Running with Wolves

"Jessica."

I tore my heavy-lidded eyes away from the deep forest behind my grandmother's estate.

It'd been weeks since I had a good night's sleep. The green-eyed man in my dreams had sucked my body dry of rest. I was certain I had never seen him before. If I had, I would have stopped in my tracks.

He was tall, muscular, and full of secrets. As many times as I prompted him, he would never speak.

I would wake up with the feeling of being watched in my one-bedroom apartment back home in Denver.

Now, I was here. In the place where the dreams took place. Maybe it was just a coincidence. However, I hadn't been here since I was a little girl. Before my mother passed away and my dad moved us several states away.

"Jessica," Aunt Tasha said.

I blinked; attempting to draw myself out of the groggy place, I called my brain. She had on a black wide-brimmed hat with an oversized black dress. I wasn't quite sure how she wore it in the humid Louisiana heat.

I was warm in the black summer dress I wore. She insisted I wear a hat to block out the sun while burying my grandmother.

She'd been right. The sun was heavy during those thirty minutes of lowering Grandmother into the ground.

"Can you go grab the paper plates from the pantry?" she asked.

I nodded and unfolded my arms from around my stomach. There were tons of people I didn't know wafting in and out of the house today. I appreciated the food because neither Aunt Tasha nor I were in the mood to cook.

The pantry closet was full of canned vegetables and outdated appliances it seemed she never used.

I grabbed all of the paper plates and brought them to the kitchen counter full of casseroles and side dishes.

Several male voices were coming from the living room but I didn't venture there to see the culprit. I rubbed my makeup-free eyes until they burned.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you Jessica Lowery?"

I turned to see a somewhat familiar face hovering in the doorjamb. He'd been at the funeral awkwardly staring at me from a distance. Folding my arms, I leaned backward against the kitchen counter and swiped a piece of auburn hair from my forehead.

"I am. Who's asking?"

He took off his top hat revealing a comb over and an aged face. He was the same height as me, which was on the shorter side and wobbled with each step.

"I'm Mr. Henley, your grandmother's attorney. Do you have a moment to chat?"

Why would he need to speak to me? Aunt Tasha was her only living child. Maybe she left me something to remember her by. "Are you sure you need to speak to me?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm very certain, Ms. Lowery."

I nodded and led him down a side hall toward the room where I knew Grandmother used to pay her bills. It had a small desk and two chairs. The smell of stale furniture hung in the humid air as dust particles floated in the sunbeams from the uncovered window.

I sat down and faced Mr. Henley.

He pulled out a folder and opened it on the desk between us. I didn't pretend to know what a will looked like but it seemed to me that was the culprit behind this meeting.

"Your grandmother was very specific about what she wanted to do with her estate."

I lifted both brows at him.

"Wouldn't it go to Aunt Tasha?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "Normally, yes, but since she stated for you to have it, then it's yours."

"Mine?" I repeated.

I couldn't imagine living in this Podunk town or taking care of such a huge place. Plus, it needed a lot of tender love and care that I couldn't possibly afford. I leaned back in the high-back chair and laughed. "You're sure?" I asked. "I can't live here, Mr. Henley. I just graduated from college. I plan to become a journalist in Denver."

Mr. Henley pressed his mouth into a thin line and intertwined his fingers on the desk. "Your grandmother was afraid that you may say that. When your father moved you up north, she was afraid you wouldn't want to come back."

I shifted nervously in my chair. She was right. There was nothing for me here.

"She asks that you live here for one year, give this place a try, and then if you don't find what you're looking for, you may leave."

What was I looking for? A job? A future? I was sure I wouldn't find it here.

I crossed my legs and leaned my elbows against the desk. "I'm-I'm not sure, Mr. Henley."

Aunt Tasha's heavy heels thundered down the hallway and she stopped cold in the doorway. "What's going on? Mr. Henley, didn't I ask you to wait until after the funeral to corner Jess?"

He huffed and shut the folder. "Her plane is leaving in the morning, Tasha."