Mate Marked: Shifters of Silver Peak (5 page)

“Not now, not now, not now!” Chelsea pounded on her steering wheel in frustration. She was normally the queen of “look on the bright side”, but right now it was hard finding any bright side to look on. Her car had just broken down by the side of the road. After she’d been thoroughly humiliated by Roman Kincaid, and worse, that spanking had left her with a raging case of the female equivalent of blue balls.

How unprofessional could she get? Her va-jay-jay had the hots for the man she needed to arrest. Her brain didn’t, of course. Her brain knew he was an arrogant, obnoxious, stuck up, smug son of a bitch.

She heaved a sigh and leaned back in her seat. It was five miles back to town. Well, if she had to shift and run back into town, it was a lovely cool morning. That was a bright side.

Her emotions were in check, mostly. Her medication had arrived yesterday, overnighted to her, in a plain brown parcel left on her doorstep. She’d been able to pay for it out of the advance on her paycheck the mayor had given her.

Of course she was going to have to get her car towed back into town. Would she have to pay for that? That would bite into what was left of her meager paycheck.

No, no, she was finding things to be happy about.

She heard a car engine rumbling towards her, and perked up. See what looking on the bright side got her!

Then her smile faded when she saw who the driver was, climbing out of the pickup truck that had just pulled up behind her.

Roman.

That son of a bitch.

He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and lace-up boots now. A faint breeze rifled through his hair. He strolled up with a look of polite concern on his face.

“Having some engine trouble there, are we, sweetheart?”

“No, just pausing to enjoy the view out here,” she said, gritting her teeth.

He nodded. “Well, I have to admit, I am a magnificent sight to behold.” It was true, but it didn’t make it any less infuriating.

He walked over to the front of her car. “Let me try to give you a jump,” he called. “Go ahead and pop the hood.”

She thought about saying no, but she was tired and hungry and wanted to get the hell out of there. So, without a word, she pulled the latch that opened up her hood. Unfortunately, the jump-start didn’t work.

“Might be your alternator,” he suggested.

She just looked at him. “You’re speaking Martian right now,” she informed him. “I do not speak car.”

“Climb in,” he said, nodding at his truck. “I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

Cursing her luck, she did. She slammed her door hard and looked out the window, refusing to meet his eyes. He hitched her car to the back of his truck, and they began driving. She maintained a stony silence. He was infuriatingly cheerful as they drove.

“So,” she said finally, “What is it that you like so much about Silver Peak anyway? Why are you being so stubborn about sticking around?”

“Hoping to run me out of town?”

“Hell, no,” she said, and meant it. She was not one to run away from her problems, or to try to chase them away.

He shrugged. “Me and my pack, we’ll move on when we’re ready. Right now we’re here to do a construction job. When it’s done, we’ll leave town, go on to the next place. That’s what we do. Never stay in one place for too long.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds lonely. Doesn’t your pack have families?”

A faint scowl creased his brow. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, and the lightness was gone from his voice.. We don’t discuss our pasts. Pack rule. We live in the moment.”

So families were a touchy subject with him.

“Living in the moment is great when you’re in high school,” she said. “Even college. At a certain point, though, I’d think it would get old.”

“Not for us,” Roman said with conviction. “What gets old for wolves like us is being stuck in the same place for too long. Besides, most of us didn’t do college. We didn’t have that kind of upbringing.”

He glanced out the window at the thick stands of trees that rose up on either side of the road, and the mountain range that stretched out into the distance. “If you’re going to pick a place to settle down, though, this is a nice one. So being a sheriff is your dream job?”

“No. My dream job would be owning my own bakery, but you gotta play the hand that’s dealt you,” she said.”

They were approaching Main Street now.

“Which way is your house?” Roman asked.

“That is top-secret information. You can just stop here. Thank you for the ride, but I’m still going to arrest you,” she said as Roman pulled over.

“Of course you are. Anything in particular that you want for dinner when I take you prisoner?” He grinned, baring perfect white teeth, and leaned in close to her. “I aim to please.”

She swallowed hard at the thought of him pleasing her, but she wasn’t going to let him see how much he rattled her.

“So you use aggressive flirting to ensure you’ll never experience real intimacy?” she said sweetly.

He climbed out of the truck.

“So you psychoanalyze men to drive them away when they start getting too close for comfort?” Roman said. He walked over to her car and unhitched it from his truck.

“Touché,” she said. “We’ve both got issues. We should continue to keep a healthy distance from each other. I’ll make an exception for the time that it takes me to drive you to Colorado to deal with that warrant.” She was answered with an amused snort.

The door to the coffee shop flung open. It was still dark in there, since it didn’t open for another half-hour. One of the waitresses stuck her head out of the door.

“Roman!” she simpered. “Can I make you some coffee? You like it black and sweet, right?”

Roman shook his head. “No thanks, Sheila.”

“Shirley,” she corrected him, looking a little hurt.

He glanced over at Chelsea as Shirley shut the door to the coffee shop. “She was just a one-nighter,” he said with what almost looked like an apologetic shrug.

“Your business, not mine. Our relationship is strictly professional. I’m the arrester, and you are the arrestee. Have a nice day,” she said, and walked away without looking back. But there was a small part of her that was secretly pleased he had wanted her to know he and Sheila weren’t a thing.

With a sigh, she started walking back towards her house, which was a mile outside town. A few minutes later, Erika pulled up, and she climbed in to Erika’s car.

“Gossip travels fast in this town,” Erika said. She seemed down in the dumps.

“Great. So, everyone knows that I failed to arrest Roman and my car broke down and he gave me a ride back into town?”

Erika nodded. “Pretty much. Don’t take it too hard. At least he didn’t strip you naked and run you up a flagpole, which happened at the last town when somebody tried to arrest him.”

Chelsea had to force herself not to picture Roman stripping her naked. Well, she tried to stop herself, but she didn’t quite succeed. Those strong hands roving over her body, tearing off her clothes…

“Anyway,” Chelsea said. “I’ve got plenty of free time today if you want to practice being ladylike.”

“No, thanks,” Erika said, sounding miserable, which made Chelsea turn and stare.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no point in trying anymore. Terrence dumped me. He said I embarrass him. My Aunt Louise is right—I’m never getting Mate-Marked. There’s not a single guy in town who likes me, and hardly anyone new ever comes to town. And if they do, they won’t like me. I’m going to die an old maid.”

“Did you like him?” Chelsea asked. “Did he make you feel special? Did he make you feel beautiful?”

“Me?” Erika sounded surprised at that. “I don’t know. Not really, but it’s not his fault. I never feel beautiful. He made me feel like I actually had a chance at getting Mate-Marked, finally, but I needed to try harder to stop embarrassing him.”

“And that’s what you wanted to be mated to?”

“Well… I mean…” Erika looked flustered. “I want to be mated to somebody.”

“So do I, someday. It doesn’t mean you have to settle for someone who makes you feel less than special,” Chelsea said passionately. “You never know what’s going to come your way.”

“Maybe.” Erika didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Erika,” Chelsea said after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“If you’re not pretending to be ladylike any more, could you please fix my car?”

The Dudley house had clearly seen better days. The blue paint was faded and peeling, the roof was in crying need of new shingles, and two window panes had been replaced with cardboard.

Chelsea pulled up in front of the house, feeling butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She was always a little nervous approaching humans. A lot of humans were afraid of shifters, and humans who were fearful could get either violent or hostile.

However, as long she was sheriff, she might as well try to do something useful. If sheep were going missing, it could cause bad blood between the human town and the shifter town. Maybe she could do a little investigating and get to the bottom of it.

She could only hope that this went better than her fiasco of an arrest attempt the day before.

The woman on the front porch, an older lady who appeared to be in her seventies, was waving at her in a friendly fashion, so that was a good start. And she didn’t seem put off when Chelsea got close enough for the woman to see her golden-orange irises.

Of course, the woman had on two sets of glasses—one on her face, one on top of her head—and she was wearing a wool coat and a bathing suit. So she might not be entirely in possession of her faculties.

“Joyce, it’s about time you got here,” she said cheerfully. “What took you so long?” Then she looked Chelsea up and down. “My goodness, we really need to get some meat on those bones. People will think I don’t feed my family. Lunch is ready. Pot roast, your favorite.”

She seized Chelsea’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip and began tugging her towards the house.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Sheriff Chelsea Wintergreen,” Chelsea said as she let the woman drag her up the front steps and into the house. The house was neat and clean, but like the exterior, it spoke of hard times. The yellow floral-printed curtains were faded, and the matching yellow living room sofa had mismatched cushions of different sizes, and patches of silver duct tape in a couple of places. She tried again. “I’m not Joyce. I’m the sheriff. I’m actually here to ask some questions about those missing sheep.”

“Oh, sheep, sheep, sheep.” The woman made an impatient gesture. “All this sheep talk is just—”

“Gramma! Gramma!” a frightened voice called from outside the house. It was the voice of a young boy.

Something changed on the older woman’s face. She straightened up and seemed to shed twenty years. She dashed into the living room with the grace and speed of an athlete and grabbed a shotgun off the wall. Then she ran out the back door, with Chelsea following.

Two tow-headed, freckle-faced young boys were standing there, and the older one was carrying a small white lamb. The lamb was bleating in distress, and there were splashes of blood on it.

“Gramma, there’s ten dead sheep out there,” the younger boy said anxiously. “Something ripped their throats out. This one was hiding in the bushes.” He stroked its head. “Can we keep it?” he added hopefully. “I’ll feed it. I’m going to name it Lamby.”

“Lamby is a stupid name, and we can’t keep it—that’d be stealing,” the bigger boy said.

“Your face is stupid.” The younger boy stuck his tongue out.

“Ryan! Shawn! Where are the dead sheep?” the older woman demanded. As she spoke, a younger woman came rushing out of the house.

The two boys glanced at each other.

“Where are they?” the younger woman said.

“Oh, hello, Joyce. I was just telling your twin sister that she needs to put some meat on her bones,” the older woman said. Then she looked puzzled. “Since when have you had a twin sister, anyway? I’m not sure that I gave permission for that. And you two don’t look anything alike. I’m not sure you’re even twins at all. Don’t think you can pull a fast one on me, young lady,” she said indignantly.

Chelsea thrust her hand out in greeting to Joyce, who looked as far from her twin as could possibly be. Chelsea was round and had a big mop of curls; Joyce was petite, pretty, and had an elfin quality to her little face.

“I’m Chelsea Wintergreen, from Silver Peak. I was just elected sheriff,” she said.

“I’m Joyce Dudley, and this is my grandmother, Edna.” Joyce made a quick twirling motion at her head with her finger as she glanced at her grandmother.
Crazy.

“Pleased to meet you all.”

“New in town, I take it? That’s how they suckered you into that job?” Joyce said, shaking her hand.

“That’s about the size of it,” Chelsea said ruefully. “They got me but good.”

“Well, I waitress at the Hootenanny, so come on by some time. I have a feeling you’re going to want a good stiff drink,” Joyce said. She turned her attention back to the boys. “Where did you find those dead sheep?” she demanded. “How far did you wander from the house?”

“Uhhh…not far,” the older one said, avoiding her eyes, as the younger one said “Over by the Rodgers property,” and jerked his head towards the east.

“Tattletale!” the older one said angrily.

“Are you crazy, going that far? Do you want to end up like those sheep? You two are both grounded. No TV for a week. You are no longer allowed to leave the back yard without a grownup,” Joyce said angrily.

They both broke into noisy protests.

Joyce walked over and took the lamb. “Inside the house, now. I should whup your butts, both of you.” The two boys slumped off, their faces glum.

“Well, at least they fixed the fence,” Edna said suddenly.

“What fence?” Joyce looked puzzled.

“The fence between our properties and the Rodgers property, the one that was all old and rotten. It’s like new.”” Edna looked puzzled. “I wonder where the boys got the new wood.”

“Gramma, I’m sure the boys didn’t fix the fence. It must have been Mr. Rodgers. You aren’t supposed to be out walking alone either,” Joyce said, her voice rising in dismay. “What am I going to do with you guys? Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?”

“I came here to talk about the sheep, actually,” Chelsea said to her. “There’s been some talk that Mitch Rodgers thinks it could be Roman and his guys. Do you think that could be the case?”

“Oh, good heavens, no. None of them would do that. Definitely not. No way.” Joyce shook her head vigorously. “Why would they do that? It’s not like they need the money. They’re our best customers at the Hootenanny. They’re working over on the Purcell property doing a bunch of repairs, and he pays them well for it.”

Why indeed?
Chelsea thought. Roman’s gang was the least likely group to be stealing sheep, since they weren’t as broke as the townspeople, but not all humans would necessarily know that. Some humans thought that shifters turned savage and killed at the drop of a hat, but that wasn’t true at all. Shifters hunted their food out of necessity, and they didn’t kill for pleasure.

Edna was looking bored now. She headed back to the house too.

“And now I have to go give the lamb back to Mr. Rodgers,” Joyce said, making a distasteful face.

“What’s he like?” Chelsea asked. Joyce clearly had a different impression of him than Mayor Winkleman.

“He’s…” Joyce hesitated. “He’s a very wealthy and powerful man and he’s one of the town’s major employers, so he’s got a lot of influence. He paid for the Juniper Police Department to get all new patrol cars this year. Also our land is right next to his.” The message was clear. She didn’t like him, but she didn’t dare speak badly of him.

So, maybe the meeting with Police Chief Tomlinson wasn’t going to go that well after all.

“Got it. I can take the lamb back to Mitch Rodgers if you like,” Chelsea said.

“That would be wonderful,” Joyce said gratefully. “I have to go deal with my rotten younger brothers.”

Edna was standing on the steps, watching them.

“Goodbye, dear! Don’t be a stranger!” Edna called out as Chelsea, holding the bleating lamb, headed for her car. “Well, of course you’re not a stranger, you’re Joyce’s twin sister. Funny how I can’t remember your name. Don’t be late for dinner!” she yelled.

The lamb sat on Chelsea’s front seat and bleated loudly as Chelsea drove over to Mitch Rodger’s property.

After that, she planned on going to the human town of Juniper to talk to the police chief about the sheep thefts. Hopefully he’d have a more neutral view on it than Mitch Rodgers would. Granted, he was human, but with luck he’d cooperate with her as a fellow law enforcement officer.

His home was an enormous luxury log and timber structure with saddle-notched corners, steep rooflines and tall picture windows. It was set in a small clearing, but most of the property was thickly forested.

A red Porsche gleamed in the driveway next to a mud-spattered monster truck. It was oddly out of place there; everything else had an “I’m a wealthy rancher” feel to it, and this looked like a little city-slicker car that wouldn’t last a day on pothole-riddled back roads. Chelsea made mental note of the license plate number; it was a California plate. Odd.

Chelsea carried the lamb up to the front porch and set it down. She rang the doorbell and waited, but nobody answered.

With a sigh, she picked the lamb up and walked down the front steps. With her sensitive shifter hearing, she could hear men’s voices through the woods to the east of the property. She began pushing her way through dense underbrush, calling out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

The voices fell silent.

“Stop right there,” an angry voice barked, and a man stepped out from behind a tree—with a shotgun pointed right at her head.