by Lynn Lorenz
A shiver ran over her, and she dropped her bag. The candles clinked and she looked down at them. “Merde!” She bent over, picked the bag up, and inspected it. Nothing broken. Good thing about that Bubble Wrap.
Then she looked back at the stump of the branch.
There it was, clear as day, right in the rings of the oak. The shape of Jesus’s head, right down to his hair. She gasped and looked around.
She fell to her knees, made the sign of the cross, clasped her hands together, and prayed.
“Sweet Jesus! I knew you’d come to me again! I’m sorry. I know I caused a lot of trouble with Ted and Scott. I know it. But I tried to do better with Peter and Billy. I did. And it all worked out, didn’t it?”
She nodded as if the image had spoken to her.
She knew what she had to do. She gathered up her bag, got to her feet, and trotted back to the shop. “Muriel! Murriielll!” she yelled.
Muriel came to the door. “What’s going on? Someone tryin’ to kill you?”
“No, cher. Come see! Come see! It’s Jesus!” She grabbed Muriel’s arm and pulled her toward the tree.
“Jesus?”
God bless her, but Muriel was slow, just like that dim-witted child of hers. “Of course it’s Jesus. Didn’t I just tell you that?”
Muriel nodded, and they reached the tree.
“Look. There!”
“Where?” Muriel squinted.
“Don’t tell me you forgot your glasses?” Darlene huffed.
“No. Don’t need them to look at a tree.”
“See him, then? Where they cut away the limb?” She pointed, and Muriel followed her finger.
Muriel moved closer. “Heavens! It is him!” She turned back and clapped her hands. “It’s Jesus! Come to St. Jerome!”
Darlene hugged Muriel to her. “We have to tell everyone!”
A stern voice from behind them said, “Tell everyone what?”
They spun around and faced their elderly priest, Father Peder. He stood tall and stiff in his black suit and white collar, with his head cocked to one side.
“Why, that Jesus has come to St. Jerome!” Muriel exclaimed. She pointed to the tree.
The priest’s gaze traveled from Muriel to the tree to Darlene. His eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow rose.
She’d seen that look before, and a little slice of dread filled her belly.
“Darlene?” His voice held a warning in it, as if she were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Priests could do that, and no one knew it better than her.
“Well, I do see Jesus.” She stuck out her chin. “Right there. Where they cut off the limb. See?” She pointed. “Muriel sees it too.”
“Does she?”
Muriel nodded.
“Thank you, Muriel. I think you should go back to the store, don’t you?”
“Sure, Father.” The woman waddled away.
He turned to Darlene. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Now, Darlene.”
She waited, her candles clutched to her chest.
“We’re not going to do this again, you understand?”
Darlene’s stomach did a barrel roll. “But, Father…”
He held up his hand, one finger extended. “No. Not another word.” He looked at the tree, then back at her. “No one loves a good miracle more than me, but that is not Jesus. You are not going to start another riot. Not on church property.”
Darlene nodded. Maybe she could use one of those candles for her, because it sure looked as if she needed a prayer or two.
“The Rugarou Festival is in one week. Right here.” He pointed down to the parking lot. “Promise me, Darlene Dupree.”
“I promise.” And she meant it. She’d forgotten about the festival. Scott would kill her if she messed it up, and so would most of the pack.
He frowned at her again. “Just imagine what Scott would say.”
Darlene groaned and rolled her eyes.
“Exactly.” The priest turned on his heel and walked away.
Darleen looked down at the bag of candles, and for a split second she thought of calling after him, to get his blessing.
“Not today,” she muttered. “Definitely not today.”
Chapter Nine
Bobby ran his hand down over his face and leaned back in his chair. The groaning of the springs warned him that he was close to tipping over. He dropped forward, stared around the Rougaroux Social Club headquarters, and exhaled.
He was going to hunt down Scott and then kill him for talking him into running the festival this year. He’d avoided it for ages, but this time, with most of the leaders of the pack dealing with new mates, and the pack’s growing pains in regards to admitting gay men, well, yeah, he’d had to admit he’d been the logical choice.
And that just sucked.
So there he was on the Friday before the festival started, still trying to nail down two more bands and get a return call from the traveling-amusement-ride people to confirm they’d be in town by next Wednesday and setting up in time for Friday’s opening.
He glanced at the poster for this year and grimaced. A snarling wolf’s head, blood dripping from long fangs, eyes yellow and wild, looked back at him. It was the same one from last year, and he’d hated the cartoonish drawing. Now, he’d wanted something more photo-realistic, more sophisticated, but the budget wasn’t there for a new logo. It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but at this point it would have to do. If anything else went wrong, he’d blow his stack.
His entire body ached, and his wolf had been begging for weeks to get out and run. Ever since meeting Mark in Lake Charles, his wolf, usually quiet and calm, had been irritable, demanding, and a real pain in the ass.
Bobby knew what it wanted. Mark. That sweet ass. The way he submitted, let Bobby take his body. The way his eyes looked up into Bobby’s as Bobby held the younger man down and fucked him.
There was only one way to soothe the beast inside him, and he knew it. He didn’t like it, but what the hell? If he didn’t do something soon, he’d go crazy.
He and Mark had made plans to meet again tonight.
He opened a drawer in the desk, pushed all the paperwork into it, and shut off the computer. If he hurried, he could get home, change, and make it to Lake Charles by nine p.m.
The phone rang, and he froze, fighting over whether to pick it up or not. At five thirty on Friday afternoon, this couldn’t be good. It never was. He reached for it, then swore and let his hand drop. He grabbed his hat, locked the desk, and strode out of the office to the front of the storefront the club rented for meetings.
After locking the outside door, he paused. The phone had stopped ringing. If the caller really needed him, he or she would call his cell.
No call.
Great. He exhaled and got into his truck.
He could be home in fifteen minutes, showered, shaved, and dressed in another twenty and out the door. Mark would be waiting for him, and just that made him hard. He adjusted his cock in his jeans, spread his legs wider, and started the vehicle.
Bobby snorted. He was an old fool.
But his heart and his wolf urged him to keep going, to meet Mark and to claim him again and again.
»»•««
Mark looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. No way would he be able to go to Lake Charles and meet Bobby tonight. He’d fallen behind and hadn’t figured on the turn-in date for the papers when he’d told Bobby he was free.
And there was no way to let Bobby know.
Mark thought of just going anyway, meeting Bobby, and telling him he had to leave, but he knew the minute he saw the big man, all his resolution would fly out the window as the blood rushed to his dick.
Damn. They’d been so stupid to keep up the no-info deal. Even a phone number would have been okay. They could have talked, rescheduled.
But no, they had to be cool. Aloof.
Fuck, men were so stupid sometimes. Even gay men.
He reached out and turned the clock around so he couldn’t
see the time. Maybe he wouldn’t think about Bobby waiting at the bar for him. The disappointment on his face. Maybe it turning to anger.
Mark worked on the papers until his eyes crossed and it grew too late to leave and catch Bobby. Even if he got to the casino, who would he ask for?
He thought of Bobby at the bar, waiting, and Mark nearly chewed through his bottom lip.
What if Bobby got pissed? What if he picked up someone else? Took him to the room? Did the things he was going to do to Mark to a stranger?
Mark growled deep in his throat.
Bobby was his.
But with Bobby over sixty miles away, there wasn’t much Mark could do about it. He groaned and pushed the rest of the papers off his desk.
They scattered onto the floor.
Mark put his head in his hands and counted to ten. Took slow breaths in and let them out just as slowly.
This was nuts. He’d never gotten so bent out of shape over a guy before.
But Mark knew, deep inside, Bobby wasn’t just any guy.
»»•««
Bobby stood in the door of the bar, took a deep breath, and entered. He blinked, his eyes fighting to adjust to the dark as he made his way to the bar. Along the way, he tried to look as if he weren’t looking for someone.
He reached the bar and sat, calling the bartender over with a flick of his fingers.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender nodded, gave him a well-worn welcome smile, and moved away to fix the drink. While Bobby waited, he spun around on the bar stool and leaned his elbows against the bar. Nice crowd. Lots of men.
No Mark.
He checked his watch. Quarter to ten. He hadn’t rushed to get there. Still it wasn’t early and wasn’t late.
“Anything else I can get you?” The bartender’s voice came from behind Bobby.
He turned around. “No. That’s it.”
The man paused, wiped the counter. “You looking for someone?” His raised eyebrow sealed the decision to ask about Mark.
“What makes you ask?”
“Well, either you’re a cop or you’re looking for a wayward boyfriend.” The guy gave him a smug grin. Bartenders could smell a cop for miles, even an old retired one, Bobby supposed.
“Not a boyfriend, really. There’s a guy, comes in here often. About forty. Dark hair but with this white streak on the side of his head.” Bobby fiddled with his drink.
“This guy in trouble?”
“No.” How much should he say?
“Ex?”
“No. Look, we met here a couple of months ago. Had a good time. We’re supposed to meet again tonight.” He let his words fade, unsure of what he wanted to happen.
“I get it. Think he might have stood you up?” The bartender smiled and nodded. “Had a few of those myself. Sucks.” He shrugged and moved off to fill another order.
Bobby sipped his drink. Dude was probably right. Mark had come to his senses and decided whatever they had wasn’t enough. He was an old fool sitting there on this bar stool.
“Hello. Want to buy me a drink?” A young voice from next to him brought Bobby’s head up and out of his thoughts. He turned, a flare of hope ignited, but it wasn’t Mark. He looked into the hopeful face of a guy about twenty-five.
“Sure. What’re you drinking?” Bobby asked, slightly flattered but knowing the kid just wanted to use him for a drink or two or three. Maybe hope Bobby’d pay him for a blowjob in the bathroom.
“Cosmos, tonight,” the young guy quipped. He gave Bobby a smile filled with promises. He wore eyeliner, just smudged, around his brown eyes. Nice. Cute. So not Bobby’s type. Even if he wasn’t half Bobby’s age.
“Cosmo for the kid,” Bobby ordered. The bartender nodded and went to work.
“So, do you have a room?”
Bobby laughed. “Okay, kid. Here’s the score. I’m not looking for a hookup, at least not with someone young enough to be my son. Feels sort of pervy, you know.”
The guy shrugged, unrepentant. “I have daddy issues.” He grinned. “Want to be my daddy?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and fuck, he was adorable. For a moment, Bobby thought, What the hell? His cock thought What the hell? too.
“Nope. I’m looking for something a little more aged, like a fine wine.” Bobby teased back. “You look a bit more freshly brewed, like a beer, and you’d probably keep me up all night.”
The bartender put the cosmo in front of the kid. Bobby slid a ten to him. “Keep the change.” The bartender gave him a quick grin, his gaze dancing over to the guy at Bobby’s side. “Uh, no streak of white hair,” he reminded Bobby.
“I know.” Bobby shook his head and snorted. “But he is cute.”
The young guy preened at the compliment.
“But way too young,” Bobby added.
The kid’s shoulders slumped. He’d finally gotten the idea Bobby wasn’t going to play. With one last hopeful look, he slid off the bar stool, grabbed his drink, and moved off.
The bartender laughed. “Man, you must really be hung up on this guy.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Bobby had no idea why he was telling the bartender his problems, but he really couldn’t talk about it to anyone else, could he? Except maybe with Ted, Scott’s partner.
Bobby hung around until almost midnight, then called it quits.
“I’m outta here.” He put some money on the bar. “Is this enough?”
The bartender nodded. “Look, if I see the guy, can I give him your name?”
Bobby paused. Then he reached for his wallet, pulled out his business card, one he’d had made when he retired, and handed it to the guy. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that.”
The man looked at it and read, “Robert Cotteau, Sheriff, Retired, St. Jerome Parish.” His eyebrows shot up. “Okay.” He slipped it into the edge of the mirror behind the bar. “I’ll keep a lookout for him.”
“Thanks.” Bobby rapped the bar with his knuckles, a habit he’d fallen into in his days as a sheriff, and then slid off the stool. Without another look at the men, he left, feeling better for leaving his card.
Just maybe…
Foolish old man.
Chapter Ten
Sheriff Scott Dupree drove his cruiser down St. Jerome’s main street and surveyed his world. He thought of it as his world, his extended pack, in a way. He had sole responsibility for keeping the peace for the populace, making sure his deputies stayed in line, and running the pack. A lot for a man in his mid-thirties.
And Ted. He was responsible for Ted too. Making Ted happy. Scott smiled at the thought of his lover. His partner. His mate. A year ago he’d have punched anyone in the mouth for suggesting he’d be in love with another man. He wasn’t gay, but his wolf was, and that had come as quite a shock. So much so that for a while, he and Ted had thought Scott’s mama had cast one of her hoodoo voodoo spells on them. He’d been so scared, and both he and Ted had been desperate to break it. But a true-mate bond can’t be broken, and that was what Ted and Scott had.
Now he couldn’t imagine his life without Ted. Funny.
Scott drove past the church. A small crowd gathered in the parking lot. He frowned and kept going. Something nibbled at him, like a tiny mouse, its small, sharp claws scratching, something familiar. He pulled to the curb, checked traffic, and then did a U-turn.
He pulled into the parking lot and up to the crowd. Mostly women. A few men. Father Peder stood in front of the old oak tree that shaded the church.
Scott got out and with his hand resting easy on his service weapon, approached the group.
“But, Father, we only want to see it,” one woman begged.
“Sorry. There is nothing here.” The padre looked frazzled, and Scott had only seen the man look this way once before… Oh shit.
Scott pushed his way through to the priest. “Father Peder, can I help?”
Father Peder glared at him. “You! You and your crazy mother!”
Scott’s heart sank. “What now?”
The priest
hissed, keeping his voice low so the crowd couldn’t hear. “She’s gone and done it now.”
“What?” Please, please, don’t let it be…
“She’s seen Jesus in the tree.” The priest waved his hand at the tree.
Scott groaned and wanted to die of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“After she promised me!”
“Promised what?” Scott’s eyes narrowed.
“That she wouldn’t say a thing. I warned her. I told her the festival was going to be here. She knows it! But no! She had to go and blab it and now…” He waved his hand. “Mark my words, Scott. This is only the beginning.”
Scott knew what he had to do. “Okay, folks.” He waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Break it up. Nothing here to see.”
“Jesus! Jesus is here for us to see!” someone shouted.
“I want to see Jesus!”
“I drove all the way from Beau Bridge!”
“You can’t stop us! We have rights!”
Scott gritted his teeth. Not for the first time in his life he thought, I’m going to kill my mother.
“Handle this, Scott.” Father Peder stomped off, leaving Scott with a crowd of angry pilgrims.
“We just want to pray. That’s all.”
“I understand. But this is church property, and right now is not a good time. You’ll have to come back another week.”
Scott would have to block off the parking lot, for sure. He got out his squawk box and thumbed the button. “Billy? You there?”
“Yes, sir.” Billy Trosclair, one of his best men, answered.
“Get over to the Catholic church. We got us a problem.”
“Yes, sir.” Just like Billy. No questions. No bullshit. He was a good man.
Scott confronted the crowd again. “You have to leave. Sorry.” He started moving them away from the tree.
At the far end of the lot, Billy’s cruiser pulled in. Thank God. He parked and then trotted to Scott’s side.
“What’s up, Sheriff?” Billy never called him Scott unless they were off duty.
“I’ll explain later. For now, help me get these people back in their cars and off church property.”
Billy nodded, and they began the process of herding their sheep.