1. Chapter 1 #2
Tomlinson laughed. “All right. You can have the guy. But you’re responsible for him. Any trouble, and I’ll come down on you both. And he has to have a place to stay or be out of town by sundown.”
“I’ll see what kind of worker he is. I’ve got a cot in my back room, if he’s worth his keep.”
“Huh. Wouldn’t have him in my place. You keep an eye on him, then.” Tomlinson rose and gestured me to go ahead. As we left the office, he turned to Nora at the front desk by the station doors. “Any trouble?”
“Everything seems quiet, sir.”
“I’m going to clear out the prisoner in the holding cell. Pierce will put him to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tomlinson led me deeper into the small station.
Here in Highcrest, the sheriff’s department had one holding cell, mainly used for the drunks Tomlinson and his two deputies hauled in from the Rusty Saddle Bar on a Friday night.
Now and then, there was a more serious arrest, and the lawbreaker would be held for a day or two before being transported to Rock Springs where they had an actual jail and a courthouse.
An antique cell door barred the end of the short corridor.
Tomlinson called, “Hey, Crue, it’s your lucky day.
Got someone here to bail you out.” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, turned the lock, and swung the door open.
The prisoner looked up from where he was sitting on the bunk, then stood and stepped toward us, and I got my first look at Micah Crue since 1935.
He was still lean and tall, still dark-haired and tan-skinned, with a hawk nose and high cheekbones.
He still had those steady gray eyes that met mine across the shadowed cell.
Micah didn’t react when he saw me. Perhaps he’d smelled me coming.
Perhaps he’d come to Highcrest knowing I was here.
Or perhaps he just didn’t care. Micah was as hard to read as always.
I wanted to know everything he’d done in the last twenty-five years, but that wasn’t for Tomlinson to hear.
There was one question I could ask that would help Micah’s standing in town, though.
“You move like a man who served,” I said, although it was a lie.
He moved like a werewolf. But when the US was attacked in 1941, almost every wolf of the right age within her borders rose up, ready for a fight.
More of us served than not, and I bet Micah would’ve.
“Yes, sir. Seventh Marines,” Micah said, his voice deeper than I remembered.
“Korea?” Tomlinson asked.
“The war in the Pacific. New Guinea, Peleliu, Okinawa.”
Tomlinson blinked. “How old were you when you enlisted? Twelve?”
“You have my ID, Sheriff. I’m forty-six years old.”
“Huh.” The Sheriff looked him up and down.
“You and Pierce make a pair. Wish I knew your secret.” He patted his rounded gut.
“Well, as a man who did his time in the 137th Infantry, I can respect your service, but you can’t wander around my town with no job and no place to stay.
We have laws. Lucky you, Lee Pierce here has offered to take you on and give you some work. You listen to him, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Micah agreed.
“I’ll get your things.” Tomlinson opened a metal locker against the wall and reached into it, dragging out a battered canvas pack, a leather jacket, and a pair of hiking boots.
He rummaged on the top shelf and found a brown paper sack, from which he extracted a wallet.
Micah held out his hand, but Tomlinson flipped it open to the driver’s license and peered closely.
“Forty-six. Huh. And you’re from Washington State? ”
“Yes, sir.”
Tomlinson pulled out a couple of other ID cards and checked them front and back, possibly just to make Micah wait on him, then handed the wallet and cards over. “If you’re sticking around this state, you’ll want to get a Wyoming license. Go on now, get outta here.”
Micah stuffed his IDs and wallet in his pants pocket without bothering to tidy them up and worked his feet into the boots.
He knelt to check something in his bag, then closed the top, slung one strap over his shoulder, and stood.
I scooped up his jacket, slapped the dust off, and passed it over, careful that our fingers didn’t touch. Not yet.
Tomlinson ushered us out the front door of the station into the bright morning sunshine. I heaved a deep breath and turned to Micah. “So?”
“Lee.” My name in his voice made my insides quake, though I tried not to show it. His tone remained steady. “Let’s get the hell away from here, right?”
“Right.” I squared my shoulders. “My place is about ten minutes’ walk. I can feed you breakfast, if you’re hungry.”
“They served some toast and coffee in the lock-up. I’m fine.”
“We can talk, then.” I turned left down the main road.
Highcrest only had four blocks of sidewalks before the roadside turned to dirt shoulders, but this was as close as we got to a downtown.
Annie’s Diner and the library, the Gas N’ Food, Bob’s Small Engines and Vacuum Repair, McTavish Clothing and Tailoring, two bars, and the Lutheran church across the street from the Baptist one.
The usual small-town America. Chuck’s pawnshop, a hardware and locksmith, shoe repair, butcher shop, then the Episcopal church.
We walked side by side past the familiar businesses.
A couple of people called hello to me as they went about their day.
Running a handyman service for the last ten years meant a lot of folks knew me.
Most of them did a second take at Micah.
Strangers were always interesting, especially ones who didn’t look local.
Cindy Cunningham hurried out of the butcher shop to say hello, the waxed-paper packet of steaks in her shopping bag making both Micah and me sniff, then exchange glances. Maybe a bite of brunch wouldn’t be a bad idea. “Lee!” she exclaimed, smiling widely. “Who’s your friend?”
I had to laugh. Most of the town gossips would’ve worked up to that question, but Cindy wouldn’t recognize subtlety if it hit her over the head. “This is Micah Crue. He’s going to be helping with my business for a bit. Micah, Miss Cunningham.”
Micah raised a dark eyebrow at me as if to say, Really? You got my future planned? but he didn’t contradict me. “Good to meet you, ma’am. I won’t offer to shake hands. Mine aren’t all that clean.”
“That’s perfectly fine. Welcome to Highcrest.” Her smile got wider as she took in Micah’s striking face and athletic build. “Call me Cindy.”
“I’ll do that.”
“We’re heading home for Micah to stow his things so we can get to work,” I told her. “Lots to do. Have a good day.” I headed off down the street, and Micah kept pace.
“Friendly lady,” he murmured when we were out of earshot.
“Very. She’s harmless enough, although the whole town will know your name before lunchtime.”
“That’s fine. I’m not hiding.” He flicked a look my way. “Unlike you.”
“I’ve been Pierce a lot of years,” I told him.
“I didn’t figure your father would look for me, but a change seemed safer.
” I added, “I was sorry to know that he passed.” My stretched and almost-faded bonds to my old Alpha, and to the rest of the pack, had snapped and vanished one stormy day in 1944 in the Rhone River Valley. I’d known then my Alpha was dead.
“I was in New Guinea.” He broke off as a pair of young kids on their bikes pedaled past us, shouting hi.
Then Mr. Gunderson from the hardware came my way to talk about a new toolkit he wanted to sell me, giving Micah a side-eye but nothing more.
Mrs. Vincent with her two toddlers paused on her walk to the store to thank me again for rehanging their gate and repairing the backyard fence.
Micah huffed his frustration. “Does everyone in this town know you?”
“Pretty much. I’d sprint home with you, but they’d follow us, wondering where the fire was.”
“Peachy.” He shifted his bag to the other shoulder.
Five minutes later, we turned off Main Street onto the first dirt road that climbed up toward the mountains. Foot traffic died away. Under the tall trees, the clean May air held a hint of refreshing chill, but Micah didn’t put on his jacket. As werewolves, we did better in cool weather than hot.
“This is me.” I pointed down a curving drive that vanished out of sight behind a copse of poplars.
“Closer to town than I’d expect,” he said. I figured he meant the risks of getting spotted running in fur.
“I need electricity and a telephone line, for my business. I used to have a cabin up higher.” I pointed to where the foothills rose behind us. “Back when Hank actually owned Handyman Hank’s, and I was the hired hand. But when I took over, I had to be more accessible.”
“So that’s what you do?” Micah walked up my driveway beside me, looking around and scenting the air. “Repairs?”
“Yep. Jack of all trades. I can repair your pipes, your fence, your roof, pretty much anything you want fixed. I’m not licensed for electrical work, but I know the basics if someone just wants a switch replaced.
Plus I cut trees, work on landscaping. Anything that’s a one-man job.
” I grinned at him. “Rent a hubby, basically.”
As the trees hid us from the road, he stopped. “And are you a hubby?”
“Me? No.” You know better than that. But maybe that one moment in time hadn’t defined him the way it defined me. After all, he’d put a ring on Janet’s finger less than a year later. “How’s Janet, by the way? Any sons?”
“We lasted two years. Not even.” He shrugged.
“No kids. Never tried to mate-bond with her. She wanted to leave that town in the dust from the moment she moved out of her father’s house.
Hollywood or New York, somewhere she could become a star.
She thought I’d go with her and when I said no, she took off on her own. ”
“She was a very pretty girl,” I admitted.