"I do," Olivia told her. "Which bed is yours?"
"That corner one." Hannah pointed to the only bed with a nightstand stacked with soft cover textbooks, folders, and spiral notebooks. An old pole lamp was squeezed between the bed and the wall.
"Are those yours?" Olivia asked, craning her neck to read the title of the one on top. Bookkeeping Basics.
"Kind of. My brother paid for the course. Said he could make better money sitting on his ass than he did loading furniture, but after the first couple of lessons, he said it was stupid." Hannah's blush spread slowly over her face. "I fished them out of the garbage. They make fun of Candy and Callie for doing homework, so I thought maybe if I sat and did homework, too..." she trailed off. "Stupid, huh?"
Olivia didn't have to ask who 'they' were. The Tilson's weren't big on education and usually had plenty of negative things to say about anyone who was. As far as she knew, Hannah was the only one to graduate high school.
"It isn't stupid, and I think it's great that you're encouraging your nieces. Good for them and good for you, too. Do you like it?"
"Kind of," Hannah said with another shrug. "Reading's hard, but the number stuff makes sense. Numbers are easier, I guess. I was hopin', maybe..." Whatever she was hoping trailed off into nothing.
Olivia knew the feeling. "What were you hoping?"
"That Brad might give me a job." Hannah's shrug said it all before she said the words. "Stupid, huh? I overheard Stan say Brad was always beefing about the books and how they needed someone to answer the phone, and I thought... Stupid, huh?" she repeated. "That's why I was up there when you stopped by."
The girl was looking for a job, not... "The only stupid one was me. I'm sorry, Hannah."
"That's okay. I can talk to him another time. No hurry, I guess."
That wasn't what Olivia was sorry for, but explaining would do more harm than good. She waved her hand over the rest of the room to change the subject.
"And this?"
"All the rest belongs to my nieces. I try to keep it nice for them."
"You do a good job there, too. It's pretty." Compared to the rest of the house, the room was a palace. "How many people live here?"
"Jeez, twelve, I think, or maybe fourteen. They come and go, so it's hard to keep track." The hair twirling began. She began to list them. There were fourteen. "All the boys sleep upstairs with Tyrone and Sandy."
That explained the hole in the ceiling. Her brothers and nephews slept under the eaves. Olivia wondered if there was room up there to stand.
"Wow," she said, because Hannah looked like she was waiting for a response. Apparently it was enough.
"I know, right?" As if someone had flipped a switch, the new and too bright Hannah was back. "What should we talk about?"
She bounced as she sat on the edge of her bed. Her false smile spread, her eyes widened, and her head bobbled just enough to flutter her curls.
All Hannah's expressions mimicked the worst actors ever to grace TV from bad sitcoms to commercials. Her smiles were wide ear-to-ear grins that showed off her pearly white teeth. Her shoulders heaved dramatically each time she sighed. She couldn't laugh without tilting her head back and swirling her hair. She was a caricature of cute. At Brad's garage, she'd been a caricature of sexy.
When she'd remade herself, Hannah had evidently used the only patterns she had. From what Olivia knew of them, the television at the Tilson's was the only thing that consistently worked, and the two channels available kept them consistently entertained.
Where she got her fashion inspiration from, God only knew, but Olivia suspected it was movies like the one playing in the living room... or maybe someone else. She couldn't very well ask, and then she thought, why not? Hannah was a Tilson. She was used to rude and it wouldn't be rude if she worked her way around to it. Right?
Olivia wasn't sure why Hannah's fake personality and revealing wardrobe mattered, but it did. There was something very sad about it and she was curious. She asked about Hannah's littermates first, and listened to the repetitious stories of matings, leaving Gilead for another pack, and returning unemployed with a litter of pups in tow. Hannah's sister, Judy, and her brother's mate both worked part-time at the market down on the highway. Hannah worked three afternoons a week as a nail tech at a hair salon.
"I could do your nails now if you'd like," Hannah offered. "That's what girlfriends do, right? Nails and hair and stuff?"
Olivia was tempted. She hadn't had a manicure in months, but a glance at her watch told her that time was flying by. "Not today, Hannah."
Judging by the frowning pout, Hannah was disappointed with Olivia's response, but maybe that was her thinking face, because it suddenly brightened.
"Another day, maybe?"
"Another day definitely. Maybe we could get together at my house. Mama would love to see you. Why, just the other day she was asking if I'd heard how you were doing," she lied, but Mama wouldn't mind, and maybe she could help. It was the perfect time to add, "I was sorry to hear about you and Ricky."
Hannah's shoulders slumped. "Me, too. I liked Ricky. He was nice to me. He was gonna buy that trailer up past the McPherson's, you know the one. Old Miz Cramer died and no one wanted the place, but to me, it was..." She shrugged.
"A dream," Olivia finished for her. "A place where your own little girl could have a pink bedspread and kittens on the curtains." A place that was neat and tidy and clean. It wasn't hard to figure out what Hannah dreamt of. "A place that wasn't..." She couldn't say it, but Hannah could.
"Here." A tear, mixed with her cheap eye liner and clumpy mascara, drew a crooked black line down her cheek. "How did you know?"
"Same dream, different poodle." With more expensive taste.
"She wasn't really a poodle, you know. She was just..." Another sad shrug. "Judy says it's my own damn fault." Hannah tried to giggle at her use of the swear word, but the attempt fell flat.
"Why would she say that?"
"Because of the way I looked. Judy says wolvers like ours are looking for one thing, and if you want to keep your man, you've got to show it off." She spread her arms and looked down at her outfit, and then tugged at her short skirt for the tenth time. "I'm not losing the next one."
How did one say your sister is an ass without offending?
"I guess that's true if the kind of wolver you're looking for is like Al." There. That was pretty diplomatic. "Is he the kind of mate you're looking for?" she asked when there was no response. Maybe he was. Hannah was a Tilson after all. Livvy was relieved when the woman wrinkled her nose.
"Eeuw, no. Al's always got his hands down his pants. Scratchin'," she explained. "Front and back." She shivered in revulsion. "That's gross. And he don't bathe regular, neither."
No news there, but it was a relief that Hannah recognized the problem.
"There you go. Not your kind of guy. See? Every woman's different. You aren't your sister and there's no reason you should be. What works for her, won't necessarily work for you."
"But the way I was didn't work either. Ricky was the only one who ever noticed me."
"Maybe we can find a compromise. Find something in the middle," she explained when Hannah looked confused. "Not the old Hannah, but not the new one, either. We need to find something that'll attract a Hannah kind of wolver, not a Judy kind, or a Livvy kind, but a Hannah kind."
"You'll help?"
Olivia wasn't sure why the girl sounded so incredulous, though it surprised her, too, when she'd said 'we'.
"Yes, I'll help. That's what girlfriends do, isn't it? Hair, nails, clothes, cry on each other's shoulders." She wasn't really sure since she wasn't a hair, nails, and clothes kind of girl in high school. And she had Brad.
Hannah must have sensed her sadness, though it was for the wrong guy, because she came and sat beside her.
"I was sorry to hear about you and what's-his-name, too. You know, the weasel."
"God, why does everyone call Terrence a weasel?"
"Um, 'cau
se he is?" Hannah suggested without a hint of sarcasm. The girl might be slow to deal, but she read the cards right.
"No secrets in Gilead, huh?" Olivia started to laugh. "I like you, Hannah Tilson," she admitted and then added, "The real Hannah, the one that's honest and funny and sweet."
"Do you? Do you really?"
"I do, and that's the kind of guy you need to look for, the kind that's looking for honest and funny and sweet. And maybe a little sexy, too," she added with a wink.
Hannah smiled, beautiful and real. "I like you, too. The Mate said I would. She said we were both stuck with a bad hand and maybe that gave us something in common, but I couldn't see it. I thought you'd have your nose in the air, 'cause let's face it, you and me, we ain't two peas in a pod, you know." She shrugged. "I said okay. What else can you say to the Mate? But I didn't think you'd come, and I didn't think I'd like you if you did."
"I'm glad I did and I'm glad you do." Olivia paused, thought about it, and then asked, "When did you talk to the Mate?"
Cunning Mate. It was the day before they'd made the list.
In spite of her plan to get in and out as quickly as possible, Livvy ended up with a manicure. In between coats and while the final finish dried, she helped Hannah go through her meager wardrobe, combining some of the old with some of the new and setting aside the definitely nots for Judy who'd be more than happy with the gift.
Olivia left Hannah's with a smile and a twinge of guilt. Maybe the female wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she was sweet natured and forgiving, and Olivia really did like her. She wished she'd paid more attention to the shy and gentle girl when they were in high school.
Olivia was sure the Mate did what she could, but there were too many wolvers in Gilead for one female to handle it all. Someone was needed to step in and fill that role for Hannah. Living in that house with those lazy wolvers and careless females, she had no one to rely on.
Just as she had with Eban, a small part of her wished she'd have more time in Gilead. Hannah needed more than a wardrobe change. She needed a friend. Was she failing Hannah, too?
There was no one about when she reached Brad's shop. Her car was parked next to his truck and another she didn't recognize. She opened the door, called hello, and tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment when Brad didn't answer.
Her wolf whined.
"I know," she whispered. She should never have come back. It was too easy to fall back into old habits. Brad had always been easy to talk with and share her concerns, but she wasn't a cub anymore and it was time she looked out for herself. "Well, we're here now and the only thing I can do about it is get busy on the list."
There were no boxes like the Mate described, but there was a pile of small furniture and boxes in the corner nearest the lavatory; her furniture and boxes, all the things she'd struggled to pack in the trailer. The boxes from her car were stacked on top, and taking center stage was the pink plastic carton in which she'd packed her lingerie.
It, too, was a reminder of her past, a remnant of her teenaged days when florescent pink scrolled with lacey hearts and flowers appealed to her girlish taste. It had sat in the bottom of her closet through college and beyond only because her practical upbringing wouldn't allow her to throw a perfectly good container away. When she moved, it was the right size to keep all her silky undergarments packed together. Now, however, it stood out like a sore thumb against all the cardboard and plain plastic tubs with their dull colored lids.
This time, there was no question of someone snooping through that box. The lid, normally tight fitting and secure, was blatantly askew. Olivia took it from the pile and lifted the lid. She fully expected to find a rummaged mess. What she found was a box of neatly arranged undergarments with the addition of one piece laid flat across the top.
The bikini bottoms were cotton, the kind that came in a package of six found on a rack in any popular trade store. This pair was white with yellow polka dots. She recognized them, though she hadn't owned a pair of packaged cotton panties in years.
Olivia lifted them from the box and clutched them to her chest. A simple pair of polka dot panties shouldn't affect her this way. It was a silly, stupid gesture, caused by nothing more than a fond and girlish reminder of happy youthful days. She closed her eyes and wished away the memory. Her wish was denied. That day was as fresh in her mind as yesterday.
For a guy with no money and a girl with an early curfew, there was little to do in Gilead. Brad's motorcycle used a lot less gas than a car, so Olivia spent a lot of time riding behind him with her arms around his waist and body pressed close. She loved the feel of their bodies moving together with the movement of the bike. She loved the heartbeat sound of the Harley's engine, and its throbbing vibration between her legs.
She hated her parents for limiting the time she spent on the back of that bike. It made them nervous. Brad made them nervous, yet he was the one who insisted she honor her parents' wishes. She hated the helmet that Brad insisted she wear, too. She wanted to rest her cheek against his leather clad back. She wanted to hear his heart throbbing to the beat of the Harley.
She'd beg Brad to take her out on that bike, telling him it was almost like sex. He'd laugh at her.
"Not even close, sweetheart."
"Then why won't you show me?" she'd complain.
"Just wait. Our time'll come."
"I want to come now."
That had made him laugh harder, but there was something else behind the laughter that she couldn't identify.
She began to worry that he didn't want her the way she wanted him. Going over the moon and shifting to wolf became a contest of wills. She teased and he resisted.
Sex between couples in wolf form was strictly forbidden, but the energy created by the shift and the freedom of the run often translated into a kind of sexual foreplay between partners that built in its intensity throughout the run. When wolf came home to human, the power of those pent up sexual urges remained.
Livvy would have gladly climbed his body and done all the work, but Brad always held her off. He claimed she wasn't ready, but she was, and her frustration was compounded when she could find no release later in her own lonely bed with her sister in the bunk below. The problem was with Brad.
It wasn't as if he hadn't had sex before. She knew he had. Lots of times. It wasn't as if there was some big taboo against it, either. She was of age. She was long past her first run as a wolf. She couldn't get pregnant without being mated. Venereal disease was unknown among wolvers. What was the big deal? It wasn't as if their make out sessions hadn't brought them close. Mouths locked, hands roaming, skin to skin, he'd brought her to the edge of ecstasy and yet always pulled back. If it was any of the other wolvers she knew, Olivia would have said it was fear, but Brad Seaward wasn't afraid of anything. She never asked, because she was afraid. Maybe he knew she couldn't compete with all those other, more experienced girls.
And then the night came when he took her to the little secret place he'd found, a place perfectly created for young lovers. Amidst the privacy of closely packed trees, there was a green patch of heaven. The small clearing lay beside a section of the brook where the water tumbling over the stones sounded like music. Diamond-like stars twinkled overhead, and moonbeams danced across the tiny crests of swirling water. The earth was smooth and soft beneath the grass. It was a romantic and magical place, and she knew as soon as they reached the spot, without Brad saying a word, that this was their place to finally come together in the complete expression of their love.
He'd just brought her to the ground with a gentle kiss so filled with promise, when the attack occurred. Brad shouted at her to run, and in panic, she obeyed. She hid among the trees, crouched low and trembling beneath a pile of fallen limbs, terrified as she listened to the angry voices, six of them that she could distinguish, and then the sounds of a physical attack. She only emerged when silence returned, such cold, dead silence.
She found Brad a good distance away from the clear
ing on the far side of the brook, so beaten and bloody, she was sure he would die. With her help, he tried to stand, said he had to hide, and then he fell, and she wasn't strong enough to stop him.
The woods were rife with ravines where the earth had heaved upward thousands of years in the past. She watched him teeter on the edge of one of those ravines, teeter and fall while she clutched ineffectually at his shirt. She could still hear the sound of him thudding against the rocks and trees as his limp and silent body tumbled over and over. She couldn't reach him, believed he was dead. She remembered running for help and little else until she heard he was alive and the men were bringing him home.
Those next few days turned into a nightmare not only for her and Brad, but for the entire pack.
Wolvers healed quickly. It was a testament to the severity of his injuries that it took Brad so long to recover. Livvy went to school because her parents demanded it. She did her homework while sitting at his side. At night, she only left him when her father made her, insisting she needed rest.
It was weeks later when Brad was finally up and about that it happened. They were strolling along the paths through the woods beyond Gilead, strolling because Livvy was afraid anything faster might be a strain. They stopped frequently. They kissed, and those kisses were so sweet and precious to her. She was so grateful to feel the touch of his lips again. The pain of those weeks had changed him.
He was quieter than he'd been before, not brooding, but more reflective. He was no longer a cub, but an adult male forced to prove his value as a male wolver of courage and power. He'd gained the self-respect of a man who knew his worth, though Livvy didn't recognize it at the time. She only knew she loved him more than she had before.
What began as hesitant and surprisingly chaste touches became more impassioned with each stop. Between each of those stops, Brad set a pace that was faster than the one before, until he was pulling her along in his haste. The fear of losing him still with her, Livvy tried to make him stop.
"Slow down. You're still weak."
"Not weak. Hungry."
Shifter's Magic (The Wolvers Book 8) Page 10
