“He is.” Using his fork, Cory played with the leaves in the salad his wife had set beside his plate. “My pack is getting edgy. They’re in mourning, scared, and the hierarchy’s been cut off at the knees. That’s a bad combination.” When he looked up at Owen sadness colored his expression. “I heard about what happened in Eastfield.”
Owen nodded slowly. He didn’t open up often but something in the older, calm Alpha’s eyes made it easy to let the words out. “I hadn’t seen my mother for months before she died. Didn’t email her nearly as often as I should have.” He shook his head, leaned back from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. The words kept coming though. Slow and with awkward breaks but they kept coming.
“I was her only pup. For years it was just the two of us. I never knew my sire. The pack was real small…only eight families.” He sighed and ran his fingers over the napkin on his lap just for something to do with his hands. Cory and Piper didn’t interrupt. They just sat quietly, listened and radiated compassion.
“I left the pack the day after I turned eighteen.” Owen grinned but didn’t feel any humor in the gesture. “That’s not entirely true. I challenged our Alpha. Got up in his face, picked a fight for no good reason. I was all balls and no brains. He was a big, strong male in his prime.” Owen exhaled heavily. “It was no contest. Took me a few years to figure out why I’d done it. I’d already looked up the nearest Army recruiting center. Hell I’d called them and had a spot in an orientation session the next day. I just hadn’t figured out how to tell my mother that her only pup needed to leave the small, safe enclave she’d helped carve out for us.
“Anyway…” Owen picked up his fork and played with the chicken on his plate, much as Cory had before putting some in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “Next day I showed up at the recruitment center with a black eye and a bruised jaw. Figured they’d reject me for being a troublemaker. Turns out more than a few recruits show up looking like that. I signed my enlistment papers that day and I’ve been wearing Army green ever since.”
This time when he fell silent it didn’t feel uncomfortable. The three of them ate during the lapse in the conversation. When they were finished Piper stood, picked up his plate and Cory’s. When she moved past Owen she laid a hand on his head and stood beside him for a moment before heading for the kitchen.
“What about your family?” Owen, glad to get away from his maudlin thoughts, asked when Cory stood and picked a bottle of amber liquid up off the sideboard. There was a big, professional-looking picture on the wall of the Amoses and two young men.
“Ah. That’s Geoff and Ty. Geoff, he’s our oldest,” he said, pointing to the shorter boy who looked just like Cory. “He’s studying to be a pharmacist at the University of Arizona. His brother Ty is our budding artist.” With a sweep of his hand Cory pointed out the impressive number of framed paintings and sketches that decorated the room. “He won a competition when he was in high school. Now he’s on full scholarship studying fine art at the same school as his brother. They’ve been inseparable since they were kids. Between you and me, I think Geoff chose Arizona because it had a great art school and his brother could follow him there.”
Owen chuckled and accepted the glass of Scotch Cory had poured for him.
Cory took a sip from his own glass and sat back down. “I want to get to the bottom of Ed’s murder before they come home for the summer.” There was a growl in the Alpha’s voice. “I want this pack to be a home for them, not a place of fear or stress.”
Piper came back into the dining room, carrying a tray laden with plates of peach cobbler and ice cream. The serving she set before Owen could have done for two men. Cory’s serving wasn’t half as big.
“Aw, Piper,” he whined.
“You’re lucky you’re getting any ice cream with that cholesterol count of yours.” She might be a weaker were than her mate but it was obvious who ruled within those four walls.
Cory shot her a disgruntled look, gazed at Owen’s portion with open lust then pulled his plate toward himself, anchored one arm around it protectively, picked up his fork and began to eat.
Chapter Seven
Owen winced when his big pickup bounced over a series of potholes. His back spasmed in protest when he turned the wheel to get onto the paved highway. The house he was renting was nice enough but the one lone bed the owners had left was the most god-awful uncomfortable thing he’d ever slept on. His spine had had no problem reminding him of that this morning.
Killers be damned…his priority today was buying a new mattress.
He spotted the sheriff’s cruiser tucked in behind a clump of trees just as he was driving past. Out of habit he checked his speed and felt a zing of elation. Ha. He wasn’t even up to the speed limit yet. The elation fizzled like air let out of a balloon when the lights on top of the cruiser lit up and it turned onto the highway behind him fast enough to fishtail and lift a cloud of dust.
“Terrific,” Owen huffed. He turned on his signal, pulled over, opened his window and waited.
The deputy sheriff who got out of the cruiser behind him was a big son of a bitch. Over six feet and built like a freight train—all upper-body mass and legs that looked like he spent his off-duty time doing nothing but squats. His scent identified him as a were.
Owen made an effort to tamp down his anxiety when he saw the cop’s hand hovering over his service revolver.
Taking his time about it, the sheriff checked the back of Owen’s truck and the back of the cab then positioned himself between a door pillar and Owen before saying, “Driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance. Please.” The guy’s tone said the please was habit, not a courtesy.
Trying hard not to growl, Owen produced his paperwork then sat back for what turned out to be a long wait while the cop went back to his cruiser. Through his big side mirror Owen watched the guy’s arm move like he was keying something in. The cop kept looking up, like there was no way he was going to take his eyes off Owen for any length of time.
Finally the cop returned to the side of Owen’s truck. He didn’t, however, hand the paperwork back to Owen.
“You’re not from around here.”
“No I’m not.”
The guy huffed with what sounded like frustration at Owen’s lack of response.
“I saw you turn off from Harmony Way.” His tone was confrontational. “There’s nothing on that road but a few houses and a ranch. What business did you have up there?”
Owen spotted a second cruiser driving up on them, coming from the direction of town. It crossed the road and stopped in front of Owen’s truck, blocking him in.
This time Owen didn’t bother holding back his snarl of annoyance. “I’m renting a house on Harmony Way from the bank. Cory Amos arranged it for me after I came to him yesterday and asked about joining his pack. Honorably,” he added with enough force that the hostility in the cop’s eyes flickered for a moment. “My paperwork’s in order and I wasn’t speeding. If we’re done, I’ve got to get to the Amoses’ place. I promised to drive Piper to some fabric shop so she can barter for scraps for school projects. So my day’s promising to be god-awful already without police harassment thrown into the mix.”
For a stretch of about five seconds the cop stared down at Owen. Then, quite suddenly, he grinned. His grin lit up what had been a forbidding expression.
“Sounds true enough.” He was laughing as he handed Owen’s paperwork back then he waved the other cruiser off. “I remember my mother dragging me with her to one of those places a while back. The air was so full of dust I sneezed loud enough that every female in the place turned and looked at me like I’d let off a bomb.” He shivered lightly inside his state-issued bomber jacket. “Just the memory of the looks on all those female faces gives me the willies.”
Owen chuckled obligingly and made a mental note to wait outside the shop.
“My name’s Tom by the way,” the male said as he extended his hand. His skin was rough, his grip strong.
“Tom Ray.”
“Owen Wells. But I guess you know that already,” Owen added with a grin as he held up the paper in his free hand.
“Good to meet you, Owen. Sorry about the frosty reception but just so you know, our Beta was killed a week ago.” Tom’s expression tightened. “We’re still looking for the killer so we’re suspicious of every new face these days.” He slapped the roof of Owen’s truck. “Drive safe and keep an eye out for who’s around you, buddy.”
“I will. And thanks for the heads-up.”
“My pleasure. See you around.” Tom walked back to his cruiser while talking into a hand-held mic. He waved as he turned his car around and headed back to the clump of trees.
Owen took another pull off his longneck Heineken. The bar was what he’d expected of a western honky-tonk. Except there was no honky in the tonk tonight. The jukebox was broken and a middle-aged guy with a toolbox was squatting down beside it, his backside on the verge of flashing a plumber’s smile.
Owen looked away before he scarred himself mentally.
Still, the place was clean and smelled of malted barley, bacon and fried eggs from the grill in back and lemon polish somebody had rubbed the tables and bar-front with. There was the requisite sprinkling of sawdust on the pine-plank floors and the place was decorated in early chuck wagon—spoked wheels on the walls, rodeo photos and horse tack.
What was it with people and horses around here? Even the bar was named Hair of the Horse.
Although, he had to admit as he watched two females walk by, he was fast becoming a devotee of short denim skirts and flashy cowboy boots.
He’d chosen a table not too far from the bar so he could, if the opportunity presented itself, make conversation with people going back and forth. He also sat with his back to the wall, where he could take in the place in its entirety. Serving in a frontline unit had made him a cautious man.
Mostly though, he was getting a feel for the weres who were starting to fill up the bar and letting them get a look at him. Around him were the sounds of conversation, some laughter and pool balls clacking off one another.
“Now, Jackson,” the affable bartender said as he walked up to the repairman. When Jackson looked up the bartender handed him a cup of coffee. “I know we’ve got a service contract but that doesn’t mean I like seeing your ugly puss out here every other week.” The grin on his face softened his words.
Jackson sat up, leaned back on his heels and took a sip of coffee. The patch over the breast pocket of his shirt read Fender Amusements and Repair. “I wouldn’t have to come out here every other week if you’d trade this relic in. I’ve got a digital jukebox back at the shop. Brand spankin’ new. It’ll hold ten thousand tunes. The lease rate would be cheaper than your maintenance contract on this thing.”
The bartender patted the top of the neon-nightmare jukebox with the same affection women bestowed on babies. “Some things just aren’t about money. Old Juke and I started out together and I aim to finish together.”
“Well, best of luck to you and your missus here,” Jackson teased. He fiddled around some more and when he plugged the box back in it started pumping out a George Strait tune. The patrons applauded then went back to their conversation and pool.
As he packed up his toolbox the repairman glanced around the room. He spotted Owen, gave him a friendly smile then walked over to the bar. Owen watched as the man filled out a form on his clipboard. One of the waitresses came out from the back, carrying a sandwich on a plate, and set it down in front of the repairman. Owen went back to nursing his beer and surveying the room.
“Mind if I join you?”
He looked up to find the friendly, wind-burned face of the repairman smiling down at him.
“Sure,” Owen said and moved the bowl of peanuts to one side of the table.
“Thanks. Name’s Jackson Fender.” He set down his sandwich and held out his hand. “Thought your face was new. Andy the bartender says you just got back from Iraq. I’d be pleased to buy you a beer if you’re in the mood for another.”
“Much appreciated. I’m Owen Wells by the way.” Owen shook the hand that was offered then Jackson waved the waitress over. “So what all do you repair?”
“Electronic games, pinball machines, things my company leases. Some privately owned machines, like that old beast over there.” He took another sip of his coffee and a healthy bite of his BLT. “What do you think of Pinebridge so far?”
“I like it.” When the waitress, wearing a short skirt, heels and a tight little shirt tied off around her waist, walked up to their table, Owen flashed her a big smile. “Nice people.”
“Oh I bet you soldiers say that to all the girls,” she teased then went to get him another beer.
“Pretty much,” Owen agreed wryly and turned back to Jackson. “Is there enough business around here to keep you going full-time?”
“Not right around here. My territory extends through five counties. I like that though. I like driving, seeing new faces, talking to different people. Keeps life interesting. ’Course it’s not so nice in the winter sometimes.”
Owen nodded in understanding. He liked the older were and the man certainly had a gift for conversation. Maybe in his early sixties, he had gray hair, brown eyes and a bit of a belly. With the enthusiasm he was showing that sandwich in front of him it was no wonder the guy was packing a few extra pounds.
Two other older weres came up to them—brothers from the looks of them—said hello to Jackson, were introduced to Owen, sat and chatted for a few minutes before moving on. They were local ranchers and curious about the newcomer in their midst.
“Well,” Jackson eventually said and ran his napkin around his mouth, “I best be going. It was a pleasure meeting you, son. I hope I see you next time I’m in town.” They shook hands and Jackson carried his empty plate and coffee mug back to the bar. He and the bartender said their goodbyes, Jackson picked up his toolbox and waved to Owen on his way out.
Owen picked up his second, as yet untouched beer and had it halfway to his mouth when a familiar scent caught his nose. He looked over at the door. Sure enough, standing there large as life was the cop who’d pulled him over that morning. Deputy Sheriff Tom Ray looked around the bar, returned a few waves of greeting then glanced around until he saw Owen. Without asking he sat down at Owen’s table, unzipped his bomber jacket and put his broad hat on the table.
“Thought that was your pickup out in the parking lot. Sweet ride. Hey, Frannie,” he said to the waitress who was standing beside their table almost before he had his butt in the chair. “Just a coffee, thanks. Anything for you?” he asked Owen.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Frannie flashed them a smile—Tom more than Owen—that made her already pretty face light up even more. Her cute little backside twitched as she walked away.
“I talked to Cory today,” Tom said and shrugged out of his jacket. “I know you approached him honorably about joining. Figured you for ex-military when I saw you.”
Owen noticed Tom was talking a bit louder than necessary. Since everybody in the bar was a were, they’d have no trouble eavesdropping if they wanted to. And from the looks of things, just about everybody in the place wanted to. Owen figured the cop was announcing the new guy was vetted and okay.
Tom continued, “Cory says you’re going to check out some different jobs before you settle on one. That’s great. My brother-in-law? He just kind of fell into HVAC. He got mated real young so they needed the money. But I think if he had the choice he’d love an opportunity to hunt around for a job he really loved.” He lowered his voice. “I wanted to thank you for driving Piper into town today. The woman’s a pure menace behind the wheel.”
“Does she drive too fast?”
“Just the opposite. She’s the most nervous driver I’ve ever come across. Took her three tries to get her license and the only reason the examiner finally passed her was she’s the Alpha’s mate. He got scared Cory was taking it personally. Thanks, Frannie
.” He leaned back and gave the pretty waitress an appreciative, lingering look as she set a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Already sweetened just the way you like it, darlin’.” She touched Tom’s arm, gazed down at him from beneath eyelids heavy with sexual promise then went back to work. It was no wonder the ladies kept glancing their way. Tom scented like a powerful were, had a steady job and, as far as Owen could tell, was a good-looking guy. He had black hair and the kind of pale, almost icy blue eyes he sometimes saw on models on TV. If Tom had a sister, she’d be a babe.
Owen waited until Tom’s attention swung away from the waitress’ retreating ass before picking up their conversation. “What about you?” he asked.
“Me? I wanted to be a cop for as long as I can remember.” Tom’s expression darkened. “You know we lost our sheriff recently. Murdered. Damn waste. Every time I walk into the station I feel it like I did when I first heard Ed had been killed. Ah hell,” he added with a self-conscious shake of his head. “Last thing you need is some guy getting sloppy when you’re out on the town for a little R and R.” He drank about half his coffee in one go.
Owen wondered what kind of shape the guy’s gullet was in to handle something that hot. “Do you want another? Or something to eat?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Some other time though. There’s a frozen dinner waiting on me at home and my shift starts real early these days.”
“Frozen? Don’t tell me your mate cooks as bad as I do.”
“No mate.” Tom shook his head ruefully. “Not yet anyway.”
They fell silent as two pretty females strolled past their table. Their eyes tracked them with hot deliberation.
“Never say die, buddy,” Tom said then downed the rest of his coffee. He put his coat back on and picked up his hat.
“Amen to that,” Owen seconded and nodded when Tom stepped away and headed for the door.
After that Owen picked up his beer and wandered over to the pool tables. He stood out of the way and watched a game in progress. One of the players was ex-Navy. He and his two buddies spent the next couple of hours with Owen, shooting the breeze, checking out the ladies and playing pool. Owen liked them. He liked how easy it was to fall in with these weres, although when the younger guys preened for the ladies Owen stayed out of it. He didn’t want them to perceive him as competition and he had no intention of sticking around long enough to give any female the wrong idea.
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