“You’re lying,” she told him. “I’ll bet they were gorgeous.”
I rolled my eyes at the couple then headed toward my bedroom. Those two were cute, but I had some serious thinking to do. I had made a deal with a man I didn’t know or trust to help me save my career—a career he didn’t seem to have a lot of respect for. I don’t mind strange, kind of like it, as a matter of fact, but a grown man who was so caught up in his own world he wore bow ties every day? Who liked to wear a fez? That might be a little too weird even for me. Maybe.
So the bow ties were probably a nerdy thing. I’d figured it was fifty-fifty nerd or weird professor style. Maybe it was both.
I thought about Hunter in a fez—a hat that looked a lot like a cardboard toilet paper tube, size adjusted to fit a human head, capped at the top and painted red. Actually, it was way too easy to form the mental picture. He was different, and I liked different. Except for the whole lack of respect for how I made my living thing. That irritated me, like a flea crawling around on my neck.
Scrappy was curled on my bed.
“I’m an idiot,” I told her.
She looked at me for a minute, then went back to washing her face.
I pulled out a new writers’ magazine and sprawled beside her.
Chapter Five
“This is called Ghost Hill? Seriously?” Hunter narrowed his eyes at me as if wondering whether I was teasing him.
“It’s what the locals call it.”
“Well, there is a hill.”
I shrugged. “There’s been a lot of paranormal activity reported here. Lots of sightings and such.”
He groaned, and I gave him my most innocent expression. “Hey, you’re the one who wants to debunk all those wild stories.”
“Something tells me you don’t think I can.”
What I thought was the least of his problems, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that. “Not really, no.”
He gave me a measuring look. “You want to believe.”
I snorted and my face heated. “Want has nothing to do with it.”
He groaned. “Please tell me you don’t believe in that Bigfoot bunk. Or the aliens. Or—”
“Faeries, leprechauns, and shapeshifters.”
“I haven’t heard anything about shapeshifters, but yeah. Please tell me you don’t believe, cute stuff.”
I patted his cheek. “Sure. I don’t believe.”
I walked a few steps away before looking over my shoulder. “Oh, I forgot unicorns.” I grinned as I continued over to the back edge of the hill. I glanced back again, and saw his frustrated glare. He did not like to be teased, at least about the paranormal. Well that was interesting and offered a wide range of possibilities for fun.
He eventually wandered my way, and a few minutes later, he gave up being grouchy and spoke. “This is Sawyer Hill, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “This is it, the place where Neil Sawyer built the very first European-type person’s house in Ugly Creek. Over there is what’s left of the foundation.” We walked over to where hand-worked rocks, now aged and weathered, outlined the perimeter of what had been a small house.
“This was the first house, but the Sawyer guy wasn’t the founder of the town?”
“No, he was just the first to build a house.” I shrugged. “I don’t know how that works. Probably some paperwork thing.”
“Most likely.”
Hunter took notes, snapped pictures, and gave me occasional sideways looks, probably to make sure I wasn’t going to try to fake something weird. Not that I’d have to fake it.
I enjoyed feeling the wind in my hair. A grasshopper leaped near me and I shivered with the desire to shift and play. What would the intrepid writer do if Trixie just appeared out of nowhere?
I glanced back at Hunter, who was sitting on his heels so he could examine the blocks better. There were no weeds in this area, only grass that had been cut and maintained, which led me to believe there were those in Ugly Creek who understood the benefit of keeping historical spots spruced up. For pride or tourists, I couldn’t say. Either way, it made me proud of the quirky little town.
A few minutes later, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful young woman near the line of trees on the far side of the hill. She turned and I saw a pair of bright blue wings. Excitement rushed through me, and I glanced toward where Hunter was occupied taking photos of some gorgeous wild blue sage and tall purple ironweed. Before I could go toward her, the woman took flight. With one quick flash of color, she was gone.
My first thought was to rush over to Hunter and tell him what I’d seen. Before I could do that, I was hit with a sudden, thick dose of reality. Who was I to reveal Ugly Creek secrets to a man I barely knew? Or anybody for that matter? I was an outsider myself, accepted here because my aunt lived here. She told me about the specialness of Ugly Creek because of my own secret. She’d confided in me and had made it very clear that I was to protect the creatures that lived here. Ugly Creek was a sanctuary, and I was welcome. That didn’t mean I had the right to share with a complete outsider just because I wanted to burst his arrogant little bubble.
I knew all that. When I had agreed to show Hunter around, I took seriously my role as protector of this little town that had so generously accepted me as I am. I didn’t want to violate their privacy. I actually wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was only thinking what it would be like for snobby professor dude to discover just how wrong he was about things he couldn’t understand. Maybe he’d be a little more open-minded afterward.
Well, that dose of reality put a fine dent in my fun. I wandered back over to tall, dork, and unbelieving. He was still taking photos and writing in his little notebook, so I walked around some more, wishing once again that I could shift and play in the sun.
My super-canine hearing meant I heard the rough sound of the motor before the human did. I leaned my head and listened. Motorcycle, Harley if I wasn’t mistaken. I’m sure there are a few Harley bikes in and around Ugly Creek, not to mention tourists and visitors. Still, I was fairly sure what I was hearing was the sound of the bike belonging to the most well-known and well-loved person in Ugly Creek.
By the time the motorcycle topped the hill, Hunter had stopped his exploration and was watching the same place I was. The bike stopped, and the diminutive rider swung off the seat. The woman was dressed in black leather, her dark brown hair had streaks of gray, her face had only a few wrinkles, but her eyes held the wisdom of years. Nobody knew just how old she really was, but it was universally accepted that she’d been around for quite some time.
Respect and affection filled my heart as I hurried to her for a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Aunt Octavia!”
“It’s good to see you too, little one.”
I laughed. “You don’t come up to my chin.”
“Physical size is irrelevant,” she said, as she took my hand in hers and rubbed her forefinger over the palm.
“Anything interesting?”
“With you, always.” She raised her head and scrutinized Hunter. “But first we must deal with Mr. Skeptic over here.”
He held out his hand. “Hunter Devereux. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms.…”
Instead of shaking his hand, she turned it palm up and was rubbing the tips of her fingers over it. “Call me Aunt Octavia, everybody does.”
He was frowning. “May I ask what you’re doing, um, Aunt Octavia?”
“Listening to the spirits.”
“Do the spirits speak to you a lot?”
“The spirits speak to all of us, but most people don’t stop to listen.”
“What are they saying about me?”
She held his hand in both of hers and smiled. “To be careful what you ask for, you might get the truth.”
He laughed, the jack in the literary box actually laughed at Aunt Octavia. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for the spirits to send lightning, or for Aunt Octavia to kick his ass, whatever came first.
She only smiled. “Heed the warning or not, your
choice.”
“That was a pretty vague warning, don’t you think, Yoda? Why not give me something solid to work with.”
“As you wish.” She rubbed his palm with her fingertips again.
“I thought you psychics just looked at palms, not rubbed them.”
“I do as I was taught.”
“So you learned to read palms, uh? Let me guess, you’re a gypsy?”
She looked up then, directly into his eyes. He closed his mouth and his gaze held tightly with hers.
“Whatever you learn here, whatever you do, it will make no difference,” she said. “He will only respect your choices when you show your true self to him.”
She let go of his hand and started back my way.
He took a stumbling step, then stopped. “How did you…who told you…who the hell are you?”
Aunt Octavia stopped beside me. “Trust your gift.” She smiled. “And your heart.” She got on her Harley and headed out.
As the motor noise decreased, Hunter came up beside me. “What the hell are you trying to pull having your aunt, or whoever the hell she is, show up and spit out just enough to make a lesser man believe she is more than just a con artist?”
My hands gripped into fists, and I’m pretty sure fire came out my nose. “I know you don’t believe in what you can’t put in a test tube, but she’s the real thing.”
“Is she?”
I so wanted to knock the crap out of this jerk. My fingers tightened to remind me they were more than ready to do just that. “You are the most arrogant son of rock moss that I’ve ever met. You can find your own people and places to insult.” I turned to leave, but a thought had me turning back. “And I don’t give a flying tree mite what you think about my books. You wouldn’t know a good story if it bit you on your nose.” With that I stomped off toward the trail that led down to my car.
I jerked open my car door and slid inside. It wasn’t until I was out on the main road and headed toward home when I allowed myself a tiny smile. He’d called me cute. Didn’t make up for insulting one of the wisest, and nicest, people I know. A person everybody respected. Still, I’d enjoyed hearing it.
Damn, I’m pathetic.
****
Shay and Ace were in the kitchen, but I blew right past them in my urgency to run outside. I couldn’t seem to speak, so I simply turned my back as I undressed. Ace’s groan followed me as I shifted into Trixie and blew through the doggy door. Behind me I heard Shay say something about me not even noticing the food.
Finally I was free to allow my body to fly across the ground. I swung toward one side of the yard, then loped as fast as I could straight at the other side. My fur flew in the wind, and my long ears flopped gently. It was a rush like no other. I pushed hard, letting the exertion work lose the knotted stress in my body.
Bumpkins stalked over to the fence, and I growled. His eyes widened and he turned back toward his house. Good, I didn’t feel like playing. All I wanted to do was to beat on one handsome man who harbored an ego the size of the Atlantic Ocean.
Either that or kiss him.
I growled and took off running again. Why in the world did I think I could consort with a snobby professor type? Even if he was a fine specimen of human male.
When I couldn’t run anymore, I headed back into the house. I didn’t bother to shift, just went directly to my bedroom as Trixie. There I put on a robe, gathered clothes, and headed to the shower.
By the time I got a plate of meatloaf and potatoes, I felt like a different person. Shay and Ace were sitting on the couch talking, their empty plates lingering on the coffee table. They each glanced my way with a small smile, but neither spoke. Understandable, I owed them an apology and an explanation. “I’m sorry, Ace. My intention was not to embarrass either of us.”
He nodded without looking at me.
“Are you all right?” Shay asked. “I’ve never known you to pass right by food like that, especially meat.”
Warm-fuzzies tickled me. My cousin was such a sweet woman, and she honestly cared about me. “I’m okay, I just had to run long and hard enough to get past an insatiable desire to beat a bow tie wearing professor over the head, that’s all.
Ace looked at me then. “Hunter? What did he do?”
“He insulted Aunt Octavia.”
Two pairs of eyes all but popped out of their heads.
“He must either be totally bonkers, or has a death wish,” Shay said.
“He just doesn’t believe anything he can’t fit in his little world of ‘science knows it all’,” I told her. “She told him to be careful what he asked for, he might get the truth.”
Ace frowned. “That upset him?”
I wasn’t sure I should go on, but I couldn’t seem to stop my mouth. “He asked for something more specific, and she told him nothing he discovered here would change how ‘he’ whoever that is, thought about Hunter. Bow tie freaked, but Aunt Octavia calmly walked over to me and told me to trust my gift and my heart, then she got on her bike and left.
“Hunter accused me of researching him and passing along info to trick him.” I shook my head. “I think he may have a few issues.”
“His dad.”
Shay and I both looked at Ace. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“His issues,” I said. “They’re what his dad thinks about him?”
Ace nodded. “His dad’s straight-laced and cold. From the little Hunter said, the man never gave him any real caring or understanding.”
Well, things were almost making sense. “Why would finding something here have anything at all to do with Hunter’s relationship with his father?”
Ace shrugged. “He’s writing a book about Ugly Creek, right? What would that have to do with what anybody thinks about him?”
“Did you ever figure out why he was so fascinated by this area?” Shay asked.
“Not really.” Ace’s forehead tightened in thought. “He did say something about the high number of supernatural tales, I suppose that could be why he was drawn here. There’s gotta be more than that, though.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “The more supernatural tales, the more there are to debunk.”
Ace’s frown deepened. “He’s debunking?”
“That’s what he wants to do. Not that he really can. Not here.”
Ace shifted in his seat. “Maybe that’s the point? Maybe he wants to prove the existence of the supernatural.”
Shay gasped. “That would not be good. Ugly Creek’s secrets need to stay hidden.”
“Trust me,” I said. “He’s a nonbeliever and he wants to make sure he shows the whole world he’s right.”
“That makes no sense. He always seemed open to anything. After all, he writes—” Ace leaned back, eyes closed, hand over mouth.
“Writes what?” I put all the demand I could into my voice.
“He’ll kill me.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “If you don’t tell us, I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll help her,” Shay said.
He groaned mightily. “Magical Realism,” he said, then put both hands over his mouth.
“That doesn’t mean he actually believes in magic or whatever.”
Ace sat up and looked his fiancée in the eye. “I seriously don’t see how he can write what he does and not at least be open to the possibilities. That’s what may have attracted him to Ugly Creek, the possibility of the concrete reality of the paranormal.”
“That doesn’t mean he believes in the supernatural.” Shay was looking at Ace wide-eyed.
Ace held her gaze. “It’s possible all this talk about not believing and debunking is a cover for what he really wants, to prove the supernatural is real?”
Shay bounced a little and grabbed Ace’s shoulder. “Oh, that makes so much sense.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Ace grinned.
I heard what they said, but all I could think of was one thing. “That sanctimonious jerk writes genre!”
&nb
sp; Chapter Six
I raced around the yard in an effort to disperse some of the bottled-up energy from a long morning of writing, deleting, writing, deleting, finally writing a sentence that worked. Make a cup of tea. Repeat. The canine side of me loves to move and the human world is just not active enough to keep that side of me happy. Or maybe I just love to shift into a dog and run until I’m so tired I’m ready for a nap. I could use one after a sleepless night and a morning filled with non-productive writing. This was not at all like me. I sleep well, wake up ready to go, and always have a couple thousand words done before daylight.
It was all the men’s fault. Ace because he wouldn’t tell us Hunter’s pseudonym, and Hunter’s because he was a jerk. I growled at a stick, pawed it around, and growled at it some more. That helped.
The sound of a vehicle pulling off the road had me curious, and I ran around to see what was up. The car was familiar. Hunter. I growled a little just for the hell of it.
He headed toward house, and I arranged to get there just as he arrived at the porch steps. He smiled when he saw me. “You must be Terri’s collie. You’re a gorgeous girl.”
I watched and waited. It was amazing what a human will say to a dog, and this might be interesting. He reached out a hand, and I sniffed it with interest. Coffee, eggs and bacon, toast, soap, new book. Interesting. He touched my head. “You’re a sweet dog, aren’t you? Maybe you could put in a good word for me with your owner. I don’t think she likes me much. I know I can be opinionated. I upset her badly with the psychic woman thing. Those people must be questioned. We can’t be sucked into nicely worded platitudes spoken in order to convince us—”
I growled, and he jumped back. Smiling to myself, I headed toward the back door.
By the time I got dressed and reached the front door, he’d knocked twice. Impatient varmint. I opened the door.
“Good morning, Terri.”
“Hunter.”
His smile was big and sure of itself. “I have come to apologize to m’lady for my opinionated remarks yesterday. I really must learn to be more accepting of other people’s views.”
With both hands, I grabbed Mr. Snob by the collar and pulled him into the house, it wasn’t hard, he didn’t pull back at all. I kicked the door closed behind me and let go of the crisp, white collars of his shirt, leaving him mussed and wrinkled. His eyes had all but popped out of his head.
Tails of Ugly Creek Page 4