“Well, what can I expect from someone who steals my stapler. And God knows what else,” she muttered and scrambled out of bed.
She scooped her feet into her slippers and dragged on her bathrobe.
Marching into the living room, she fully expected to see Jolie sprawled out on the bed settee now that Paulie had returned home. She drew up short. The couch had not been slept on. Tadpole was also missing.
Usually he came scurrying to greet her as soon as she stirred.
“She’s even stolen my goddamn dog.”
A delighted bark came from outside. Hope strode over to fling open the door on Jolie and Tadpole playing on the porch steps. Jolie listlessly threw his rubber ball and Tadpole charged into the surrounding shrubbery to retrieve it. His tail waved with ferocious pride every time he triumphantly returned with it in his mouth. In contrast, Jolie looked dejected, sitting in a plaid shirt and jeans, her shoulders slumped. She seemed to have little enthusiasm for the game. Turning expectantly at Hope’s arrival, her whole body language changed, her back straightened and her face opened up.
“Hi. Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Yes. No.” Hope scowled at her and collected the squirming Tadpole in her arms, where he dropped sloppy kisses on her cheek and chin.
“Yes, no?”
“Well, what did you expect? After news like that?” Hope looked away. “It’s not every day…” Words failed her. She had absolutely no reference point for lycanthropy. She set the dog down before she dropped him, and watched him run off after his ball. “When are we leaving?”
“Um, we can stay another day or two if you want to. I can swing it with Andre.” Jolie was nervous. She’d been rehearsing these simple sentences all night. “I could show you a little more of the valley. If you’d like?”
“Jolie.” Hope hesitated, and then plunged on. “I can’t stay here. I want to go home.”
“Okay. I understand.”
“No! You don’t understand. I’m recovering from cancer, Jolie. I need to look after myself. Eat well, gets lots of rest, not become depressed, keep life interesting and stimulating…but not like this! Not with…with werewolves, for God’s sake.” Panic entered her voice.
Jolie reached for her but Hope shied away. “You’re my mate, Hope. My chosen. I’ll love and protect you forever—”
“No. You don’t get it, do you. I’m meant to be the one on the outside. Part of my face is missing, I’m not pretty anymore, I’m not me anymore. I’m less. I’ve changed. I’m the monster.” Hope turned her face away to hide her tears. “Then you came along…”
“And out-monstered you?” Jolie said softly. “Hope, you’re beautiful to me. You’re beautiful to your friends. You’re more because of your illness. You’re stronger, wiser, more determined. Don’t be afraid of the future. I want to offer you a long and happy one. Please reach out and take it.”
“Jolie.” Hope shook her head and took a deep breath. “I want to work with Andre when we finish this project. I think we need a little space. Things have gone very…peculiar between us. We should step back and think about things. I’m not even sure if Ambereye is the place for me anymore.”
“Oh.” This was no surprise. Despite her pleas Jolie had seen this coming a mile out. She had desperately hoped a few more days at Little Dip might help Hope get over the shock. Now it seemed far more serious. Hope might leave her, leave Ambereye. Now it was frightening. Jolie was panicking. She had seriously fumbled the outing of herself and her family.
She had no doubt of Hope’s integrity. In fact, part of feeling an attachment to a potential mate was knowing that the wolven secret would be safe with that person. It was an instinctive thing. But it would have gone so much better if Andre had been around for her to consult with. He had told her to wait, but that was before Hope had seen her in the river. She’d totally blown it.
“Okay then. Okay.” She found herself rushing to appease Hope’s wishes, so contrary to her own.
They stood in silence for a second that seemed to stretch into a century.
“So. When can we go?” Hope asked again. Her gaze swung from the tree line, to the porch post, to the clouds above. Anywhere but at Jolie.
“Whenever you want. As soon as you’re packed. Just say.” Jolie looked away, embarrassed that Hope couldn’t even meet her eyes, so deep was her discomfort around her. She felt her presence was unwanted.
“I’m going to go and say good-bye to Mom and Dad. Then I’ll pack my stuff. I won’t be long, just twenty minutes or so. Is that all right?”
“Would…would you say good-bye from me?” As cowardly as it was, Hope couldn’t face Claude and Patrice. Her upset would show on her face and she didn’t want to hurt them. They had been lovely to her.
Everyone had. Another wave of confusion washed over her. What was her real problem here? What was going on? All Hope knew was that she had to get away. Had to grab some air clear of this valley and its peculiar inhabitants.
“Sure. Sure I will.” Jolie nodded. She turned to leave. Tadpole made to follow her. “No, Taddy. You stay here with your mom.”
He waited until Jolie was a few paces ahead, and then followed her anyway, without a backward glance. Hope sat on the top porch step and hugged her knees, watching her scruffy dog glued to Jolie’s heels as they both disappeared down the track. What was wrong with her? This was her secret fantasy. Even more so, since the debilitating surgery. Hadn’t she dreamed of a committed relationship with someone special? Of settling down, finding her happy ever after. Jolie was a wonderful, eccentric, one-in-a-million girlfriend.
She loves you. She even said so. She gives you screaming orgasms, has you ripping up the bed sheets. You admire her work ethic, her looks, her money, her family—Okay. So you’re shocked and scared about her family secret, but before that you enjoyed meeting them all. They were…are, nice people.
Two large tears plopped on to her thigh, soon followed by more.
She wiped her tears away, careful of her left eye. Both tear ducts still worked, and soon her cheeks were wet with tears. She was scared. And if she was honest, it was more than just the werewolf thing. Though God knew that was enough. She was scared because her feelings for Jolie were more complex and frightening than anything she had ever known. She’d been trying to find herself—or rather the woman she used to be, before part of her face was removed. Instead she’d disappeared completely into the weird world of Jolie Garoul.
The trill of her cell phone surprised her. The reception in the valley was poor to say the least, and she thought she’d turned it off.
But then she remembered turning it on to show the search party her screen saver photo of Tadpole on the night when he’d disappeared.
Now she scrambled to her feet, lunged into the cabin, and pulled the phone from her coat pocket. She checked the caller ID. Godfrey!
Beloved friend above all others; he was psychic, gifted, missed.
Hitting the button his cheery voice floated into her ear. “Hello, beautiful. How’s things in valley of the dolls?”
“Wolves! There’ll all wolves, and I’m gonna kill you, you motherfu—” The phone cut out. “Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn,” she screeched, tossing the damned thing onto the couch, where it immediately bounced off, landed on the stone hearth, and fragmented.
“Damn.” This came out as a snuffle, followed by a flood of fresh tears.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Godfrey hissed in frustration.
Andre’s Lexus was slowly negotiating the narrow country roads. “This is an emergency, we need flashing blue lights, for God’s sake. Not Miss Daisy at the wheel.”
“No. You’ll have us all killed and or arrested. I’m going as fast as I can, given the road conditions and the speed limit. I am not breaking the law because of your hysterics.”
“Hysterics.” Godfrey was livid. “Hysterics was our friend crying down the phone because that bonehead of a sister of yours can’t handle any situation with any sensitivity wh
atsoever.”
“Well, I’m doing the best I can,” Andre snipped back, not denying that Jolie had probably royally stuffed this one up. Damn it, he’d told her to wait until he and Godfrey got back to Portland. What was she thinking of, terrifying Hope like that?
They passed a signpost that said twenty miles to Lost Creek. From there it was only another ten to Little Dip. The road under their wheels was slick with a thin layer of fresh snow. They should arrive in under an hour if the weather stayed clear.
Above them the skies looked ominous. Larger snow clouds were gathering thick and fast. They had been lucky so far this year, with moderate snowfall. It looked like the good times were over. Those clouds looked vengeful. Andre sneaked his speed up, just a little bit. He wanted to be at his parents’ before snow began to fall. It was bizarre.
That morning from his ski lodge window he had been scanning these same skies praying for snow; now here he was trying to outrun it.
“I think we were lucky to get away when we did.” Jolie looked anxiously at the huge snowflakes landing on the hood of the Jeep.
Already the roads were white. “It must’ve been hours since the snowplow was last down this route. The road’s almost gone.”
“Do you think we’ll make it?” Hope’s voice was full of worry.
“Another twenty miles or so and we’ll pick up the main road, then we’ll be fine.”
“Maybe we should turn back?” Hope was feeling guilty now that her histrionics had dragged them away at the worst possible time. She knew deep down she could have survived another night at the cabin—with Jolie back on the couch.
“No. If we turned back, we’d only be snowed in for days. Little Dip gets big snow dumps, being a valley.”
“We’re snowed in.” Andre glumly looked out his mother’s window at the whiteout.
She stood smiling beside them. “It’s a pity you missed the girls. There must have been only an hour between you. You must have practically passed each other on the way in.” She shook her head at the mishap. “But I’m so pleased to have you both back, and so soon.”
“It’s a regular winter wonderland,” Godfrey gushed, nursing his mug of hot chocolate.
“I could have been skiing,” Andre said, his mood sinking further.
“So much for our mercy dash. It’s a pity Jolie left so soon. I really thought they’d still be here.” Godfrey sighed.
“Bitch.” Andre huffed.
“That’s a bit strong. It’s not as if she knew we were coming to the rescue.” Godfrey sounded surprised at Andre’s attitude.
“I meant you, Florence freakin’ Nightingale. You insisted we rush over here to shred linen and boil water—”
“I never did. She’s your sister. I came here to help our best friend.”
His mother rolled her eyes as they began to bicker.
It was very late when Hope finally bustled through her front door and deposited Tadpole on the hall carpet. He immediately took off to see what, if anything, had changed while he’d been away. Leaving the bags sitting in the hallway, Hope moved slowly into the kitchen to brew a cup of tea. She felt a little guilty at not inviting Jolie in for a cup, but it was late and Hope was tired. And she needed space.
Things had been awkward in the car; talk was stilted as Jolie concentrated on the road ahead. The weather conditions had been terrible, but they were home now, safe and sound.
Hope dragged herself to bed, too tired to unpack. She needed to rest. Tomorrow morning would come far too quickly. And even though she had been instructed to come into the office in her own time, she still wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing Jolie again in the cold light of their normal, everyday life. Werewolves were not meant to exist outside of fiction. They certainly weren’t supposed to be your friends, and work colleagues, and lovers. They were meant to lurk around graveyards and haunted mansions every full moon, and rip annoying cheerleaders limb from limb. They most certainly were not meant to scorch your bed sheets, and brand your heart, and fuck with your head until your reality popped like a bubble.
Grateful to be in her own bed, Hope lay frowning into the darkness.
They were in her life now. In every goddamn corner of it. Jolie, Andre, Godfrey, the lot of them. Wait until she next saw Godfrey Meyers; she was going to roast his ears. He knew she had slept with Jolie and had uttered not one word to clue her in or warn her. Some friend he turned out to be. And as for Andre, well, he would hide behind Godfrey like he always did when Hope was pissed off at him. What a pathetic creature of the night he was. She knew for a fact he was terrified of bees.
And Jolie. She sighed and turned restlessly. Jolie. What was she going to do about Jolie? She was angry with her for…for… What?
Making her toes curl? Loving her? Being different?
Hope’s head was beginning to hurt again. Why couldn’t Jolie have kept things simple? Why couldn’t she just have been a rich, doting, brilliant lover who made Hope feel like a million dollars just by looking at her? That was all Hope needed——to have fun. To feel sexy, and wanted, but not loved. Never loved so intensely, so deeply, so unconditionally, despite her sight, despite her illness, despite the cloud over her future health.
Damn it, Jolie. Why bring such raw emotion into it? Why peel open each other’s hearts and look inside? As if it wasn’t hard enough.
Why did she have to go and be a freakin’ werewolf?
Hope slid further into a whirling morass of confusion until she finally fell asleep. Her dreams were full of dark forests and darker eyes, and kisses that made none of it matter anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jolie slowly drove her Jeep around the block for the umpteenth time. She noted the lights in the little house were finally extinguished and guessed Hope had gone to bed. The snowfall had lessened considerably as they had driven toward the city. Now it blew along the pavement and over the lawns in light flurries, piling up in sheltered pockets, turning trees and shrubs into Christmas card images. Peering through the wiper tracks on her windshield, she made one last sweep of Hope’s house, ensuring herself that all was well. At last she turned left instead of right at the end of the street, and headed homeward.
Home. But it wasn’t. She didn’t want her home to be a sterile apartment, furnished with the stylish things Andre and Godfrey picked out for her. She wanted to live in the little house with the yellow door.
With the woman who made her heart do flips, who cared for her in little ways, little pastry ways. With coffee just how she liked it. Who knew about the job she did, and her sad addiction to it. Who coped with her awkwardness and borderline sociopath behavior, and who, despite it all, kissed her until her brain buckled, and her knees turned to mush, and she could howl at the moon like a lunatic, forever.
It had all been going so well, hadn’t it? She had waited such a long time for this connection. Watched her brother and her cousins succumb to its mystery one by one, wondering and worrying if her turn would ever come. And now it had, and she had fucked it up. And worst of all, she wasn’t sure how she’d managed to do it so goddamn thoroughly.
“I should have wined and dined her first,” she muttered in selfhatred.
She pulled into her parking space. “And took her to the theater.”
She grabbed her bag and strode to the elevator. “Bought her gifts. Like chocolate, and jewelry, and”—she scoured her mind to think what else she’d seen paramours given in the movies—“yachts.”
Maybe she still could buy these things and try to woo Hope back?
She’d ask Andre’s advice tomorrow; he should be back from his skiing trip. He would help her rescue the situation.
Jolie sat and gazed morosely at Hope’s empty cubicle. Then she glanced down to her pastry-less desk, and back up to the cubicle again.
She missed Hope, she missed their morning routine, and she wanted to turn back the clock to before Little Dip.
She had told Hope to take her time getting in this morning.
Now she w
as fretting Hope might not show at all. Might leave her, and Ambereye, because Jolie was horrible. What would she do if that happened? She would run away, too, and hide in Little Dip and chop wood all day, that’s what she’d do.
Next she glared in the general direction of Andre’s office. He had still not appeared and it was well after nine o’clock. Jolie had turned up early as usual. But the morning felt empty without Hope. Jolie found her absence disquieting.
A small flurry of activity caught her attention. Her staff were discreetly sidling away from their desks toward the kitchen area.
Deciding it was a little too early for a midmorning coffee break, Jolie sauntered over to her door to see what the draw was, and if maybe she could yell at someone. That might make her feel better.
Against the general crush of bodies pushing into the kitchen, Hope pushed out, with two coffee mugs and a plate with a precariously balanced pastry. She headed toward Jolie’s office. She’d just arrived with everybody’s morning sugar hit.
Hope steadily held Jolie’s gaze as she approached. She brushed past her, causing Jolie to start and step back. She set a cup of coffee and the pastry plate on the desk.
“I take it you had no breakfast, again,” she murmured as she swung back out to her cubicle and booted her computer into life.
“Mmm, no. Thank you,” Jolie mumbled and retreated to her seat.
She wanted to say something deep, and thoughtful, and incredibly relevant. But she decided it was best to shut up and eat and cling to the normality of it all like a lifeline. For once, she barely tasted the morning treat; memories of something far sweeter commandeered her thoughts.
“That’s a nice sweater,” Candace said at lunch. “Is it new?” She reached out to finger the wool on Hope’s forearm. “Hand wash only, I’ll bet. You sure know how to torture yourself.”
Ambereye Page 18