Five
Iwas torn. Once I got home, half of me thought about going back down to the house to talk to Abel and Narah and ask who they had killed and buried under their machine shed. Was it a great start to a conversation? No. Not at all. But I was as curious as any neighbor would be.
The other half of me knew that interfering in their business, which included asking probing questions, was a terrible idea.
Being involved in any way with the Swann Pack was something I needed to distance myself from.
Because the truth was, at some point in the very near future, Cole was going to have to wrest control of the pack from his uncle.
There was no way around that. And when he came to that same conclusion, which was simply a matter of time, he was going to hate me even more than he did at the moment, and Abel was going to hate me as well for not saying anything to him about the storm that was coming.
Either way, I was going to end up being the bad guy.
It was a “damned if I did and damned if I didn’t” situation that I wanted no part of.
Being able to see clearly when others could not definitely had its drawbacks, and one of them was that most of the time, people didn’t enjoy facing the truth because it meant change.
In response to whatever that truth was, life would be forever altered.
Most people didn’t enjoy night-and-day differences in their reality, which was why so many often stayed in some terrible situations.
But for Cole, it would be worse, because it would be his choice.
He’d have to live with the consequences and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was doing the right thing.
It sounded heart-wrenching, and I wanted to help him, even though I knew I was the last person he’d accept help from at the moment.
At least there were tasks to do at home. I was late on my fall cleanup of the grounds, so I pruned and raked, shaped the boxwoods and the holly, which were out of control, and put down mulch so the flowers that lined the drive would come back next year and not die from the cold that was coming.
The days were getting shorter, which I liked, and after I made myself dinner, I went for a walk.
Outside, in the crisp fall breeze, I felt better.
The turn of the seasons always grounded me, reminding me that I was not part of the human world, but belonged instead to the eternal wheel.
When Teague joined me on my small sojourn, I was thankful for the company and told him so.
“You know,” he said in my head in that marvelous heavy brogue of his, making me homesick not for a place, but a time, “just because you’re not human, doesn’t mean you can’t love them.”
I groaned under my breath.
“You always give up so easily, Mere. Someday, you may have to stand and fight.”
“I’ll remind you that I’ve fought many times in my life.”
“Oh aye, you have, but I mean for love, you gòrach. Simply for love.”
It was terrible, at times, to have old friends, because when they knew your history, they could call you on the lies you told yourself. I was relieved when he said nothing else and there was only that easy, companionable silence. Of all the ways to end a day, it was one of the best.
I spent Sunday morning chopping firewood, then went to the women’s shelter and did all the maintenance chores Crystal needed done.
I also coordinated the delivery of the Thanksgiving meal we made every year for all the residents.
Once that was done, I sat with Crystal as she talked about what she was planning for Yule.
I was invited for all twelve days, as I was every year, and I appreciated that.
Sadly, there was an intake late in the afternoon—a woman with a baby, a toddler, and an eight-year-old carrying an orange tabby.
I helped bring their things in from the minivan, and when the little boy asked if they could keep their cat, Ginger, with them, Crystal replied with her usual “of course.” It was always so comforting for people to hear that their pets were welcome.
“We shelter the whole family here, not just parts.”
Relief washed over the boy, and he started to cry. I wanted to find his father and tear his head off, but that would help nothing.
I was sitting in the lobby while Crystal figured out which cabin would be best for them when a big pickup truck with one of those spoilers on the hood that made a lot of noise came roaring up the street.
All of them—mother, little boy, and toddler—started to cry. Only the baby stayed quiet, not knowing what was happening, plus, I was rocking him in a very comfortable chair.
“Oh,” I said as we all looked out the window. “He looks like he might have been drinking.”
“Does he?” the mom asked, and then we all watched as he took several lurching steps across the lawn and then went face down into the grass.
All eyes on me.
“You can tell, even from a distance,” I assured them all.
“Heavens,” the mom whispered.
Crystal called the police in White Sulphur Springs, and they were out there within an hour. By then the family was settled and he was still passed out cold.
“Why these guys get in their cars drunk and come out here is beyond me,” one of the officers said. “And he brought his rifle. It’s nuts. It’s like signing your handiwork at a crime scene.”
“Yes, it is,” Crystal said, eyeing me.
When they left, with the man zip-tied in the back seat, screaming at them that he was stone-cold sober and hadn’t come to shoot anyone—which, with how they’d found him, passed out and armed, seemed highly suspect—I noticed Crystal still staring at me.
“What?”
“You’re a good man, Merritt Baker.”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
“I think your secret’s out.”
I asked her how many pies she wanted for dessert on Thanksgiving, and she kindly let me change the subject, but she hugged me really tight when I was on my way out.
“It’s nice to live here and feel completely safe, Merritt. You did such an amazing thing building this shelter.”
“I think the real trick was finding you to be the live-in manager.”
“Well, a reporter is coming on Thanksgiving to do a story on us. Maybe we’ll get some other donors so it’s not just The Bower enabling us to take in everyone who needs help.”
“Have I ever said it’s a burden?”
“No, but maybe if you were able to keep all your profits instead of funding a women’s shelter and an animal shelter, you could expand and franchise and—ohmygod look at your face, never mind.”
The horrified look I gave her had brought on a fit of laughter. When I left, she was still giggling.
On my way home, Benny Dunlap, one of our regulars at The Bower, pulled up beside me as I walked down the side of the road. It was only drizzling, so really, him yelling at me seemed overly dramatic.
“What are you tryin’ to do, Merritt Baker, get yourself killed walkin’ in the dark?”
“I can see just fine,” I said, because really, there was no issue.
“But that don’t mean people can see you!”
“Really, Benny, I—”
“Get in the truck!” he roared at me.
I was called a damn fool several times, and he refused to drop me at the end of my drive, instead taking me nearly to the foot of the stairs leading up to my front door.
I thanked him, and when I made the offer of tea, he finally stopped sputtering and said that yes, he would love to take home some coconut cream blend for his wife, Lorraine.
Despite starting off crappy, it had turned out to be a very nice weekend with a few minor exceptions.
Monday morning, I was taking my time getting ready when I got a 911 text from work about the furnace.
Apparently, I needed to get there ASAP, as there was no heat on the second or third floors.
The first always stayed warm, as the hearth was there and we had standing heaters that resembled braziers out on the patio.
Originally, I had wanted tiki torches out there, but I’d been mercilessly outvoted.
As usual, when I was in a hurry, I ran the short distance over the hills and then down to the limestone quarry, and made the leap from the top of the slope to where the marble benches were.
Then I quickly climbed the steps and slipped around the side of the building and under the arch to enter the courtyard of my eatery.
“Oh, thank God,” Evie said when she saw me. “It’s cold as crap in the library, and there are kids up there freezing.”
The local preschool would bring children for story time every Monday morning. We served graham crackers and yogurt for dipping afterward.
Something wasn’t right with her story, though, and we both knew it. She was shifting from one foot to the other and couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. I stopped moving and stared at her.
“What?” she asked, sounding guilty.
“You’re a liar. You got me here early for some other reason. Everybody knows we’re nursing the furnace through its last winter and I’m replacing it in the spring. Plus, all of you know how to mess with the thermostat.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip as Dakota walked out of the kitchen, saw me, grimaced, then turned around and walked right back through the swinging door.
“Get out here now,” I yelled, then took a seat at the end of the counter.
The breakfast rush was over, and we wouldn’t be slammed again until lunch.
It was steady, which I was thankful for, as I was able to keep a staff of thirty gainfully employed, but no customers were paying attention to me raising my voice.
Dakota came back out and stood on the other side of the counter, staring at me. She was soon joined by Evie, Lupe, and Gaia.
No one said a word, and I glared at all of them.
They all smiled.
“What is going on?” I asked them.
Dakota cleared her throat. “A very handsome man—and I do mean a very handsome man—came and picked up food for you on Saturday morning. We were all just wondering, you know, how that went?”
“That’s why the ruse?”
“Maybe.” Dakota shrugged.
“You couldn’t have just called me and asked?”