White nuzzled her palm; she stooped and scratched his chest and his ear at the same time, and the Lab whimpered.
“Now if men were only as easy to please, huh, boy? It's a gorgeous day. The sun's shining, there's not a cloud in the sky, and I'm positive it's going to be warmer than yesterday.”
Deciding to address the issues that had brought her to Twisp, Sorcha spent two hours unpacking her files and documents and organizing a small part of the main dining room as her office area. She could have used Grams's study, but the thought of entering that room made her want to retch.
She had yet to go through her grandmother's possessions, most of which Miss L had stacked in the study prior to her arrival. The two women had been best friends for as long as Sorcha could remember. Grams and Miss L, both of Irish origin, had shared a near obsession with Irish folklore and leprechauns, fairies, and pixies. Superstition and magical beliefs influenced both women's lives, much to the amusement of most of Twisp.
No one had ever taken either her mother, Catriona, or Grams seriously. Grams, because of her preoccupation with all things “fae,” her mom because she was so “hippiefied,” the word Twisp residents used to describe her daydreaming, artistic mother.
“Well, that's that,” she said, dusting her hands as she emptied the last crate of manila folders. “Now I can get down to work.”
The landline rang.
Sorcha stared at the phone suspiciously. She hadn't bothered to change the cabin's number. Who could be phoning her?
Her voice wavered as she answered, “Hullo.”
“Hi there. It's me—Susie. You free for lunch and a walk through Wildflower Park?”
Sorcha's pulse jumped. It'd been so long since she'd met with someone for a fun activity. “Sure. What time?”
“I'll pick you up in thirty minutes. And I'm warning you, my daughters will be with me. Wear jeans and anything you can bleach. I swear—they're magnets for mustard and ketchup.”
Remembering Ariel's poppy-stained chin, she grinned. “Okay, I'll see you at ten thirty.”
Sorcha changed her old jeans for a pair minus holes. Donning a clean white T-shirt and socks and sneakers, she tied her hair in a high ponytail and tucked a white baseball cap around a belt loop. A layer of sunscreen finished her preparations and two minutes later, she sat down at the dining table.
To Do
1. Twisp Guide Mock-up
2. Catchy Title for Guide
3. Chamber of Commerce—join, get list of businesses
4. Prioritize who to approach by week
5. Figure out what Grams's message meant
The last item nose-dived her logical thinking.
Why would Grams mail a key secreted in a songbook to her seven days before she died?
Sorcha nibbled on the tip of her pencil.
And the note Grams had written?
Four lines that made the hairs on her neck salute even now. Sorcha read the list and erased the fifth item, entering instead Buy office supplies. For some reason, writing down her secret made unease lizard-creep across her shoulder blades.
Unable to sit any longer, Sorcha went to her walk-in closet and pulled out the note she'd hidden in her left black winter boot.
Lassie,
Remember when I took you to see The Sound of Music for the first time and we bought the soundtrack with the book of lyrics? I came across the CD and the book the other day and thought you might want to have it.
You are my pride and joy, Sorcha. Never forget that.
Your loving,
Grams
At first, Sorcha had thought the envelope the message came in contained some marketing ploy. Then she'd noticed the stamps and the postmark were Canadian, from the town of Penticton, British Columbia. A thousand spiders had crawled over her flesh as she'd read Grams's perfect penmanship.
Sorcha called her grandmother the minute she'd digested the message, but the phone just rang and rang. Grams didn't believe in voice mail or answering machines.
When Grams's lawyer called the day after she received the missive, Sorcha knew before he uttered the words the news he had to impart. Grams had died.
Sorcha jumped when the doorbell ding-donged. She stuffed the letter and the key back into her boot and tucked the footwear in the back of her closet.
White wagged his tail when she reached the door, as if saying, What took you so long?
Ariel and Taylor stood on the first step in front of Susie. Both girls wore identical pink jeans and white T-shirts, pink socks and pink sneakers.
“Oooh—doggy,” Ariel squealed. She darted around Sorcha's legs and threw her arms around White's neck. Not to be outdone, Taylor flung her body through the door, tripped on her sister's feet, and crashed into the Lab. The dog promptly bathed her cheeks with a long pink tongue.
Taylor chortled and lifted her face for more.
Ariel said, “Mine.” She tried to pull White's head to hers.
“You'd better set the rules or that dog will be quartered and drawn in the next five minutes.” Susie shook her head.
Whoa.
Sorcha's mind whirled; she glanced from the wriggling girls and White to Susie. Susie angled her chin. “Rescue your poor dog.”
Between the two of them, they managed to separate the dog and children, and Sorcha told the kids not to hit White or pull his tail.
Susie chimed in. “What Aunt Sorcha means is no pulling anything of White's, not his ears, not his nose, not his tongue. No stuffing anything up White's nose or in his mouth or in any other holes you may find.”
“O-fiches,” Ariel said and let out a long sigh.
“Orifices,” Susie translated. “Joe made the mistake of using that word once, and she locked onto it like a barracuda. She's a devil for any questionable word.”
Orifices? Oh God, she didn't want to think where that might lead. Sorcha ran her fingers through the strands of her ponytail as if that might steady the dizziness in her head. She didn't know how Susie managed the next fifteen minutes. Her thoughts scattered with each discombobulated question the two girls threw at her, but somehow they were finally out the door and on the road.
By the time they reached the park, and White somehow managed to inveigle an invitation for the trip, Sorcha had figured out the basics. If the girls only asked a question once, an actual answer didn't prove necessary. If the question was repeated, however, it required a reply or an explanation.
Each of the girls had agreed to hold White's lead for five minutes at a time. Though Taylor—the little devil—couldn't read the numbers on her mom's watch, she sure measured the period with remarkable accuracy. The party strolled through the lakeside park. A cool, stiff breeze blew off the water, and spring perfumed the air with hints of lilac and lavender.
Glad she'd added a sweater to her outfit, Sorcha slipped the top button of her navy cardigan into its hole.
Robins and sparrows, perched on tall pines and naked willow branches, argued territorial borders. As the two children scampered around them, skipping, hopping, and running, Sorcha couldn't help but notice how green Taylor's one hazel eye appeared in the sunlight. An only child and on her own for the last ten years, she'd interacted principally with adults. Kids remained an unsolved mystery for her to unravel.
“How do you manage the girls and a career?”
“I work out of the house. I can write cooking articles from anywhere, and I stick to a strict schedule. Enough about me.” Susie grinned at her, black eyes flashing. “Dish, woman. How did you and Gray hook up? When? Don't give me that look. You know I'm relentless.”
They hit a small play area littered with sand and trucks, and the girls squealed and dived into the powdery dust grains. White curled into a tight oval in the shade of a pine tree. While the kids played, the women took a seat on a bench shaded by the spreading branches of an oak.
“You must know everything by now,” Susie stated. “About the white wolf spirit, I mean.”
Yeah, right. Trying to be diplomati
c, Sorcha ducked her head and searched for a response that wouldn't betray her confusion or Gray's. All that had happened between them seemed part of a parallel universe until now. Susie's questions anchored everything but made her throat dry and scratchy with fear.
“It's been less than three days,” she answered. “And I'm not sure how things will work out between us.” Susie scowled, and Sorcha added, “Put yourself in my place. How would you react to being told you're mated for life to a man you met hours before?”
Susie nodded and gave her a sympathetic half smile. “That part's a bit unnerving, I agree. And their possessiveness and protectiveness is overwhelming. I may have been born with the spirit, but I was raised to do what the media, the schools, and society demands of every modern woman—be independent. Then you meet a man who's bonded to the white wolf, and all your notions tumble upside down.”
“This confusion's normal, then?”
“Yeah. But there are lots of pluses. For example, I bet sex with my big brother makes up for any little inconveniences.” Susie elbowed Sorcha. “Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“Seriously, sweetie, you need to come to terms with everything. I fought Joe for a long time, but the results were inevitable. You and Gray are mated for life. Accept that and deal with it. Be proactive. Don't let the circumstances control you. Jaclyn's printing out vows from the Internet. Take my advice—set a date and plan your wedding. Don't tell a single soul until the morning of the event. Just make sure you coordinate the flower girls with Jaclyn, and don't worry, that little tyrant can keep a secret.”
“You're scaring the living you-know-what out of me.” A muscle she'd never known existed started to jump under her right eye. Sorcha clenched her fist to resist jamming her fingers against the stupid tic.
“All of us feel that way at the beginning. Try going with the flow for a while. When it came down to it for me, I had to accept the fact I couldn't face the rest of my life without Joe.” She shrugged. “I'm only a phone call and fifteen minutes away if you need to talk.”
“I may take you up on that,” Sorcha said as she remembered what she wanted to ask Susie. “Did you see Grams often?” She tried to approach her inquisition with subtlety.
“She worked the Goodwill store the same hours as Miss L. I volunteer there once a week and hand over to the two of them. So I saw her at least once a week. Tuna or chicken?” She held out two Ziploc bags.
“Tuna, thanks.” Sorcha grabbed a whole-wheat triangle from the bag Susie wriggled. Her mind functioned one step behind a fast-forwarding reality. “Her death seemed so sudden. She never mentioned feeling sick.”
Susie tilted her face to the sun. “You know, your grams was a naturally wiry person, but she lost a lot of weight during the last two months of her life. I remember thinking the last time I saw her that her dress needed taking in.”
“And Miss L said Grams cut all her hair off two days before she died. That woman was so proud of her hair.” When Sorcha had found that out the day before, she'd wanted to throw up. Grams would never cut her hair voluntarily.
If she'd come to visit when Grams wanted, if she hadn't been such a coward, maybe Grams would still be alive. The sandwich tasted bitter, and the wonderful aroma of flowers and grass all at once smelled like sulfur.
“Truly, it shocked everyone in town, including me. But, sweetie, she was getting older, and her hair had started to fall out in clumps.”
Susie's words flash flooded an antarctic ocean over Sorcha's entire body. She'd read enough murder mysteries to know hair and weight loss were two common symptoms of poisoning.
“I wish I'd come to visit when Grams asked me to at Christmas.”
“Actually, sweetie, I'm surprised you came back at all. I know I wouldn't have had the guts to come back here.”
“I'd have avoided it for my whole life, I think. Except about seven months ago, I began having a recurring nightmare. It got to the point where I was afraid to go to sleep. At the end of twelve weeks, I was barely managing two or three hours of rest a night.”
Sorcha suddenly realized her sleep had been undisturbed since her return to Twisp. It must have been exhaustion; it had nothing to do with the feeling of safety she felt in Gray's arms. She shook her head. “I eventually went to a therapist, who told me I had to face the nightmare or live with it for the rest of my life.”
“And the nightmare happens here?”
“Mom, Mom, Tay hath to go potty and tho do I.” Ariel appeared in front of them, hopping from one foot to another. The little girl flicked her hands and bit her lip, her black eyes luminous.
Going potty proved traumatizing. Sorcha knew she'd never be able to handle kids.
“Why don't we head back?” Susie suggested after she finished reclothing the children. “The girls are going to run out of steam soon.”
“Sure.”
They started the return journey to the car, taking a different route up a steep incline. Ariel, Taylor, and White gamboled ahead of them, weaving their way through flower beds studded with sprouting greenery. The wind had shifted and carried a hint of Mother Nature's earthy scent.
“Remember all those fairy tales Grams used to tell us?”
Sorcha grimaced. “For a long time I believed everything she'd told me. I remember staring at the wild mushrooms that sprouted every spring, waiting for a fairy to climb down their stems.”
Noonday sun blazed in the clear blue sky. A bead of perspiration trickled down Sorcha's back. She shrugged off her cotton sweater and tied the sleeves around the waist of her jeans.
“And what about those stories about the hobgoblin who lived in your house?” Susie chuckled. “She used to make you set out milk and cookies for him.”
“Don't you repeat that to anyone. Grams was one superstitious lady.”
“And when you put her together with Miss L…” Susie shook her head. “I can't tell you how many times I interrupted a quarrel when I took over their shift at the Goodwill store. Those two would sit and argue for hours about seelies and the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“The Irish Fairy Court,” Sorcha murmured. Memories of bedtime tales of magic and mayhem peppered her mind. “I think I must have been almost fourteen before I finally stopped believing.”
Had Grams's superstition prompted her mysterious note?
Her grandmother had seen enemies everywhere and had been paranoid about Sorcha's safety. Had Grams lost it at the end?
Susie's expression sobered. “I know we were awfully naive teenagers, and I know it's better to prepare children for the big, bad world as early as possible. But sometimes I wish I could bring my kids up with that kind of innocence still intact.”
A shadow danced across the path in front of them.
“Mommy, Mommy!” called Ariel. “Why is the sky blue? Taylor wants to walk on the clouds. Can we?”
Nonstop questions heralded their arrival at the parking lot thirty minutes later. Susie and Sorcha managed to tuck the two girls into their car seats. Both Ariel and Taylor were in deep slumber before they hit Highway 20.
A pending headache made Sorcha pinch the bridge of her nose. She hit the window switch. Mountain air frosted with the aroma of fresh-cut lawn filled the vehicle.
Squaring her shoulders as the question niggling the corners of her brain sprouted a life of its own, Sorcha blurted, “Susie, can I ask a very personal question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“This mate-lock thing. Is there like a time range before it goes away?” She knew Susie better than any other woman in the world, so she shouldn't be embarrassed, but she couldn't stop the heat scalding her cheeks.
Susie's dark eyebrows tried to meet in the middle. Her mouth formed an O. “Five minutes or so. It lasts as long as your mate still has sperm. I take it that's not been your experience?”
The last time the mate-lock had lasted almost twenty minutes.
Sorcha shook her head.
She and Gray mated abnormally.
They were abnormal in an abnormal world.
A giggle escaped her mouth. She pressed a balled fist to her lips and still couldn't stifle the mirth.
Thank goodness, they'd arrived at the Rural Route 166 cutoff.
“Let me out here,” Sorcha demanded.
“Gray will kill me.”
“I have White with me. I'll be safe.” Before Susie could open her mouth to argue, Sorcha opened the door as the car slowed to take the sharp turn onto the rural road and hopped out. White jumped over the front seat and bounded onto the gravel.
Lips flattened, Susie said, “I wouldn't, if I were you. Gray's going to be really angry about this.”
“I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Thanks for a lovely time.” She waved. “See you soon.” Spinning around, she jogged around the corner, slowing only after she heard the car accelerating.
Sorcha whistled to White. They began the short walk to the cabin. Everything caught up to her—Gray, wolves, her reaction to him, the mixture of intimacy and distrust, the poignancy of a long-ago friendship revived.
Her heart skipped a beat and her control, long precarious, fled.
The beautiful spring afternoon mocked the undercurrents and the darkness circling her soul. Sorcha turned her face to the sun, and pangs of regret pierced her core. Tears escaped, blurring the pine trees lining the dirt-and-pebble road.
White whimpered and licked her hand. When they reached the carport, Sorcha spotted a pumpkin-shaped bucket; she snatched the black handle and swung the orange container in one hand on the short walk to the cottage.
After taking off her shoes and socks and placing them neatly on the first porch step, she spent an inordinate amount of time picking perfect skipping stones. Rolling up her pants, Sorcha whistled for White, who seemed to be attempting to break the Guinness World Record for the most shrubs fertilized in one go. Woman and canine meandered to the end of the pier.
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