Interesting. A wolf with a conscience? Caleb ran through the times he ran into someone like that. Not a whole lot.
But chances were, he was dealing with a lone wolf, which would also explain why his run-ins with the runt was typically when she was alone. Pack wolves don't run alone. Made sense that the two were loners. And loners were a lot less uppity than packers. Caleb relaxed a tad, feeling a little less pressure to react to an attack.
"Hamburger boy? Psh, I've been called worse," he said, laughing. "And seriously, don't worry about the discount. Frankly, keying it in for all those burgers will take time that would otherwise be spent on cleaning up..." He glanced at the rag, sniffed it a few times, and cringed, "honey and mustard. Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor. Come on." All too eagerly, Caleb dumped the rag on the table and lead the way toward the register.
"Now, what do you want? They're all pretty good, in my opinion, but for a pair of mooners," he said, naming the public name for wolves, "I'd go with either the #4 or the #23's. Both have double patties and bacon, so extra meat. The 4 also has a fried egg and salsa, while the 23's got ham, cheese and tomato. Your pick."
"And seriously, no worries about your sister. What was her name, Rosemary?" Runtmary. Pfft. "Like I said, doesn't bug me all that much. Heh, really the only point of interest in my day, for the most part. Just do me a favor and tell her to keep the claws off my truck. Paint jobs aren't exactly a pretty penny, and scratched up trucks mean I get more random cop pullovers, which are a pain to deal with when I have a small battalion's worth of weaponry in the cab, and... well, you know how it goes, right?"