The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1)

by Catherine Wolffe

  ***

  Sonja stalled as long as possible. She fed the chickens and gave the mule some hay. Surely, he'd forgotten what he saw on her palm. She would give him a few more minutes before returning. As her adore had cooled, so had the dark mark dissipated to a faint shadow on her flesh. When she stepped through the doorway to the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan and biscuits baking in the oven, she stopped. Her wide-eyed expression did not stop the lieutenant from giving her a surmising grin. He motioned her to a chair he had pulled out for her.

  "You've been doing so much for me I thought I'd return the favor. Here, sit. Those eggs look good. May I?" He reached out for the basket she had forgotten she carried and placed it on the counter.

  "You cook?" Her simple question beguiled the shock of finding a man with such culinary skills in the Confederate Lieutenant.

  He gave her that wicked half-cocked smile that always made her feel undressed. "I dabble some." Turning to the skillet, he broke the eggs and dropped two into the grease from the bacon.

  "Where'd you learn to cook biscuits?" she asked astonished. His mood had shifted, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Ty turned back and grinned. Her mouth wanted to water, and the sensation had nothing to do with food.

  "Maggie." When she continued to stare blankly, he added, "Our housekeeper. I told you about her, didn't I?" With two plates of fluffy eggs and wonderful smelling bacon, he stood near her and shook his head. "She taught me." With a shrug, he set a plate in front of her and sat across the table from her.

  Sonja found she had lost her voice. The men in her life did not cook. Their job had been to eat it. Obviously, he had had a different upbringing. "Do you cook other things as well?" Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. He had not grumbled or complained about having to do any of it. Slowly, the idea of a man in her kitchen began to settle on her, and she found she liked sharing the task with him.

  "A few. Maggie taught John and me both. We were both obstinate to the idea, but she insisted. Said a man should know how to survive on his own. Never knew when the time would arise, he had need to know how to handle himself in front of a stove." Ty's lips turned up ever so slightly when he saw her eyebrow cock in consideration of the statement and the effort he had gone to in setting the table.

  Ty had draped the table with one of her checkered tablecloths. Blue speckled tin plates rested at two of the chairs. A small vase with a single Swamp-wart blossom sat in the middle. The delicate lavender flower had greeted her as she crossed the threshold. Sonja came up short and tried her best to disguise her pleasure in the picture he had created right there in her kitchen. "This is lovely."

  Peering at him from lowered lashes, Sonja asked speculatively, "You remembered all this? Where the fork and spoon go? How long the biscuits need to bake? How much leaven to put in the dough?" She could not help the look of disbelief that crossed her face. Never before had she seen such a sight.

  Glancing up from placing the fork and knife beside each plate, Ty shot her a quick grin. "Years of training under the tutelage of one very persistent housekeeper, Miss Maggie McVey," he told her.

  Sonja found herself relaxing once more as he pulled the biscuits out of the oven and slid them onto a serving tray.

  "Let me tell you the tale of Maggie McVey."

  Sonja found herself laughing more than she could remember doing in so long. "Oh, please, stop. I can't take any more tales of her making you pluck feathers off John one by one after she found out it was you who'd used the pitch and one of his mother's best down pillows to coat him in preparation for All Hallows Eve." She waved away the offer of another biscuit and dabbed at her mouth. "Or how she had both of you send written apologies to everyone you doused with water at the Sunday social."

  Ty leaned back in his chair and raised his hands in surrender. "All true. I don't suppose my being a thirty-year-old man would stop her from twisting my ear and taking me out behind the woodshed right now if she thought I needed it." He winked at her in that mischievous way of his. "She's lurking up here." He tapped his forehead and began to gather the dishes.

  "Where? In your head?" Sonja could not keep the incredulous tone out of her question. "I suppose you'll tell me next that you answer her."

  He glanced over his shoulder as he soaped a plate and scrubbed. "She's kept me out of harm's way more times than not." He paused a minute and gave her one of those killer grins. "You don't believe me, do you?"

  Her face began to color. The pink tinged she always wore when she embarrassed herself appeared automatically. "I wouldn't presume to doubt her ability to dissuade you or protect you from danger. Telepathy is a gift of great proportion. I admire anyone who has the skill." Dropping her eyes, she tried to gather the last of the dishes and bring them to the sink before he added his opinion of her view. The subject made her uneasy.

  Drying as he washed, Sonja found the activity to be so natural. He happened to be a wonder in the kitchen. A pleasant surprise. He ruled the bedroom. Her core tingled in response to the consideration. The blush rose again, and she gathered dishes to store on the open shelving lining the cabinet surrounding the sink.

  How could she ever expect to pass the test of such an amazing woman as Maggie McVey? He did not utter the words, but the sentiment showed in his praise of her. Maggie proved a wonderful woman if his stories were true. To begin with, she harbored the luck of the Irish. She had traveled clear across the sea to an unknown place called Texas, proved strong and unwavering, invincible and determination. Watching as he shared yet another tale of Maggie tanning each of their hides after she caught them trying to steal a pie cooling on the kitchen windowsill gave Sonja a most profound sense of who this man really was. His devotion to those he loved ran deep, and his respect and consideration of those around him had her realizing he cared deeply. Sonja found herself envisioning the man in his natural setting, astride a horse in the pasture overseeing a herd of cattle so vast, they seemed to cover every inch of the ground within sight. Schooled in Georgia, Ty had followed his father's wishes and received a gentleman's education. Even behind a great oak desk, conducting the business of ranching was not a stretch for this man. A man of wealth and power, she mused.

  "Did you hear me?" His question broke into her musings. "Sonja?"

  "What? I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."

  "I said I want you to meet my family someday."

  Shaken, Sonja blinked. "Really?"

  "Yes, I know they'd love you." He grinned confidently. "You're so much like them."

  She cocked her head and gave it a shake. "I know you're pulling my leg, but the sentiment's sweet. Have you had any word from your people?" she asked gently.

  Ty looked up from his work. The set to his mouth thinned into a tight line before he shook his head, "No. Not a word in over a year." He shrugged. "Of course, I haven't been in one place long enough to allow mail to catch up." His half-hearted grin was wry.

  The war disrupted so much on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line, Sonja mused. "What will you do when the war is over?" Already sure of the answer, she needed to hear the words.

  A contemplative glance at her and Ty said simply, "I'll go back home. Hopefully, things are all right there, and I can pick up where I left off. Ranching is all I know. Horses and training them are what I enjoy most." He gave her a non-committal jerk of his head toward the door and the ground beyond. "What will you do, Sonja?" Concern laced his words.

  Sonja glanced from the door and her small plot of land back to his face. His eyes, so deep and soulful never left hers. She sat back and took them in. "I guess, I'll remain here and work the land. It's what I know." Though disheartened by him leaving, she lifted her chin a fraction. She wanted him to see her as confident like this Maggie he spoke of so fondly.

  Clearing the dishes, Ty left to stack the wood as he had promised. Sonja followed him to the door. He would go, and she would re
main in solitude and loneliness. However, if she were careful, he would not learn of her curse and be gone far away by the next full moon. She did not want to think about what his reaction would be if he discovered her secret. No! The small bit of time she had with Ty Loflin, she wanted to embrace and recall with joy. For as sure as the moon rose and set each night, he would leave and again she would be alone.

  The sleeping potion she held in her hand shook with her trembling fingers. Never believing she would be in a position like the one she found herself in, Sonja wished she did not have to go through with any of it, the change, the gift of immortality, giving up the love of a good man. She would use the sleeping potion and pray the lieutenant remained out until her return. Sonja did not think she was up to having her whereabouts questioned or explaining her absence.

  The blood she had told Lieutenant Loflin was oxblood was, in fact, her own. She reminded herself, in the beginning, her only intention had been to heal him. After all, her blood had miraculous healing power. It was clear, he had healed even though he had been dying when she gotten to him in the swamp.

  Now she was not sure anymore her reasoning remained the same. His touch ignited embers in her, embers she wasn't sure of stoking. The moon would be full come nightfall. Where was the justice in discovering yourself a werewolf in love?