Free The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) by Katherine Lampe Page A

walking.”
    “Did you walk the creek path?”
    “No, just the streets.” His eyelids flickered, as if the words recalled something to mind he didn’t much like. He had very long lashes. “What’s the creek path?”
    “Just what it sounds like. A walking and biking trail that runs along Boulder Creek from downtown to Fifty-Fifth Street. You should check it out while you’re in town.”
    “Perhaps I shall. When I feel the need to walk again.”
    He fell silent, drinking his coffee and gazing at me. I wished he would stop. It made me feel as though he expected something from me, and I had no idea what. A couple of times, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out; I hated making small talk. Both times, I covered by gulping my own coffee. What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say, at breakfast with a virtual stranger, whom I had been thinking about taking to bed? Oh, gods.
    To my relief, our food came after not too long a wait. Timber tore into his with ravenous hunger, his teeth strong and white. I ate more slowly, wishing I had remembered to ask for a half-order; Lucile’s served up enormous portions. When Timber had finished, I waved the waitress down and requested a box and the bill. My companion made to snatch the latter out of my hand.
    “Let me get that.”
    “No.” I fished in my fanny pack for some cash. “In fact, I will,” I added, just to irritate him.
    He frowned. “I can pay for my own meal.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “I wouldn’t think that journeyman shamans are exactly rolling in dough.”
    The frown deepened to a scowl. Evidently, financial matters touched Timber’s manly pride.
    “Oh, come on. It won’t kill you to let me buy you breakfast.”
    His lips twitched as he stood up. “I’m astounded you’d want to. But very well; as long as you let me buy you a meal some time.”
    I gave him a suspicious glance out of the corner of my eye. Was he asking me for a date? His face revealed nothing, and I shrugged.
    “Fair enough. Let’s get this show on the road, then.”
    I led the way off the porch, but when I would have started toward Spruce Street, Timber cleared his throat.
    “I said I had an alternative to your busses, aye?” He jerked his head in the direction of the curb. Parked in front of the restaurant was a car so horrible I wondered that I hadn’t noticed it before: a ’78 Pacer done up like a pair of Levi’s blue jeans. Doubtless I had blocked the sight from my memory before it could register.
    “Good gods. Please tell me you didn’t rent that thing.”
    Timber snorted, with mirth or disgust, I couldn’t tell. “Aye, well. Journeyman shamans aren’t exactly rolling in dough.” My horror must have shown on my face, for he burst into outright laughter. “Of course not. I borrowed it.”
    “Who from?” I hoped Timber’s idea of borrowing didn’t involve crossing certain wires under the dashboard.
    “My sister. Get in.”
    I did so, taking care with the genuine copper rivets in the denim upholstery. “You have a sister?”
    “Aye.” He managed somehow to fold his big frame into the seat and started the engine. “Four, in fact. But only the one in town. I’m staying with her.”
    “Convenient.”
    “Aye.” He backed the car out of its spot without a glance over his shoulder, veered across Fourteenth Street and around the corner onto Spruce. “It may be a reason Mitch, my teacher, sent me. Though he had others.”
    His face closed off all of a sudden; he hadn’t meant to share so much. I had no intention of letting him remain silent, however.
    “So he did tell you something. About what Stonefeather’s done.”
    He hesitated, then sighed. “Not much. Just that I’d find it particularly educational.”
    And I couldn’t get any more out of him until we got back to the shop.
    Once inside, Timber followed me back into the kitchen, where I stowed my breakfast leftovers in the fridge and hunted up a phone book.
    “This shouldn’t be too