CHAPTER 83
MURR
I do not like antiques, I decide after hours of wandering through the insides of a cramped store. Everything smells like dust and mold, and nothing looks practical. There are jars for cookies and things called “salt shakers.” There are old “coins” and “records,” neither of which make sense to me.
And there are a great many things shaped like chickens.
“This is the best-looking chicken butter dish, I think,” Dakota says, wrapping a bird-shaped piece of glass in old fabric.
“Not that we have butter. Or chickens. But Dottie will probably appreciate it.” She pauses, thinking.
“I wonder if we could have chickens? Murr, how are you at catching chickens without killing them?”
“Dakota want food…alive?”
“I mean, they wouldn’t be food. We’d keep them and feed them so they would lay eggs for us.” She shrugs, but her expression is wistful. “I haven’t had eggs in forever.”
“We keep chickens at the fort,” Fothessa says. “I can help you trade for some, but you will want to keep them safe from your cats.”
Dakota shakes a finger at her. “You’re not going to tempt me into living in a fort. I would rather go without chickens. Now, which teacup do we like the best?” She gestures at the ones she’s gathered and put on the counter at the front of the crowded, dingy little store. “Blue? Green? White?”
I point absently at the most functional-looking of the tiny cups, each one with an accompanying equally tiny plate.
They are all too small for my hands, but they are not meant for me.
Nothing in this building is meant for me, and that is fine.
My mate has enjoyed seeing all the things she recognized from her past, and her delight was evident.
It is her delight I am thinking of now, because it seems this fort has a lot of things that would make Dakota happy, and my goal is my mate’s happiness.
If Dakota does not wish to go to the fort, perhaps I will go on her behalf and try to get these things for her.
Coffee, I remind myself. Corn flour. Chicken dishes…
no wait, the thing that goes in chicken dishes.
Butter. And live birds. She wants live birds for their eggs.
I want these things for her.
“And these are for drinking out of?” Fothessa asks, picking up the tiniest of the cups carefully, her claws jutting around the delicate creation. “I would be afraid to use it.”
“A lot of people only used them for fancy parties,” Dakota says.
“Parties?” I ask, unfamiliar with yet another term. “Explain?”
My mate brightens. “Parties are celebrations. Everyone gets together and has a big, special meal in honor of someone or something. We’re getting these cups for Dottie because she’s about to have a birthday.
She’s turning eighty, and we want to make her feel special.
So we’re going to have a spectacular meal and decorate the bookstore and give her presents. ”
Her delight is evident, and it makes me wonder. “Dakota like parties?” I ask, trying to be sly. Do I need to get chicken dishes for my mate and decorate her home? “Dakota want?”
She waves a hand, dismissing my words with a little smile. “I have everything I need.”
“Except chickens,” Fothessa points out. “And coffee.”
“I can do without. I’d rather have a party for Dottie. I worry about her.” Dakota hesitates, then takes the cup that Fothessa holds out to her. “This one looks fussy and special, so I think we’ll get it. I hope we can find some tea for her, too. Let me guess, you have that at the fort.”
Fothessa just laughs.
“Do you have a doctor, too? One that could look at an older woman and see if there’s anything we need to be concerned about?”
To my surprise, Fothessa’s scent heats up. Her expression grows soft and she fiddles with a lock of her mane. “Actually, Jonah’s father is a human doctor. His name is Samir, and I know him well. I’m sure he would help out.”
“Fothessa’s husband?” I ask.
“Is he my mate?” She laughs, the sound higher pitched and awkward, and she reaches out and fiddles with one of the cups as if to distract herself.
“No, he’s a widower. He had a wife but she died.
He spends his time tending to the people of Fort Dallas and looking after Jonah, and he doesn’t have time for a relationship. ”
Dakota shoots me a look, as if she doesn’t quite believe this. I don’t believe it, either. She is a strong, capable drakoni female. Not as perfect as my Dakota, but no one is. Still, I do not see a reason why a puny human male would turn away a fierce warrior female.
“But I’m sure Samir would help out Dottie,” Fothessa continues. “I can ask him to come out to the bookstore with me. Is there a day that works best for you?”
My mate puts her hand up. “I’d like to discuss it with my friends before anything is decided. Can you please keep our secret for a while longer? Maybe we can agree to meet up again in two days at this location, and we can talk about it more.”
“I can do that,” Fothessa says.
I nod. “Murr, Dakota talk Dottie. Talk Aggie. Talk Rabbit.”
Then I will talk with them in private and see if I need to get my mate some of these things she has mentioned today, or if she would like a party, too. Rabbit will know. I will ask her later.
If there is something Dakota thinks she is lacking, I want to get it for her. I do not have anything to trade…but I will get it.