Danville Horror: A Pat Wyatt Novel (The Pat Wyatt Series Book 3)

by Laura Del

  I cocked a brow at him. “Really? How is it that I had no idea I was your first love or that you could cook?”

  “Those are just little things,” he said, and I scoffed. “I mean,” he backtracked, “not the whole you’re my first love thing, but the cookin’ thing.”

  “What else don’t I know about you, Mike?”

  He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in months. “What do you wanna know, Pat?”

  But before I asked the first question, Angel came in all excited. “They said yes,” she announced as Mike and I still stared at each other. “Was I interruptin’ something?”

  “Yup,” Mike answered, not taking his eyes off me.

  I broke the stare first, but I could still feel him looking at me intently. “What did they say?”

  “I told them,” she paused, looking at Mike and then turning her attention back to me. “I told them that you wanted Christina to be there, and they agreed after I delivered your threat.”

  “Good,” I breathed. “If I get married again without her, she’ll kill me.”

  “No,” Mike laughed, still looking at me, “she’d kill me first, and then you.”

  I smiled at him. “True. I have to have her as my maid of honor, or all of us will feel her wrath. And I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “They say anythin’ else?” Mike asked her with a glance.

  “I explained that fleshy girl wasn’t too happy about the whole telling her what to do with her life thing, and they decided to back off a little. I gotta tell ya, Pat, you should be Alpha. They are more afraid of you then they are of Wolfman.”

  “Angel,” Mike huffed as if they had this conversation before.

  “What?” she was defensive. “It’s true. She’s the real Alpha, and you know it. I mean, you and I watched her die, she was full on dead, and she just sprung back to life. You name one person who could go through what she has and not be some kinda mental case.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

  “You see,” she said. “I’m tellin’ ya, she’d make one hell of a wolf.”

  It was my turn to huff, “Angel.”

  “I’m just sayin’,” she laughed, holding her hands up. “Anything else you need me to do?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, go downstairs and create a path from the front door to the street. We have guests, and you are the only one strong enough to do it by yourself.”

  “Why me?” she whined. “Can’t the vampire, the psychic, and the sexy brown-haired boy do it?”

  “Mortimer, Andrew, and Bobby are here?” I asked, and she nodded. “Well, they have to fix the back. Please, Angel,” I almost begged, “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.” I pointed to Mike.

  She looked between us and finally understood. “Right,” she said slowly, nodding. “Does this mean I’m invited to a weddin’?”

  I smiled at her. “It most certainly does.”

  “Good. I have the perfect dress for it.” After another smile and a wink, she left us alone.

  “Now,” Mike said as soon as she was gone, “you go ahead and ask me anythin’ ya want.”

  I thought about it for a second, and I started with the obvious. “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mama,” he replied with a smile, “although my dad was against it. But Mama was insistent. She even taught me how to make soufflés.”

  I laughed. “Really? What kind?”

  “All kinds, but the best one is her triple chocolate.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Can you bake?”

  I nodded. “I sure can. You should ask Tina about my brownies. She’ll tell you they’re a little slice of heaven. My mother was all about experimenting in the kitchen, but she did the traditional stuff too.”

  “Like what?” he asked, placing his elbow on his knee, then his chin on his knuckles.

  “Sheppard’s pie with sour cream and cheddar mashed potatoes,” I said with a smile.

  He closed his eyes for a second. “Yum. That sounds good. What else?”

  “Chicken soup… that sort of stuff.”

  “Did she ever teach you how to make pub food? When I was over in England one year to see the courts, there was this little pub that I loved. Can’t remember the name of it, but they had the best food.”

  “You went to England?”

  He nodded. “Sure did. I just wanted to see what the court system was like over there, so I went. Have you ever been?”

  “Yes, Moms took me for my sixteenth birthday, just her and me. The pub food was my favorite too. That was the first thing she taught me to make after we got back.”

  He smiled. “That’s nice. Anythin’ else you wanna ask me?”

  “Plenty,” I paused, thinking for a moment. “You said that I’m the only woman you ever loved, so I’m wondering how many women you’ve been with.”

  Mike was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. “Well, I’m a gentleman, bébé, and gentlemen don’t usually discuss those types of things. But since it’s you, I’ll tell ya. There was one in high school, one in college, Angel, and you. That’s it. I’m not what people would call a ladies’ man.”

  “I can see that,” I said, pushing a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I just can’t believe that I’m the only one of those women you have ever loved. Why is that?”

  “I’ve always known that I was a one and done kinda guy,” he repeated. “You just happened to be the one.”

  “Okay,” I conceded.

  “What else ya got for me?”

  “Favorite color?”

  He squinted at me, thinking. “Um… it’s between green and blue.”

  “Name of your best friend growing up?”

  “Mark,” he answered quickly. “He was my best friend all through middle and high school. He died last year of a heart attack.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “We hadn’t spoken in years. I don’t really age, so it was better to cut ties.”

  “Still, it’s sad when a childhood friend passes.”

  “True,” he replied solemnly. “What else?”

  “Boy,” I huffed, “you don’t give me a minute, do you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “All right. Who was your favorite teacher?”

  “Mrs. Smith, first grade.”

  I laughed a little. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

  “Chocolate peanut butter. Do you know you’re beautiful?”

  “Stop it,” I laughed again, hitting his shoulder. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, Mr. Wolf. What is your favorite season?”

  “Fall. Are you ever gonna marry me, Patricia?”

  “Goddammit,” I hissed. “Why can’t I just ask the questions, Michael?”

  He shrugged. “Answer mine and then I’ll answer yours.”

  “Fine,” I sighed, and then thought about what he had asked for a moment. It was a legitimate question, to which I had no reasonable answer, but I did have an idea. “Tell you what,” I finally said with a smile, “when I want you to ask me again, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

  “It’s a deal,” he answered, smiling his green-eyed grin. “Do you have any idea what I wanna do to you right now?”

  “It’s my turn,” I protested, making my voice husky as he liked it.

  Mike leaned close to me, his lips about to touch mine. He had dropped his hand, putting it around my waist. “I wanna make love to you.”

  “That’s not a question,” I pointed out.

  “I know.” As soon as those words were out of his mouth we were kissing, and then my stomach growled. He pulled away and laughed. “Patricia Anne Wyatt, you need some food.”

  “Bu
t what about…” I paused, raising my eyebrows at him.

  “After you eat,” he scolded me. “Then we can continue where we left off. You stay here, I’ll be right back.” Getting up off the bed, he leaned down kissing me on the forehead and then he was gone.

  I flopped back and sighed. No one, and I mean no one, could get me that riled up. Mike had almost made me forget about the horror movie that was going on downstairs. Then I felt bad about leaving them all to fend for themselves, and just as I was about to get up, Mike walked in with a plateful of food. He smiled at me, and all of that guilt went away for a while. This was why loved him, he was my calm in a sea of madness.

  “What’s going on down there?” I asked as he handed me a plateful of what looked like pancakes and bacon. But when I bit into the pancakes something was off. They were good, just not what I was expecting.

  “Mortimer and that Bobby”—the way he said Bobby’s name sounded like he wanted to kill him—“are out back doin’ like you wanted, and Angel is out there playin’ in the snow like a pup. Speaking of, the puppy is sound asleep on the couch, and Chrissie insisted that you stay up here until you’re good and ready to come down. Everyone else agreed. Besides,” he breathed, sitting on the bed next to me while I ate, “they called all the people they needed, and they’re just lazin’ around now.”

  “Guess that there’s not that many guests,” I said mouth full, and the pancake crunched. “What is in these pancakes?”

  He laughed. “They’re not pancakes. They’re hoecakes.”

  “What?” I choked.

  “Hoecakes,” he repeated. “Some people call them Johnny cakes. They’re a cornmeal pancake.”

  “They’re good,” I complimented as I ate. Finally, everything on the plate was gone, and I was ready for a nap, but Mr. Wolf had other ideas.

  He started by taking the plate off my lap and pulling me onto his. I must have not been secure because the next thing I knew, I was sliding to the floor and onto my butt. Mike’s eyes widened in shock. “Pat, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I giggled, even though my rear-end hurt. He helped me up, standing in the process. Then he picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he walked me over to the vanity, sweeping all of the makeup onto the floor with a clatter.

  After everything was thrown, he proceeded to place me on top, but when I sat, he yelped. “Bébé,” he grunted, “my hand.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered, hopping off it. It was the hand that never quite healed from my mother’s crucifix when we had used it on Samuel that faithful night we escaped from the Hamptons. “Are you okay?”

  “Yup,” he answered with a grimace, which told me how he really felt. “Maybe if I just—” He leaned down to kiss me and hit his forehead on the frame of the mirror. In response, he promptly staggered backward, falling onto the floor.

  I rushed over to him, but I tripped on the makeup bag, landing on top of him. In a second, we were both laughing as we laid there.

  “This wasn’t a good idea,” I finally managed to say through heaps of giggles. “Maybe we should just forget it.”

  “It may be the concussion talkin’,” he chuckled, “but I think you’re right. Maybe we should just lie here.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. There’s much less chance that we get hurt just staying still. Besides,” I sighed, “I don’t think anything is going to go exactly right today.” As soon as those words were out of my mouth, there was a knock on my door.

  “Is everythin’ all right in there?” Mortimer’s voice called from the other side.

  “Yeah,” I hollered, “we’re good.”

  “Are ye decent?” he asked.

  “Yup,” Mike answered, but we still remained on the floor.

  Mortimer walked in, and as both of us looked up at him, his eyes widened at the mess in the room. “What ‘appened in ‘ere?”

  “Mike was trying to be romantic,” I said, and Mike laughed. But there was something in Mortimer’s eyes that suggested that this was no laughing matter. “What’s wrong?”

  His brow furrowed and then he grimaced. “Ye gotta come downstairs and see this fur yerself. Hello, Mike,” he added politely.

  “Hey, Mort,” Mike responded as we got up off the floor.

  All three of us rushed downstairs, and I quickly checked on a sleeping Fang before we made our way into the kitchen. Tina rushed over to me while everyone looked utterly drained. “We’ve got huge problem. The people who made the cake showed up—”

  “Wait,” I interrupted, “I thought Edna did the cake?”

  Tina sighed. “She did, but they were new deliverers and, well, just look,” she almost whined with frustration.

  When she stepped aside, she showed me a cake that was in the shape of a pair of naked breasts, and my mouth dropped open. “What the hell?” I shouted, walking over to the median where the cake was.

  “They’re outside right now, trying to figure out what happened,” Sandy said, still staring at the cake dumbfounded.

  Angel stood by Bobby, and I saw them trying not to laugh while Mortimer and Mike sat down next to Madison, who had her forehead on the table. My mother stood behind the median, and I noticed that there were tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Cindy,” I comforted her, patting her on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Moms,” I added in a whisper.

  “I know,” she whispered back in her English voice while her lower lip quivered. Then she burst into laughter. “It’s ridiculous,” she said aloud in Cindy’s voice.

  Mad’s shoulders started to shake as she giggled with her head down. Then Angel and Bobby broke out into fits and slaps on the knees. Mortimer, Mike, Sandy, and Tina didn’t find it the least bit funny, and I just stood there shaking my head.

  Finally, the two cake delivery guys walked in and everyone sobered up. “Well,” Tina huffed, folding her arms with an eyebrow cocked.

  The taller of the two in a huge parka with his hood up said, “It turns out that your cake was sent to the Waylan’s in Allentown, and that this was for their bachelor party.”

  “Can we get our cake back?” I asked them, and the smaller of the two men shook his head. “And why not?”

  “It was severely damaged in transport,” he answered, looking at his shoes.

  I closed my eyes to the headache that was forming. “Well, can’t she make another, smaller, one?”

  They both shook their heads. “She’s really sick, ma’am,” the smaller one answered. “But she would like to give you a full refund and said you can keep the…” he paused, pointing at the tit cake, “that.”

  “We don’t want it,” Tina screamed at them. “Just get it outta here.”

  After they apologized about a thousand times, they took the inappropriate cake out of the house, leaving with one more apology as they promised to get the money to my father by the end of the day. Once they were gone, it was time to go into overdrive.

  “Do we have flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and vanilla?” I asked Cindy/Moms, and she nodded. “Cake pans?” She nodded again, and I looked to Angel and Mortimer. I gestured to them both, and they came running. “I need you two to run to the store and get me all the plain vanilla icing and some decorative silver sugars and stuff like that.”

  “The ball bearin’s?” Mortimer asked, and I nodded.

  “But just the silver ones, nothing white, except for the icing. Got it?”

  They both nodded, and Angel asked, “Do you want me to get some boxed cake mix just in case?”

  “Great idea, but you have to run, and I mean, run,” I said, raising my eyebrows for emphasis.

  Realization crossed both their faces, and they nodded again. “You can count on us,” Angel said, and with that, they were out the door like a shot.

  “Mike,” I called him over, and he came. “Looks like our baking skills are going to come in handy to
day. We’re going to make some cake.”

  He smiled at me. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  I instructed everyone to get ready, and I had Bobby finish the paths with Sandy. Mike and I started to make as much batter as we could while Tina cleared the median and all other surfaces of debris so we would have some place to put the cakes when they were done. Mad said that she was going to watch Fang, and I was grateful for it, while Moms decided to help us with the baking. Angel and Mortimer were back in no time, and by eleven o’clock in the morning, we had all hands on deck, icing and decorating a four-tier wedding cake.

  When we were done, it looked good. A little rustic, but that just added to the charm of the whole thing. All of us stood back admiring our handy work and did a collective sigh of relief. Mike and Mortimer put the whole thing in the fridge carefully, and we all relaxed until Sandy and Mad had to leave to get dressed. Mortimer followed shortly after to get his tuxedo. That’s when I realized we were missing someone.

  “Where’s Andrew?” I asked. In all the commotion, I hadn’t seen him, and suddenly I became really worried.

  “When I came downstairs, he was going up,” Angel answered. “He said he wasn’t feelin’ too good.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asked her, and she shrugged.

  We both looked at each other, and we rushed up the stairs, Tina right on our tails. The three of us walked into my sister’s room, but he wasn’t in there, so we made our way to the guest bedroom, and as soon as I opened the door, I saw Andrew on the floor. He looked unconscious, but when I ran over to him, I saw that he was writhing in pain as he held his head.

  “What’s wrong, Andrew?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. “Mike!”

  Mike picked him up, laying him on the bed. Tina rushed over to him, trying to sooth him, but he just rocked from side to side. “Patty,” her voice was frightened and when I looked at her, she was on the verge of tears.

  I looked over at Mike. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s havin’ some sorta vision,” Mike said pacing. “It’s either a big one or a lot of ‘em all at once.”

  As he cried in pain, there was nothing for us to do but stay there and wait. It was at least twenty minutes before Andrew opened his eyes slowly. Tina cried out in relief, and we could all finally breathe.