"Yes.” Her brow furrowed, and her gray blue eyes deepened a shade. “But it made no sense."
He spoke in a low voice, trying to choose his words with care. “I didn't want to ask you at the funeral—your pain was so fresh.” He paused. “Did you see your parents before they were cremated?” The look of horror that flashed across Charlene's face told Jethro she had. “We need to talk about what you saw."
She jumped up, knocked the kitchen chair into the white counter, and slid her back along the wall. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her breaths shallow and ragged. Fear poured off of her in waves.
She was going to pass out. “Charlene, please, take some deep breaths.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I can help you."
She put her palm out. “No. Don't come any closer.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I'm just—upset. The accident photos were worse than I ever imagined. I thought I could handle it. But, it was—it was—” She turned her back to him and fresh waves of fear mixed with grief radiated from her.
Her palpable pain seared through him. If only she would let him help her.
His beautiful, stubborn granddaughter whirled around and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “What do you want from me?"
"Your brother, Joey, he has a problem seen among certain types of individuals—"
She cut him off mid-sentence. “He has a disease. A medical condition.” Charlene passed a hand over her red-rimmed eyes, and scrubbed her face. “A rare genetic disorder called Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. Passed on through the mother. Joey has it worse than most others. My father died before he could find a cure."
Jethro sighed. Her rational mind would struggle with the reality of their nature. No way he'd convince her tonight. There were no medical tests that would conclude: Werewolf.
She sank back down into the kitchen chair and tapped the textbook. “I think there's a connection between neurochemistry and Joey's condition. If I can find a way to repair the altered brain chemistry, I could reverse some of his extreme spasms and neurological tics.” She gave him a teary smile. For a split second she looked so much like Joanna, he thought his heart would break. “At least that's what I plan to do my dissertation on."
He cleared his throat, half afraid he'd start crying, too. “Blood will tell, Charlene. We've seen a lot of this in Eden. Among our pa—people.” Jethro bit his tongue. He'd almost said pack. He put his wrinkled hand on top of hers. “Come home. We understand better than anyone else. Let us help you. We're family."
"I know you mean well.” Charlene pulled her hand away and looked him straight in the eye. “I can do this on my own. Joey is happy here. I appreciate your offer. But I have no interest in running an apple farm."
He pulled a stack of photos out of his coat pocket and spread them across her papers and books. “Take a look at what you're missing.” Trees covered in light pink blossoms filled one photo, a gray and white-trimmed farmhouse appeared in another, and in one whimsical shot, a huge red pig stared up at the camera.
Charlene smiled. “The pig's pretty cute. He looks like he's smiling."
"Name's Trotter. Jessie loved that porker. Said he was a human in a pig's body."
"A pet pig?” She lifted the photo for a closer look. “I've read they're smart. Never thought of one as a pet."
"She left you the farm and the pig.” Jethro stood, weariness creeping into his old bones. “We'll take care of everything for you until you come home."
She stood, and he smelled her anger. “For the last time, I'm not moving to Eden.” She glanced at the clock and sighed. “I have work to do. It's late. I can give you a pillow and blankets for the couch—"
"No. That's not necessary. I'll be on my way.” He paused on the threshold and handed her one last snapshot, this one of Zack smiling and petting the pig. “You will come, Charlene. In time, you will come.” He reached out to hug her, but she drew back. He nodded. So be it.
Exhausted, Jethro climbed into his mud-splattered old truck and leaned back in the seat. The moon journeyed across the sky, not quite half-full. He had time before the Change, but would it be enough to convince the girl to come home? He shook his head. A stubborn streak ran deep in that one, just like Joanna. He hated to do it, but she left him no choice. Tomorrow Jethro would call in the note for the second mortgage on Charlene's home, the one Jessie had fronted for him so he could pay for Joey's special school.
Two months after Jethro's midnight visit, Charlene opened the mailbox and gasped at the avalanche of envelopes. She'd been trying to pay the bills, scrimping and saving on food, turning off lights, working as many hours as she could between trying to keep up with her studies—all to no avail.
Every letter was a demand for payment of an overdue bill. Worst of all, this time the third and final red paper notice from the lender said: the second mortgage on her home was due, in full, immediately. Tears blurred the words. All she could read was FORECLOSURE. Her parents had ransomed their home—not once—but twice to take care of their son and Charlene.
She had tried her hardest to do it all herself, like her parents. Now, crushed under the weight of financial burdens, she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't keep a roof over Joey's head, much less keep him in school. Where would they go? What would she do?
Unbidden, Jethro's words came to her. “There are no orphans among our people. You and Joey need to come home. We can help you take care of him in Eden."
She collapsed in the chair, put her head down on her arms and sobbed. She had no choice but to go to the last place on earth her mother would have wanted her children to be: Eden.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
Help Wanted
A murmur of voices sliding between blue grass music reached Charlene through the store's screen door, background for a late July afternoon. She caught some of the words in the conversation: “rain coming,” “big crop,” and “new gal.” The air did smell of an impending storm, the trees were laden with fruit, and she had no doubt about the identity of the new gal under discussion.
Perched on the top step of the wrap-around porch of Jethro's General Store, Charlene sipped a cola, skimmed the tiny local newspaper and swatted at flies. Joey slept in his wheelchair in the shade in front of the store window, while Trotter rolled in a puddle at the bottom of the steps—oozing the distinctive odors of wet porker and mud. Head cocked toward the chatter in an attempt to tune in the rest of the conversation, she turned the paper over. Surrounded by a thick black border, the advertisement sat in the middle of the back page, in the midst of offers for apples, pigs, guns and pick-up trucks.
Part-time school bus driver wanted
for special needs children.
Call 555-555-5555. Ask for Zack.
Her heart somersaulted. Was it the same Zack? Maybe not, since in this part of the world, everyone seemed to have a biblical name. She hadn't seen him since her parents’ funeral. A month ago, when she had arrived in the little town of Eden, population 4,000—if you included pigs—her minivan crammed with everything the creditors didn't want, her entire focus had been on getting settled. Aside from the one time a pack of stray dogs woke her with their howls at the full moon, she'd found nothing to support her mother's dire warnings. Everyone knew everyone else—and their business. What secrets could this little town possibly hide?
True to his word, Jethro made sure she'd received help from the moment she told him she was moving to Eden. A spotless house with a wraparound porch and decorative wrought iron railing contained a specially outfitted room for Joey. Her brother surprised her with a quick acclimation to his new home. Joey laughed and clapped the moment the big red Duroc sniffed him the first time. Based on his near constant presence and frequent nuzzling, she could tell the well-fed pig enjoyed Joey's company, too.
She stood, stretched and padded inside the store. She smiled and nodded at Rebekkah and two other elderly ladies. Chatting over mugs of coffee, the women looked as if they'd be more comfortable in a horse-dr
awn buggy than in a pick-up truck. The only thing that seemed to be a real secret in this town was a modern style of clothing. Had they never seen a fashion magazine? How about a television commercial? Come to think of it, where were the satellite dishes that dotted most American landscapes? And what was up with all the wrought iron? Every house seemed to have metal railings and matching mailboxes. First, she'd ask Jethro about the job—then televisions and mailboxes.
"Hey, Jethro, you know anything about this ad?"
The old man paused in his sweeping and gave her an assessing look with ice-blue eyes. “What's that, Miss Charlene?"
"It's a notice for a school bus driver.” She pointed at the newspaper. “Have you heard anything?"
The chatter stopped, and the women stared at Charlene. Rebekkah reached across the table and turned the radio off.
Jethro passed a hand over his thick gray hair, gripped the wooden broom, and leaned toward her. “Why do you want to know?"
She glanced down at the floor and blushed. “Keeping up with the farm is a full-time job, but I'm broke and need a part-time job on top of it to survive.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “It's not like there are any biology labs around here looking for help dissecting dogs."
A collective gasp caught her off guard. She glanced at the women's tense faces. Rebekkah looked as if she was about to faint.
Did she say something wrong?
"Them special needs kids can be tough.” Jethro turned his head and coughed. “You might wanna think it over a bit. Fall's coming. Your Aunt Jessie's apple trees are big producers. She did okay."
"Thanks to you, the trees were sprayed, the apples are growing and kids are lined up to help pick in the fall. If I get the job, there'll be plenty of hours left in the day to sell apples."
"Suit yourself."
Avoiding eye contact, she played with her bracelet. “Is this the same Zack I met at the funeral?"
The tension in the room seemed to melt away. One whispered, “Isn't that adorable?” Rebekkah smiled and the other women giggled.
Heat rose in Charlene's cheeks. What was so funny?
The old man gave the coffee-klatch a hard stare, turned back to Charlene and nodded. “That's him all right. When you see Zack, you tell him Jethro said to remember his promise."
Charlene sat in the sweltering bus depot office and debated the wisdom of applying for the job. She glanced around the room lined with file cabinets and the desk stacked high with books—Kipling, Poe, Koontz, King—nothing she'd ever read. She sniffed and willed the hairs on the back of her neck to lie down. Supernatural tales defied the rational world, the real world. The truth wasn't out there. The truth was in laboratories waiting for scientists to make discoveries.
Clean and untainted by perfumed soaps, Zack looked and smelled just as good as the first time she met him. Other guys covered themselves with cologne and aftershave in a feeble effort to smell manly. Not Zack. She could nuzzle and lick this man all over—Stop that! Where did that come from? She was here to interview for a job—not a date.
Dressed in a gray uniform shirt that had a “Jericho Bus Company” patch on the right side, Zack flipped his silver hair away from those amazing blue eyes. The heavy cotton uniform shirt strained across his broad chest and biceps bulged out from under the short sleeves. He rocked his chair back on its legs and read her brief resume while he chewed on his lower lip.
His luscious lower lip. Whoa. One foot in front of the other, girl. She fanned her face with her hand, and looked around for a window—anything that would cool her down.
"Charlene J. Johnson. School bus driver in Baltimore. Halfway through your doctorate in neurosciences.” He thumped the chair down on the floor, his voice gruff. “What the hell you wanna do this for? Is this some kind of science project for you? An experiment?"
"No, it's not like that at all. God, no, I love kids. I wanted to find a cure for my brother's disease, but after my parents died—” Grief and loneliness welled up in her chest and throat, catching at her words. “My life—things—fell apart. Here I am. Broke and living in Eden on my Aunt Jessie's farm. With her pig.” She took a deep breath, looked down, and willed herself not to cry. She would never get a job this way.
"Does your brother like Trotter?"
She looked up in surprise, and flicked the tears off her cheeks. “What?"
"My big red friend, Trotter. Does he like him?” He smiled, and two canines that were just a tad longer than normal appeared.
The photo of Zack and Trotter came back to her. “He loves him. And, if I'm not mistaken, Trotter loves my brother, Joey, too. Almost as much as the porker loves rolling in mud puddles."
Zack snorted. Then Charlene realized he was laughing. And found herself giggling. When they stopped snorting and giggling, she said, “I almost forgot, Jethro said to tell you to ‘remember your promise'."
A slow, sexy smile crossed Zack's face. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and frissons of excitement rippled up her back, raced across her neck and scalp, almost as if he had touched her.
He tapped her resume with one long index finger, and placed his other hand on his chin. “Your Aunt Jessie and I were good friends. She told me a lot about your mama, showed me pictures of her. And you. Like Miz Rebekkah said, you have her eyes. But I think you have her smile, too. Jessie said she was full of piss and vinegar. Left Eden and never came back."
"I never met my aunt. Now I wish I had."
A palpable silence filled the air, broken only by a fly's angry buzz as it bounced against the sun-filled window.
Zack frowned, and his eyes glinted green. “What was your dad's name?"
"Fred. Fred Johnson. He was a genetics researcher. My parents met at Hopkins when my mother was a student nurse."
Zack nodded, a faraway look in his green—no blue—eyes. He stopped rocking, pulled the chair up and put his elbows on the desk. “What's your middle name?"
Whatever did he want to know that for? This was one heckuva strange interview.
"Jessie. After my aunt."
"Okay, you got yourself a job.” He rummaged around on the desk, found some papers, and handed them to her. “Fill these out. School starts next week. You're gonna need to learn the route in a hurry. Be here tomorrow, seven in the morning. Don't be late. I've got to get you up to speed. And wear this."
He pulled a long dress made out of the same material as his shirt from a drawer, and extended it to Charlene. As she took the old-fashioned jumper, his hand touched hers and heat blazed up her arm. Startled, she locked eyes with him. Sounds ceased, the room faded, and time froze.
Did he feel the same jolt of adrenaline from his ears down to his toes?
After an eternity of an unbreakable gaze, he swept her body with a long, assessing look. His eyes lingered on her breasts, while his tongue trailed a leisurely circuit across his luscious lips. She wanted to know if they were as succulent and soft as they looked. She wondered if he was a good kisser. Charlene's nipples hardened and strained against the thin material of her blouse. An image of his mouth on her breasts, nuzzling, licking and sucking, leapt into her mind—rendering her weak-kneed and breathless with lust.
The phone shrilled once and broke the spell.
Zack shook his head and said in a husky voice, “You'll probably need to let it out in some places. The last driver had a different, um, figure."
She forced herself to focus, stay in the present. “Why'd she leave?"
He put a baseball cap on his head and pulled the bill down, covering the upper half of his handsome face and those slanting, intriguing eyes. He shrugged. “It just didn't work out."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Five
Driver's Education
The next morning she beat Zack to work, ten minutes before she was due. Her heart fluttered when she spotted him in the distance. She'd spent the entire night in a state of sensual arousal, her hands roaming her body, stoking the coals of excitement, but failing to satisfy he
r deepest needs. When she awoke, she looked at the other pillow on her king-sized feather bed, half-convinced her dream of being mounted and ridden by Zack to orgasm after orgasm was real.
She'd always had a powerful sex drive, surprising many of the men she'd dated. One particularly inept lover, initially full of braggadocio about his sexual prowess, called her a nymphomaniac when she demanded more. In the months after her parents’ deaths, she'd been too exhausted to even think about sex. With each passing moon, she'd felt no sexual desire—until now. Despite all her sexual experimentation and one serious relationship, she had never hungered for a man like this. She stood next to her car and watched Zack's fluid motions as he climbed out of his dusty pick-up truck and hid something behind his back. A rush of heat filled the core of her body, and she practically vibrated with anticipation. If she got through this day without tearing his clothes off, it would be a miracle.
He called out to her across the parking lot. “I like a punctual worker. Who's looking after your brother?"
"Rebekkah.” Charlene had been surprised by the older woman's immediate and positive response to her request for help.
Zack loped to her side in long, fluid strides. With a flourish, he produced a bouquet of daisies from behind his back. “Congratulations on your first day of work."
Momentarily taken aback, she could only say, “Thank you,” in a squeaky voice. Wasn't that sweet of him? She clutched the bouquet with trembling hands.
Zack pointed to a bright yellow school bus equipped with a lift. “There's your ride."
The vehicle was larger than she'd expected. The one she'd driven in Baltimore had been a little bus. Zack opened the folding door. Inside were a dozen dark metal bench seats with heavy padding, all with seatbelts. She noted space for two wheelchairs, and straps to secure them in place.
She whistled. “Pretty state of the art for a small town.” She ran her hand over the steering wheel. “Looks like new."
Kiss of the Silver Wolf Page 3
