Siofra's Song: Book 1 The Broadus Supernatural Society Series

by Hewitt, Theresa Marguerite

  The one person she hopes would always be a great friend, besides Dorthea, is Leon Sullivan, a Were-mountain lion her age. She had met him while out on the bayou with Madame Petit. He was a loner; with his six-foot three frame, golden hair and eyes. She was surprised that he hadn’t found a mate. He said that he was waiting to find a Pack of supes he could run with and then he was going to worry about love. The women had brought him back to New Orleans with them, putting him up in the apartment above the club and Dorthea began employing him as a bouncer.

  When Siofra finally decided to leave New Orleans in mid-July, Madame Petit had told her, “Fry, my dear, don’t ever hesitate to call or visit if you need us, Cherie! You are always welcome back.” Hugs and kisses were exchanged and Siofra’s heart had been heavy with sadness. She loved the simple supernatural pull that the Big Easy had on her wolf.

  “Don’t you worry about your friend, Leon; he’ll be good for my club and have a roof over his head here, Cherie.” That woman is old Cajun hospitality wrapped up in a plump little package and she sent Siofra off with a trunk full of homemade, canned, Cajun food she had come to love and clothing for the baby.

  She watched all of her new friends’ wave from the end of Dorthea’s driveway as she sped North West towards Colorado. ‘I’ll have to go back to NOLA soon,’ she thinks to herself as she fights the car again to stay on the road.

  Siofra had taken her time getting to Denver, stopping at motels and hotels along the way. That’s where she had stayed up until one week ago, when she finally had enough of her human sister-in-law, Leona, and her endless nagging that her baby would be better off with them because they are established and financially stable. She had tried to get Siofra to sign some adoption papers, signing parental rights over to her. Since finding out she is going to have a boy, naming him Roan, Leona has been on her to give him up. Siofra had almost ripped her head off. Good thing Sean was there or she’d probably be in jail right now.

  “My father has said that he can help if I want it Leona, even though I’ve denied it,” she had huffed over dinner the last night there. “And I would never just abandon Roan to my family, if I was to keep him with one of you guys, I would stay too.”

  Leona had scoffed. The bitch then said, “Well we don’t have enough room for both of you, I just thought…”

  “Shut up Leona. It’s either you keep quiet and they both stay here until after Roan is born, or there’s no keeping Fry from leaving,” Sean interjected, smirking at his sister over his wife’s head. “My sister is a very capable woman, if she needs our help, she’ll come back, and you’ll be more hospitable!!! Or you’ll be the one leaving with all your belongings in the back of a car.” That’s why Fry loves her brothers; they are always fair to her even above their wives.

  “Love you Sean. I’ll call when I reach Cody.” She had hugged her brother and set off for Wyoming. She had heard from her father that there is a nice size pack in Cody that would more than welcome her, and Madame Petit’s daughter, SaraAnne lived there; she already had a place to stay. She had gotten through Wyoming fine, but as she came closer to the northern border with Montana, the snow, wind and sleet had thrown her and her GPS off course.

  Fry crossed the Montana border about an hour ago. She had gone north on interstate 90 and then for some unknown reason, she turned east on highway 212. She has no idea why she just doesn’t stop at a motel, she passed plenty while on the more populated area of the highway, but her wolf keeps urging her onward. ‘We need to go this way, he is this way!’

  “Who the hell is he?” She mumbles to herself, but her wolf says nothing else, just paces back and forth, filling Siofra with more anxiety.

  It is past 10:30 at night when her car starts to make an unusual sound and grinds when she shifts. “Oh great, this is NOT WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW!” She screams. She passes a sign stating she is in Broadus, Montana. “Just make it to someplace safe, please.” She tells her car, patting her steering wheel, as it chugs on.

  The streetlights seem to beckon to her from overhead, as she crawls at a 25 mile an hour approach into what seems to be a very small town. “Please, please, please let there be a garage up here.”

  As if an answer to her prayer, as she sits at a stop sign and looks around through the snow falling, she spots a sign that says SMITHE AUTO REPAIR. She throws her hands up in the air and does a mini happy dance.

  “Thank you!!!” She laughs before looking both ways and starts to creep from the stop sign. Horrible grinding resonates as she shifts into first gear and she decides to coast across the street, applying the brake and e-brake right in front of a work bay door.

  “I’m sorry girl, but I gotta go find someplace warm,” she pats the steering wheel again and turns the car off. Grabbing her purse from the passenger’s seat, she takes a deep breath in and zips up her down coat before opening her door. “Judas it’s gotta be minus ten.”

  Leaning her seat forward she slides it up so she can reach her arms and very round torso into the backseat to get a night bag. “They have to have a bed and breakfast here.” She straightens up and slams her door shut, double checking all the lights are off and that the doors are locked.

  Swinging her key ring around her index finger she walks up to the front door of Smithe Auto to see if they have a drop box where she can stick her keys. They thankfully do, actually, it’s a mail slot, but she slides her keys inside, peeks in to make sure they’re on the floor inside and takes down their phone number in her cell to call them first thing in the morning.

  “Okay, now to find civilization,” she sighs and puts her hood up to keep some of the snow off while looking around.

  She realizes she must be in the middle of town because there are small shops and offices that she can’t quite decipher the names of, all around her. She can read MICHELLE TRAPPER, M.D: GENERAL PREACTICE on a sign across the street. “Good to know, I should see if she takes new patients,” she says to herself.

  Seeing lots of light and steam coming from a building about a block north from where she is, Siofra heads that way. As she trudges through the snow, on un-shoveled sidewalks, she can tell what she is approaching is a tavern. JOHNSON BREWERY N GRILLE states the sign overhead and she huffs and puffs her way up to it. “I really need to start going for walks again before you get here,” she says to her swollen stomach while rubbing her cold hands over her jacket covering it.

  Loud music implies a live band coming from inside the cheerfully lit establishment, playing her favorite; country music. There is a tall, broad shouldered man standing by the door enjoying his smoke with his jacket collar tucked up around his neck. He turns as she approaches.

  “Hi,” she greets, giving a halfhearted wave, “my car broke down and I managed to get it in front of the auto shop down there. Is there someone inside that could help me find a room or get in contact with the shop owner?” She puts her hand near her eyes to shield her from the whipping wind and snow as she looks up at him.

  He’s about her age, 25, maybe a little older, scruffy facial hair, brown eyes and definitely wolf; she can smell it on him. He has short, shaggy brown hair under his hooded sweatshirt, and it falls across his forehead. She can tell when he realizes she’s a wolf too; his eyes going wide and his nostrils flaring no doubt taking in her scent.

  “Yeah, just go inside and ask for Susie. She’ll help ya,” he nods towards the door and takes another drag from his cigarette, then flings it out into the snow covered street. “Here I’ll get the door for ya miss,” he reaches around Siofra and pulls the door open for her.

  Light, music, smells of beer and food assault her nose as she tentatively steps inside. Straight ahead of her is a long dining room and off to her left is the bar, which is loaded with people. Both sitting and standing, mingling, laughing, and shouting. A majority of them are wolves, their different scents carousing with the lively food and drinks in the air.

  No one seems to really notice her entrance except for a fifty-something woman with silver-strawberry blond
hair who is standing behind the bar. This woman has soft features but Siofra somehow feels a power emanating from her; a power lined with knowledge. She peers up at Siofra over a customer’s shoulder and they lock eyes for a mere second. She has the lightest green eyes Siofra has ever seen.

  “That lady right there behind the bar is Susie, miss,” her helper points to the strawberry blonde and gives her a nod. “May I take your coat, miss?” He motions to the coat rack behind them where he’s already placed his.

  “Yes, thank you,” she shrugs out of the blue and black plaid jacket and hands her scarf over too. “My feet are killing me,” she points to her belly, “could you ask Susie to meet me at a booth, Mister?” She cocks her head to the side in an inquiring way. She rubs her hands up and down her long-sleeve covered arms, trying to adjusting to not having the down coat around her.

  “Everyone calls me Trey. My real name is Charles Rainwater the 3rd, so Trey for short,” he smirks and nods towards the crowd at the bar. “And yours, because I know they’ll ask.”

  Chuckling a little, Fry says, “I’m Siofra O’Hana, but everyone calls me Fry.”

  “Alright then, Fry, I’ll send Susie right over. Pick any booth you want,” he turns to head towards the bar, stops and pivots back to her, “You want some tea or something to drink?” He shrugs his broad expanse of shoulders towards the bar again jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe something to eat?” His eyes fall to her stomach making her blush just a little.

  “Tea with lemon would be good and maybe French fries?” She gives him a half smirk and he smiles wide enough so that she can see his perfect white teeth.

  “You got it! Coming right up!” He swings back around and it seems as if he skips back to the bar, weaving through the crowd. Siofra settles herself onto the closest vinyl benched booth, just on the other side of a vintage jukebox, and takes a deep breath.

  ‘Everything will be ok,’ whispers her wolf, ‘he’s here!’

  “Who the HELL is he?” She whispers to herself. She peers over to the bar and sees Trey speaking with this Susie. Again Susie locks eyes with her and gives her a wide, warm smile. Fry reciprocates the gesture and focuses back on her tabletop, re-arranging the salt and pepper shakers and napkins. She starts tapping her fingers to the live music vibrating in from the back section of the building. Singing along under her breath to Dierks Bentley’s “5-1-5-0”, Siofra doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

  “Hello Miss O’Hana, I’m Susan Johnson,” Siofra turns to see the fifty-something woman standing to her left, at the edge of her table, with a cup of steaming tea and a basket of fries in hand. “Trey said you would like these,” she sets them down in front of Fry and slides into the bench across from her.

  “Hi Ms. Johnson, please call me Siofra, or Fry,” she smiles putting a scoop of sugar into her tea, stirring it vigorously. “And yes, Trey was correct, thank you for these.” She eagerly shakes salt on her fries and takes a sip of her tea. She is so hungry, only having a bag of beef jerky since early this morning and her stomach growls eagerly.

  “Perfect, thank you.” she sighs as the hot beverage slips into her system. “Did Trey tell you about my car?”

  Susan’s brow furrows a little, “Yes, you broke down right in front of Smithe’s?” Siofra nods to the woman and takes a couple of fries into her mouth. “That’s very lucky. Bubba Smithe owns the garage and his son Jace works there. He’s the crooner you hear on the mic in the back room with his band. Two of my sons play with him, too.” Susan points over her shoulder to the closed off room behind her where the music is pumping through.

  “They should be taking a break soon, I’ll send him over to get your info. You prolly need a place to stay too, I’m guessing?” She reaches across between them and snags a fry out of the basket and dips it in ketchup.

  “Yes, is there a motel or B&B here in town? Within walking distance perhaps?” Fry wipes her hands on a napkin she strategically put on her protruding belly, because she is prone to dripping food, drinks and condiments on her baby bump. Susan smiles at her action, her light green eyes sparkling and Siofra can’t help but in that split second feel safe. There is something about this woman that just warms her heart.

  Susan slides out of the booth and stands to Siofra’s left. “Oh yes dear, I run the bed and breakfast, it’s right next door. I can run over in a bit and get a room for you if you’d like.”

  “Thank you so very much,” Siofra is surprised when Susan reaches for her hand, encasing it with her own. “How much do I owe you for the food and the room?” Susan squeezes her hand lightly.

  “Don’t worry about it dear, it’s on the house.” She smiles and walks back towards the bar without another word, motioning to Trey. He nods to whatever she tells him, grabs his coat and makes his way back towards Fry.

  “Fry, Susie told me to go get your things outta your car for ya. You got the keys on ya?” He zips up his coat and slides into the booth snagging a couple fries out of her basket. “Is this why they call ya Fry?” He smirks, chewing his bounty.

  “Yes actually, when I was little it’s all I would eat,” she digs into her purse searching for her spare. Catching it by its heart shaped keychain she hands it over to Trey and he accepts it with a smile.

  “Just grab the blue duffel that’s on the back seat, and the red cooler so the food doesn’t freeze. Please.” She smiles as he slides out and snags a few more fries.

  “No prob, girly. I’ll take them over to the inn and be back in a flash.” He gives her a two fingered salute and bounds out the door into the snow.

  With time to take in her surroundings, she evaluates the quaint bar. It’s a hunter’s spot no doubt, with the numerous deer and moose heads, turkey feathers and bear claws. She smiles because it reminds her of her father. Marcus Sr, loves the woods, loves to hunt; always going out before dawn and not retuning till lunch time.

  The room where the band is now cranking out their version of Tim McGraw’s “Live like you were Dying” is cordoned off by a swinging door that has a yellow caution sign stating: LOUD MUSIC AHEAD, NO CHILDREN. There are booths like hers lining the wall between her and the live entertainment door, and a few four top tables scattered in the open space between her left side and the bar.

  The bar itself is L-shaped, with three bartenders behind it and three booths against the wall in front of it, to the left of the front door. Whatever crowd didn’t want to see the show live is hanging at the bar or in the game room she can see straight ahead of her. If you turn left as soon as you walk in, go past the bar you’d be in the fun looking room. Looks like there is billiard and foosball tables; she also spies a couch with a few patrons lounging on it.

  Siofra has finished her fries and is tapping her fingers to the beat of Kenny Chesney’s “She Thinks My Tractors Sexy”, sipping her tea, when Susan comes back up her. Again she gets this undeniable wave of warmth and safety from the woman and she can’t help but smile.

  “Here’s the key for your room, dear,” Susan says, handing her a red key ring with a number 2 on it, “it’s the first one on the right at the bottom of the stairs. Trey was bringing your bags in as I was walking back, so he should be back in a minute, I’ll have him show you.” She slides back into the bench opposite Siofra. “Has Jace come out yet?” She asks folding her arms on the tabletop.

  “No ma’am, he hasn’t. They are still going strong in there,” Fry nods to the live entertainment room. “I can wait a little longer, but I am tired, you know,” she laughs lightly, nodding to her belly, “I never thought it would be this stressful.”

  “It is my dear, but you are a strong wolf. I can sense you’ll be okay,” she smiles sweetly and takes Siofra’s hand again in hers. “You’ll be welcome as long as you want to stay.”

  Looking into Siofra’s eyes with her sparkling ones, she says, “Oh you’ll prolly meet two of my sons who play with Jace. The three of them are somewhat inseparable.” Susan giggles a little. “Conall plays lead guitar and Jason plays pi
ano, among other things.”

  At the mention of her son, Conall’s name, Siofra’s wolf stands up and starts pacing at Susan’s words. ‘He’s here, he’s here. The one!’

  “Oh man, what the hell?” Siofra thinks shaking her head. “That sounds goods. You must be the Alpha’s wife, issuing an invitation like that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome dear, and yes. Clyde Johnson is my husband and Alpha of this,” she spreads her arms out, “we are the Big Sky Pack, and you are free to join us for festivities whenever. “ She squeezes Siofra’s hand in her own and slides out. “I’ll be over to the inn in the morning to make you breakfast and talk more.”

  She turns back to the bar and stops, “Oh here comes my son Conall and Jace Smithe, I’ll direct them over here dear.”

  Siofra’s wolf jumps up and it almost makes her holler, but she tamps it down and turns her head to see the two men approaching. Susan hugs and kisses one on the cheek and hugs the other. Both men are covered in a thin sheen of sweat from playing their hearts out on stage, no doubt making many women swoon.

  The hug receiver, presumably Jace Smithe, is a five foot ten-ish, broad featured Werewolf, whose glossy black hair hangs just to his shoulders in a loose ponytail. He’s got lightly browned skin, probably Native American Siofra deduces, and amber colored eyes that peer over at her as Susan speaks to them. He gives her a grin and a wink.

  “Wow, what a looker!” She whispers to herself, blushing at his stare. She can tell he has a lady-killer mentality and she warns herself to stay far away from that romantically.

  The kiss receiver is tall, maybe six foot one or two, broad shouldered, with muscles rippling underneath his flannel shirt. Buzzed close dark hair shapes his sharply featured face, with a perfectly straight nose and kissable pouty mouth. Siofra’s wolf whimpers slightly as her stare lingers on those lips.