Katie nodded approvingly. “Summer casual, but a little sexy. You got to promise me you’re going to work it, though. I need some vicarious thrills!”
“Maybe Mace has a friend,” Willow suggested.
“Maybe,” Katie said, but the tone of her voice wasn’t hopeful.
“Wow, look at the stars! You don’t get skies like this in Boston.” Willow got up from the picnic table, walking out into the field behind her apartment. She slowly turned, taking in the entire Milky Way.
The night was still, and then she heard a strange, chuffing noise coming from the edge of the woods, and the slightest crackle of a twig snapping from the weight of a foot.
“Do you hear that?” Willow asked, turning back to Katie. “What is that?”
Katie listened for a moment, but there was only silence. “I dunno, I didn’t hear what it was. What did it sound like?”
“You know the sound that a cat makes when it’s pissed off about something? They kind of huff…down in their throat? It was a little like that, but deeper.”
“Ah,” Katie said knowingly. “You may have just had a close encounter with a bobcat.”
“Bobcat? They come this close to residences?” Willow asked, amazed.
“Sometimes. It just depends on what they are looking for.” Katie turned to look off into the distance, and for a moment, Willow was sure she’d seen a disturbing darkness pass over her new friend’s face.
***
What on earth was she going to do with her hair? Willow had thick wavy tresses that truly had a mind of their own. Should she go casual and just pull it back in a ponytail with some kind of pretty ribbon, or braid it, or put it up on top of her head? She thoughtfully twisted a few locks around one index finger. What would a character in a Mace Leland novel do? She leaned over and fluffed her hair out with both hands. Standing up, she smiled into the mirror. She would just let it go wild! Slipping two, huge, silver hoops into her ears, she admired the effect for a moment as she slicked on some sheer lipstick that would complement her sun-kissed skin. Other than a little mascara, it was the only make-up she wore.
Willow had promised Katie that she would stop by the diner so Katie could see her outfit before she headed out to Mace’s farm. She looked at the time and realized that she needed to get a move on if she didn’t want to risk being late.
Green’s was closed—the diner was only open for breakfast and lunch—but Katie was inside working on her bookkeeping. Willow skipped up the steps and found the door unlocked.
“Look at you!” Katie exclaimed, looking up from the booth where she was tapping away at a laptop. “You look amazing!”
Willow flushed a little. “Really? You don’t think this skirt makes my butt look big?” She turned sideways to give Katie the full effect.
Katie laughed. “You’ve got just the right amount of junk in the trunk! What man wants a skinny broad? It’s like trying to make love to an ironing board!”
“I never really thought about it like that,” Willow laughed.
At that moment, the little bell on the door of the diner jingled, and the two women turned to see who was coming in, still laughing. At the sight of Guy Beaugrand in the doorway, they composed themselves, but for different reasons.
Katie’s voice was a little frosty as she said, “Hey, Guy. What brings you by?”
“I—I saw the light on. Thought I’d say hello, nothing special. You’ve got company, I’ll leave you ladies to your evening.”
Willow felt like perhaps her presence was inhibiting Katie and Guy. “I’m leaving, I only stopped by to say hi for a minute, too. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late to an appointment.” She turned back to Katie. “Talk to you tomorrow?”
Guy’s eyes swept over Willow, lingering a moment when he got to her shapely behind. “You don’t really look dressed for a vet call.”
Willow felt herself getting flustered by Guy’s appraising look. “It’s some…consulting. A dinner meeting,” she explained.
“Run! Or you’re going to be late,” Katie interjected. “You don’t want to lose an important client,” she added meaningfully. “You can tell me about everything tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Guy added. “You better run.”
Something about the way Guy spoke made Willow shiver, and she didn’t know if it was from excitement or fear.
***
When Willow rang the doorbell at Mace’s house, it was Mace who answered the door. “Good evening, Willow. Please come in.” He gestured for her to enter. “You look very lovely this evening.”
“Thank you.” Willow tried not to stammer and to simply accept the compliment. “You look…” Her voice trailed off. What on earth could she say that wouldn’t sound stupid?
Mace laughed. “Eccentric? Is that the word you want?”
“No, uh, I mean…” Willow wanted to kick herself for letting him disturb her equilibrium. The fact was, his outfit was more than a little unusual, better suited to the nineteenth rather than twenty-first century. He was wearing fitted riding trousers tucked into tall leather riding boots with a loose cotton shirt that was open at the neck and sported wide French cuffs. Definitely, Lord of the Manor apparel.
“I was going to say…dashing.” Willow tried to sound confident as she spoke.
“The truth is, I had to have new publicity photos taken today, and this is what the stylist and my publisher wanted me to wear. It’s really not my habit to hang around the house looking like I escaped from Dr. Zhivago!” He smiled mischievously. “I didn’t have time to change—I was too busy trying to shoo everyone out of the house.”
Mace led her to the library where they had first met. “This is my favorite room. I suppose I feel most comfortable in the presence of books.”
“It’s a fabulous room. Do you really work at the standing desk?” Willow asked.
Mace turned his chiseled face to look at it. “I do, I write all my outlines in long hand. Then I retire to my proper office and the computer to flesh them out.” He walked over to the wall and pressed a panel to reveal a small bar built into the bookcase. It had several crystal decanters and glasses. “Would you care for a nip of something to whet your appetite before we dine?” He turned to regard Willow with smoldering eyes.
“Sure, I’m not a Scotch drinker, but a bit of whiskey will do.” Willow could feel her female parts humming, but was it really all so casual and haphazard with Mace? Or was he being somewhat calculated in creating this image of a storybook seduction? Willow took a sip from the glass he handed her, and asked herself if she even cared. Why not enjoy the ride and see what Mace had in mind for a destination?
That sat facing each other on the leather sofa, and unconsciously, Willow slipped her feet out of her sandals and curled her legs up under her.
“I’m very interested in what you’ve been able to find out for me,” Mace began.
“It’s a very interesting subject—big cat hybridization. There are a lot of different things that can happen when you breed one species with another, like a lion with a tiger, or a leopard with a puma.”
“For example?” Mace looked at her over the rim of his glass.
“Well, male ligers and tigons—lion and tiger crossbreeds—are always sterile, and often have shortened life spans. Or take the pumapard—the mother is a mountain lion or puma or cougar, I guess what they used to call catamounts in New England before they all disappeared here, and a leopard. The offspring are dwarfs.”
Willow could see Mace’s face tighten a bit. “It doesn’t sound like a very promising avenue for a big cat to pursue,” he said coolly.
“There aren’t many successful hybrid animals in the world beyond mules and some domestic pets—lots of overbred animals have problems, too. Boxers are prone to deafness, shepherds to hip dysplasia. Bengal cats often have retinal atrophy. Your Earl is an exception—a color point Siamese is really a hybrid of purebred Siamese and American Shorthairs. They actually have fewer health issues.”
As if on cu
e, Earl appeared in the library, making his way into Willow’s lap. “Speaking of the devil.” Mace laughed a little. “And he’s putting the moves on you. I don’t think he understands he’s been neutered.”
Willow could feel herself falling prey to Mace’s charms; she felt quite comfortable curled up on the couch with him, and the whiskey was bolstering her sense of ease. She ran a hand down Earl’s silky coat and tried to imagine what running her hand down Mace’s bare chest might feel like. His skin had a light golden glow, and his fine straight hair invited touch. She fluttered her eyes, not meaning to be coy, but the tingle of anticipation she felt between her legs was crying out for attention.
“I love your eyes,” Mace said. He reached over and took Willow’s hand. “They’re such a lovely soft gray, very unusual.” His thumb swam over her hand. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve made something special for you tonight—and please, tell me that you are not a vegetarian.”
Willow smiled into Mace’s dark green eyes. “Not a vegetarian.” She felt a little shiver of excitement run up her spine as his hand wrapped more firmly around hers.
Standing up, Mace drew Willow off the sofa after him, and Earl meowed his displeasure at being upended. Mace’s arm seemed quite naturally to slip around Willow’s waist, his hand resting gently on her hip as he walked her to the dining room. The tingle between her legs was growing to an insistent throb, and she wanted to feel Mace’s body firm and hard against hers.
Upon reaching the elegant dining room, Mace pulled a chair away from the table for her and pushed it in as she took her seat. For a flicker of a moment, his hand trailed along the back of her bare neck in a small caress, and Willow found that she was ready to skip the main course and proceed to what she hoped was dessert.
“I’ll be right back,” Mace purred. “We’re having venison, and I only serve it rare, as otherwise it’s completely ruined, so I hope that’s alright.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Willow’s eyes followed Mace’s sensuous form as he glided away and disappeared through a doorway. She realized that she wanted to agree with everything that Mace suggested, and that, she knew, made him a very dangerous man.
Over their meal, they talked some more about the possibilities of cross-species interaction between big cats. Willow reported that there were cases known of bobcats and Canadian lynx mating in the wild, but there were no known cases of cougars breeding with other cats except in captivity.
Willow dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “May I ask what you are planning for your next book? How does the cross-breeding thing figure into the story? That is, if you can tell me. I promise I’ll keep it a secret.”
Mace winked at her as he took a sip of wine. “You do understand that I’ll have to kill you if you tell anyone?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“The main shapeshifter character, he’s the last catamount in New England. It’s one of the reasons I bought this farm, so I could get a feel for the people and the landscape—that and the fact that I really despise living in cities. Humans are so bothersome. Horrible creatures, really.”
He said it as if he might actually mean it.
“By virtue of the fact that he’s the end of the line, he’s lived a very solitary life, and one day he realizes that he’s exceedingly lonely and that he wants a mate with which to share his life, but…he’s the last catamount.”
“But there are cougars—pumas in other parts of the Americas. Couldn’t he go off to South American to find a bride?”
“It’s not so easy. He’s bound to his ancestral lands, and if he leaves the area he will grow sick and die.”
“You’re really putting this character between a rock and a hard place.” Willow looked at Mace thoughtfully. “You’re the author, couldn’t you lighten up on him a bit?”
“That’s not so easy either. I don’t write the characters, they write themselves. It’s my job to help them find a solution to their problems.”
“You make them sound like real people, well, real were-people-animals.”
“What if they were? Wouldn’t you want to help them?”
It seemed like such an odd question. “I’m a vet, I guess it would be my job to help them.”
“What if it was the human, rather than the animal part of them that was in pain, though?”
Mace’s manner had shifted, Willow observed. His mood had suddenly darkened, and his jokiness had evaporated. Something pinched in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered if Mace was one of those people who became morose when they had one drink too many. He certainly wouldn’t be the first author to have an alcohol problem.
“It’s getting late, I suppose it’s time for me to be going,” Willow responded gently after a moment.
“That’s right, run away when things get real.” Mace drained his wine glass. “Yes, it’s probably time for you to leave.”
Willow couldn’t understand what had soured their interchange and why he was acting as if he’d been personally rejected when they had been speaking hypothetically about a fictional character.
Mace did see her to the door, and as she started to leave, his voice softened for a moment. “I’m sorry, Willow. You were very kind to try to help me with my research.” He leaned to Willow’s face and gently kissed her cheek. “You should stay away from me as clearly I’ve turned into a complete curmudgeon. Goodnight.”
On the drive home, Willow played the evening over again and again in her mind. They were having a perfectly wonderful time, and it had definitely felt like the attraction was mutual. What had happened? Was it the booze or maybe he was truly an eccentric misanthrope? She didn’t know what to make of it.
The entire Milky Way was visible in the sky when she arrived home, and she walked out into the field behind her apartment, gazing up into the vast expanse of sky. She felt small and insignificant, and a million miles away from the bright collection of stars. It seemed the perfect metaphor for her situation. Would she ever be a real part of anything in this community, or was she simply an isolated existence that would never find connection?
A wave of sadness swept over her. Lost in thought as she was, she never heard the sound of a few twigs cracking before the claws ripped into her back, knocking her face forward to the ground. The last sensation she had before losing consciousness was the feel of teeth grazing the back of her neck.
TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK TWO: About Face - Volume 2
***
About Face
***
Synopsis
The first thing Dr. Willow Ryersen sees when she wakes up in a hospital bed is handsome doctor, Christovao Amara—but that’s not all that she’s seeing…or feeling. Suddenly, raw hamburger seems like a perfect snack! As life in “the Kingdom” transforms from interesting to inexplicable, Willow starts to doubt her own sanity, even as Guy Beaugrand makes his romantic interest in her known. But when Chris reveals to Willow the truth of the vicious attack that nearly killed her, Willow understands that life as she knows it will never be the same again.
***
The pain was like nothing Willow had every experienced; somehow it felt red hot and white cold all at the same time. She also had a vague sensation of wetness and then realized that it was her own blood, streaming down her body and pooling beside her. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get up and run, but her body seemed disconnected from her brain. Why wouldn’t her arms push her up off the ground? Why didn’t her legs respond to the order that she gave them to flee?
She blinked, trying to focus her mind. The ground was cool against her cheek, and the only sound she could hear was the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The agony she had felt only moments before began to transform into a throbbing ache, and somehow her thoughts were oddly peaceful. Then she had a flash of clarity that made sense of what she was experiencing. In that moment, Willow understood that she was dying.
It wasn’t the way death was described in books. Her life wasn�
�t flashing before her eyes, and she wasn’t filled with remorse or regret or the need to speak some unspoken thing. It was as if everything she had struggled to understand her entire life simply didn’t matter. That life, her life—at least as she knew it—was over. Her mind and body were preparing for whatever came next and whether or not she wanted it didn’t really matter.
An icy chill that started at her feet and slowly crept up her body replaced the throbbing ache that wracked her only a moment before. Willow smiled. She was never going to have the chance to understand Yankees, but she was going to be a part of East Lindenbury, Vermont forever… whether or not anyone wanted it.
***
A vehicle door slammed, a radio popped, and staccato voices relayed the gravity of the situation to others unseen at the receiving end of the airwaves. Willow wanted to continue her journey, continue swimming into the comfortable blackness, but the voices and the sirens kept yanking her back, even though they made no sense.
Extensive lacerations…
Anterior jugular…
Hypovolemic shock…
Possible perforation of the spleen...
“Can you hear me? I’m Dr. Cristovao Amara. You’re at Mountainview Hospital. Don’t try to speak—you’ve had an injury to your throat. We’re going to take good care of you.”
His hand was warm, and Willow tried to squeeze it as he jogged beside the gurney. There was a whoosh of automatic doors, bright lights, someone holding her head with latex-gloved hands. None of it made any sense.
“What in god’s name happened to her?”
“EMT said a friend found her unconscious in the yard behind her house. It looks like she was shredded by some kind of big animal—maybe a bear.”
Willow Run: Boxed Set (Books 1-6) Page 3