The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
By the Light of the Silvery Moon
Copyright ©2010 by Amanda McIntyre
ISBN: 978-1-936394-14-2
Cover art by Sahara Kelly
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
Look for us online at:
http://www.decadentpublishing.com
By the Light of the Silvery Moon
Amanda McIntyre
Dedication
To those who truly believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
By the Light of the Silvery Moon
Jerome Hinkle was a third generation taxidermist in Crawford County, if only by belief of the townsfolk who knew his father and grandfather. Not one dazzled by bright lights, cell phones, and power lunches, Landon offered the sedentary, quiet lifestyle of rural living. No crowded malls, no dance clubs and no graffiti on dirty subway walls. An open field, a cool beer and a blanket of stars and Jerome was a happy man.
Not many folks tarried in Landon. It looked like one of those creepy little deserted towns you might find in a horror novel, plopped down in the middle of a winding pine-forested mountain road. Most travelers filled up their tanks and moved on. Still, for the families living there for generations, it was home.
Known for years in the Landon area, Jerome’s dad, James Hinkle had established himself as one of the premiere taxidermists in the state. Upon graduation, Jerome, like so many others, left the small town, going off to college to find a better life. As it turned out, he went into biology research, which landed him a job with the university’s Fish and Wildlife Preservation Agency, keeping track of endangered species. Being at opposite ends of the spectrum was nothing new between Jerome and his dad and while he’d inherited his father’s curiosity and love for preservation of the area’s indigenous wildlife, his job was to care for them before they died.
When his mother passed on, Jerome returned to Landon to oversee her funeral arrangements. The usual amount of sympathy and food followed the small service. But it was Shelly Bane’s effervescent smile that made him rethink the idea of auctioning off everything and the house and consider taking up permanent residence in Landon. The day of the funeral was rough; meeting friends, accepting condolences, hearing the stories of praise for his father’s hunting skills. Mrs. Nottingham, his parents’ next door neighbor for as long as he could remember, cornered him in the kitchen and offered advice on how to go through the cupboards. Jerome stared at her, tuning out half of what she said, while his mind lusted after a cold beer and an empty house.
“Got company.” One of the guests ducked their head into the kitchen and left.
Grateful for the reprieve, Jerome excused himself. He came around the partition and found Shelly Bane holding a foil-covered pan. She turned, her beautiful dark green eyes filled with compassion. “Mom sent over one of her famous meatloaves. She thought you might be getting tired of salad and casseroles.”
Jerome took the pan, breathing in the sumptuous scent that made his mouth water. Memories of football banquets flooded his mind. Mrs. Bane was always asked to bring the main dish, knowing it would be her meatloaf. “Your mom’s meatloaf is legendary, Shell. Thanks.” Jerome offered a grin and cocked his head toward the kitchen. “Let me just put this away.”
“I can’t stay long, I have an appointment,” she said and followed him through the crowd of townsfolk clustered in his parents’ living room. Only then did it occur to Jerome that every crevice in the house sported a creature stuffed in suspended animation. A badger, its teeth bared in defense, wobbled precariously as Jerome nicked it with his elbow.
“Got it,” Shelly answered hurrying to catch it and set it right.
“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder. Damn. She looked like a million bucks in her white, button-down blouse and skin-tight blue jeans. Her toenails, painted a fire engine red, peeked from her sandals. “I didn’t realize there was anything busy enough in Landon that you had to make an appointment for,” he teased.
She leaned against the cabinet, and crossed her arms across her chest. “It’s the beauty shop. It’s been crazy trying to find an opening. I don’t want to miss it.”
“Sure.” He placed the meatloaf next to the rest of the Tupperware containers. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
She looked surprised. “You’re sticking around? I thought you’d be heading back to the city.” She rested her hands on the cabinet on either side of her which did amazing things to that blouse.
Jerome forced his eyes to hers. “Thought maybe I might stay on awhile, I might be able to do my work right from here, provided I can get wireless.”
“Guy, my boss down at the Quik-Foto, has it.” She shrugged. “Can’t really see why you couldn’t get hooked up right here.”
As he stared at Shelly, ‘hooking up’ sounded like a plan.
Later in the week as he sat in the lawyer’s office, he stared out the window at the deserted main street. Except for the flag in the park, you might think no one lived there. But inside those few storefronts, the diner, the hardware store, and the lone bank that still didn’t have a drive up, Jerome knew good, honest people worked in all those places. Further justifying his plans to stay—Shelly Bane, notwithstanding.
According to the will, Jerome inherited not only his father’s rare and unusual collection of stuffed animals and his isolated cabin studio, but also a small estate inheritance which gave him the freedom to live and work on his research at his own pace. His mother, a quiet woman who maintained her reclusive lifestyle after her husband’s strange death, reminded Jerome every chance she got how proud his father would have been. There were many unsolved questions surrounding his father’s death, an event he’d blocked from his memory. Like a great, black hole, Jerome’s thoughts could only be traced back so far and after that, the rest was blocked. Though he often asked his mother questions about that night, she refused to discuss it. With her passing, she took all the answers with her. After the funeral, Jerome packed up the majority of the stuffed animals and stored them in the basement with all of his father’s periodicals and gun trophy cases. He set up his computer lab, filled the now empty shelves with his DVD’s and research logs. He stepped back to observe his surroundings and for the first time felt this was where he belonged.
In the small town, it wasn’t long before he ran into Shelly. She was still the cute little thing he remembered from high school, though from the times they met in passing, he was certain the memories he harbored of the two of them were not mutual.
Shelly worked over at the Quik-Foto, one of the new bustling upscale additions to Landon’s array of “golden five” downtown businesses. Once or twice, she came into Big Dan’s, where the locals went for good food, hot coffee, and the latest gossip.
A creature of hab
it, Jerome started out every day at Big Dan’s, with a platter filled with the Number Five special—three fried eggs over-easy, hash browns, two strips of bacon, and two honey-cured sausage links. Then, he added a generous helping of Big Dan’s hot buttered grits; a couple of fresh powder biscuits and the world could go-to-hell-in-a-handbasket, for all he cared.
Shelly, on the other hand, ate like a bird, a beautiful bird, but like a bird nonetheless. Just watching her eat stirred all kinds of crazy notions in his gut.
“Boy, it’s a wonder you ain’t the size of a barn, eating like you do every day.” Big Dan chuckled as he placed the heart-stopping mound of food in front of Jerome. “Hey, but I’m not complaining. You’re my best breakfast customer, hands down and it don’t seem to stick on you, like it would me.” He busied himself wiping the counter before he leaned across and grinned at Jerome. “Now, you take Shelly here, she eats next to nothing. I’m worried that she’s going to catch a swift wind one of these days and whoosh—just blow away. Maybe you could teach her a few things about eating a hearty breakfast.”
The mere thought of taking Shelly anywhere, anytime, was enough to amp up Jerome’s appetite. He smiled at Big Dan. Yeah, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what Jerome thought of Shelly. He glanced at her order, the same as every day—a glass of tomato juice, a side of bacon, and a large glass of water—no ice. Sadly, he knew every movement by heart. He never thought watching someone eat could be a spiritual experience, but watching Shelly place a strip of bacon between her teeth was pure nirvana. Jerome, however, had not yet summoned the nerve to ask her out yet, partly because the whole town would know their every move and he wanted his time with Shelly to be very private.
“Hey, Jerome.”
His head came up at the sound of Shelly’s sweet voice. She flicked him a friendly smile.
“You finish that meatloaf?” she asked, fishing through her purse to pay Dan. The short, denim skirt she wore inched provocatively up her thigh as she slid off the red vinyl diner’s stool. Jerome’s eyes glued to her legs. Damn, it had been way too long since he’d been out with a real woman—a woman like Shelly. He tried to give her an answer, but a piece of bacon caught mid-swallow in his throat. He gave her a nod, coughing to dislodge the offending piece of pork and reached for his coffee cup, taking a deep swallow.
She offered him a jaunty wave. His eyes locked on the sway of her hips as she sashayed out the door. It was no wonder she’d been chosen as head cheerleader in school with her killer smile and body. Granted, her friendly personality likely had a lot to do with her popularity as well, but being the girlfriend of the star quarterback hadn’t hurt her any.
As if on cue, the bell above the door tinkled delightedly, breaking him from his reverie.
“Little thing sure is a looker, eh, Jerome?” Big Dan flipped another hotcake on the griddle, its soft sizzle caught Jerome’s attention.
Jerome chuckled as he slid his fork through the yellow center of his second fried egg. No way was he going to comment, one way or another, about Shelly. Hell, word would get back to her before his coffee got cold. “Got any more coffee, Dan?”
“Say, y’all hear ‘bout the big wolf been sighted over near McCormick’s woods?” Jasper Cartwright sunk his off-white dentures into the last of Big Dan’s day-old doughnuts.
Big Dan topped off Jerome’s cup. He nodded his thanks and turned his attention back to Jasper seated at the end of the counter. The old man knew all there was to know about goings on in Landon and most of the surrounding farms, because he sat on the same stool everyday in the diner, listening to the town gossip and reading the papers.
Jerome blew across the surface of his hot coffee, enjoying the aroma as he narrowed his gaze on Jasper. “Can’t say as I have. Wolves around here aren’t a big deal, Jasper. I’ve got plenty of ‘em over in the basement of my dad’s studio.”
Jasper nodded. “Yep, I remember helping your dad lug a couple of big ones to his studio.” The old man glanced up at the small television perched on a board in the corner of the diner. Though the sound was muted, Jasper was lost in the news, seemingly oblivious to the discussion he’d started.
It drove Jerome nuts. His curiosity piqued, he pushed the subject, hoping to hear more. “So what makes this one so special?”
Jasper’s gaze turned to him, raggedy, gray brows arched above aging blue eyes. For a moment, Jerome was unsure the old man even remembered the conversation. His tired eyes held to Jerome’s, squinting hard before he finally spoke.
“Odd size they say. And they claim the eye color is strange for a wolf. Not gray or blue, this one’s got golden eyes. Heard they look like two pieces of shiny amber and the coat is black as night. Only ever been one other like it in the county, to my recollection, and that’s been a while back.”
Jerome sipped his coffee, thinking the university would pay good money for him to research such a rare find, if he managed to keep it from poachers set out to obtain its coat.
“Hear it raided McCormick’s sheep the other night. Got one and maimed another before Marshall squeezed off a shot from his rifle.”
Jerome’s coffee sputtered from his lips. “He tried to shoot it?”
“He had to protect his property, Jerome.” Jasper wagged a crooked finger at him.
Jerome slapped a ten on the counter and tipped his hat to Jasper. He needed to work fast if he hoped to protect the wolf.
Shelly lathered her legs a second time, frustrated with this new development with her body. She raked the duel edged razor, the best one in the drugstore, over her legs, but the hair seemed to grow almost as fast as she shaved it. She used to shave once, maybe twice a week, now she lathered up at least three times a week and still the hair returned the next day.
In addition, she found herself staring at the men in town, lusting after them in ways unlike her. Perhaps most unsettling was the small gaps in her memory that she’d begun to experience. More than once lately, she’d woken nude in her bed, with bits of grass in her hair and dirt under her fingernails.
Her boss at the Quik-Foto swore that Shelly’s mood swings—perhaps her hair issues as well—were a direct result of the planets and the stars. Shelly scoffed at the absurd idea, but secretly was grateful the full moon only occurred every twenty-seven point three days.
Shelly checked her reflection in the mirror. She turned her head side to side, checking to see if the new trimmer she bought performed its claims to keep facial hairs at bay.
She wondered how she was to have any sort of a relationship with this pesky hair issue. Not one given to intimate conversations with her mother, Shelly decided it was time to stop by the house and find out if these strange changes were perhaps hereditary.
To Shelly’s surprise, her hairy dilemma didn’t exactly come as a shock to her mother. “Mom, something strange has happened. I think there may be something wrong with me.” Shelly sat in the sunny breakfast nook of her mother’s cozy kitchen, decorated for as long as she could remember in a woodland lodge motif. It never occurred to her as being unusual until today. However, many unusual things happened to Shelly as of late. The exceptionally quick growth of her toenails, for starters.
Her mother paused, hands wrapped around a huge ball of raw ground meat.
“Are you expecting company?” Shelly stared openly at the giant wad of dripping beef. Her stomach gurgled plaintively and she glanced down at her rumbling belly in wonder. How could she already be hungry? She’d eaten her standard breakfast this morning over at Big Dan’s. That’s when she noticed Jerome Hinkle’s eyes cop a visual feel of her thigh. A shudder went through her at the hunger she saw in his look and in the shy way he smiled when she spoke to him. Shelly licked her dry lips. Jerome made her think naughty thoughts, delicious, naughty thoughts.
“I’m having…um, Bridge tonight.” She stopped, nuked a piece of seared steak and placed it in front of Shelly. “You need more protein. That’s why your stomach’s growling.”
Her mother went back
to kneading with renewed determination, virtually ignoring Shelly’s earlier comments. Shelly cleared her throat, forcing her mind away from the fine way Jerome’s worn jeans fit his athletic body. She really needed to clear up the questions in her mind.
“Mom?” she asked, sawing diligently at the piece of steak. Barely seared, it was pink and moist, just the way she liked her meat.
“Yes, dear?” Her mother glanced over her shoulder.
“Did you hear what I said about the strange things happening to me?” Shelly paused, holding her fork and knife in midair.
“Oh, my mind wanders at times, especially this time of year. I miss your father. I was so used to him keeping me focused. He was so good like that.” She turned, facing Shelly. “I’m sorry. Now dear, what is on your mind?”
Shelly sighed. It wasn’t the first time her mother showed signs of aging.
“I said I feel strange.” No longer possessing an appetite, Shelly shoved away the plate.
Her mother slid into the chair across from her, concern shined in her dark, warm eyes. Shelly inherited her father’s light brown eyes, dark skin tone and acquired her mother’s raven-black hair. Her brothers had their mother’s dark eyes and dark hair. As a family, they’d been a handsome lot and often drew the stares of townsfolk when out together as a family.
Her mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Her long fingernails, painted blood red, stood out against the bleached flour sack material.
“Tell me how you feel strange.” She licked the greasy meat residue from her fingertips.
Shelly eyed her mother’s odd habit. Sure, she knew of her mother’s exceptional taste in meat. While most kids enjoyed the occasional fast food burger and fries, her mother insisted on buying only the choicest cuts of meat from Larry, the butcher who worked at the neighborhood market around the corner from their house. His cuts were a bit pricey, she said, but well worth it for the quality. “It’s about my legs and my shoulders.” Shelly hesitated, debating whether she was about to discover more to her hairy genetic state than she really wanted to know.
By the Light of the Silvery Moon Page 1