by Hallie Lee
I nodded. “The colors compliment my eyes.”
“And that haircut.” He whistled.
“It accentuates my bone structure.”
“I’ll say,” he chuckled.
Over dinner, while I fed Meadow bits of roast beef and dollops of mashed potatoes, Axe told us about the work he was doing at a big house in Belle Maison. Peony laughed at all his corny jokes, and he told her he’d weed her flower garden on his day off.
Once Meadow was down for the night, Axe sat at the table with Peony and me, and together we cut dozens of perfect squares for my patch-shirt.
•
I knew something was off the moment I arrived at Megan’s the night of the bonfire. For one thing, Taylor, who’d recently equated Megan to a roll of toilet paper, rested his big, beefy arm along her shoulder. And she didn’t seem to mind.
As he and several of his buddies gaped at me with contempt, I swallowed back a swell of panic. Megan finally detached herself from Taylor’s side, but avoided my eyes as she moved to greet me. Inspired by the sheer beauty of Peony’s prized blooms, I’d brought the flowers in a moment of weakness. When I offered them to Megan, she took them with a glint of amusement.
The bonfire lit up the back yard, and the crowd from school grew louder as beer traded hands. Megan flitted around the way hostesses do, attending to everyone’s needs. Everyone’s except mine. She seemed unaffected by my presence, and I found myself standing alone most of the time.
“You want a beer?” Lola, one of Megan’s friends, sidled up to me.
“No, I’m good.” I had no taste for the stuff.
“I like your haircut,” Lola giggled, startling me as she ran her fingers through my hair. I bobbed uncomfortably, taken aback by her gesture.
“What’s wrong, Wolfheart?” Taylor asked. “You don’t like girls?”
All his jock friends slapped their thighs in hilarity. I scanned the party for Megan, relieved as she tottered over, carrying a plastic cup. Only she strutted straight past me, and planted herself next to Taylor.
“What did I miss?” She ducked her head into Taylor’s chest. He whispered something into her ear, and she tossed her head back in delight. She suddenly seemed to remember I was there, pivoting in my direction. “Did you bring any weed?”
“No.” I brought flowers.
“What’s the point of you then, Wolfheart?” asked one of the jocks. “Why are you here?”
“Get a load of that haircut?” cackled another jock. “Who cut your hair anyway?”
Megan chuckled along with all the boys, and so did Lola, and Judy, Megan’s friends.
As I strategized about how to make a dignified exit, Taylor’s hot breath disorientated me as he goose-stepped in my face. “I’m digging that shirt, man. Where can I get one?” His beefy hand flicked my collar.
“I think he swings the other way,” teased one of Taylor’s posse.
Taylor tugged the seam of my patch-shirt. “I mean it. I want one.” Another tug. “Where can I get one?” A hard yank, pulling my shoulder down a few inches. “I know. The salvation army!”
Uproarious laughter spread among Taylor’s crew, as heat flooded my face.
When Taylor tugged on my patch-shirt again, I swung. Hard. My punch was so well timed, number forty’s massive body twirled in a sloppy pirouette before he dropped to the ground.
Things turned ugly then. Clearly outnumbered, all I could do was fight until I couldn’t anymore. They surrounded me, pinning my arms behind my back, and took turns slugging my face into mush. Unwilling to surrender, I roused my weak legs into action and kicked at everything that came within an inch of my body.
They laughed. Taunted. And then heartily cheered the one who grabbed my legs, dragging me to the dirt with a thump that knocked the breath from me. Someone sat on my legs then, and another doubled down on his hold of my arms, rendering me defenseless. I lay on the ground, immobile, gagging on the blood in my mouth. My vision narrowed as my eyes swelled with each new punch.
My body grew wet with my own blood and vomit. And still they pummeled me.
The high-pitched squeals of females rang out as I felt my ribs cave inside of me.
Just before I lost consciousness, I turned my head to avoid the sharp heel of a boot, and saw my sister’s flowers scattered on the ground beneath the picnic table—ketchup and mustard soiling the vivid colors of her prized blooms.
•
Saint John’s Hospital became my home for what seemed an eternity. Rigged on a suspension, with my leg buoyed awkwardly, I felt like a grotesque puppet on a string. I’d lost so many teeth, my diet consisted of liquid in an IV, until the glorious day I graduated to pudding.
My ribs were wrapped tight, and my face was a mass of stitches that tickled my eyes at night. When I could hobble, my sister walked me to the bathroom, and when I cried in agony from the commode, Axe held my hand, soothing me with his deep, loving words. “It’s all right, brother. Just take your time.”
Eventually my vision cleared, and my breathing became less labored, but when I strolled the hospital hallway in my gown, with Axe and Peony on either side for balance, the looks of pity were indisputable.
When I was finally able to go home, I’d never been so happy to see the baby swamp creature called Meadow. She regarded me with fascination, studying me with a melancholy unusual in a toddler. Sometimes she’d giggle. Other times she’d cry.
One day as I shuffled to the living room, I saw my sister repairing my patch-shirt. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to remember.”
“But you must,” Peony said in a thick voice.
“Why?” I cried angry tears that stung my swollen, stitched eyes.
“Because,” my sister said with her usual grace. “You must always remember how brave you were for trying.”
•
Unrestricted by incessant female nagging, Madhawk roamed his old house freely. He glided from room to room, soiling the floors with dirt, and smudging the refrigerator with the soot from his hands.
As the yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze outside, Madhawk felt safe knowing that the cops were either combing the sacred ground for clues, or the lake house for evidence…or putting fires out at Wolheart’s.
He grunted with amusement as he rifled through the pantry, proud of himself for staying one step ahead of the clowns.
The fancy lake house had been a kick, but this was home. His home. He’d taken it years ago…just as he’d always taken what he wanted. Including Peony. Especially Peony. He’d set his sights on her as a young man, and when she’d rebuffed him, preferring instead the goody-goody Axe, Madhawk had begun to strategize.
He’d played the long game.
Now, as he reflected on his patience, he scrounged through the cabinets, finding a muddy glass. As he filled it from the faucet at the sink, the spigot gurgled a few times, bringing a smile to his lips.
Peony always pestered him about fixing the spigot, and once, she’d made the mistake of bringing Axe’s memory up, touting his handyman skills and his all-around dependability.
She never made that mistake again.
As Madhawk continued to wander through the house, he noted the changes.
Bella and Meadow’s room appeared larger now that it was free of Bella’s music equipment. And even Meadow’s side of the room was free of clutter since her books and magazines had been moved to Wolfheart’s place.
People thought Bella was the dreamer, but Madhawk knew better. Meadow with all her fashion magazines and her romance novels. Madhawk suspected she still had fantasies about her Prince Charming coming back to Shady Gully and whisking her away to happily ever after.
His laughter echoed off the vacant walls. Now Wolfheart had to deal with all their junk. All their drama. Served him right.
For years, Madhawk spread the word about Axe’s abil
ities, building up his work ethic in countless communities, referencing him here, there, and everywhere. And then, when the time was right, he’d set the trap. He’d tracked him. Hunted him. And on an old country road in Belle Maison, with only the light of the moon to do the deed, he’d taken him out of the picture with one glorious swipe.
Only then to have Wolfheart threaten his plans.
Wolfheart had been an angry young man when Madhawk reintroduced himself into Peony’s life. The resentful little punk had actively conspired to keep Madhawk away, and his overprotectiveness had hindered his progress with Peony. For a long time, he and Wolfheart had circled each other, both fighting and clawing for Peony’s attention.
Madhawk had moved slowly at the beginning, making the most of the time Wolfheart was out carousing, breaking the law, and causing his sister nothing but grief. While Peony fretted over her troubled, spiteful brother, Madhawk played the part of the good, supportive man. When Wolfheart finally moved out, settling into his own shack nestled in the swamp, Madhawk considered it a victory.
Although Wolfheart’s influence lingered, and he continued to bring Peony food, garden supplies, and literature on herbs and healing, fate was on Madhawk’s side.
Especially when Meadow got knocked up.
Quite the drama, as Madhawk recalled, and the timing couldn’t have been better. He’d finally won Peony over when he’d offered to take her kid—and her kid’s kid—to raise. What single woman could pass that up? Madhawk thought himself quite the catch. Especially when Peony’s beloved brother was a worthless troublemaker.
As soon as Madhawk moved in, Peony had become beholden to him, and he’d easily been able to keep her in line. He’d run the house with a heavy hand, and when Peony got out of line, he’d discipline her before the defiance spread to Meadow and Bella.
For a time, Madhawk had almost been happy.
But then the Spirit Warrior came into their lives—and he was never happy again.
PART IV
Chapter Nineteen
Hania
Luke
“I
can’t get the smoke out of my hair,” Bella complained, sniffing the end of her ponytail with distaste.
I regarded her as she sat at my kitchen table, licking flyers, and then stuffing them into envelopes. Not only did she smell wonderful, but she looked especially fetching as she’d missed the tiniest speck of soot along her left temple.
“Thanks for helping me do this,” I said, my fingers lingering as I lightly stroked the soot away.
“It’s fun.” She grinned beneath her lashes. “And I didn’t have any cleaning jobs today, and Claire hasn’t invited me to sub at the post office lately.” She pushed a stack of envelopes to one side. “Remember to put the ones for the Creek People in this pile.”
“Yes ma’am.” When she seemed unfazed by my teasing, I asked, “Your mom didn’t say much when she dropped you off this morning. How are she and your Uncle Wolfheart doing? Still upset, I imagine.”
“They are. Especially Uncle Wolf. Mama’s more upset about church this Sunday.”
“Because you’re singing?”
Bella nodded. “As if I’m not nervous enough.”
I reached my hand across the table, concealing my delight as she returned the squeeze. “You have nothing to be nervous about, and you can count on my entire family being there.”
“Good.”
“They’re like the navy seals, but twice as spirited.”
She hopped up, taking our glasses to the kitchen. “I like your apartment. How is it living next to the sheriff?”
“It’s okay. Especially since I’m his landlord, and he breaks the rules.”
“No!” Bella refilled our glasses with coke. “What does he do?”
I joined her in the kitchen, peering outside the window. “Let’s take a break, and I’ll show you.”
We carried our cokes as we strolled along the sidewalk of the duplex. The sky was overcast, which fortunately tempered the thickness of the late morning humidity. “Tell me, what do you see in all these windows?” I asked, pointing out the newest tenant’s duplex.
“Not much.”
“Well, what about this one?” As we turned the corner that made up the wall of the sheriff’s living room, an orange cat glared at us from the sunny windowsill.
“Oh!” Bella shrieked enthusiastically, rousing the cat. “She’s beautiful. And so huge.” The cat blinked, sizing us up. Unimpressed.
“She?”
“Yes. Look.”
I shrugged, bending to tap on the window as the cat scrutinized us. Clearly uninspired, the ginger feline yawned before hopping off the sill and slinking into the kitchen.
Bella appeared melancholy. “I like cats. We have several strays at Uncle Wolf’s who followed us from Mamaw’s. Chickens and dogs too.”
“I saw them.” I led her to a picnic table behind the duplex, perfectly positioned under the shade of a big hardwood tree. “I like that you’re an animal lover.” I wiped off the seat for her.
“I am.” She narrowed her eyes, “And I don’t like that you don’t allow pets in your duplex.”
I grinned, amused by her banter. Until I realized she wasn’t joking. “I will reconsider that rule. ASAP.”
“Good.” She tipped her head in a feisty manner, drawing my attention to the soft lines of her throat.
“I had a dog once.” I started. “Really he was my mom’s. I remember him always being old, but I was crazy about him.”
“What was his name?”
“Winston.” When she looked perplexed, I teased, “What? That one got you stumped?”
“No. Its origin is British—I know that.”
“My nana named him after Winston Churchill, so you’re correct.”
“See.” Bella beamed triumphant. “But I need to research it more.”
“Can I ask you something?” I blurted impulsively. “About our encounter the other night?”
“The kiss?” she said coyly. “Or the wolf?”
“Well, both actually. To tell you the truth, they both kind of scared me.”
“Neither scared me.”
A little incredulous, and a lot thrilled, my heart fluttered. “You called the wolf by a name.” I waited, noting the change in her manner.
Finally, she said, “Yes. He reminded me—”
“Of what, Bella?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. The whole thing seems surreal now.” She side-eyed me. “I’m not even sure he was real. Wasn’t there a dream-like quality about him? Like he—”
“He was real, Bella. Trust me. He came pretty close, and he seemed unusually tame for a wolf.”
She looked thoughtful, as if she were wrestling with a significant decision.
“Tell me,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“The shock of it—of seeing him—it brought back a terrible loss. He reminded me so much of the wolf pup my mamaw raised.”
“Wolf pup? Are you serious?”
“Of course. Do you want to hear the story?”
“More than anything.”
Before Bella began, she considered me. “Okay,” she leaned in, becoming animated. “It all started late one night when a pack of wolves surrounded our house.”
I shot her a look. “That doesn’t sound like a Disney beginning.”
She shushed me, deep in story-telling mode. “The dominant, high-ranking wolf in the pack was badly injured, and her packmates lurked in the brush at the edge of the woods just beyond our house. They howled for hours.”
“What was wrong?”
Bella didn’t respond, completely lost in her story. In her memories. “Uncle Wolf was there, and he and Mamaw kept vigil from the window, but the plaintive cries continued.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I
t was hard to listen to, because something was obviously very wrong, and it put Madhawk on edge.”
I waited, allowing Bella time to process her mixed memories. “With binoculars, Uncle Wolf could see that several of them were bloody, and limping, as if something had attacked the whole pack.”
“Louisiana black bears? Eastern cougars? Or a pack of coyotes?”
“I don’t know. It could’ve even been someone with a gun.” She looked blankly into the distance, her recollections taking her farther away. “Their cries were heartbreaking. Full of misery. I was only ten or eleven at the time, but I’ll never forget the pain and grief in their yowls.”
“Why do you think they came?”
“If you could have known my mamaw, you’d understand. Strays of all kinds naturally gravitated toward her, especially vulnerable or wounded ones.” She added wistfully, “Even needy humans stopped by to sit with her at times. Of course, she’d offer them herbal remedies, but what they really appreciated was her calm, steady manner. She was a true healer, and she had a gift for easing the spirit in those who were lost.” Bella turned to me. “I’m convinced those battered wolves came that night to get her help.”
“Her help with what? What happened?”
“As they came closer,” she explained with a sense of wonder. “The wounded mama appeared, along with her newborn pup.”
“Incredible.” I couldn’t help but smile at the inflection in Bella’s tone.
“The cries and howls got to be too much for Madhawk though, and when he loaded his gun, Mamaw stopped him. She told him she’d handle it.” Bella added with a note of pride. “And he backed down.”
“Good for her.”
“She and Uncle Wolf finally walked into the yard. Real slow like, real quiet. As soon as the talas saw them, they began whining and actively communicating with one another.
“Talas?”
“Wolves,” Bella smiled. “Oh. Did I forget to tell you that’s the name for—”