by Jane Jamison
“A photographer. Ooh, now isn’t that exciting. And where, Miss…” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for Livi to fill in the blank.
“Olivia Brackin. But, please, call me Livi. It’s the least I can do after almost running you down.”
“And where are you staying, Livi?”
“I don’t know yet.” From the looks of things, the town didn’t have a motel. “Can you recommend a place?”
“I sure can. My name’s Dorrie Lonang and I just happen to own The Sleepy Time Bed and Breakfast.”
“Wow. Talk about luck. Now I’m really glad I didn’t flatten you out.”
Livi’s joke fell flat. Instead, those silver eyes dove into her as though Dorrie could see straight into her soul. “Oh, girly, luck doesn’t have a thing to do with it. It’s fate that I saw you come into town. Yep, fate pure and simple.”
Livi let Dorrie lead her back to her Jeep. “I’ll jump in on the other side and show you where to go. Plus, I’ll make sure you keep your eyes on the road.”
Livi stopped as she reached the driver’s side door, unable to keep from noticing how the people on the sidewalk had paused to scope them out.
It’s a small town thing. They’re just curious about strangers, that’s all.
And yet she couldn’t shake the prickle of nerves that sprang to life along the back of her neck. She climbed inside the Jeep and started it down the road again, eager to get anywhere but there.
* * * *
Thirty minutes filled with an earful of Dorrie’s insistent prattle and Livi was sure she’d go crazy if she didn’t get out of the B&B.
Dorrie had given her a quick tour of the place, telling her that she had a free run and could use the kitchen any time she wanted. The house was pleasant enough, although the furnishings were from the early seventies and the peeling wallpaper needed replacing. But it had a homey feel to it and it was a sight better than a shabby hotel. Her room contained a large feather bed along with a four-drawer dresser that had tons of scratches and dents on it, not to mention the one leg that was balanced on a block of wood, keeping the dresser level if not still a little wobbly. But the room was inviting with an en suite bathroom and a large window overlooking the front yard.
After trekking through the woods most of the day, she couldn’t stomach another hunt for the white wolf and decided to take the night off. If Lost Hills had any kind of fun to offer, she’d find it. Besides, eating a meal on Bradley’s dime always made her feel better.
She didn’t bother taking her Jeep. Although the B&B was on the outskirts of town, she figured she could walk the length of the small place within minutes. She took off down the main street and headed for the rest of the town.
The only thing that passed for a grocery store was a modest place called Warton’s Mercantile. It was built, as a lot of the town was, from logs and fit right in with the rest of the Western theme of the town. She stepped inside and paused, soaking in the displays of homemade soap, handcrafted candies, and handmade clothes. There wasn’t much in the place that someone hadn’t made by hand. Even the prices seemed to be that of a by-gone era.
“It’s like I’ve stepped back in time.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Otherwise, the clothes you’re wearing would be downright scandalous, honey.” The woman was as wide as she was tall, but the way she held herself made Livi think of the Queen of England.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there.”
She moved from behind the wooden counter. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone tell me that they didn’t see me. I’m kind of hard to miss.” She skimmed her hands down the front of the denim dress she wore. “Still, I’m going to take that to mean my diet must be working. Why, I’m getting smaller by the hour.”
If anyone didn’t look like they were on a diet, it was her. But Livi kept that thought to herself.
“Can I help you find something? My name’s Lucille Warton and my hubby Shep and I own the place. You can call me Sugar Foot. Everyone around here does. And what can I call you?”
Livi struck out her hand and was surprised at how firm Sugar Foot’s grip was. “I’m Olivia Brackin and you can call me Livi if you like.” Might as well go along with making friends.
“Livi. Yes, it suits you. Livi it is.” She glanced past her as though searching for a car out front. “Are you visiting a relative?”
“Not at all. I’m staying here for a few days.” Sometimes she told people about her job and sometimes she didn’t, to avoid having to explain how her job worked.
“In Lost Hills? Don’t get me wrong. We’re happy to have you, but it’s not exactly the vacation spot most people would choose.”
“I’m here on business.”
The flash in Sugar Foot’s dark brown eyes was strange, but Livi didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask what had caused her reaction.
“Is that right? And what kind of business would that be?” Sugar Foot went back behind the counter and started straightening up a display of candles. Homemade, of course.
“I’m here to get a photo of the white wolf.” What the hell. She might as well see if the locals had heard of it.
Sugar Foot dropped one of the candles on top of a stack of other candles. “Oh!”
“Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?”
Sugar Foot had just opened her mouth to answer when a deep, rich voice came from behind her. The voice conjured up late nights in front of a roaring fire. Naked.
“I hate to tell you this, but you’ve wasted a trip. The white wolf is a myth.”
Livi spun on her heel and bumped right into a rock-hard wall of human flesh. Her gaze was level with the sprinkling of dark hair peeking out of the V of his shirt. She leaned back, at the same time inhaling the scent of…
Maleness.
Oh, hell to the yeah.
She let out a breath, then let her gaze drift upward. The muscles of his neck led to the dark stubble covering his chin. That spread outward along his jawline. Her lips puckered into a kiss as she took in his mouth, his lips slightly parted, and just begging for her to take that chance and press hers to his. She leaned back the other way as the delectable lips led to high cheekbones any male model would’ve paid top dollar to have. When she looked into his eyes, as green as the grass of Ireland, she blinked, sure that once she had, the fantasy held within his would fade. Instead, she saw flecks of gold that only made her believe in magic even more.
The emerald eyes narrowed. “Did you hear what I said?”
She blinked again. Then realizing that she might appear as though lacking in intelligence if she blinked yet again, she forced her eyes to stay open and plastered on a smile. His gaze dropped to her smile and he frowned.
Crap. Do I look like the village idiot grinning like this?
She mellowed the smile. “You said the white wolf was a myth. And you’d know this how?”
One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Because I’m not a fool.”
* * * *
She was one of those women who got under the skin the second a man saw her. But Eric Parker wasn’t one of those men.
“Is that right?”
“Yep, it is.” No, he wasn’t one of those men. Still, her bright blue eyes, bluer than the Arizona sky he loved, could hook a man by the gut and make him believe whatever she wanted him to believe. Especially when what she believed in actually existed.
“Okay. Then you’re calling me a fool?”
He liked the way her mind worked, jumping from one point to the other to make her case. “Are you saying you believe there is a white wolf?”
“Of course I do.”
Her smile was the briefest of smiles, but enough to tug at his cock. He wondered what kind of smile she’d give him after he’d brought her to a climax.
“I know artic wolves exist and they’re white.”
“But they aren’t in Arizona.” He bet she’d play a mean game of chess. Among a lot of other games he could imagine playing with her.
/> “And there’s the problem, isn’t it? I haven’t seen one in Arizona and you haven’t either”—she waited for him to acknowledge her assumption with a nod—“but others have.”
“Why do you care what others have said?”
“From that remark, I’m guessing you think they’re either lying or imagining things. Am I right?”
She’d given another verbal right jab. Sparring with her was the most fun he’d had since he’d pushed his younger brothers into a ditch just to see how long they’d cuss at him.
“Considering those people are in the minority with no solid evidence to back up their claims? Then yeah, it’s one or the other.”
“And you’re sure about that.”
He decided to make a slight right turn in their discussion. “Something tells me the photo you want of a white wolf isn’t going on Ebay. Who’s the photo for?”
A gleam sparked in her eyes. She was enjoying the banter as much as he was.
“If there’s no white wolf to photograph, then what does that matter?” She lifted her eyebrows, putting emphasis on the challenge.
“Now listen, you two. I don’t know how you got into this little quarrel, but let’s remember where you are.” Sugar Foot stepped in between them and pushed the god of a man back. “Eric Parker, what did you need? Give me a list and I’ll have Shep run it out to you.”
“I didn’t get an answer yet.” An answer, however, didn’t matter as much as being near the intriguing redhead. He’d never cared for gingers much, but her hair was so vibrant, so startling red that it drew him like a moth to a flame. The mass of curls around her face captured his attention with its oval shape as well as the pale skin. Freckles that were anything but childish scattered over her nose, then led the eye down to her full, pink lips.
His cock twitched again, warning him to keep calm or both the beautiful stranger and Sugar Foot were bound to notice.
“Name’s Eric Parker.”
She scanned him as though weighing the option of telling him her name. “I’m Livi Brackin.”
No “nice to meet you” or anything. He liked that she had the confidence and the balls not to add the polite greeting simply because it was the expected thing to say.
“Who do you work for, Livi?” He gave her his own half-smile and wondered if she’d notice that he’d used her first name. No “nice to meet you” meant no calling her “Ms. Brackin.”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m a freelance photographer. I work for whomever I want to work for.”
Still playing the game. Good.
“And your employer for this job would be…”
Her hesitancy to fill in the blank was enough to let him know she wasn’t very proud of working for them. His estimation of her dropped a little, then jumped back up when she jutted out her chin.
“If you must know, it’s Fact or Fiction magazine.”
He held back a groan. The rag of a publication was as far removed from the New York Times and Life as a magazine could get.
She shrugged. “A girl’s got to make a living.”
“If you say so.”
He had a tendency to push too far, and judging from the harsh look she’d given him, he’d stepped over that line again.
“Unless you want to start paying my bills, Mr. Parker, then I don’t think you have a say in what I do or don’t do for a living.” She shifted her body, giving him the cold shoulder. “Sugar Foot, I was wondering if you could recommend a place to get some food. A diner, maybe?”
“Hmm, well, we don’t have a diner or a restaurant, but if you’re staying at Dorrie’s place, then she’ll treat you like family. That means you get the run of the place, including the use of her kitchen.”
“I am and she offered, but I thought I’d eat out. You know. Get to know a few locals.” Her gaze darted to him. “Or at least some of them. So there’s no place for a non-cook like me to eat?”
Eric tried not to chuckle at her horrified expression. She was a city girl, all right. Either one who had others who cooked for her—and he was willing to bet she didn’t have that kind of money or family—or the type who couldn’t stay home long enough to learn to boil water.
“Charlie at The Witches’ Brew will throw a sandwich together for you. Providing you get on his good side first or have Mitsy put the order in.”
Sugar Foot giggled. As always, the sound she made hit him as odd coming from such a mature woman.
“He’s right. Get on Charlie’s good side and you’re all set. Of course, that doesn’t mean he won’t choose the kind of sandwich he’ll make for you.”
“Right now I’d eat anything he gave me.”
Eric shot Sugar Foot a knowing look. “Be careful you don’t tell him that. He’s liable to give you a slab of skunk in between rye bread with horseradish on top for good measure.”
“Urgh. Okay, I’ll watch what I say. Is Charlie the owner?”
“Nope. Mitsy Weiner’s the owner, but Charlie handles the back while she mans the bar.” He was talking more than he usually would and Sugar Foot was noticing. He’d be lucky if gossip wasn’t all over town by the time he headed for home. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted that connection, any connection, with her for as long as he could get it.
Her curiosity had forced her to get over her distaste of his prior comments. She relaxed, shifting her weight to one foot. “Any reason why she named it The Witches’ Brew?”
Sugar Foot giggled again then went back behind the counter. “Well, sure. She’s a witch, of course. What else would she name the place?”
“Come on. I’ll show you where it is.” He realized how lame his offer was even before Livi made a face. With one main road, no one could get lost.
“I think I can find it. Lost Hills isn’t exactly L.A., now is it?”
Sometimes confidence was overrated in a woman. Her sass irritated him. “Nope, it’s not.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving added meaning to his next words. “Just so you know, we still have our crazies and dangers. Take care of yourself, Ms. Brackin. We wouldn’t want to go pulling your dead body out of the woods.”
Her jaw dropped, giving him the satisfaction he’d wanted as he pivoted on his heel and strode out the door. As soon as he was outside, he wished that he could take the words back. Even if they were true.
* * * *
The Witches’ Brew was everything Livi had expected it to be and more. She stood just inside the entrance and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Once they had, she saw that most of the patrons in the place were giving her the once-over.
Several people, men and women, went back to playing on the two pool tables in a separate room off to the right. To her left was a small wooden floor, worn and scratched, in front of a small wooden platform that served as a stage big enough for a drum set, one microphone on a stand, and two guitars with amps. A huge bar made from logs and topped with a slab of polished wood held court in the rear of the room. An enormous stone fireplace took up most of the far wall. She could easily imagine a blazing fire crackling and popping its heat out to the patrons on a cold, wintery night. The place appeared bigger than the outside had suggested it was.
“Hello there.”
Livi jolted and brought her palm to her chest. “Oh. Hi. I didn’t see you.”
She’d said the same thing to Sugar Foot. Was she not paying enough attention or were the residents really quiet? So quiet that it seemed like they could sneak up on her?
“You must be Livi Brackin.”
News did indeed travel fast in a small town. Obviously either Sugar Foot or Eric Parker had phoned ahead.
Eric Parker. Hell to the yeah. The man’s sexy enough to make a nun go wild.
She cleared her throat, as though that would help clear her mind of the long, tall, sexy drink of water named Eric, and faced the gravelly voice.
A big bear of a man stroked his handlebar moustache, reminding her of the villain ready to tie the heroine to the train tracks. His
big brown eyes, however, took away any hint of evil intent.
She wondered if a lot of the town’s men wore handlebar mustaches. “That’s me.”
“Let me welcome you to Lost Hills, Ms. Brackin.”
She still jumped a little when he thrust out his hand. He made her nervous, like the time she’d gone to the zoo and had gotten too close to the brown bear enclosure. She could still feel the beast’s warm breath as the zoo attendant had pulled her off the railing and away from the cage. A shiver ran through her.
“I’m Wilton Ray. I’m the mayor of our fair town.”
She wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or curtsy. Instead, she did the polite thing and took his hand. His palm was rough, yet pliable, like the paw of her late and great love, her black lab, Suzy.
“Thank you. I’m happy to be here.” Small white lies never hurt.
“And we’re happy you’ve decided to visit.” He stroked his mustache again. “Can I be so bold as to ask the reason for your visit?”
Did he ask everyone who came to town? Or was she just plain lucky? “Um, I’m here to photograph the beauty of the woods and the wildlife.” Her excuse sounded pretentious even to her. She had to stop changing her story. In a small town like this, it was bound to catch up with her. But what did it matter? Wildlife or white wolf. She wasn’t planning on causing any trouble.
“Really? Isn’t that exciting?” The same brown eyes that had seemed so friendly a minute ago hardened. “Is there anything in particular? Maybe I could help you locate it?”
She had no doubt that her hope to find a white wolf had made it around town as fast as her name had. As she’d thought, her two different stories had caught up with her.
Had she told Dorrie? If not, Sugar Foot or Eric had called the mayor. If she’d known showing up to take a few pictures was going to cause such a stir, she would’ve shown up sooner. Causing a stir was kind of fun.
What the hell? She might as well go all in and merge the stories. “I’m going to try and take a few shots”—she held up her hands, palms out—“photographic ones only, of course, of the white wolf people have seen around here. I don’t suppose you’ve seen it?”
