Hope(less)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

When I stepped out the door, the sun, already high in the cloudless sky, shone brightly. Moving off the porch, I closed my eyes for a moment and tilted my head back to soak in the warmth. The sound of a ratchet drew me back to my purpose. 

I found Clay right where Sam had said, his torso bent over the grill of the pickup. He looked closely at the engine. Purposefully relaxing my shoulders, I started toward the truck. The yard was empty compared to yesterday. It left Clay more room to spread out the pieces he continued to remove. 

Slowing my approach, I studied him a bit. The mid-day sun didn't make him look any better than he had in last night's shadows. He still wore that heavy jacket, despite the warm day, and some type of very dirty, baggy cargo pants. His bare feet looked surprisingly clean after walking miles last night, then carrying or dragging me back. 

I looked at his feet again, then down at my shoes. No way! How were his feet cleaner than my shoes? He couldn't have worn my shoes; his feet were bigger than mine. Didn't Sam just tell me he had complete control over his change? Couldn't he have partially shifted his feet? Maybe. It still didn't explain how I slept through being carried. 

He continued his examination of the truck. I knew he could hear me coming, but I waited to speak until I stood next to detached hood. 

"We weren't officially introduced last night. My name's Gabby. Gabrielle May Winters." I tucked my hands in my back pockets and hoped I wouldn't have to shake his hand or anything. 

He straightened, turned toward me, and gave me his undivided attention. I didn't think it possible, but he was even dirtier than I'd first believed. Long hair hung in clotted strands obscuring his eyes while his unkempt facial hair covered the rest of his face. I kept my thoughts about his hygiene to myself. 

At no less than six feet to my five-five, he intimidated me, and I fought not to show it. His continued silence didn't help matters. It puzzled me until I remembered Sam's comments about his upbringing. Maybe he didn't even have the social skills to return a greeting. 

There had to be a way out of this. Please let there be a way out of this. 

"Sam said that your name is Clay." I waited for some type of acknowledgement, but didn't get one. He just continued to look at me. At least, I assumed I had his attention. I couldn't really see his eyes to know for sure. 

"Listen, Clay, I know you think I'm the one for you..." 

I decided to change my approach. Choosing my words carefully, I started again. 

"I don't have a sense of smell to depend on, like you do. Although the Elders say to trust the instinct of werewolves, I don't trust blindly." 

He didn't move. How was I supposed to know if he understood what I was saying? We stood maybe five feet apart with the front quarter panel of the truck separating us. I couldn't read his expression or anything in his body language to hint at what he might be thinking. I decided just to say what I wanted. 

"I really want to go home. If I asked to borrow someone else's car, would it live?" 

He turned away and continued with his examination of the truck, his body language, finally, easy to translate. 

"Ok. I'll take that as a 'No'," I mumbled more to myself than him. 

He surprised me by turning back toward me again. I struggled to decipher his mood from his face. His ridiculously long and shaggy facial hair obliterated any trace of a smile or frown. 

"Clay, I'm not trying to be rude here, but I'm struggling to figure us out. What's the plan?" 

No visible response.