by T. S. Joyce
As a child, I’d thought the magic of Cotton’s would’ve lasted forever.
“Someone will buy it and make it great again,” Mother said from behind me.
Even tearing up, I smiled and sighed in relief as I turned. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. Dark skin, and full lips, and joy dancing in her emotion-filled eyes. Her smile could light up any room.
“Hey, Momma,” I whispered, dropping my bag in the snow.
She held out her arms and caught me. “Baby, baby, babyyyyy,” she crooned. She would always call me that, no matter how old I got.
Father was running from the house, his smile as bright as the snow flakes, his gray hair disheveled, and his freckles stark on his face in this cold wind. He darn-near barreled us over as he hugged us up tight, and the things inside of me that had been broken apart and displaced when I’d left this place were put back together.
“Come on, my two wild birds,” Father murmured. “Out of the cold with you both. Rabbit stew will warm you right up.”
“Rabbit stew?” I asked, as he bent and picked up my bag. “That’s what you make for homecomings. How did you know I would be here early?”
He and Mother looked at each other, but I couldn’t read their strange expressions. “Someone told us.”
“Who?”
Mother squeezed her hand and said, “When we woke up this morning, there was a dead rabbit on the stoop.”
My heart stopped. I just…stopped. My body discontinued working for three full seconds before I could even inhale shuddering breath and ask, “Was it him?”
My father, Elias, nodded. “It was a gift. For you.”
My emotions were already wrenched up so high, and now my eyes filled with tears again as I asked softly, “Is he still here?”
Mother shrugged and shook her head. “We don’t know.”
My mother and I followed Father to my childhood home and I could see it, right there on the front stoop. There was blood staining the snow. Red snow—the mark of Ukiah, and his father and uncles before him.
The rabbit was a gift from his monstrous side. The side that scared me. The side that had never fully been in Ukiah’s control. The side that had driven a wedge between us.
You see, years ago, Ukiah had been my friend, but he wasn’t like other men.
He wasn’t like anyone.
In fact, sometimes, he wasn’t a man at all.
Sometimes…he was a Dawson wolf.
Chapter Two
Ukiah
My long hair whipped in front of my face, and I jerked my head to the side so it wouldn’t hinder my view of her. Of Maya.
God above, she looked different. Slender, with that fitted dress hugging all her curves. She wore a shawl around her shoulders, but her collar bones were still exposed. Soft, smooth, dark skin that stretched to the tip of her shoulder. The dress was some fancy number she probably fell for in Boston. Not much use for dresses like that here, in Colorado Springs. She looked like she didn’t belong here anymore. Something about that thought made my wolf want to howl in anguish.
Maya had left us—me and the wolf. She’d left and she hadn’t come back for a single visit in years.
It had been good for her, I told myself. Look at her, you selfish creature. Look how she’s blossomed away from you. Her skin glowed, and her cheeks were rosy as she stood in front of Cotton’s hugging her parents. Her smile was heart-stopping, and those eyes…blue against her dark complexion with perfectly arched, dark eyebrows showing every emotion she’d ever had. Maya was an open book. She was so different from the other women in town and at the reservation. There were no games with her, no hidden agendas. I could read everything she said without words on her face. I was a professional at reading Maya’s mind from her face.
Or I had been.
How much had three years in the big city changed her? Maybe I didn’t even recognize her insides anymore, who knew?
Why did my chest feel so hollow? It was as if I’d cracked open my ribcage, scooped out my heart, and laid it on the ground in front of me before sewing myself up again.
Stupid wolf. He’d already outed me. He’d tracked her travels, followed her carriages at a distance. And for what? So he could hunt a bunny and lay it at her parent’s doorstep for stew?
She’s not mine.
She’s not mine.
She’s not mine.
Three times was the charm to get me moving, and I stood, wrapped my thin shirt closer to my body. She couldn’t see me from here, but old Elias looked right at me. Just tossed me a look over his shoulder as he led his wife and daughter inside.
I expected to find anger written onto his face, but his blue eyes were full of sadness instead.
She’s not mine.
She’s not mine.
She’s not mine.
She never was and she never would be.
Maya was poise, and grace, and maturity. She was the one a man should change his rambling ways for. She was the one who should be treated like royalty, and what had I done? Hurt something beautiful by setting it free.
It’s what a creature like me did. It was the only thing I knew. What right did I have to keep anything fragile?
She was the rose and I was the thorn, and it would always be that way.
I waited until they disappeared inside, because I couldn’t pull the animal away from watching her.
Gritting my teeth, I turned my back and aimed for the sounds my horse made in the blustering wind. I could find him anywhere, just by scent and right now, he was tied off at a fence down the road.
This was the part I was good at. How many times had I walked away while she watched my back, and for pride, I never turned around to let her know leaving hurt me? Even if we were kids when I did it, that kind of shit had lasting effects on a tender heart like Maya’s.
Gotta act like nothing hurts. That’s what it was to be a man in these parts. Nothing hurt. And if it did? You carved out your own soul before you let any hurt show.
Maya was a woman a man changed for, but I was incapable of that.
So, I did what I knew, and I left her without looking back.
Again.
Chapter Three
Maya
“You’re awfully quiet,” my father said.
I dragged my attention from the smiling face I’d made with some carrots and rabbit meat on my plate. Mother’s stew was sturdy enough to stand on its own, and didn’t need a bowl. A plate did just fine. Even the broth was thick. My dad’s eyes were dancing and his lips were pursed like he knew some secret no one else did. And when I looked over at my mother, she wore the same expression.
“What are you two goin’ on about?” I asked, irritated by the teasing.
“Why don’t you just go pay a visit to the Dawson Ranch and be done with it?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I lied, like my mind hadn’t been on Ukiah’s strange gift. Three years was sure a long time to go without seeing him.
“Luke and Kristina have a new grandbaby,” my father started in. “A little boy, of course. Another wolf in the family. They added onto their house last summer to make room for visitors. And Jeremiah and Lorelei just renewed their vows a couple months back right in front of their home. With lanterns in the tree branches, and white table linens, and half the town showed up. Your momma cooked for it.”
Nonchalantly, I leaned back in my chair and asked, “How are Gable and Lucianna?” They were Ukiah’s parents. Well, Gable was his father, and his mother was a Ute woman who died when he was little. I was mixed, and so was Ukiah. We sure had made a pair to look at when we’d spent time together in town when we were growing up. Lucianna had raised him like her own boy, and she and Gable had never had another.
It was my mother who answered. “Lucianna sure has trouble moving around on that bad hip when the weather is like this.”
“I still remember the day we hunted down the monster who shot her up like that,” my father said, hands gripping
his fork and knife tighter as he glared at the scraps of remaining food on his plate. “It pains me to see her aching like this. Gable shoulders a lot.”
“You mean he’s been doing her work, too?” I asked softly.
“Takes care of her completely,” my mother murmured. “Works himself to the bone to make sure she’s as comfortable as she can be. We put in an order for some pain relief medicine a month back but they still haven’t been delivered yet. Elias checks the post office every day for those Dawsons, but it’s stuck somewhere—”
“Has he married her,” I blurted out, eyes downcast. It was the only discussion I was really interested in. The rest I wanted to know from the Dawsons. I swallowed hard and asked it softer. “Has Ukiah married the Ute woman?”
“I don’t know,” my mother said so softly, I almost couldn’t hear her. “No one does. When we see him in town, he is alone.”
I stood suddenly, unable to calm my fidgeting legs anymore, and cleared my plate. And then I did something I always did when I was deep in thought.
I cooked.
Everything was at my fingertips for making cornbread. The cornmeal, the flour, salt, baking powder, eggs, milk, all the seasonings my mother coveted for that good flavor. Fresh-churned butter was in the root cellar, and the cast iron skillets I’d burned my hands on a hundred times growing up were already sitting on the stove, like Mother knew what I would be doing tonight. The recipe was etched into my mind for eternity, because my mother and I had made it so many times together. It was a staple at the restaurant I cooked at in Boston, and always reminded me of home when I made it. And tonight? I wanted to feel completely at home.
Because I was going to do something silly. Something dangerous. Something that would put me and my tender little heart at risk, but I needed to do this. I needed to know.
A wise woman didn’t mosey into a werewolf den without food, and I liked to think I was at least a little wise.
Mother poured us a couple of glasses of strong eggnog, and chatted about old times, and silly things I’d done as a child, and with each passing minute, this place settled into my bones more and more. I’d missed it here. Not just the home, but the people, who made it home.
The final piece to this puzzle would fit or not by the end of tonight.
Now, I could get away with a more relaxed fashion. Functionality over looks, so I pulled a thick jacket over my shoulders and tied a scarf around my neck to protect it from the cold. There was a break in the snow, and my father already had his buckskin mare hooked to the small riding wagon out front. Honestly, I was surprised. I’d thought he would’ve put up more of a fight, and persuaded me to stay in for the evening. Perhaps he and Mother had learned to let that overprotectiveness go, while I was in Boston. That or he figured there was no use arguing. I had a stubborn, independent streak a mile wide.
As I walked out of the house with my fresh cornbread all wrapped in red and white printed holiday linen, my father asked through a teasing smile, “Do you still remember how to drive, City Slicker?”
A lady mustn’t ever roll her eyes, but with him, I could. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”
I climbed into the wagon and pulled the thick fur over my lap. With a frown for it, I asked, “Where did you get a bear hide?”
My father was petting Lena, the mare, and he didn’t look up from her as he answered. “Ukiah leaves gifts on the front stoop. He never comes in to talk, he leaves them in the night.”
“Then how do you know it’s him leaving the gifts?” I asked primly.
Father gave me a withering look, and shook his head. “Child, you never saw the whole picture.”
“He pushed me away.”
“No, baby. He saw your potential. He set you free.” My father stood back and smacked Lena on the hip, and she lurched forward. “Go straight there and straight back. No worrying your mother.”
Another eye roll was what he got. “Yes, sir,” I murmured. “Worry-warts, both of you.”
“That’s what parents do,” he called as the wagon passed. “Someday you’ll understand.”
But he was wrong. I wouldn’t ever have what he and my mother did. There were two worlds, and I was constantly stuck between them. Which culture did I fit into? I was teased for both. What home made sense for me? Boston was a blustering city, and this place still had wilderness that stretched as far as the eye could see. The city was all manners and pedigree, while here, I could dress like a man and ride a horse split-legged, and no one would bat an eyelash. I didn’t have a clue where I belonged. Gads, some days, I didn’t even know who I was. Who I really was. What man would settle with a woman who didn’t have a place in the world?
The way to the Dawson Ranch was long, but I had it memorized like the back of my hand. This was the one thing about this place that hadn’t changed. The road was still the same winding narrow path that could only fit a single wagon. If I met another on the road, one of us would have to pull into the snow bank and wait for the other to pass. There was a great likelihood that I would know anyone who passed me here. The town had grown and changed, but out here? Not much ever changed. Families stayed on their land and in their homes for generations.
The clop clop of Lena’s hooves against the thin layer of ice under the snowy road was relaxing. It was so much different than the sound of trotting hooves on paved streets like in Boston. Everyone was always in a rush there. Here, the pace was slower and the sound was muffled and lulled me into and easy smile, and humming a Christmas carol under my breath to the beat of her hooves.
It was still snowing a little, but the wind had died down, and thank goodness for that, because out here, that wind could be a bitter enemy.
Ukiah. How many hours had we spent together growing up? My mother was dear friends with the Dawson Brides, as the townspeople called them. Three women, all very different, but each very tough in her own right. They had to be to marry werewolves. That part, the town didn’t know. Oh sure, there were rumors about those Dawson men. They were a little too growly, and aggressive to be invisible in a town like this. But they’d managed to keep their secrets through the years.
As far as I knew, my family were the only people they’d ever told they were werewolves. That trust had always meant the world to me.
This journey was much longer than I remembered it being, but perhaps that was because I was anxious to see him again. Ukiah. Just the thought of his name brought a fluttering to my heart that I’d tried to tamper for years. My feelings for Ukiah had always been very strong, but he’d only seen me as a friend.
I took Lena straight under the Dawson Ranch sign the boys had erected ten years back, and past the three large cabins that belonged to Jeremiah, Luke, and Gable. On the front porch of Gable and Lucianna’s home, there sat the legend himself. The Gable. He was a decorated war hero, with a scarred-up face from his time fighting, but he still had that same old smile, and the same two-fingered wave, and knowing expression on his face that he’d worn every time I’d come to visit my friend.
“I wondered if you would show up here tonight,” he called.
“Were you waiting for me?” I teased, halting Lena in front of his white-washed cabin.
“That I was. I could hear Elias’s clumsy horse from a mile away. Figured it was you.”
“Happy holidays,” I said, wrapping the bear skin blanket tighter over my legs.
“Same to you. You grew up on us, Maya. I’m real glad you’re back.”
“Me, too.” She hooked the reins on the wagon to keep Lena still and hopped down, grabbed the cornbread from the back. “This’ll be cold by now,” I told him. “How’s your mate?”
Gable’s eyes filled with worry as he inhaled deeply and took the offered cornbread. “She’s tired.”
“God…dammit!” Luke called from his cabin across the clearing. “Maya, you lost me a bet, girl.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Gable’s laugh echoed. “I fuckin’ told you she would be here.”
Luke still had his long
hair, but it had a little more silver in it now. Same blazing green eyes and grumpy frown as he hooked his hands on his waist and kicked at a snow clump at the edge of his porch. “I ain’t wearin’ it.”
“You made the bet, you’ll follow through. You gave me your word as a Dawson!” Gable yelled, standing up.
Oh Lordy, here they went.
“Did you two bet on when I would show up?” I guessed.
“No,” Gable said, lifting his chin high. “We made a bet on which one of you would go hunt the other down first. You or Ukiah.”
“Oh. Well there was a dead rabbit on the porch this morning,” I enlightened them both, knowing darn-well Luke would hear me with his wolf senses from all the way across the clearing.
“No!” Gable yelled, at the same time as Luke pointed at Gable and crowed, “I knew it!”
A giggle bubbled up my throat. I couldn’t help myself; this was just like old times. The Dawson men had to be the most entertaining people.
“Is he here?” I asked around a laugh.
Gable sighed but it turned into a growl that lifted chills on my arms. I wasn’t used to the animal noises anymore.
“Part of him is here.” Gable turned and walked back inside without another word.
I didn’t understand what he meant, but that’s the way Gable had always been. When he was done talking, he was just…done.
Confused, I lifted my skirts and stepped back up into the wagon and said, “Yip,” as I slapped the reins on Lena’s back. Some horses reacted best with a gentle touch, but not Lena. If I didn’t show her I was in charge, she would’ve stood here looking over her shoulder at me like I was a buffoon.
Straight past Jeremiah and Luke’s cabins, the woods swallowed me. I could see a lantern light up ahead, but around me was just silence and trees, and snow that didn’t boast a single footprint or animal mark. Critters tended to be wary of werewolf territory. The most I’d ever seen out here were birds.
