Tails of Ugly Creek

by Cheryel Hutton

  Hunter turned to me. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “I did actually.” My hand started to rise on its way to caress his cheek, but I realized what was happening in time to convince it to go back to my side where it belonged.

  He glanced at the small, hardback notebook in his hand. “I need to go write this stuff down while it’s still fresh in my mind, but if you aren’t busy, I’d love to take you to dinner later.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Dinner, huh?”

  “Yep. I’ve heard there are real restaurants where they serve food on plates. They’re supposed to have nice tablecloths and even silverware.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Would you be interested?”

  I pretended to think. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.” He sounded cocky, but there was a touch of anxiety in his eyes.

  I leaned toward him and whispered. “That they have indoor privies.”

  It was silly, but we laughed anyway. In fact, we laughed so hard people started to stare, so we hid in a back corner until we got hold of ourselves. When we finally calmed down, we walked out into the lobby.

  “May I pick you up at seven tonight?” he asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  We walked together toward the front entrance, Hunter’s hand warm and firm against my lower back. Excitement bounced around in my belly. Just before we got to the door, it opened and a tiny woman walked in.

  I smiled. “Aunt Octavia!”

  She hugged me, then, as usual, took my hand in hers. The tips of her fingers rubbed my palm and I waited for her words of wisdom, and hoped I could eventually sort out what they meant. “Trust all that you are. Those who you need in your life will accept.” She looked up and smiled.

  Hunter stood close, his gaze down and his expression contrite. When she turned to look at him, he raised his gaze but kept his chin slightly down. “I am very sorry I was so rude to you.”

  She studied him a moment, then smacked the side of his head. “You’re only sorry because you see me as an old woman. I liked you better when you were honest with me.”

  With that she turned and hurried out the door.

  Hunter turned to me, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. I figured I had a similar expression on my face.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “Damned if I know.”

  He looked toward the door and smiled ear-to-ear. “I like that woman.”

  “Even if she reads palms?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t care if she reads tea leaves off my head. That woman is awesome.”

  I was somewhere between confused, delighted, awestruck, and just a tiny bit jealous. How that last got in there, I don’t want to consider. “She is pretty cool.” Boy was that flat and boring!

  He smiled at me, and my heart sang. “Let’s get out of here. I have work to do.”

  “Me too.” I’d been forcing myself to continue work on my latest book, even though I still had no idea why my numbers were slipping. Then again, Mr. Ignore-The-Obvious here was supposed to tell me his take on that. I gave him a little “accidental” punch with my elbow, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him. Maybe he was waiting until his research was finished so I wouldn’t leave him half-way through. Or maybe it was because he had no frigging idea and couldn’t admit it. Or maybe he thought my books were awful and needed to be hidden somewhere they would never be found.

  I groaned just about the time we reached our cars. He had taken me to the Eaglehair house earlier so I could get mine, so we stood between where we’d parked our vehicles side-by-side.

  “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head, but my gaze was down.

  He tipped my chin up. “What did I do?”

  The man had a way of making me smile, and I did. “What makes you think the problem is you?”

  He shrugged. “Previous experience.”

  “It’s nothing. You’ve been busy, and you probably don’t know what to say, and I’ve been goofy because of my dad, and it’s no big deal if you want to not—”

  His lips on mine stopped the babbling. Gee, maybe I should babble more often.

  He was smiling when he moved back. “I read your books, went to the store and bought the others, and read them.”

  “I would have given you copies.”

  “I wanted to buy them. Plus I didn’t want you to know until I was ready to talk with you. Then, with your dad calling and all, I just thought you needed to catch your breath.”

  “It was that bad?” I closed my eyes and turned my head. “No! Don’t tell me.”

  “I don’t buy horrible books.”

  “But…”

  He ran his fingertips down my cheek. “You are an amazing writer and I am honored you asked me for advice.”

  I looked at my shoes and shrugged. “You’re a professor and all, I should be honored.”

  His warm chuckle washed over me. “A professor who made an ass of himself by insulting you, and your cousin, the very first time we met.” He tipped up my chin. “I know I was the choice of desperation, and I want to be damned sure you don’t regret asking me.”

  “But they aren’t terrible?” I closed my eyes and groaned. “Gee, could I sound more pathetic?”

  “Probably, if you really worked at it.”

  And once again he had me laughing. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

  “Yes, actually. My mother informs me of that fact on a regular basis.” He leaned in and brushed my forehead with his lips. “Give me a couple more days, and we’ll sit down over lunch and see if between us we can get your writing career back to the top where it belongs.”

  Tears stung my eyes, but I looked up at him anyway. “You really think I can fix what went wrong?”

  “I think so. The problem is that we never really know what readers are going to like. The good news is you’ve been there. They love you. If we can rekindle that love, you’ll be on top again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, cute stuff.” He kissed me soundly, then escorted me to my car door. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” I got in my car and drove toward home, a huge, bright smile pasted on my face all the way there. Even as Trixie, I smiled the whole time I ran around the yard and playing with Scrappy and Bumpkins.

  I smiled through my shower and when I lay down for a nap. He liked my books. He liked my books! That thought went with me into sleep, and was there when I woke and got ready for our date. It shouldn’t matter what he thought, and yet it did.

  Chapter Nine

  It was the nineteen-eighties packaged into approximately two-thousand brightly decorated square feet. The delicious smells from a hard-working restaurant kitchen had my mouth watering, and the sound of Eighties pop pouring from the red and stainless steel jukebox in the corner tickled my toes with encouragement to dance. There was even a small dance floor tucked to one side of the tables and chairs.

  A jukebox. How cool. A big, vintage, vinyl-playing throwback to another time. There was no need even to put in money. A sign above the machine announced it played Eighties songs constantly while the restaurant was open for business. Scattered over the walls were posters from Eighties’ movies and TV shows, heavy on the alien theme.

  Waitresses wearing pastel layered tutu skirts, cute sleeveless tops with matching colors, tights that sort-of matched, and fishnet fabric fingerless gloves that almost reached their elbows. Shoes, of course, were black high-top sneakers. It was all part of the delightfully quirky setting at the Alien Station Diner—where the Eighties never ended, and aliens eat for free.

  “This place is incredible, how in the world did you find it? I had no idea there was a 1980s-themed restaurant just a couple of miles from Ugly Creek.”

  “A few weeks ago, as I was planning my trip here, I saw a notice on the Internet about it. I believe it’s fairly new.”

  The waitress put plates in front of each of us. “Here are you
r burgers and fries.”

  “I was wondering how many free meals you serve?” Hunter asked her.

  The pretty blond, who looked to be in her early twenties, never missed a beat. “Usually a couple a month, but sometimes there are several within three or four days. Anything else I can get you?”

  We both declined, and she went back to her other customers.

  Hunter leaned across the table toward me and lowered his voice. “I just want to know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How the hell do you prove you’re an alien?”

  I held my hands palms up and shrugged. “Green-blood card?”

  It was corny, and we both laughed. Still, I wondered if the waitress might be telling at least some form of the truth.

  We talked and laughed, and listened to Eighties’ songs.

  “I love this song,” I said, just as he said, “Awesome song!”

  It was simultaneous, and startling. Laughter blew through us.

  “So you like the group Celebration?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do. And that’s my favorite Celebration song.”

  “Mine too.” He ginned, his eyes glinting with what looked like mischievousness. “We have a song.”

  I leaned back in my chair and studied Hunter’s face. “Don’t we have to be a couple to have a song?”

  “Define couple.”

  “Two people who are…” I couldn’t think of one word I wanted to say I front of him. My face went hot, and I considered climbing under the table.

  “I’d say ‘two’ is the operative word here. There are two of us.”

  “But we aren’t…”

  “This is a date, so we are in fact, a dating couple.”

  My slow brain kicked in. “One date doesn’t mean we’re a ‘dating couple’. We’re just two people who went on one date.”

  “So, we’d have to what, go on more dates, sleep together, get engaged?”

  I groaned. “I don’t know.”

  “You were the one questioning whether or not we are a couple. There must be some criteria you based that question on.”

  “I just never thought of us as couple material.”

  He grinned. “Stuffy professor and gorgeous author of women’s fiction find love in the oddest little town east of anywhere. Too off-the-wall for you?”

  “Gorgeous?” I squeaked.

  Hunter’s grin grew. “Yes, you are. Am I stuffy?”

  I shook my head. “Kinda, no, sometimes.” I literally bit my tongue to keep from asking, but the word slipped out anyway, “Love?” I dropped my face into my hands and mentally called for Scotty to beam me up. To anywhere but the diner.

  “Do you have something against love, my gorgeous dating companion?”

  I managed to shake my head.

  “How about dropping the uncomfortable word discussion. We could simply see each other exclusively. Unless that would be a problem?”

  I forced myself to look into his eyes. The smile was gone, in its place was a serious expression that shocked me to my bones. “What is it you want, Hunter?”

  He reached across the table and took my hands in his. “You fascinate me, Terri Quinn. I want to get to know you better, and the best way to do that is to spend time with you. Being selfish as well as stuffy, I’d like to keep you all to myself.”

  “And when you go home?”

  He gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “First of all, I am in no hurry to leave this interesting town, or you.” He squeezed my hands as he smiled. “Second, we can reevaluate the situation when that time comes.”

  I studied his face for a time. “You like to keep me off kilter, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Well, yeah.” He squeezed my hands. “This is about getting to know each other. We seem to enjoy each other’s company, we like a lot of the same things, we have fun together. I would honestly like to know where that might lead.”

  I wasn’t sure if the chill was one of fear or hope, but it was attention-getting. “Lead?”

  He began massaging my palms with his thumbs. “Relax, cute stuff, I’m not proposing. I like you a lot, and I want to be with you. You’re my favorite enigma.”

  I smiled a little, “Your what?”

  “You’re outgoing and fun, and yet there is a deep insecurity inside you that’s holding you back. I’m intrigued.” His expression became more serious. “And if I can I’d like to help.”

  “Why would you want to help me?”

  “Like I said, you fascinate me.”

  I studied his face. There was definitely something he was holding back. “Hunter, what’s going on in that stubborn head of yours?”

  He looked at our joined hands for a moment before he raised his head again. “Okay, sweetheart, you asked for it. The truth is, I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hunter had to go out of town the next day, which was definitely good for my sanity. I struggled through my morning writing session, the words coming so slowly I felt like my brain was stuck in quicksand. I was not quite at half my usual word count when I decided I’d sat at my desk as long as I could tolerate it. I needed time and space to think as much as I needed air to breathe.

  I closed down my laptop and headed toward the kitchen. There I shifted, dove through the doggie door, and ran around the yard as hard and fast as my canine legs would take me.

  Eventually I needed to take a break, and lying in the soft grass near the back door, I let the sun warm my belly, while my stupid human mind bounced around like a kitten playing with a new toy.

  Hunter and I had agreed to see each other exclusively, which was hardly a big deal for me. It wasn’t like men were knocking down my door or anything. I dated sometimes, but mostly I stayed to myself and didn’t think much about it. When you’re a shapeshifter, dating comes with issues that I didn’t want to face. I’d freaked over seeing my own father shift, shifting in front of a guy I cared about was the kind of thing that provoked nightmares.

  And yeah, I cared about Hunter more than I really wanted to admit, even to myself. The last thing I wanted was to traumatize the man. He didn’t even believe in Bigfoot or leprechauns or faeries—and he’d seen examples of all three of them. Forcing him to believe by seeing his girlfriend shift probably wouldn’t be good.

  Just to confuse things even more, a part of me wondered where he’d had to go right after agreeing to be exclusive. To break up with his last exclusive woman?

  Ugh, I didn’t like the formal sound of that. Saying you’re “exclusive” is about as romantic as saying you have a dental appointment. “We’re going steady” is probably not a term adult-type people use, but I liked it better. I didn’t even think it was still a high school expression, not that I learned much about dating and such in high school. That pesky shapeshifting thing interfered in everything because I was constantly afraid somebody would find out I was not like everybody else. It was one more teenage problem on top of all the usual stuff. Like high school isn’t hard enough.

  I got up and shot around the yard like I was running from something. Probably my life.

  It took probably another hour to wear myself out enough to head back into the house. After a shower and a huge turkey, beef, and bologna sandwich, I curled up on the couch to read the newest celebrity magazine. I was relaxed and bordering on nap mode when a knock on my door interrupted. Hoping it was something interesting, but figuring it was Miz Carlisle come to complain, I pulled the door.

  And stood staring, with my mouth open.

  I couldn’t believe he’d actually come to my house.

  Well, Aunt Ruth’s house—where I was living at the moment. But there he was, standing outside my front door. Anger filled my chest and sounded clearly in my voice. “What do you want?”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Have I seen who?”

  “Rose.”

  I shook my head in an effort to shift the pieces of my brain back into place. “I don’t kn
ow a Rose.”

  “She’s only fourteen and she’s trying to find you.”

  I saw Miz Carlisle peeking through her germaniums and stepped back. “Come inside.”

  Once the door was closed I turned to my dad. “Why is a fourteen-year-old girl trying to find me?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then met my gaze. “Because she’s your sister.”

  All the pain, disappointment, grief, and guilt suddenly boiled over inside me, spewing hot fury through my body. “How dare you come here asking me about a sister I didn’t know I had, when you left me when I was four?” I poked him in the chest. “I needed you, you bastard. Mom needed you too. But you weren’t there. And you tell me there’s a sister I’ve never even heard about? Why should I even believe you?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “Bull chips.”

  “Look you can believe whatever you want about me, but there is a scared, confused, angry little girl out there. She’s convinced she has to find you.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  I opened my mouth to chew him out, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw sadness and pain that even my rage at his betrayal couldn’t ignore. “I really have a sister?”

  “Yes, you do.” He pulled out his wallet and showed me the photo of a long-legged, skinny girl who looked a lot like me.

  Pain bit into my heart and twisted. “You told her about me.”

  “No.”

  My gaze jerked up to look at him. “You just said she was looking for me.”

  “But I didn’t tell her. I wanted to, but it didn’t seem right for her to know about you when I didn’t think you knew about her.”

  “You didn’t think I knew? How the bloody hell would I have known?”

  “You mom didn’t want you to know, but I thought she might have told you at some point.”

  His words turned the pain into anger and blew my emotional control to shreds. “My mother! Oh, so Mom is responsible for all your problems? What kind of man are you? How dare you come here after all these years and try to pretend you’re some sort of victim of my mom’s decisions. When you know damn well she’s not around to defend herself.”