by Tasha Black
Ainsley found it very hard to concentrate on anything that afternoon.
Every time she emptied a piece of furniture, she would find herself spinning around, unable to decide what to trash. Several times she would complete work on a piece and go back to it, opening and closing the drawers blindly before remembering what she was trying to do.
She took the time to move the gems of her father’s book collection into her childhood bedroom. She packed them neatly and then made a sign, proclaiming the room “Off Limits.”
By the time 2:00 came Ainsley was completely on edge. She stepped onto the porch to put another homemade sign out front to welcome anyone who decided to come by, and caught her breath.
Out on the path and down the sidewalk dozens of people stood quietly, waiting. Some looked up and smiled at her. Others glared in open resentment.
Ainsley cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Thank you for coming. Why don’t you all come in? Everything in the house is available except for the front second floor bedroom, which is off-limits. There’s a sign marking it.”
People began filing in. The first group was a mother and her grown daughter, they went right to the dining room and exclaimed over the buffet. Ainsley’s heart ached, thinking of her own mother.
“If there’s something that you want, put a tag on it with your name. I’ll give you until 4pm to pick it up,” she said to them softly, handing them a sticky and a pen.
“Thank you, Ainsley,” the mother said. “We wish you would consider staying. We want that more than any furniture.”
Ainsley gulped air and stepped away. A man was apprising the oak kitchen table and benches and frowning over the drink ring. It felt like someone had kicked her in the lungs.
Back out to the living room she went. Some people had brought milk crates and contractor bags – they were filling them with her parents’ books and other odds and ends.
An older lady standing with a young man must have seen the pain in Ainsley’s eyes. She took her by the elbow and said, “Honey, this will be easier if you go out on the porch and get some fresh air.”
She led Ainsley outside and guided her to the porch chairs. They sat and looked out at the breeze lifting the leaves in the oak tree.
“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?” the lady asked kindly.
Ainsley couldn’t speak, but she nodded.
“You know, you don’t have to do this. Why not just get a house sitter? You can go back to New York and see if it still seems interesting after a week back in Tarker’s Hollow. There’s no rush. I’ll go in right now and break up this nonsense.”
Ainsley shook her head.
“I’m sure you have a lot of people pressuring you to do a lot of things. I heard they were pushing Clive Warren on you. And he doesn’t really seem your type.”
Ainsley looked at her hands. Did anything stay secret in the town?
“Ainsley, you should know that there’s not a man in this town who would refuse you if you chose him. Not one. It doesn’t matter if he’s young or old, even if he’s married. No one in this town will lift a finger.”
Ainsley looked back out at the oak tree. A squirrel was scrambling up its side frantically at the approach of more people with bags and boxes.
“The boy in there you saw me with. He’s my grandson. He’s fifteen years old. I love him more than anything in the world. He’s already being courted for a lacrosse scholarship to Princeton.”
Ainsley smiled faintly.
“If you said the word I would rip the lacrosse stick out of his hand and send him to your bed tonight.”
Ainsley’s stomach clenched violently. Was that supposed to reassure her? She stood, shaking, willing herself not to vomit.
A neighbor stepped out of the front door with Ainsley’s mom’s beloved tool bag.
“Ainsley Connor, I am so sorry to see you go, but I’m grateful to this memento of your mom. Some of my happiest memories are in that hardware store. We’re gonna miss you, girl.”
He shook her hand firmly and walked away.
The young boy stepped outside.
“Grandma?”
“I’m here, Nicholas.” The woman gestured him over. “This is Ainsley, sweetheart.”
“Hi!” Ainsley blurted, dropping her eyes and scampering back toward the front door. The idea that she could even accidentally draw that poor young boy’s alpha was so upsetting she just wanted to hide.
In the living room, a woman was trying to put a sticky on the floor lamp that her dad always read by. It had a commemorative Tiffany-style glass shade from the Tarker’s Mill Bi-Centennial celebration. The woman noticed her watching.
“I just want a souvenir of this town since it isn’t going to be around much longer. At least not in its current form.”
Ainsley turned on her heel and fell into the arms of a man her father’s age. She knew he was one of the town patriarchs from up on the hill, but couldn’t remember his name.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed instinctively.
He drew her close and whispered in her ear.
“I know the problem and I can help.”
She drew back and searched his eyes. How could he possibly help?
He pulled her into the corner of the parlor behind the piano.
“You’re a lesbian, aren’t you?” he whispered a little too loudly.
Ainsley gasped. Could anyone have found out about what she’d done with Cressida so quickly?
“I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “Listen, I’ll bet you think that just because you’re not attracted to men you can’t draw an alpha. But it can be done so long as you find something to love, respect and commit to in that male. And after you mate with him once it doesn’t have to be physical anymore. You can actually screw as many women as you want!”
Ainsley was speechless.
“As a matter of fact,” he confided, “your choice of alpha may be superior in this case, because you will choose solely on strength and merit - not on personal predilection.”
“Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me,” Ainsley said as politely as she could.
“I am glad I could assist you. And I hope you’ll let your alpha know how helpful my counsel was today,” he solemnly intoned.
Dear God. At this rate by 4:00 she’d be in a mental ward.
Just then there was a sharp knock on the door. Ainsley excused herself and went to see who would knock during an obvious free-for-all.
It was Carol Lotus.
“Ainsley,” she said primly in her quavery voice.
“Oh hi, Carol,” Ainsley said, relieved. “Come on upstairs, I put the books in my room so no one else would take them.”
Carol followed her up the stairs without a word. They went into Ainsley’s bedroom and Ainsley gestured to two boxes.
“I’ll help you carry them out. I think that should be everything of value from the collection here. He would want the college to have it.”
“Since when are you concerned with what he would want?” Carol snapped.
Ainsley’s heart began to break.
“Your father loved this pack. He loved his town. He sacrificed of himself for the greater good again and again. Even I know what he would want. And it’s not… this. The college won’t even be here anymore if you don’t stay.”
Ainsley hung her head. She couldn’t tell Carol her plan. She would have to bear it, even though the spiteful words hurt most of all coming from someone who had known her all her life.
“I’ll help you outside,” she muttered and hoisted up a box of books.
Carol grabbed the other box roughly and marched down the stairs with it.
Chapter 5
After what seemed like a lifetime, the two hours were over.
There had been so many snubs, so many lewd offers, and so many genuine expressions of condolence that Ainsley couldn’t begin to recall them all.
The scent of too many people and wolves choked the house. She
turned off the air and opened the windows. They had even taken the fans, except the small one from her room. She brought it downstairs and balanced it in the window.
The house was nearly empty. The wood floor was faded a bit leaving darker rectangles where the oriental rugs had been. In retrospect she should have kept them for showing purposes. But it was easier for her this way.
The house already felt less like home without all that stuff. And she’d never, ever have to come back after this. The stuff in her room ought to fit in her dad’s old Volvo, which she could drive back to New York and donate to Purple Heart.
The dust and cobwebs revealed by the furniture removal were driving her crazy. She held her breath and prayed that no one had thought to grab the cleaning products out of the broom closet. A good cleaning would set her straight and make her feel better.
By some miracle, the broom closet was still full. She grabbed rags, Endust, Windex, the mop and bucket and a bottle of Pine-Sol. By the time she was finished with the first floor it would look at lot less spooky.
As she cleaned, Carol’s words kept echoing in her head. It wasn’t fair – Carol didn’t have a life somewhere else. Ainsley was important in New York too. More to the point, she didn’t belong here – everything she touched here was ruined immediately.
There had to be another way. They were all so in love with this stupid little town but they weren’t willing to take it upon themselves to do anything. Couldn’t Carol see Ainsley’s perspective at all?
And it wasn’t like she was going to leave the town high and dry. She planned to choose Clive as alpha before she left. It would ensure the future of the pack. That had to count for something.
Ainsley suddenly wondered why she cared so much about the opinion of someone she would never see again. No matter how she told herself none of this mattered, it did matter to her – at least a little.
And crazy as that old woman had been in offering up her grandson, she had made a good point. Would New York seem interesting to Ainsley after a week in Tarker’s Hollow?
This town was small, but it would be hard for Ainsley to describe it as sleepy after all she had experienced in the last few days.
Success in New York was glamorous. But what did it mean?
Ainsley was alone there. Her only company was her competition. Who was she succeeding for?
Her parents were gone, and if she was honest about her future she couldn’t see much hope for a family there. It was hard enough to stop from being a wolf once a month. Now that she’d opened the door to the magic thing she had no idea if it could be shut again.
It wasn’t likely that she would meet a man who wouldn’t notice if she disappeared for a few nights every month and flashed blue lightning every time something pissed her off.
But thinking that way mainly begged the question – why had she sacrificed everything all these years if it didn’t mean anything?
It was this stupid little town getting in her head - that was all. She just needed to get back to New York and everything would be right again.
She pulled her list out of her pocket and crossed off the first half of #1 Clean out the house & get it on the market.
One and a half items done – only three and a half to go.
Remembering the time, she hurried to finish cleaning so she could get ready for Clive. A stab of anxiety pierced her.
What was she doing?
Would Clive find her attractive?
Could she really go through with this?
A cool shower and a beautiful new dress would help her feel confident and sexy. She hurried to the bathroom to prepare.
Chapter 6
Erik put down his machete and took a long pull off a gallon jug of water. The weather was too hot for taking down bamboo, but he needed to get his mind off Ainsley Connor.
Her mom would have known just how to get rid of the bamboo forest that was encroaching on his house. Mrs. Connor had the best advice for anything to do with plants and trees. He guessed he could go to MacGregor but the new hardware store owner had bigger fish to fry.
Erik shook his head in frustration. MacGregor was a fantastic beta – loyal and smart and ready to hand down orders from above. But as a stand-in alpha he was miserable. He couldn’t make a decision to save his life. Erik wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold off the Federation.
He picked up the machete again and went to work. Bamboo fell to the ground with every sweep. If he kept this up every day through the fall, he might be able to see the creek from his house.
Thoughts of the creek led him back to Ainsley again. He’d told himself he hadn’t bought the house just because their childhood hideaway was part of its acreage. But if he was honest with himself, of course he had bought it for the tree fort and the cave and the creek.
On a whim, he decided to try and slash a path right to the creek. It was slow going. He knew it wasn’t a sensible plan and he was wasting energy, but once the idea was in his head he was completely taken with it. It would be cool to have a path to the creek.
By the time he’d cut a narrow path about two feet deep, he realized it would be easier to just meander though the thinnest parts of the stand. The path would zigzag, but it would go faster. He picked up his pace as he hit newer shoots.
Two hours later he found himself at the bank of the creek. He put the machete down and opened and closed his fists a few times. He knew he’d overdone it, but he’d been possessed with a need to see the water as soon as he caught its scent.
Ribbons of sunlight filtered through the trees and reflected off the creek. The lush smell of fresh water filled his nose. On the opposite bank the big sycamore with their old tree fort stretched out its branches to him.
The fort was actually up a little higher than before. The old tree had grown in twenty years. It was unbelievable that it was still intact at all – they had done a good job on the roof. He guessed their cave hideout below was probably just as they’d left it - plus a few critters.
Until today, it had been good enough to know it was his – that no one would rip down the trees and build townhouses. With the highway coming in, wooded areas like this one would become more rare.
But thinking of Ainsley always made him think of this place.
She used to be a tomboy – not a fussy city girl. And she was the first to stick up for another kid, or to help anybody in need.
What had happened to his Ainsley to change her so much?
He had emptied the last of his water jug, so he leaned down and scooped a double handful of clear water from the creek. It tasted brilliant after the store-bought, plastic flavor of the jug. He kicked off his shoes and stepped into the water.
The cold water on his skin transported him back to a simpler time.
He and Ainsley played in the woods night and day with a whole mess of other kids. From the beginning, he had been fascinated by her.
And then came the day that cemented their friendship.
Chapter 7
Ainsley and Erik were in third grade.
A bunch of the fifth-graders brought a big rope out to the creek that day. Under the direction of Clive, who was a leader in the fifth grade group, a few kids had managed to scale the sycamore and tie the rope around a thick branch about twenty feet off the ground.
Clive announced that they were going to swing off the rope and into the creek. Erik was on the branch with him. He’d been proud to prove his mettle by climbing the tree with the big kids and tying on the rope. But he knew swinging down was a dumb idea. The creek was only maybe three or four feet deep at its center. And there were sharp rocks, branches and danger in every direction.
“Clive, that’s probably not a good idea,” he muttered.
“What did you just say?” Clive had asked, articulating each word and projecting his voice out over the group.
“Clive, it’s a cool idea.” Erik tried to save face in front of the crowd. “But the creek is too shallow. You might get hurt.”
“Aw, ar
e you afraid, Erik? Are you a baby?”
“No. But I’m not an idiot either.”
That garnered a nervous laugh from the other kids.
Clive was incensed. His ruddy cheeks went red, but there was a dangerous glint in his cold blue eyes.
“Erik Jensen, you’re such a brave little boy. You’re going to take the first swing and show everyone how it’s done.”
Erik realized his mistake too late. Clive was way bigger and stronger. And of course he wouldn’t like to be shown up by a little third grader.
Erik began to back up along the branch.
But Clive was too fast for him. He grabbed Erik by the front of his t-shirt and thrust the rope into his hands.
“You can’t do that, Clive, leave him alone!” Ainsley Connor squeaked from below as she wiped her muddy hands on the front of her overalls.
Erik waited for other kids to join her, but they were silent. They were all too afraid of Clive to argue with him. Erik’s heart pounded in his chest. He fought to keep his balance. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead.
“You will grab this rope and swing,” Clive whispered. “Or I will push you down. Your choice.”
Erik took a breath. It would be better to go down with a rope than without. He took the rope from Clive and headed toward the end of the branch.
The creek seemed impossibly far from the tree. Would he be able to swing out far enough to reach it? And what were the chances he could hit the center where the creek would be at its deepest?
His head got lost in wild calculations. But Clive just smiled and bounced the branch beneath him, like a springing diving board.
Erik grasped the rope as best he could, took a breath, and swung off the branch.
He flew through the air in slow motion, with time to mark the expressions of mixed admiration and horror on the faces of the kids below.
When the rope was at the peak of its arc he let go. Impossibly, it seemed he was actually over the center of the creek. As he fell, he allowed himself to hope that he wouldn’t get hurt after all.