Chapter 11 #2
Hours passed, during which I resolved a shifter spat over a property line, broke up a fight between two husbands, mediated an argument between a mother and son, and tended to a housebound beta wolf at the request of her out-of-town daughter.
“Mason, we need to make sure we’re checking on the senior wolves daily,” I said, when he called to ask ‘where the hell I was at,’ since I’d once again managed to elude his crack security team by simply exiting my property. “Senora Carino had been surviving on tea and saltines for a week.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Is she all right?”
“Weak, but okay. I took her some groceries and fixed her a bowl of caldo de res. Heavy on the res, since I assumed her wolf needed the beef.”
“Good. Word around the pack is you’ve been playing King Solomon,” Mason drawled. “Solving problems with wit and discernment.”
“Not so sure about the discernment part, but I’m definitely witty.”
He sighed, and I didn’t like the sound of it. “Next time, make sure your security goes along with you. It’s not a good idea for you to answer these calls alone. You have enemies out there—and in the pack.”
“I took Fennel.”
“That’s better than going alone, but you need more protection than one cat.”
“I feel like you don’t appreciate the magic that is Fennel, but I get what you’re saying.” I flicked the turn signal and turned right onto Main Street. “I’m headed out to one last place. I’ll forward you the address, and you can send someone.”
“What’s the name?”
“Dickie and Brenda Doogan. Brenda texted that it was a domestic disagreement.”
Mason said nothing for a long time. I thought he might be mulling over my security detail, worried about my safety. Turned out, he was laughing too hard to speak.
“Good luck,” he managed finally.
“What does that mean? Why are you laughing?”
“Do you have hazmat gear? Maybe some body armor?”
“You think I need a bulletproof vest? Are they known enemies?”
“Are you up to date with your tetanus shots?”
Disturbing question. “I think so, why?”
The man was wheezing. “Just stay away from Dickie’s shed.”
“I’m going to need more than that, Mason. Mason? Mason?”
The damn man had hung up on me.
Four miserable hours later, I dragged myself into Ronan’s Pub.
The first thing out of the love of my life’s mouth was a jovial, “So, how was Dickie Doogan’s shed?”
He was lucky I didn’t spell his lips shut.
“Whisky.” I lifted a shaking finger and pointed at the bar. “Pour me a godsdamned drink before asking that question, Ronan Williams.”
He appeared to be biting his lip to keep from smiling. It didn’t work. Ass.
“Hartman said he warned you.”
“He called you?”
“Texted,” Ronan said. “Are you okay?”
I climbed onto a barstool and stared meanly at him.
“One Macallan coming up,” he said hurriedly.
“Mason didn’t warn me. Nobody warned me about the level of evil I was confronting in that shed, which isn’t even really a shed. I mean, it’s huge.”
Again, Ronan tried not to smile. Again, he failed. “Your hair’s damp. Did you go home to shower before coming to see me?”
“Three. Three full body scrub downs. Fennel even got in with me for one of them. I scrubbed his paws with your soap, so deal with that.” I waited until he’d set a Macallan neat in front of me and I’d taken a few sips before I continued. “Brenda has grounds for divorce.”
Ronan’s lip twitched.
“What kind of person uses an aboveground pool as a septic tank?” I asked the world in general.
“Awful idea,” he said.
“Then he built a shed around it. Jankiest shed you ever saw, too. It’s huge but also too small. It collapses the sides of the pool, and the smell—” I picked up the glass, downed the whisky, slammed it back down.
“Be grateful they live eight miles outside town.” Ronan refilled my glass.
“Grounds, Ronan. The woman has grounds.” I sipped the second glass more slowly. “That wasn’t even why she called. She thinks he’s cheating with some woman at his job and wanted me to ‘cast a truth-serum spell’ on him.”
“Is he?”
“Probably. I mean, he’s such a freaking catch.” I rolled my eyes. “But, no, I did not cast a spell. I told them to call a septic service, go to counseling, and leave me out of it.”
I drank until my head went swimmy. It had been a long, strange day.
Ronan pushed a bowl of pretzels and a bottle of water in front of me. “The glamorous life of an alpha leader.”
“No way Floyd did this kind of stuff. No freaking way.”
“He sent someone from his security team, if he responded at all,” Ronan said. “Looks like word has gotten around that you’re a different sort of leader.”
“You have only yourself to blame.” Mason climbed onto the stool next to mine, held up two fingers and pointed at my glass. Ronan nodded and poured his drink from the same bottle of Macallan.
“Myself?”
“You gave your personal phone number to the pack. Encouraged them to call if they needed you. Madness.”
“Isn’t that what an Alpha does?” I asked. “Also, where did you come from? Why didn’t you send someone to watch over me tonight like you said you would?”
“I came through the front door like everyone else. And I did send someone. Me. Granted, I kept a healthy distance from Dickie’s pool of putrescence.”
“Oh god, the smell is stuck in my nostrils. Can we talk about something else? Anything?”
“How about we discuss Joshua Tyler?” Ronan rested his arms against the bar. “He’s fine, by the way. I checked him into a motel couple of blocks from here. Nothing fancy, but he’ll get some rest and no one will bother him.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I said. “I knew you’d take care of him.”
We filled Mason in on Joshua’s situation, and I filled them both in on the rest of my day.
“You need an assistant,” Ronan said.
“More like I need a squad. Someone to triage pack concerns and a smaller team to send out. I also need to foster community in the pack so the elders don’t starve around us, and everyone needs decent healthcare.
” I finished the second whisky and opened the bottle of water.
“No problem, I should be able to solve it all in a decade or two.”