from myself in way too long.

She shrugs. “I just want to see you happy.”

I breathe and pick up another fry. “I’m—happy.” It almost hurts to lie to her. I’m living day-to-day. I’d hardly consider myself happy.

“I know you’re lying.”

I grit my teeth.
Damn Sephra Link.

I pick at my food, not saying a word.

“Look—” she says, but the world goes blurry and I’m pulled from reality, unable to hear her what she has to say.

Taking in my surroundings, I’m reluctant to speak. I don’t know why she pulled me in here. It’s my day off.

“McKenna,” Sally, my Spirit Guide greets. “You’re needed.”

Sally hands me a piece of paper with a name on it and I sigh, not in the mood to argue. “Fine. Just this one?”

Sally nods, knotting her hands together in front of her body. “Just this one. I’m sorry to pull you away from your evening. This one is incredibly important.”

I commit the name to memory and snap myself back to Candy.

The lull of the road underneath my silver ‘69 Sting Ray is enough to make my eyes heavy with sleep. Shaking my head, I comb a hand through my brown hair, attempting to keep myself awake. Sherwood’s tall, lanky body is passed out and snoring in the seat next to me. If it wasn’t for the fact he stayed up all of last night driving, I’d wake him up to take over.

I move my right hand from the steering wheel to turn up the music, hoping to evict the tiredness from my body. The Outfield’s
Your Love
pours through the speakers and I quietly sing along to the upbeat tune. It’s the only way I’m going to survive and make it to Iowa.

Sherwood caught a case just outside of Des Moines, so we figured it would be best to go check it out. Could be nothing, more often than not it is nothing, but it’s not in our blood to ignore the strange when we’re completely capable of helping.

We’re Pursuers
,
which I guess is just a fancy name for a long line of mortal paranormal hunters, dating back to the early 1800s. We pursue evil; hunt the bad and banish it. Myself and Sherwood were born into it, trained and educated on all things paranormal, just as our father and grandfather, their father’s father—and well, you get the picture. We have family scattered all over the globe fighting this war, and sure, someone else could have gone to check out the allegations, but being “the best of the best” comes with responsibilities. Or so my dad says. He’s been out on a hunt for a little over a week, and I know if I called him to double check, he’d call me an idiot and tell me to get my ass in gear.

“No matter how little the case may seem, you owe it to yourself and those involved to make it right,” he’d say in his gruff, no-nonsense voice.

So, here I am, flying down a long stretch of ominous road with my brother, hoping to God I don’t get us lost. That’s not something you think about when you’re trekking all over the United States, but I lead us in the wrong direction more than I’d like to admit. It also doesn’t help I’m sometimes too prideful to ask for directions. My father’s blood runs thick inside my veins.

Cracking the window, the light October breeze slams against my face and I have to remind myself not to close my eyes and savor it. When you live half your life on the road, you have to take the little moments like this one and really grab on.

Sherwood shuffles in his seat, turning away from the intrusion of air. I reluctantly roll the window back up, not wanting to disturb him any more.

It’s always like that, isn’t it? The big brother wants to shelter the little one. He’s only three years younger, but even now that he’s twenty-four I can’t help but still worry about him.

It’s probably because dad constantly drilled it into my head. “You’re his protector. He’s your responsibility.”

I shake my head at the thought.
Why wasn’t Dad the protector?

Nevertheless, Dad instilled those thoughts when I was ten years old.
Ten.
God, I don’t know why he put that burden on me at such a young age. But, he did, and dammit, now my protectiveness is almost to a point of obsession. I’ve had a lot of years to perfect my ability.

Keep Sherwood safe. Make sure he gets home alive.

If I’m being honest; Sherwood is a much better Pursuer because he only has himself to look after. He’s better at the research and even better at investigating. Where he’s kind, I’m a bit harsh. I’m a get in, get out kind-of-guy. Sherwood worries about the victims on a different level than I do. I’m all about the job and he coddles the families. I guess that makes us a good team in that sense. The yin to his yang.