The bell on the Berta’s door clanged, startling her from her carnal thoughts. Heat rose to her face as she looked up and saw Sarah enter. Madie quickly punched a button on the register and the drawer opened. She shoved the money inside, before bumping the drawer closed with her hip.
Sarah shut the diner door, banging the bell even louder. She turned to Madie with a sheepish grin on her face.
“Sorry, I forgot.” She laughed, making an exaggerated frown with her lips. “My bad?”
Madie placed her hand on her hip and gave her a mock scolding look. “You always forget the loose spring when you open that door. I’m surprised the bell hasn’t shattered the glass.”
“I said I was sorry, m-o-m.” Sarah planted a fist on her slim hip, mirroring Madie. “Now let’s get out of here and go for a pint.”
“Sarah...”
She batted her eyes innocently. “Hey, I can’t help it if you look like you could use one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Madie asked, affronted. “Actually, forget I asked. I can’t go tonight. I barely made it out of bed this morning.”
“Oh, come on. You need to do something to wipe that silly expression off your face,” Sarah begged, a playful lilt to her voice.
“I’m not twenty-one anymore and furthermore,” Madie’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t have a silly expression on my face.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Sarah dragged out each word as if Madie were dim.
Madie straightened a few ketchup bottles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Playing dumb won’t save you. I’m onto you now,” Sarah said. “You may not be twenty-one, but you don’t have to act like you’re a hundred.”
“Sometimes I feel a hundred.” Madie reached under the counter for a clean rag.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, we’re only a year apart.”
“But I feel so much older.”
Sarah huffed. “Stop being a drama queen.”
“Hey, I resemble that fact.” Madie snorted. “And anyway, I’m almost twenty-five.” She scrunched her face and hunched over, attempting to do her best impression of a crone. They both burst into giggles.
“You keep saying that like it should mean something.” Sarah tilted her head and smiled. “I know what your problem is.”
“I don’t suppose I can prevent you from telling me?” Madie asked.
Sarah shook her head. “Nope.”
Madie wiped at a nonexistent smudge. “Get it over with then.”
“I think you’ve got a crush on a certain art class model.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Get real. First of all, I don’t know Damon. Secondly, I don’t get crushes. I’m too old, remember?” Madie laughed again, hoping that Sarah didn’t notice the renewed flush creeping over her cheeks.
“So not buying it,” Sarah said. “Since you’re obviously not too old to blush.” She pointed at Madie’s face. “Get any redder, and you’ll match that Dr. Pepper can behind you.”
Madie stuck out her tongue, blatantly ignoring Sarah’s last comment. Maybe a beer, or better yet a cup of hot chocolate, would do her good.
Anything to get her mind off Damon Laroche.
She’d felt hot and antsy all day. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that her best friend noticed and called her on it. Not much escaped Sarah. When a reaction was this obvious, a person would have to be blind to miss it.
Madie wiped down the counter and closed out the register. She took off her apron and went into the backroom to say goodbye to Berta, who was finishing up the books.
Sarah and Madie strolled arm-in-arm out the door and up the cobblestone street toward a nearby local pub called the Pork and Whistle. The owners, Ewan and Janet MacLeod, were a couple of ex-pats from Scotland who’d settled in New England twenty-five years ago, though you’d never know it from the thickness of their Glaswegian accents.
The pub’s familiar wooden doors framed ornate stained-glass windows. Violets twisted and curved around wolfsbane, blending into a hybrid plant that bled from its petals, as if mourning the loss of a loved one. The scene was sad, but strangely soothing at the same time. The unusual design always mesmerized Madie and kept her wondering about its true meaning.
Sarah opened the door to the pub and stepped inside. Madie followed on her heels. Cigar smoke rose in a thick smog over the room, since the door to the cigar room inside the pub was rarely closed. Madie’s nose burned and her eyes watered, while attempting to adjust to the pub’s usual climate.
She really didn’t like drinking establishments, but was determined to enjoy the time remaining, before responsibility took over her life.
Madie cringed at the thought. During their last chat, Papa, or Gaston as she’d taken to calling him, had been adamant. Go through with the ceremony or be disinherited. His mood swings and paranoia grew worse with each passing year. He reminded her daily that she was his only child and therefore responsible for carrying on the family tradition. The guilt ate at her conscience.
With a sigh, Madie followed Sarah through a maze of tables and barstools. The crowd swelled, busting at the seams. Several men stared with open appreciation at her friend’s petite form, their gazes lingering on Sarah’s heart-shaped butt.
Madie envied that bottom. Her butt hadn’t been that size since she was twelve.
Not an eye flicked in Madie’s direction. When Sarah was around, she might as well be invisible. Madie reminded herself again that she didn’t care, didn’t want to attract attention, and didn’t want men’s interest. That’s why she dressed the way she did. And she’d never regretted it until today.
That hadn’t stopped Damon from looking. The thought burst forth before Madie could censor it.
The women walked toward the back of the mahogany paneled room, to one of the few empty red leather booths available. Before they could remove their coats and sit down, the waitress approached, pad in hand. Sarah ordered a pint of ale while Madie asked for a cup of hot cocoa.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed on Madie, but she said nothing.
When the waitress left, Madie lowered her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Does it ever bother you?”
“What?” Sarah asked.
Madie indicated to the room. “All the men ogling you.”
Sarah shrugged and said, “I hadn’t noticed.”
Madie knew it was the truth. She might be a big flirt, but a man had to catch Sarah’s attention before she noticed that he was alive. Otherwise he became part of the scenery like plants or trees.
A lumberjack-looking guy with sandy colored hair and snug blue jeans gripping his firm thighs ambled over to their booth. A plaid shirt covered his barrel-shaped chest. His features were appealing in a ‘paper-towel spokesman’ kind of way.
“Can I buy you a drink, darlin’?” he asked, his soft southern drawl and aw-shucks charm aimed squarely at Sarah.
She smiled sweetly and batted her lashes, in true ‘Southern Belle’ fashion. “My, but aren’t you a long way from home, sugar?” she replied in a honeyed accent.
Encouraged, he grinned and nodded. “That I am.”
Sarah shot Madie a bored look that told her without words she’d already dismissed him. Sarah turned her attention back to the man. “I appreciate the offer, Rhett honey, but I don’t think your wife would like it much.” She flicked her dainty fingers, shooing him away.
Surprise and disappointment washed over his features as he glanced down at the impression his missing ring had left on his finger. His shoulders drooped and the man walked back to his table. His friends shouted and pointed at him, their loud guffaws echoing off the beamed ceiling.
Madie snorted. “Why, I do believe that southern boy was sweet on you.”
“He’s a jerk.” She snorted. “Speaking of crushes.” Sarah dropped the fake accent. “What about you and model boy?” She gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. “You’re not going to convince me that you don’t have it bad for him. The
Jaws of Life couldn’t have cut through the sexual tension arcing between you two in class today.”
Madie chewed on her lower lip. She wished Sarah would keep her voice down. She had the distinct impression someone was eavesdropping. She casually glanced around the pub, but no one seemed to pay any attention to them. A few men gathered by the dartboard, debating a throw. The barstools were full of locals, catching up on the day’s fishing results. Everything looked blissfully normal.
“I’ve never seen a man that big, have you?” Sarah continued, her eyes glowing with interest.
Madie glared at her. “Shh, someone’s going to hear you.”
“I don’t care. Damon was perfect.” She drew out the last word for emphasis. “Heck, I’d butter my own butt and call myself a biscuit, if I thought there was a chance he’d nibble. Know what I mean?”
It would take a simpleton not to know what Sarah was talking about. Madie might be a bit naïve, but she wasn’t stupid.
Sarah shook her head. “Of course you don’t, you haven’t been with a man yet.”
The temperature in the room suddenly rose or at least it felt like it. “H-How do you know that I haven’t?” Madie’s frustration seeped out, undisguised.
“You told me at my party, remember?”
“Ah, no.” Madie frowned. “I do recall lots of wine.” As her foggy memory began to return, Madie cringed at what she’d shared with Sarah...and unfortunately the rest of their class.
Sarah stared at her moment and then laughed. “You were talking about werewolves and initiations.”
Madie did recall that part of the conversation, but decided to deny it anyway. She shook her head and mentally vowed she was never going to drink again. She’d humiliated herself the night of Sarah’s party. It probably wouldn’t have happened had she not received a phone call from her dad reminding her that he’d be up to get her soon.
She’d woken with what tasted like a mouthful of bitter cotton and a full-blown orchestra pounding out a never-ending version of ‘Small World’ in her head.
As her stomach emptied its contents every hour on the hour, Madie had prayed for death, but hadn’t been so lucky. Art school wasn’t exactly like a frat house, but no one would’ve known it from her behavior that night.
Worse still, she talked about her father’s obsession with werewolves.
What had she been thinking?
Truth was she hadn’t. Never in all of her twenty-four years had she kicked up her heels, until that night. Madie decided that regretful evening was the first and last night she’d do anything so impetuous.
Madie scanned the room again, her discomfort growing. The spot between her shoulder blades itched. With some reluctance, she turned back to Sarah, who stared at her expectantly.
“I’m saving myself,” Madie said.
“For what?” Sarah asked. “Do you have an expiration date that I don’t know about?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “I’m saving myself for the right man.”
Sarah broke into uncontrollable giggles. “Take my word for it, there’s no such creature.” There was a wistful note to her voice that hadn’t been there before, almost as if she wished that she was wrong.
Madie decided not to comment.
The waitress brought over a glass of champagne and placed the bubbly in front of Sarah.
“We didn’t--” Madie said, before the waitress cut her off.
“This is from the gentleman.” The waitress gave a quick nod over her shoulder, and then winked at Sarah. “Lucky girl.”
Sarah frowned and looked at Madie. “Some guys won’t take a hint.”
They swiveled in unison to where the lumberjack had been seated. He was gone. In his place, sat a man with broad shoulders and long pale blond hair that almost looked snow white under the low lighting. He was similar to Madie in coloring, but a hundred times more striking.
The beauty of his fallen angel face was almost painful to look upon. High-sculpted cheekbones led to a sinfully full lower lip. His sharp blade of a nose rose ever so slightly as he lifted his head in acknowledgement. His flawless looks couldn’t diminish the power emanating from every pore. He dwarfed the table he sat at and the men standing nearby.
Both women stared, transfixed.
His hard gray eyes turned to Madie, their emotionless depth slicing deep, leaving her cold. She rubbed her arms to ward away the sudden chill. The instant those same icy eyes returned to Sarah, they became heated, capturing her gaze, holding her spellbound under his long perusal.
He inclined his head and raised a matching glass of champagne to his lips, swiping the excess liquid from his mouth with the tip of his tongue. Out of her peripheral, Madie saw Sarah mirror his actions.
The room practically sizzled as the man rose from the table. A sensual smile flitted across his perfect face. His gaze held a promise, a vow to Sarah left unspoken. Instead of coming over to introduce himself, the man exited the bar. Madie turned in time to see Sarah’s color go from tanned to bright pink.
“Where’s he going?” she asked.
Snapping her fingers in front of friend’s face, Madie asked, “Now who’s crushing?”
Flustered, Sarah croaked, “You, of course.” Her tone was hoity, but her fingers trembled as she placed the glass of champagne back on the table. “That m-man was nothing special.” Her chin firmed.
“Right.” Madie hid her mirth. She’d never seen her friend act this way around any man. Sarah flirted, and she certainly slept with her fair share, but she’d never lost her self-awareness until now. It was amusing to see her friend go from discombobulated and back to her old fiery self in a matter of seconds.
The pale blond man was gorgeous, no doubt, but something about him gave Madie the creeps. She decided that Mr. Laroche was a much more enjoyable subject and far safer. “I might have had a little crush on Damon in class.” She begrudgingly admitted.
“A little crush?” Sarah’s eyes crossed. “Girl, that man was a god! Talk about impressive equipment. I could just imagine him going wild, his blond hair falling over his shoulders as he ripped my clothes off, and ravished me on his king-sized bed.” Sarah’s voice rose with unchecked excitement. She practically yelled the last part to compete with the other patrons.
Madie glanced around. People were beginning to stare. “Sarah Ann, you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” She admonished. “Besides, Damon’s hair isn’t blond.”
“I meant dark brown.” Sarah frowned. “Besides, what’s wrong with romance novels?” A hint of indignation colored her voice as she pointedly ignored the slip up.
“Nothing...” Madie sighed. “Romances are great, as long as you don’t let them replace r-e-a-l-i-t-y.”
“Oh please, only a politician or an idiot journalist would confuse fiction with real life. True romance readers don’t have that problem.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Admit it, Madie. You would like nothing more than for your hero to come through that door, sweep you off your proverbial feet, and carry you away from your family obligations.”
Madie shifted in her seat. Where was their waitress? What was taking their drinks so long to get here?
She didn’t want to discuss make-believe heroes or her attraction to Damon anymore. One made her realize all too well what she wasn’t going to get. And the other simply made her uncomfortable.
No man had ever affected her that way.
If she were being honest, she’d admit that her toes were still curled. Madie balked. Fat chance of that happening. “What are you planning after graduation?” she asked, already knowing Sarah’s answer, but desperate for a change of subject.
Sarah fidgeted with the champagne glass. “You mean after the family cruise to the Bahamas?”
Madie nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. Just once, she wished her family had done something, anything beyond hunt in the name of togetherness.
“Well I was going to work for you.” Sarah paused. “But since you won’t have the art gallery up an
d running in time, I figured I’d work for one of the other galleries in town. One of us has to make connections.” She winked.
“Good plan.” Madie grasped Sarah’s hand on top of the table, giving her fingers a firm squeeze before releasing her.
Sarah smiled. “You will get that gallery someday. I know you will.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now if I could just get Papa to stop pushing me to marry, I’d be set.” Madie frowned, sinking deeper into the booth to make herself less visible.
“I thought he quit that craziness last year,” Sarah said.
“I wish,” Madie said. “Gaston hates the fact that he and mom married so late. He has another blind date lined up for me next week. He swears this one will be different.” Yeah right...
Sarah’s face skewered. “Has he lost his mind? This is America, not the Middle East or India.”
“He might have,” Madie mumbled, sick to death of the pompous show dogs with good breeding her father paraded in front of her. Marriage was difficult enough without adding complete strangers and low expectations into the mix.
“Who’s this latest loser?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Madie loved that her friend was indignant on her behalf. “Not sure. Papa says he’s one of his hunting buddies and shows real promise. He hasn’t given me a name yet.” She laughed. “I think he figures if he does I’ll call the guy and cancel.”
“Hunting buddy?” Sarah pretended to stick her finger down her throat and gag. “You’re not going to go out with him, are you?”
Madie shuddered at the thought of dating a man who was friends with Gaston. “No way.”
She frowned as she recalled all the nights as a child she’d spent hunting with her father in the woods around their estate. He’d insisted she attend the excursions.
More like executions.
Decades worth of wolf pelts lined the walls of the estate, not that Madie ever shot any of the creatures who’d been brought in specifically for the hunt. She winced every time she laid eyes on those furs. To this day, Gaston insisted that the pelts belonged to werewolves. In his mind, that excuse justified the kills.
Moonlight Kin: A Wolf's Tale Page 4
