The Alpha's Daughter (3 page)

The woman was tall, six foot at least, and
round as a barrel; not a keg, a barrel. She wore a long white apron
that hit the tops of her Velcro strapped sneakers and covered most
of the man's white dress shirt underneath. The sleeves were rolled
to the elbows on arms that looked as powerful as the giant's. Her
hair was a bright orange-red and held in a messy topknot by a neon
green scrunchy. She plopped two bottles of Coors on the table and
handed Jazz a cotton towel wrapped around a chunk of ice.

"You look like you need this, honey," she
said of the towel and turned back to the giant. "Well?"

"Cho and she'll have a cola."

"I'll have a beer," Jazz corrected. Holding
the towel to her lip with one hand, she reached for the bottle with
the other, but he'd already whisked it away, out of her reach.

"I'm assuming you're driving," he said to
Jazz and repeated to the waitress, "She'll have a cola."

Jazz wanted to scream at him, "You know what
I am. You know I can handle it." But she didn't know who else was
in the bar, who wouldn't understand. Instead she said snidely,
"Unless you live in the attic, I guess you're driving, too."

"One of the State boys sees you looking like
you do and all he'll need is the smell on your breath to haul you
in. They know my truck. They'll leave me alone."

Offended in spite of the accuracy of his
statement, Jazz sat back, folded her arms over her chest and
huffed.

Sometime during the exchange, the woman in
the apron had disappeared and returned with a tall glass of ice and
cola. Jazz took a sip, hoping against hope that someone had added a
splash of rum. They hadn't. It was cold, however, and the bubbles
cleared the dust from her throat. She nodded her thanks.

"Well?" the woman asked again, "You gonna
tell us what happened?"

"No," the giant grunted, "but I wouldn't mind
a couple of those burgers and some fries. She'll have the same." He
nodded at Jazz.

Jazz opened her mouth to protest when he
ordered for her without asking what she wanted, but settled for
glaring across the table when she realized how stupid she'd look
when she ordered the same thing. She waited until the waitress left
before she tried again.

"Look…"

The giant's hands came across the table,
gripping her jaw and turning it until her cheek and the corner of
her mouth caught the light. His grip was firm, no nonsense, but it
wasn't done in anger. The anger was in the set of his mouth which
she could barely see, enshrouded as it was behind the whiskers. His
eyes, narrowed in anger too, were a little frightening in fact, and
in reaction to that fright, Jazz slapped at his hand and pulled her
head away.

"Get your fucking hands off me" she said.

As he said, "Won't need stitching." And then
he blinked and the beard around his mouth twitched. "You eat with
that mouth?"

The question threw her. She touched the
corner of her mouth where the lip had split.

"What? Of course I can fucking eat. It's a
split lip for Chrissake."

The beard twitched again. "I wasn't talking
about the injury to your mouth. I was talking about the filth that
comes out of it. It's a wonder you don't choke on that dirt you
spew."

"Listen, asshole…"

"Here's your burgers, Doc." The red-headed
woman plopped two wax paper lined plastic baskets on the table.
"You going to introduce us to your friend?"

"Well I would, Millie, but we haven't gotten
that far in the conversation."

Jazz reared her head back and stared at the
giant. "You're a doctor? A real one?" She leaned forward and asked
suspiciously, "What kind?" She had a quick vision of him wrestling
a bull to the ground to give it some kind of injection.

"Course he's a real one," Millie laughed.
"Doc Goodman treats all the folks up here." She leaned in and
whispered conspiratorially, "Both kinds."

"Goodman? Well I'll be damned. Any other
Goodmans around here?" Jazz asked Millie hopefully.

"Nope. He's our one and only." Millie beamed
at the man with pride and affection.

Wouldn't you know it? Jazz blew out her
breath on a sigh. "Then you're the guy I'm looking for. Eugene
Begley told me to look you up. Jazz Phillips," she said and held
out her hand out to him and then switched the offer to Millie when
the Goodman guy ignored it and sat staring at her.

His eyes grew wide and like his hair, they
were brown, a soft and muted brown, almost golden. He shook his
shaggy head.

"Begley? But the way he spoke…," he said and
frowned. "You're a woman."

Jazz laughed at his confusion. "Last time I
looked," she told him and to Millie, "You sure he's a doctor?"

Millie's giggle was high pitched and didn't
fit the large body it came from. She shook the offered hand. "He's
a doctor all right and a good one, but he's a man, too," she said
as if that explained it. "I got to get back to the bar. Nice
meeting you and enjoy your supper."

"Thanks, Millie." Doc mumbled and then seemed
to pull himself together. "Sorry, I was looking for a man."

"You'll get over it. It's only for one night.
It's not like I'm moving here," she told him and took a bite of her
burger. It was thick and juicy and a dribble of whatever miracle
sauce they put on it landed at the corner of her mouth. She caught
it with the edge of her tongue and pouted at the sting of the
saltiness seeping into the split. She looked up to find him staring
at her.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "One night, right?"

"Absolutely. One night and I'm on my way."
She nodded and took another bite.

The burger was good, real good, and she
hadn't realized how hungry she was. She plowed her way through the
burger and glanced up through her lashes as she worked a sip of
cola up through the straw. He was still staring.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He looked down at his plate and up at her and
down at his plate again. He picked up his burger and began to eat.
They sat in silence as they finished their meal. Millie brought the
ticket and Jazz reached for her bag to pay her share. It wasn't
there!

"Oh shit!" She was on her feet and heading
for the door, barely aware of the giant calling something to Millie
and coming after her.

"What?" he shouted at her as she searched the
area where she had fought.

"My bag! My money!" Everything she had of
value was in that bag. She'd dropped it when she'd clapped Cho's
ears and had forgotten all about it when Big Bear had stormed
through. How could she? It had to be here. No one had entered the
bar since their arrival. It had to be here, but there was enough
light here at the front of the bar and her night vision was
excellent. It wasn't there.

"Here it is," Doc Giant called from around
the corner.

He had it in his hand, holding it open while
he stuffed the spilled contents back in. Makeup, pens, pencils,
matches, coins and receipts were strewn over the ground. Jazz dove
for the bag, grabbed it from his hand and began rummaging through
it. Panic set in and she dumped the contents back onto the ground.
She ran her hands over the debris, spreading it over the gravel,
searching for what obviously wasn't there.

"No!" she cried, "Goddamned fucking
bastards!"

"Hey! Watch your mouth," The giant admonished
from the heights above her. "Whatever it is we can take care of it
without you fouling the air. There's no need to swear."

"You think so?" she screamed at him. "My
money's gone! My credit cards, my…" Jazz looked up at the spot
where the Victory should have been parked. "My ride!"

He sighed and she could feel the weight of
it. "Shit. We'll have to call the State Highway Patrol and the
Sheriff's office and you can report it stolen."

"We can't," she wailed up at him.

"Got no choice," he said, laying one of his
big paws on her shoulder. "It's not like they don't know we're
here. They just don't know what we are."

Jazz shook her head in misery. "You don't
understand. I can't report it. The motorcycle and the money were
stolen in the first place."

"Aw, fuck."

Maybe it was burgeoning hysteria, but for
some reason that made her smile. "You eat with that mouth?" she
asked.

Doc glared at her and the hand that once
rested consolingly on her shoulder slipped beneath her arm and
hoisted her to her feet none too gently.

"Get in the truck," he said and pointed to a
pickup truck parked across the lot. "I'll be right back." He headed
for the bar and then stopped, turned, and pointed the same finger
at Jazz. "And don't move."

Get in the truck and don't move. How the hell
was she supposed to do both? Jazz waited until his back was turned
before raising her arm and flipping him her middle finger.

The truck was old, its body lumpy with poorly
applied filler and unevenly painted with gray and red primer. Two
different headlights were set unevenly to either side of the black
matte grill. The bed was not only from a different model, it was
from a different make. The door wasn't locked and Jazz wasn't
surprised. Who'd want to steal it? No wonder the State boys knew
his truck. How could they miss this pitiful piece of shit?

She pressed the button in and tugged on the
handle… and tugged again… and again until the door finally opened
with a creak that would do a vampire's coffin proud. She pulled
herself up into the torn seat noting that the interior was no
better than the outside. The vinyl on the dashboard was cracked and
gaping. The glove box hung open and when she flipped it shut, it
fell back on its hinges. The latch was broken.

Jazz sat back in the seat and stared at the
neon sign over the door of the bar. The cartoon face of a grinning
wolf stared back. The neon lights flashed and the damn thing
winked. The bar was called the Tooth and Fang. They may as well
have hung another sign that said 'Wolvers Welcome Here'.

She crossed her arms over her chest and
fumed. What the hell was she going to do now? She had all of two
dollars in change at the bottom of her bag, no ride, no clothes and
no one to call. Hell, what would she call on? Her cell phone was
gone, too. She shrugged. Didn't much matter. What would she do with
it? Who would she call?

None of her father's people would help, not
even Margie, who had the least to fear. She was stuck here in this
podunk backwater town somewhere in the Ozarks where she had a
nodding acquaintance with a bartender and a giant who faintly
resembled a grizzly bear. Sure, according to the bartender he was a
doctor, but he couldn't be a very good one if he was driving this
dilapidated truck.

The giant yanked open the driver's door which
didn't sound as bad as the passenger side, but didn't sound much
better, either. What she could see of his face looked angry, but,
since she hadn't seen him look any different, maybe that was his
normal look; grouchy. He turned the key hard enough to snap it off
and the engine sputtered. On the third try, it caught. Jazz winced
at the sound. He yanked the shift into gear.

"I don't know what you're so pissed off
about," Jazz muttered. "You're not the one who's lost everything
they own."

"From what you tell me, you didn't own it
either," he grumbled back. He pulled out onto the road.

"There's a reason for that."

"There always is. Don't want to hear it." The
truck picked up speed, though not much, and turned in the direction
she'd come from. The frame shook beneath her feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home."

"No!" Jazz grabbed the door handle and
pulled. Nothing happened. She shoved her shoulder against the door
and it flew open, taking her with it.

"Goddammit woman!" Doc yelled as his big paw
grabbed her arm and dragged her back in. The truck swerved. "What
the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Let me go! I'm not going back. You can't
make me go back," she shouted at him. "I'll die before I go back.
I'll starve to death. I'll walk half way across the country if I
have to! Let me out!" She yanked her arm, uselessly, against his
grip. "Let me go!"

"My home, Hellcat, not yours. Now settle down
before you damn well kill us both." He released her arm with a
shove. "And put your fucking seat belt on. Shit!" He swerved around
something crossing the road.

Jazz rammed the seatbelt into its slot and
refolded her arms across her chest. "I thought you didn't approve
of swearing," she muttered.

"I don't," he grumbled back.

"You've been swearing since I met you."

"And that ought to tell you something."

It should, but she wasn't sure what. She
huffed and relaxed her arms. "Just take me to the nearest
hotel."

"There isn't one. Nearest thing we got is the
Cozy Cabin Motor Court."

"Fine. Take me there." Anywhere but here with
Grizzly Goodman.

"How you going to pay for it?" he asked and
when her shoulders slumped in defeat, "You'll have to make do at my
place until we figure something out."

Jazz shook her head. "I'd rather die of
exposure than go home with you."

He slowed the truck to a stop in the middle
of the road. "Fine. Walk. It's about ten miles back that way." He
stuck his thumb out over his shoulder.

Ten miles? Jazz looked down at her feet.
Unlike that stupid song, these boots weren't meant for walking. Her
arms tightened again and she stiffened her back. She stared
straight ahead out the windshield. "Fine. You win."

"I'm not so sure I did." Doc put the truck
back in gear.

From the corner of her eye, Jazz caught the
twitch of whiskers around his mouth. "What's so funny?"

"You" he answered. "I'll walk half way across
the country," he mimicked, bobbling his head in a ridiculous manner
and then he snorted, "But you won't walk ten miles down the
road."