Make Me Howl (24 page)

A young girl, who looked barely old enough to work in the state of Texas, brought a pair of menus and a pot of coffee to our table. “Morning, Doc.” The girl grinned at us.

“Good morning,” he answered.

I turned my cup upright so she could fill it and opened the menu.

She filled my cup, then Doc’s. After she’d taken the pot back to the warmer, she came back to our table to take our orders.

Hungry as I was, it didn’t take me long to decide. I glanced up to see she was ready. “I want steak and eggs with biscuits and gravy on the side. Make the steak rare.”

When she nodded, I turned my attention to Doc. On his face was a grin of admiration. “Make that two. And put a rush on it, Angel.”

“As usual.” The girl made a note on her pad and hurried away.

“Angel? Kind of familiar with that teenager, aren’t you?” I teased.

He shrugged. “Her parents own A Taste of Home, and Angel’s her name. She has a sister named Star.”

“Angel and Star?” I lowered my voice, not wanting anyone to hear me and be offended. “Do they have any more siblings? Cloud? Or maybe Moon?”

He barked a short laugh. “Well, their mother’s name is Luna.”

“The moon goddess? What’s their dad’s name? Sol?”

“No. It’s Alan.”

“Too bad.” I sipped my coffee, wishing for the burn of a strong fresh cup and I wasn’t disappointed. “I really hope their food is as good as their coffee.”

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” He took a drink from his cup then slid lower in his chair. “I’m really tired this morning.”

As if his lovemaking, as subdued as it was toward the end, had exhausted him. I didn’t believe it. “Why? Did my snoring keep you awake?”

“No. I slept like the dead.” He lifted one eyebrow, sending a curl of desire through me. “I think it was what came before I fell asleep that wore me out.”

I shook my head. “We weren’t exactly swinging from the chandeliers, Doc.”

“No, thank heaven.” He slid his hand across the table and captured mine. “What we did was more fun.”

I wasn’t used to discussing sex the previous night at breakfast, so I glanced around, looking for a way to change the subject. “When are your parents due back?”

“I think they’re supposed to be home next week.”

I settled my gaze on the tinsel strewn tree near the door. “Where do you all celebrate Christmas?”

“It depends. Some years we fly to warmer climates. Some years we go skiing. But this year, since they’ll just be back from that cruise for a few days, I doubt if Mom made reservations anywhere. We’ll probably stay close to home.” He tipped his head. “How about your family?”

“We always celebrate at Mom and Dad’s.” I shrugged. “Mom believes in tradition. Before, when her mother was alive, we went to Grandma’s house.”

“Kind of like
Little Red Riding Hood
?”

More like the big bad wolf,
I almost quipped, but caught myself just in time.

Angel came back to our table with two identical plates of food then refilled our cups before leaving us to enjoy our breakfasts.

I cut my steak and was happy to find it as rare as I’d requested. I took a bite, and found the center still cool. Perfect! The biscuits were homemade with a lightly browned top and a golden, crunchy bottom. I broke a biscuit in half and put it on my plate and ladled gravy over it.

After eating for several long moments, I realized I must look like a starving refugee. But when I glanced up, I saw Doc working through the food on his plate as single-mindedly as I.

When we’d eaten every crumb of food on the table, we were both too full to move. “That was good,” I groaned.

“I know,” he echoed my pain. “I do this every time I come here—breakfast, lunch or dinner.”

“If their food is this good for every meal, I’m surprised they haven’t gotten rich and retired by now.”

“A Taste of Home is a well kept secret.” He rested his hands on his belly. “And I intend to keep it that way until I find a woman to cook for me at home.”

“Maybe one of the daughters will take after their parents and you can marry her.”

“Or maybe someone closer to my age can take lessons.” He gave me a pointed look, which I returned.

“Better idea. You
learn
.”

Chapter Eleven

His laughter echoed through the restaurant. He put down a hefty tip and picked up the ticket. We paid at the checkout then went back to his truck.

He drove me to my condo, and I directed him to pull up at the sidewalk. “Have a good weekend,” I said as I got out of his truck.

He lowered one brow, looking serious. “You sound as if I’m not going to see you tonight.”

I widened my eyes as I tried to look surprised, and just a little indignant. But rather than go into a just-because-we-slept-together rant, I shook my head. “I’m going out of town for a couple of days.”

I could see by his face that he wanted to demand to know where I was going. Luckily, he was too smart to do something that stupid. “Uh, okay. Well, I’ll call you.”

I nodded, shot him a quick smile and hurried into our apartment building. Unlocking the door, I rushed inside and called out for Bella. No answer, and the house was dark.

For a moment I wondered if she’d made it home last night, then I remembered who she’d been with. Spencer.

She’d made it home.

I stepped into the kitchen and checked the message center, where we kept a calendar to let the other know about our lives, and where we left each other notes either scrawled on the blackboard with chalk—colored when I bought it, white when she did—or tacked to the cork.

She’d written me a note, telling me she was going out to the zoo to check on the newborn wolf pups.

If she’d waited, I could have told her they were fine. Even the runt had caught on and had started chowing down with the rest of them.

I erased her note and picked up fuchsia colored chalk.
Sis
, I wrote.
Going to Grandma’s house. I’ve got to take care of something I’ve put off for too long. See you Monday.

When she got home and read my note, she’d probably be a little put out with me. She’d loved Grandma Maleva as much as I did and enjoyed going “home” for a visit, even though Grandma wasn’t there anymore. But this was one of those things I needed to do alone. Not even my twin could go with me.

Finding my favorite weekender, I tossed in my sweats, a pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts. After adding my toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant, just the necessities, I zipped it closed, grabbed my purse and took off.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I didn’t know whether to wish I didn’t have to make this trip or that it was already over. But since wishing didn’t make it so—at least it rarely did in my life—I forced myself to think of something else.

As I pulled onto the highway, I thought of the old couple who lived in the mother-in-law house there on Grandma’s farm. Mr. and Mrs. Newkirk took care of things—mowing, keeping the houses clean and repaired, letting my parents know if anything happened they needed to know about—and in return had a place to live with a small space for a garden and a chicken coop. They’d been there since Grandpa got too old to do it all himself, and Grandma provided in her will for them to stay on until their deaths.

I couldn’t help wondering if there was any way to get rid of the Newkirks for the weekend. Not that I’d be doing anything wrong or that I didn’t want anyone else to see. I just didn’t want to have to answer a lot of questions.

But then, the older couple rarely asked a lot of questions.

They’d lived on the farm for longer than I could remember, and usually didn’t make their presence known except when they were needed. They weren’t werewolves, but they had been gifted with a sense of knowing about that kind of thing. Or else Grandma Maleva and her offspring were super loud when they were having problems and the Newkirks couldn’t help but hear.

It’s several hours from our apartment to Grandma’s farm, depending on the traffic through Dallas, and sometimes entire years went by when I didn’t visit. And at the end of those years, I really didn’t know why.

I wondered if the ponds were still stocked with blue gill and perch. And if the cane poles were still in the barn where Old Blue used to live. Were the pear trees still alive? Did Mr. Newkirk still keep honeybees?

I drove until I was bleary eyed, then stopped at a drive-in along the highway for a quick lunch and was back on the road again in record time. After traveling forever, I finally reached the small town of Winnie Rose. My heartbeat sped up. I was getting close. Just a few more minutes and I’d be pulling into Grandma’s graveled drive. I could hardly wait, but remembering the strict law enforcement in that small town, I kept my speed just under the limit.

I turned onto a blacktopped road, which for years had been dirt, and drove until I came to a fork in the road. Taking the right, I drove another mile and turned into Grandma’s.

There in front of her house were two pine trees Granddad had planted, now taller than the roof. The enclosed porch looked as if it had new screen all around, and on it the metal rockers still sat at the ready.

Off to the side and a little behind was the Newkirk’s house. As usual, I drove over to let them know I was there before I went to the big house.

As I pulled to a stop, the front door opened. Mr. Newkirk, who’d always looked as if he were about 150 years old, pulled on a hat as he stepped out to blink at me with cloudy eyes.

I got out of the car before he started across the lawn to me. “Hi, Mr. Newkirk. It’s me, Jazzy.”

“Well howdy, Jazzy.” The old man smiled at me. “Long time no see.”

When I got to his front step, he took my hand in his, which felt like a cool, leather glove. “How’s Mrs. Newkirk?” I asked.

“Finer than a cow’s hair split three ways. How’s the family?” he asked.

“Everyone’s fine.” I gave him my business smile. “Well, I didn’t come to bother you. I just wanted to get something done I’ve been putting off for too long.”

Mr. Newkirk nodded as if he knew what I was talking about. But he couldn’t know. No one knew.

“Well, the key’s still where it belongs.” He took one of those breaths that old people breathe. The kind that take forever and make you worry that it’s the last one coming. “When she finds out you’re here, Mrs. Newkirk will want you to come for dinner. It’ll be ready at seven. Don’t make me come get you.”

I grinned as I nodded my acceptance. Mrs. N was the best cook in the state of Texas. I never turned down an invitation to dinner with them.

With a quick hug, I turned and stepped off the porch and got in my car. I drove to the back of the house, where I went into the small, screened-in porch. High, in a corner far from the door, a nail had been hammered years before, and on that nail hung the key to the front door.

I knew it would be there. And the house would be clean, the sheets fresh, as if they’d known I was coming, because in some places in the world, things never change.

Standing on tiptoe, I retrieved the key and strode around to the front door. The screen door was unlatched, as usual, and in just a moment, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out on a long sigh. Grandma. The house had always had that sweet, powdery smell that reminded me of her. Or maybe she’d smelled like the house. I’m still not sure which way it was; I was just glad it was still true.

Walking through the dining room, I unlocked the backdoor, stepped onto the porch and put the key where it belonged. Then I went to my car to get my bag and purse, and out of habit, locked it up.

I took my things to Grandma’s room and tossed them on the floor. We’d learned long ago that no matter where we stayed or how short the visit, Mrs. Newkirk always gave the room a deep cleaning as soon as we left. And since Mrs. N was probably on the uphill side of ninety—and looked as if she were years older—we slept and stayed in as few of the downstairs rooms as possible.

Grandma had bought sturdy blond furniture in the fifties, when it had been at its height in popularity. It was extremely good furniture, so when the style swung away from uber-light colors, she’d seen no reason to replace it. The double bed didn’t have a chenille spread, which would have made the room feel as if you’d stepped back in time. Instead, it had the wedding ring quilt in shades of pink, blue and white that Grandma’s mother had made for her the first year she’d been married. And it still looked almost new.

There was a dresser scarf and pictures of Bella and me, from the day we were born through most of our childhood. But nowhere did I see the journals.

I knew exactly what they looked like—leather bound notebooks with the year stenciled in gold on the front cover. We’d loved watching Grandma write in them when we were kids, and after watching her we’d both tried journaling.

I’d never been able to keep it up for more than a few days, but I think Bella was fairly regular for a while.

After stowing my things, I looked around. Where had Grandma kept her journals? I remembered seeing them lined up—muted shades of forest green, burgundy and navy blue. Once in a while, there’d be a burnished gold or tan, but for the most part the colors were somber. Dark.

I checked through the drawers in the dresser, chest of drawers and both bedside tables. Nothing. But I wasn’t worried. There were four bedrooms upstairs. She could have stowed them in any room in the house, with the possible exception of the kitchen. And if Grandma had some reason she thought they belonged in the kitchen, she’d have put them there no matter what anyone said.