The Alpha's Mate

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  Marshall walked easily across the living room to the kitchen door and looked inside. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder and spoke to the top of her head.

  “Lizzie? Honey? He’s over in the corner looking as happy as a well fed snake can be,” he whispered. “Seems like you invited him for supper after all.”

  “Very funny. Can you get rid of it or not?” She was pressed up against his back, using him as a shield between her and the giant serpent in her kitchen.

  “Well ma’am, I could, but it’s a might hard for a man to move quick and concentrate when a lady’s got her hand down his pants.” His shoulders shook in silent laughter.

  Good heavens! He was right. Without thinking, she’d gripped his belt and her fingers were half way down his backside. She snatched her hand back and held it to her chest. “Sorry!”

  “No need to be. Pure pleasure on my part.” He stepped away from her and into the kitchen.

  She leaned in to watch, saw him bend and his hand flash out faster than an ordinary man’s should. He stood up straight and turned to her, grinning like a boy.

  “It’s just a little one,” he said of the two foot black rope hanging from his fist.

  The snake hung there, docile, its beady black eyes staring straight ahead. She could see a slight bulge in its body below where Marshall gripped it firmly behind its head. Hanging from Marshall’s ham sized fist, this snake didn’t look very threatening at all.

  “That is not the snake that crawled out of those cupboards.” She pointed to the open doors and started to laugh. “The one I saw was much, much bigger, at least eight feet long. Okay, maybe six. Probably that one’s father.”

  “Why don’t I set this fella on his way and come back and take a look around. Pa could be hiding under your bed. You never know.”

  He winked and she felt the flush rise to her cheeks. Cassandra would invite him to check between the sheets as well, but as much as Elizabeth wanted to follow her bold and sexy character’s example, she couldn’t. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and she was having trouble swallowing.

  “Coffee?” she croaked.

  “Sure,” he said, nodding at the snake, “Let me take care of this.” He raised the snake in a semi-salute and headed for the back door.

  “Oh, uh, let me get that for you.” Elizabeth reached around him and the snake to push back the bolt on the door. It was a tight squeeze between the counter and the wall and Marshall stepped back just far enough to give her room to open the door and reach for the hook and eye that served as a lock for the screen door. She held it open with her back as Marshall and his captive walked out. He paused next to her and leaned down to whisper against her hair.

  “If all you’re offering is coffee, you might want to put on a robe.” He chuckled at her soft intake of breath and continued on across the porch and into the yard.

  Elizabeth looked down through the sheer, silky fabric of her nightgown. Even in the dim light shed by the single kitchen bulb, she could see everything she owned and then some. She’d been standing in the kitchen offering him the same view.

  “Ack!”

  The screen door slammed behind her as she ran for her room where she quickly stuffed herself into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

  She had the water in the coffee maker – never leave home without one – and the coffee can in her hand when Marshall returned empty handed. He replaced the hook on the screen and shot the bolt on the door.

  “Is this all right?” she asked stupidly and held up the can. It wasn’t like she had a variety to offer.

  “I suppose,” he said, “Though I thought the little pink roses were kind of cute.”

  “I meant the coffee.” She felt the blush rising again and that fluttery feeling in her stomach was making it difficult to concentrate.

  “I know.” He took the mug from the counter where she’d left it while she took another from the cupboard.

  They stood side by side, inches apart, watching the coffee stream into the pot.

  “So, other than the snake, how do you think you’re going to like living in the Home Place?” He continued to stare at the filling pot.

  “If you’d asked me this morning, I would have said I had no choice. The money was paid. The place was mine like it or not. But then Max’s friends showed up with the men you sent and they all worked so hard to make it right. They wanted me to stay.” She straightened her shoulders. “They taught me how to kill mice.”

  Marshall smiled, but still didn’t look at her. “A major accomplishment?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Baby steps, okay? I’m working my way up to snakes.” The coffee maker sputtered the last drops into the pot. “In my world, mice are something you read about. They live in other people’s houses. And if one happens to sneak into yours, you run screaming to the building superintendent and he’ll call an exterminator. Someone else would take care of my problem. Today, I learned how to take care of it myself. My mother would never believe I could do it. But Max did. She cheered me on. So yeah, for you it’s another mouse in the cupboard. For me, it’s a step toward independence.”

  She poured coffee into his mug and then into her own.

  “Snakes, on the other hand, live in the zoo where you can walk right by the Reptile House and never look in.” She smiled at her ignorance. “All the things I read about these mountains and I never thought to look up snakes. I never thought to look up wolves either. I’ve read a lot about them, but that was long before I thought about moving here. I even had a picture of one on my wall when I was a teenager.” Until her mother took it down because it didn’t match the French Provincial décor.

  “None in the zoo, huh?”

  “Oh no. It was a very small zoo. They had a camel though.”

  “No camels around here.”

  “Good thing. They spit.”

  “So do a lot of folks up here.” He raised his eyebrow at her questioning look. “Chewing tobacco. We call it chaw.”

  “Do you chew tobacco?” She didn’t like kissing smokers and she imagined chewers wouldn’t be much different. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to be kissing Marshall Goodman.

  “Nope. Never took up the habit.”

  Then again… “Good,” she said with a nod.

  Chapter 9

  Things were quiet over the next few days. Max and her crew helped her finish the painting and brought bits and pieces from their own homes that they thought she might need; extra dishes, a pretty glass pitcher -for sweet tea Gwenna explained-, an extra side table and two table lamps that were greatly appreciated.

  They also unloaded cartons of glass canning jars filled with every fruit and vegetable grown in local gardens along with an assortment of pickles and sauces. The shelves of the closet in the corner of the kitchen, which Vickie referred to as the larder, were packed with enough food to last her for a year.

  She lost track of the names of the donors. It seemed that everyone in the community had sent something and she was touched by their welcome.

  Even her landlord, the Chief of Police, stopped by twice to see how she was getting along. The first time, she made him lunch; eggs and a slice of ham, because that’s all she had to offer. He didn’t seem to mind. They talked about many things and nothing in particular. He told her about the Mill and the furniture that was built from the wood they harvested.

  “Some of what we cut goes out to fill orders, but we needed more than that to fill the need for employment up here. So we built a small workshop. There’s a lot of talent up here; men who, given the time and the tools, can create beautiful pieces of furniture. Works of art. We have carvers and men who whittle bits of wood into things of beauty. We make bowls turned from a single block of wood. And each piece is done by hand. Some of our lathes are still worked with foot pumps,” he laughed. “Once we found a few dealers on the outside who were willing to carry our goods, things took off. We’ve expanded twice and now, between the mill and the shop and the office help and finish
ers and shippers, we keep about a hundred people working. Doesn’t sound like a lot, but up here… I’m boring you, aren’t I?

  “No, you’re not,” she said truthfully. She liked to hear him talk. He sounded so proud of what ‘his’ people had accomplished. She knew from Max that it was his ideas and his money that restarted the mill and built the shop. He was the one who found the dealers and paid the up-front costs, but he never took credit for it. It was always ‘we’ and not the royal kind that many of her mother’s friends used. ‘We’ meant all of them together and she liked that about him.

  She still felt that unnerving tingle if she got too close, but if she kept the table between them, everything was fine. She was still disappointed that he wasn’t available, but that was her problem not his, and it shouldn’t get in the way of their being friends.

  The second time he stopped by, he was in uniform and she served him iced tea on the porch. He said he couldn’t stay and laughingly admitted they were running a speed trap out on Route 7 and he had to go check on the boys, which was how he always referred to the deputies who worked for him.

  One glass of tea led to another and he stayed for two hours, his feet propped on the rail and his head resting back on the rocker. She got the impression he didn’t often get the chance to sit back and relax.

  This time, he asked about her and she told him a little more about her life in the city and a little less about why she left.

  “Sooner or later, you’ll miss your life,” he said and he sounded a little regretful.

  “There are things I’ll miss,” she told him, “Like good coffee and good wine, but it wasn’t my life. It was only the way I lived.”

  She still didn’t have a car and it bothered her a bit that she didn’t have a phone, but George assured her both problems would be rectified in the next few weeks.

  All in all, and in spite of the rough start, she thought she was going to enjoy being a part of Rabbit Creek for the next year.

  On the fourth day in her new home, she followed the path Max had pointed out down to Rabbit Creek. The day was warm and sunny and the downhill stroll was a pleasant walk through the trees though she expected her legs would feel the uphill climb coming back. Her laptop in its satchel rested comfortably on her shoulder.

  Max had told her the Dizzy Dish Luncheonette was now billing itself as an internet café. It was a good excuse to check out the town while doing some research and sending her mother a long overdue email.

  Rabbit Creek was little more than a village. Hadley’s Garage –George’s place, she assumed- shared one side of the street with two churches, a grocery, Post Office, and a squat brick building officially proclaimed Town Hall by a flagpole and a big white sign on the lawn. The building also housed the Fire and Police Departments along with whatever offices the township required and something called Mayor’s Court with sessions held Tuesday evenings at 7 PM.

  Marshall’s SUV was parked in a reserved spot on the street. Elizabeth wondered if she should stop in and say hello. She knew there was no future with Marshall, but she missed him on the days he didn’t stop by.

  Her dreams had become disturbingly erotic since she arrived in Rabbit Creek and eighty percent of them involved the unavailable Marshall Goodman. She wondered what old Sigmund Freud would have to say about that. The other twenty percent starred Charles Goodman, a man she’d only met once. It was all very strange.

  The other side of Main Street consisted of a strip of small businesses, the most prominent of which was the Dizzy Dish. Red and white checkered curtains framed the windows and red leatherette booths lined the window wall. Mismatched tables and chairs dotted the black and white tiled floor. A long counter with a series of permanently set stools ran across the other side with equipment and kitchen behind. A bell over the door tinkled merrily when she entered.

  The place was almost empty at this hour between breakfast and lunch. Two middle aged women, one sitting, one standing, were at the end of the counter, both wearing blue uniforms with white aprons. An old man sat at the other end, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He looked up and smiled when she walked in.

  “Sit wherever you want, hon,” the standing woman said when she saw Elizabeth hesitate inside the door. “That booth over in the corner’s always nice for private conversations.” She winked. “Chief Goodman usually sits there.”

  “Thanks. This one will be fine.” Elizabeth chose a small table for two.

  The woman brought over a menu and a glass of water. “I’m Sally Ann and I’m guessing you’re the lady what rented the Home Place.”

  “Yes, yes I am.” Elizabeth smiled. “Elizabeth Reynolds. I have your peaches sitting on my shelf. Thank you so much. It’s nice to have a face to go with the name.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth. That there is my sister Eileen. She sent the strawberry jam and tomatoes. This place is ourn. That’s my man, Roman, back in the kitchen. Eileen’s man works with George over at the garage. See you brought your computer. Fire her up. We’re completely modernized here. Like I’m always telling Roman, if you want your business to flourish, you got to keep up with the times. What can I get for you?”

  Elizabeth waved hello to Roman and mouthed a thank you to Eileen who smiled shyly and nodded you’re welcome.

  “A cup of coffee, please, and one of those blueberry muffins,” she said, pointing to the glass covered stand on the counter. “They look too good to pass up.”

  She had a hard time concentrating while four pairs of eyes watched her every move. She read her emails first, saving her mother’s for last. There were twenty-three from her, the first from the day she left, the last from that morning at 8:15. Maybe having no phone was a blessing in disguise.

  Her mother’s messages were filled with dire warnings about living conditions in ‘the back of beyond’, which was how she referred to anywhere outside her own small city. Brown Recluse Spiders and rabid raccoons topped the list. Elizabeth snickered. There was no mention of wolves or snakes. But animals weren’t her mother’s only concern. Elizabeth would suffer a myriad of ailments from eating improperly processed foods, undercooked pork and unpasteurized milk which only reminded her to pick up a quart before heading home.

  More people filed in with each email read. Sally Ann and her sister ran back and forth carrying orders and refilling coffee. Every time Elizabeth raised her eyes from the screen she met another pair of eyes watching her. It was eleven o’clock and the place was full.

  “You really know how to draw a crowd. Preacher’s going to be coming round asking for lessons.”

  Marshall stood across the table smiling down at her and her foolish heart skipped a beat. He wore a pair of jeans and an ironed chambray shirt with his silver police badge pinned to the pocket. He held a mug of coffee, his callused but gentle hand wrapped around the mug with his thumb through the handle. Just the sight of him sent shivers up her spine and dirty thoughts running through her mind. She plastered a smile on her face while she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

  “Last time I recollect a crowd this big, Maggie Cramer was a-chasing Roy down the street with a shotgun buck naked. Roy, I mean, not Maggie.”

  There were several hoots from the listeners. His voice had taken on the cadence and inflection of the hills and Elizabeth could tell that he was a born storyteller.

  “Being of a suspicious mind, she’d followed that old man when he left the house that mornin’ and sure enough she’d caught him up at Ruby Taylor’s doing what he hadn’t ought to.” Marshall looked over at the back corner. “They gave away my booth. You mind if I sit here?”

  “No, of course not.” Elizabeth blushed at her rudeness. She closed her laptop and set it aside. “So? What happened?”

  “What happened where? Oh, with Maggie and Roy?” His took a slow sip of coffee while everyone waited for him to continue the tale. “Well, ole Roy, he was moving mighty fast up Main Street, a sight to behold with one hand a-pumpin’ and a wavin’ and the other protecting the family
jewels. Maggie, she’s hustlin’ right behind him, her eyes a-justa burnin’ with fire. She had that shotgun aimed right at his backside and everybody around here knows Maggie hits where she aims. Why, that woman could shoot out one pea from the can if she set her mind to it. Target as big as Roy’s behind weren’t gonna be no problem.”

  More hoots and laughter punctuated with a little table slapping. The crowd obviously knew the story and was enjoying the retelling of it.

  Marshall leaned back in his chair and waited until his audience settled before he went on. “Now, poor Roy, no doubt thinking about how many hours it was going to take to ease out all that shot and how many weeks it would be before he could sit straight in the pew and get right with the Lord, was so busy watching Maggie over his shoulder that he failed to see Burt Taylor’s fist shooting out right there in the middle of Main Street. Poor bastard run right into it. Cost him a broken jaw and two teeth. Hit truly was a sight to see.”

  Elizabeth was laughing, too. “And where was the local long arm of law during all this?” She didn’t know if the story was true, but by the laughter around her she suspected it was.

  “Hell, I was right out there watching with the rest of them.” The Police Chief winked at Sally Ann when she placed a huge ham and cheese sandwich in front of him. “Maggie might have peppered his backside a little, but everybody knew she wouldn’t kill him. I was new to the law back then, but I weren’t no fool. No way was I getting between Maggie and her man.”

  A woman who looked to be in her late seventies chimed in. She was laughing as hard as the rest of the crowd. “I jest figured he deserved to be embarrassed in front of the whole town the way he embarrassed me. Randy old goat.”

  “He surely was!” squealed the old woman she was sitting with.

  Maggie pointed a gnarled finger at her companion. “You keep your thoughts to yourself, Ruby Taylor, or you can drive your own self over to the dentist next week.”