Deliciously Mated (Ouachita Mountain Shifters 1)

by P. Jameson

  Shaking, she tried to think. There had to be a way to get it back. The lost and found. The cook said he was putting it in the lost and found. Maybe she could find it. Clara looked around. The spa afforded her an opportunity to get clean. Could she clean up enough to look like a guest? Could she walk up to the front desk and ask for the lost and found? Without freezing up. Without appearing like a bedraggled forest urchin?

  She hadn’t spoken to another human in six years. Only her skink and the other animals. And herself. God.

  But she had to try. She had to get her book back. It was crucial.

  Okay.

  Okay, she was doing this.

  Clara nodded, closing her backpack and tying the strap around the end so she wouldn’t lose anything else. She crawled from under the counter and made her way carefully to the back of the spa where the showers were. The dim track lighting offered her enough glow to get a picture of her surroundings.

  A small row of lockers painted a soothing blue stood outside the door. She tested one and it opened. Inside was a blue sweater and a pair of white slacks. The pants wouldn’t fit her, but the shirt might work.

  The wall behind her was lined with shelves full of product. Clara scanned the array of shampoos, body washes, and lotions. Her eyes landed on an herbal hair removal remedy. She squinted as she read the instructions on the back. She was skeptical that it could work on her coarse, dark leg hair, but she was desperate. Her search for a razor had resulted in nil.

  She tucked it into her elbow and grabbed some shampoo, conditioner, and soap from the shelf before ducking into the shower room.

  Clara stopped just inside the door, gawking at the elaborate setup. Three stalls lined one wall, each with mosaic tiled doors framed in smooth river rock. Carefully, she set her things on the nearby bench and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was a shower. How hard could it be?

  Stepping forward, she pulled on the handle of the middle stall. It came open with a snap, making her jump at the noise.

  She kept still. Listening. Everything was quiet.

  Pulling the door all the way open, she examined the inside. Okay, so it was your typical slide-on faucet. No funky computer mojo. She could handle that.

  Clara stepped back and caught sight of herself in the mirror that took up the entire wall opposite the shower. What she saw choked her heart in her chest. That couldn’t be her. Could it? She’d seen her reflection in dark windows and in the calm of the streams she bathed in, and it hadn’t seemed so… frightening.

  She took a step forward and the reflection moved too.

  She was thicker than she’d been a few months ago. She knew because her clothes fit tighter. And it made sense as she was prepping for the winter. But she was much thinner than when she’d last looked at herself in a mirror.

  She removed the ball cap she’d used to hide her hair. The dull brown stuff that tumbled out looked like burnt straw.

  Clara’s eyes searched frantically for anything that looked like her. Anything that she could connect with. Something that would make her think that’s me.

  Her face was covered in mud that she’d put there in order to blend more fully into the night. But her lips maybe. Yeah, maybe they were familiar. They’d always been full. Kissable, her sister had called them.

  Somehow she found her eyes, her gaze clashing with the mirror’s.

  There. There she was.

  That’s me.

  The thought was reassuring. It calmed her. No matter what she looked like, no matter how long she’d been away from civilization, she was still her. Clara Destacio.

  Reaching up, she fingered her straw hair. It had grown long. Nearly to her waist. Maybe the spa quality product would help tame it.

  With a sigh, she stripped off her muddy clothes, shoving the shirt and cap in a nearby trashcan. Once again, she’d have to salvage her jeans. Her boots and socks, she tucked in a corner by the bench.

  Reaching into the shower, she turned on the water to let it get warm. When it came to temperature, she gingerly stepped into the stall, bringing the soap with her. But as soon as she did, water began shooting in pulsating streams starting from her head and moving down her body.

  A yelp clawed its way up her throat but she stifled it with her hand.

  The shower was motion activated.

  Clara pressed her hand to her chest, willing her heart to remember its normal rhythm. She needed to hurry in case someone noticed the noise from the shower. She didn’t know for sure how insulated this room was. And getting caught with her pants down would be the ultimate embarrassment.

  But the water felt so damn good. With the hot springs that were abundant in this area of Arkansas, she had warm water to bathe with. But a shower… water spraying over her body like warm summer rain… that was a privilege she didn’t get often.

  She let the vacillating streams wash the mud and smelly junk from her body. Staring at the tile beneath her feet she watched as the water went from mucky brown to clear. Then she went to work on her hair. She washed it twice with the sweet smelling shampoo before coating it in conditioner and letting it rest while she tackled her legs.

  Following the instructions, she mixed the herbal powder into a paste and rubbed it over her legs, keeping them out of the stream of water. She was supposed to wait ten minutes but maybe it’d work faster. Ten minutes more under the shower seemed risky.

  While she waited, she thought about her situation. Eagan The Cook. He was handsome as the sun was hot. He probably knew it too. She’d known many guys like him in her former life. Had relationships with some. It wasn’t anything she missed. Relationships. Not with her family. Not with her friends. And certainly not with any muscle bound hormone-ridden hot heads.

  He was the only one who knew what she looked like. For whatever reason, he’d kept her break-in to himself. If she could avoid him, surely she could get her book back. It would be quick-like. She’d be back at her camp before she knew it.

  She only had to spend this one night indoors. And talk to whoever manned the front desk tomorrow.

  Clara moved and realized the paste on her legs had transformed into a semi-hard shell. Whoa. Now what? The directions said remove the mask carefully but quickly, in swift downward motions. Aw, crap. This was going to hurt like hell.

  Shoring up her courage, she grasped a spot just above her knee and jerked down hard.

  She let out a gasp as searing pain shot from her leg to a spot between her eyes, tapping there like a hammer against a nail.

  Satan’s hot hairy mama. What had she gotten herself into?

  Sticking her leg directly in the stream of hot water, she attempted to wash away the paste, but it was no dice. The stuff was like cement mixed with cockroach shells—because those things are indestructible.

  Clara looked around. She didn’t have any more time to waste. She needed to clean up here and find a place to stow away until morning.

  Her poor, poor legs. She was going to have to do this the hard way.

  Gripping another piece of the shell, she counted to three in her head. But her hands didn’t move.

  One, two, three. Pull.

  A bigger strip came off this time, and Clara’s throat constricted around a cry. Before she could think about it anymore, she yanked another piece, and then another, tears mixing with the warm water of the shower. When one leg was free of hair, she went after the other one, scraping at the mask with her nails until there was nothing of it left.

  Panting and raw, she leaned against the tiled wall and watched as it collected around the drain.

  Holy shit. Holy freaking shit.

  She took a deep breath, forcing herself into action.

  Rinse hair. Now.

  She contorted so the water couldn’t hit her tender legs, and scrubbed vigorously at her mop. Then she turned the water off and burst from the stall. Snatching a towel from the shelf nearby, she wrapped it around her head and went back for another. She leaned against the counter to catch her breath and shot
a glare at the open shower door.

  The shower from hell. She never wanted to shower again. Give her a natural hot spring bath any day.

  Clara squeezed her eyes closed, breathing deep to calm her nerves.

  Just a little longer. Just a little more work to do. Then she’d have her book, and she’d go home. To her skink. To her mattress made of a sleeping bag and newspapers.

  Just a little longer.

  Chapter Five

  The lunch rush was over and the kitchen was prepping for dinner, their biggest meal of the day. But all Eagan could think about was a dirty little female and her notebook he had stuffed in his back pocket.

  He’d skimmed the contents fifty times since finding it in the lobby but it still didn’t make any sense. Destiny definitely needed to explain herself. But she hadn’t returned his calls.

  Eagan stirred the giant pot of beef stew before sliding a pan of cheddar biscuits into the oven.

  “We need the cobblers in now,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Almost done with the peach,” Bailey replied, short of breath. The cougar was usually quick on her toes, but she was lagging today.

  “Blueberry?”

  “Done. Counter behind you.”

  Eagan twisted, grabbing the tray and sliding it into the lower oven.

  Layna pushed through the kitchen doors as he was closing the oven. She held the phone up. “Destiny is calling… again.” She frowned. “Never thought I’d get to say that twice.”

  “Finally,” Eagan huffed, reaching for the receiver. But Layna held it out of his reach.

  “There’s something you should know first—”

  Eagan scowled. “Give me the fucking phone.”

  One eyebrow came up, and she smiled ruefully. “Fine.” She passed the phone to him and turned to leave. “It’s your damn funeral.”

  Eagan stepped out from behind the prep counter and pushed the speaker to his ear.

  The first thing he heard was a gruesome scream. His blood ran cold at the sound. Something was wrong.

  “Destiny?”

  “WHAT?!”

  Eagan winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.

  The hell?

  A tortured moan came from the other end of the earpiece, and then, “How much longer? I can’t do this three tiiiiiimes.”

  “Give me the phone.” Diz’s voice came calmly in the wake of Destiny’s roar.

  “No. I can talk. I need to talk… just…” Another roar of pain cut off her words.

  Holy shit.

  There were countless minutes of heavy breathing and then she finally sounded normal. Sort of.

  “Eagan? You still there?”

  “Uh…” Was the right answer yes? “Yes?”

  “Good, okay. Make this quick because another contraction will happen in about… one minute.”

  Contraction. Oh… damn. Destiny was in labor.

  “This about the book?” she asked when Eagan remained silent.

  “Yeah. Uh… you sure you want to do this now?”

  “I’m sure. What’s up?” She said the words as if she hadn’t chomped his ear off just seconds ago.

  “You said to read it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I did.”

  “Perfect!” she exclaimed as if the book held some secret to life.

  “But it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Eagan turned to face the wall even though that wouldn’t keep Bailey from overhearing the conversation.

  “All it is, is page after page of lists. Random things and amounts. Foods, brand names, things like that. And dates. And addresses. There’s no rhyme to it. It’s just an eternity long list.”

  “Ahh,” Destiny said.

  “Ah?”

  “You read the wrong book.”

  Eagan frowned. “Wrong book?”

  “Or maybe the right one. I can’t be sure.”

  A whimper passed through the line.

  “Destiny, that makes no sense.” His voice rose with frustration.

  “Because you read the wrong goddamn MOTHERFUCKING BOOK!” And then another agony-induced scream ripped through the phone.

  “Okay, okay.” Eagan tried for a placating tone. “I’ll just, you know, read all the books that I find that aren’t mine and hope one of them makes sense.”

  “Yeah,” she snapped. “You do that.” And then the line clicked dead.

  Eagan looked at the phone, wondering if that had really just happened. Destiny was a sweet female. She’d never raised her voice even once when she’d stayed at the lodge.

  “A small cat having wolf babies,” Bailey murmured. “That has to hurt.”

  Eagan turned to look at her. Bailey had a point. Destiny wasn’t like the cats around the lodge. She was a wild species, but definitely not considered large.

  “Bethany is human and she had a panther baby. I don’t remember her turning murderous.”

  Bailey laughed. “You weren’t there for the delivery. Should’ve seen Doc Davis. She had nail marks the whole length of her arms.”

  Eagan’s eyes peeled wide. “Doc let a human mark her up?”

  Bailey shrugged, pushing the peach cobbler into the oven. “She’s all about patient care. Plus, I think she felt sorry for her.”

  Eagan shook his head. He didn’t know the first thing about females having young. Probably would never learn either.

  He handed the phone to Bailey. “Take this back to Layna, would you?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Dinner time came, and the dining room filled with guests and employees. Eagan stayed busy, prepping dishes while the waiters served them. But his mind remained where it had been all day. On the woman and the book. But mostly the book.

  Was it a wish list? Things she was looking to steal? Maybe she was contracted to steal the items and made money when she delivered. Except that didn’t sit well with him. She wasn’t stealing high-priced items from the lodge. The things they were missing were small time. Camping supplies, food, clothing…

  Survival supplies he realized.

  Eagan’s grip tightened on the rag he was using to wipe down the counter.

  Survival. Was that why his thief was stealing?

  He pulled the notebook from his back pocket and flipped through the pages.

  One quart, whole milk

  One loaf bread, whole wheat

  Processed cheese singles, 24 ct.

  He skipped a few pages.

  AA batteries

  Lighter fluid

  Weather radio

  Pocket knife, five inch

  Lavender soap, one bar

  His heart raced. His mouth hung open as he turned page after page, finding similar items. He skipped back to the beginning to note the dates. The earliest one was nearly six years ago.

  Six years.

  Eagan swallowed the lump in his throat. Finger leading his eyes, he combed through each page. Fishing rods, tackle, a variety of tools, a hairbrush, toilet paper. The next page had only one item listed.

  Box full of scrap paper/cardboard

  The words had been scratched out and replaced with,

  Box full of love letters

  Irreplaceable

  Put off burning them as long as I could. Almost too long. I’m so sorry, Rose and Arnold.

  Forgive me.

  Eagan stood there so long, staring at that page, reading it over and over. When he finally looked up, the kitchen was clean and Bailey was gone.

  Irreplaceable.

  He thumbed through the book again. These were notes. Records of what she’d taken over the years. There was only one reason she’d keep track. It was because she intended on paying it all back.

  His thief… she was homeless. She took the things she needed to survive. And she planned on making amends one day.

  Eagan’s chest ached.

  What had happened to her? Why was she alone in the woods and homeless for so long? He reme
mbered the shocked look in her eyes when he’d grabbed her. She hadn’t said a word, but he could feel her surprise. When was the last time she’d been touched? The last time she’d interacted with other people?

  A protective instinct rose up in him. He didn’t know her or how she came to be such a clever thief, but the need to help her clawed at him inside. He couldn’t rat her out to Magic. Not yet. Not until he at least tried to make this better.

  Eagan tucked the notebook back into his pocket and ran a hand through his spiky hair as he paced the tiled floor. She’d be back. She’d need to eat. And he had a feeling she wouldn’t leave her book.

  He knew what to do.

  He rushed to the walk-in to find the leftover stew. All the remaining food from the day was open to whoever wanted it. Usually cats who’d missed dinner would come scrounging for it, but it was so late, they were likely done for the night. Piling his arms full of cobbler and biscuits, he brought it all to the counter. Luckily, it was still warm.

  Reaching over the counter, he pulled down some to-go containers, filling the first to the brim with the hearty stew he’d made for the lodge. He added a drizzle of sour cream and a sprig of parsley before putting the lid on. The second container, he filled with Bailey’s cobblers. One piece of each, in case his female didn’t like one of the flavors. He bagged up several biscuits and added them, along with a napkin and utensils to the pile of offerings.

  Rubbing his palms together, he stood back, looking at the food. Something was missing.

  Ah, yes. He snapped his fingers, and then bent to retrieve a small saucepan. Setting it on the stove, he turned the burner to low and went to the pantry for chocolate. He broke the bar into pieces and added them to the pan, pouring in milk and a dash of vanilla and cinnamon. The early October nights were chilly. She’d appreciate his specialty hot chocolate to keep her warm.

  Damn. His stomach cramped at the thought of where she must live. The cats knew these woods like their own names. If she was in a tent or a cabin, they’d know of it. And she was certainly nearby or she wouldn’t frequent the lodge for her necessities. He imagined her holing up in a cave or sleeping in the trees like fucking Katniss or something.