Free The Wolf Road by Beth Lewis Page A

like. Door’s open for you.”
    Then he went inside. Turned his back on a stranger and left his door swinging in the wind. I could a’ been a killer for all he knew. Maybe he figured being a girl I wouldn’t be no danger to him. I hated that my head went to these dark places on first meeting someone new. I don’t got any trust left in me no more, but it seemed Matthews had enough for the both of us.

    I went in the house, slow and steady like I was stalking through deer country, but I soon gave that up. Walking in that homestead was like stumbling right onto the pages of one a’ them glossy magazines. Nana kept a stack ’neath her mattress in some plastic wraps so’s they didn’t rot. If I was good, what weren’t all that often, she’d let me look through before bedtime. Said it kept her head on all them things we lost in the Damn Stupid and the Second Conflict, that’s why she kept pictures a’ my granddaddy right ’neath her pillow. Maybe that’s why she was so sore all the time, she was living in the back-then, not the here-now. But them magazines was what told me I’d done good by her so I paid attention. Seemed like all them pages had their pictures took in Matthews’s homestead. “Holidays in the Wild.” See bears up close and personal. Come home to a warm fire and hot cocoa. That kind of thing. He had a grizzly-skin rug on the floor, claws an’ all, leather couches, cooking place with a double range and more pots and pans and ladles and plates than any right-minded folk would need in ten lifetimes. All you truly need is a big iron pot, a skillet, and a damn good knife. Seemed like fancy for fancy’s sake. Made my ten-year home with Trapper look like a flea pit.
    Matthews was at the stove, stirring the chili with a long wooden spoon. He didn’t say or do nothing when I came in but I saw a chair been pulled out from the eating table. He picked up another spoon, a little silver one what didn’t seem much use for anything, and dipped it in the pot, took a taste of the sauce. He puckered up his lips like a goat about to bleat and chucked in some salt, some pepper, and something I couldn’t place, some herb or something.
    “Coffee?” he said, then tasted the sauce again.
    Trapper never let me have coffee. He said it frightened the mind and made it misfire. I didn’t want nothing interfering with my senses.

    “Thank you kindly but no,” I said, “though I’d be glad of a drink of water.”
    Keep your manners friendly, Trapper always told me, but keep your wits sharp, ain’t no telling what kind of folk live in these woods. I never figured he was talking about himself.
    Matthews set down a small glass a’ crystal cool water and said, “This is mineral water, it’ll set you right.”
    I weren’t right sure what mineral water was and why it was different from the normal stuff out the river but it was cold and it hit my throat like rain on dust. I drank it all in one long breath and quick forgot my manners. I slammed that glass on the table and belched hearty, loud enough to rival any man.
    Matthews didn’t do nothing ’cept smile at me and nod.
    “I apologize, fella,” I said, “I didn’t mean nothin’ by that, I just ain’t had no water all day and sometimes you just can’t control your urges. Damn, that chili sure smells good.”
    He took the glass off the table, holding it real delicate ’tween two fingers and said, “I know how that is, young lady, and I take no offense. In fact, I take it as a compliment.”
    I smiled a bit at him but I confess I felt heat in my cheeks and I’m sure they went red as cherries. Matthews pulled out a chair opposite and sat down.
    “Have you been to Halveston before?”
    “No,” I said. “I’m travelin’ north, lookin’ to find some folks I ain’t seen in a few years. Wondered if they might a’ passed this way.” I weren’t quite sure what to tell him, he seemed kind enough, seemed friendly and sweet, but I didn’t know him from a hole