Weremones (3 page)

Karen had a different dinner gang now—more giggling girls than the motley bunch of rough and tumble boys.

Of the twins, Brandon was a shy, sweet boy that often faded into the background.

The others bossed him relentlessly until she pulled him into the kitchen to help with one thing or another. Diana didn’t realize how much she missed Karen’s old buddies, and almost thought of them as her own.

College was just a year away.

“Where am I?”

Diana tried not to sound harsh, she really did. Waking from starring as the prey in her very own werewolf flick in a strange man’s bedroom set her on edge. The stack of Three Stooges videos on the bedside table were a dead give away.

She was physically exhausted. Nightmares tended to do that.
And
she had no memory of how she’d gotten here.

At any rate, her tone of voice fell short of friendly. Well within the range of a PMS moment. That state that every woman hits where simply existing was annoying.

Warm and fuzzy memories weren’t going to get poor Brandon off the hook.

Brandon, being male, and young and shy, did what any man with an ounce of selfpreservation did. He froze.

“Well?” Diana raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

He ducked and mumbled unintelligibly into his knees.

Oh, well. He wasn’t forthcoming and she needed to find the bathroom. Diana slid off the edge of the bed.

“Don’t mumble, hon. Which way is the—”

Her legs gave out. She gasped and crumpled into a surprised, painful, heap. She clutched at her calves as the muscles in both seized into rock-hard charlie horses.

“Are you okay, Miz Ridley?”

Diana glimpsed Brandon’s head over the edge of the bed. Worry filled eyes peered down out of the shaggy mop that framed his face.

The bed moved, and then he was crouching down beside her. She closed her eyes against the agony in her calves and gritted her teeth.

“This is going to be weird.” Brandon’s insecurity threaded with a quiet confidence. “But pinch this little bit of skin between your nostrils.”

A long forgotten Lamaze class floated in her memory. In the blink of an eye the boy turned from shy and intimidated to competent and nurturing. Like a pro, he massaged the hard knots out of her legs.

“That’s better now, isn’t it?”

One side of his mouth raised in a faint smile. His hand worked down her calf once more and dropped to pick fuzz balls out of the thick pile of navy carpet. Not one wear spot marred the plush surface. Not even a path to the door.

Diana eased out a breath, daring to let go of her nose. She could do without ever having to experience another charlie horse ever again.

“It is. Much better.” She sighed, a little wary of the muscles knotting up again.

“Tell me you’re a licensed message therapist, because my old one, if I actually had one, is now fired. How did you know that?”

His hands were warm and steady as he helped her to sit back on the edge of the bed.

“The Discovery Channel. And I read a lot. You should wait and rest before you get up.”

He squatted back down by where her feet dangled down from the high tester bed.

If it were hers, she’d need a small stepladder to climb in, or maybe a wild scramble up.

She smiled a little at the thought. He took that for a good sign and smiled back, surprising Diana. She remembered that Brandon saved his smiles, like a priceless treasure sparingly doled out.

Handsome and sensitive. God, he’d be a lady killer when he grew up. His voice was soft, but sure.

“You should eat something. You need protein after physical stress.”

“Something else you read?”

He made a little sound that could be taken either way. He touched her leg with the tip of a finger. For the first time, she noticed the mass of scratches and bruises covering her legs. Her arms looked the same.

Alarm flared through her and she leaned away, wary for the first time.

It was a dream. It had to be.

“What happened?”

She felt the spear of hurt from him. Why, she didn’t know. She felt him simply fold away within himself, something she’d never experienced before. But that was not surprising since she’d devoted a great portion of her time to blocking out other people’s emotions.

Brandon dropped his eyes and removed his hands to rest on his knees. The small space between them was a great chasm.

His answer was a mumble.

Well,
drat
. She felt guilty for weirding out and taking it out on the kid. It wasn’t everyday you woke up in a strange man’s bedroom, at least for her it wasn’t.

She’d always had a soft spot for Karen’s friends. She reached out to close the distance. Her fingers touched the silky softness of his hair.

Brandon sighed and closed his eyes as she finger combed through the messy locks. The look reminded her of a puppy getting its ears rubbed. She shoved that analogy away, hard. It touched too close to her nightmare.

It
was
a nightmare.

The emotional connection between them flared open again. She couldn’t help but try to ease that need, the loneliness she felt inside him.

Vaguely, Diana remembered reading about the Starr boys’ guardian dying in a fire last year. She felt bad for not paying attention to the events.

“How long since you last came to dinner? Two? Three years?”

Brandon leaned into her legs with a sigh.

“Two and a half years.” He breathed.

“So, what happened?”

He tensed then peered up at her.

“Then or now?”

Diana ruffled through the silky mop again and smiled.

“How about last night? I had a strange nightmare and can’t seem to get past that.”

He went still, inside and out and looked away again.

“You fell.”

Hmmm. It would certainly seem that she’d dove head first into something.

He spoke carefully, choosing his words. A nervous energy possessed him.

Brandon pulled away while he was speaking and stuck his head under the bed. His voice rose so that she could hear.

“We found you at Dogwood Park. I think you rolled down a hill or something.”

Diana’s sleep and coffee deprived brain supplied the rest.

“Who’s
we
?”

He popped up with her shoes and began to undo the laces.

“Bradley, Mark, Rick, Seth, and me. Oh, and Adam.”

He stopped with the laces and added an after thought.

“Adam Weis. All of us live with him now. He’s been our guardian since ...”

Diana felt like grimacing. No need to make the boy rehash all of that.

“I understand. Didn’t you and your brother used to baby-sit the other three?”

Brandon nodded and slipped the tennis shoe over her bare foot. She decided not to worry about where her socks were. Diana slapped a palm against her forehead.

“Oh, no! Karen!”

She would have jumped up, but Brandon held her other foot in a firm grip. He was stronger than his appearance suggested. She fell back on the mattress with a bounce.

“Don’t worry.” He smoothed a hand over her calf. “We called Karen last night and told her what was up. Adam slept on the couch and the rest of us guys have rooms.”

Diana felt the truth of his sincerity and massaged the point between her brows, hoping to stimulate thought processes. It didn’t work. She needed coffee.

She studied the room for a moment trying to decipher what it told about the owner. Bold colors spoke of a dominating presence. There was a lingering of something that whispered to that part of her that read other people’s emotions. She didn’t delve into that.

Looney Toons poster prints and the Stooges movies told her that the man had a sense of humor. The furniture was golden and natural varnished in a simple blocky style.

Overall, the room had an open-air feeling without the benefit of any windows.

“So. Where is this Adam? And why bring me here?”

Brandon didn’t answer, so she gave his hair one last ruffle and decided to leave him to his silence.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

Disbelief and suspicion emanated from him. Bending down, Diana did what came naturally and placed a motherly kiss on the top of his head. If anyone needed one, Brandon Starr did.

———

“Ah-hem.”

Diana looked up, seeing a stronger, confident version of Brandon standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

This version looked more man than boy. He had a hint of rounded edges in his face and form that would finish filling out and harden in the years to come.

In his tight tee shirt and jeans, he looked young and tough, a brooding bad boy to set the girls’ hearts, and hormones, aflutter.

His eyes were the exact shade of brown as his brother’s, yet hard, as if they had seen the world and it had not been a nice place.

His dark brows pulled together as he watched her. She wasn’t sure what he felt.

Thankfully, his emotions were closed off to her from his end. She still didn’t have enough strength of will to do it herself.

“Hello, Bradley.”

“Miz Ridley.” Bradley nodded, his eyes sizing her up.

Diana smiled, hoping for friendly instead of a grimace as she shifted to stand up. She really needed to find that bathroom. Her legs felt rubbery and sore.

Nightmare. It was a nightmare.
Some delusions you had to repeat to keep them real.

Brandon stopped her with a warm hand on her arm. He directed his words at his brother.

“She’s weak from last night.” He gave a slight pause and glanced up at Diana.

“She fell when she tried to stand up. I think she needs to eat.”

Diana laughed at the mirrored concern in Bradley’s face. The young tough strode across the room. His brother moved out of the way, climbing onto the bed, so that Bradley could stand in front of her.

She waved away their concern.

“I’m all right. A little rubber-legged, maybe. What I really need is to find the bathroom and head home.”

She felt the warmth radiating from Brandon’s body and reached out to brush a hand over his forehead. Diana frowned.

“You’re running a temperature.”

Brandon’s eyes flicked to those of his brother. He leaned back, breaking contact.

“Ah,” he mumbled. “I have a high body temperature. It’s normal.”

“Hey, Bradley! Adam called!”

A blond head with a smooth chili bowl haircut, shaved underneath, poked into the room. Bright blue eyes and a wide grin focused on Diana.

The boy bounced into the room in a flash of red and orange tank shorts. An equally blinding sleeveless tee completed the ensemble. The boy was a small dynamo, perpetual energy in motion.

“Hey Miz Ridley! You remember me? Mark?” He jumped onto the bed beside her. “Mark Cargill. You used to make cookies for me.”

Diana made cookies for most of the kids that showed up at her house. But she didn’t point that out. Mark’s high energy and enthusiasm tended to make him stand out.

Her strongest memories were picking up the countless things Mark knocked over because he couldn’t contain the energy he generated. He was sweet, if distracting.

“Mark, get off of Adam’s bed. You’re wearing shoes.” Bradley scowled at the blond boy. “You’re not supposed to be in here, anyway.”

Mark flushed and ducked his head to stare at the bright red basketball shoes on his feet. Suddenly realizing where he was, the boy scrambled off of the bed. Bradley grabbed him by the neck of his shirt just as he started to dart out the door.

“What did Adam say when he called?”

Mark blinked then recalled the message. Diana could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he dredged up the information.

“He said that he was on his way with Miz Ridley’s car. She’s supposed to wait here ‘till he gets back.”

Bradley let him go and Mark dashed out. His blond head ducked back in.

“Hey, Miz Ridley?”

Diana choked down a laugh.

“Yes, Mark?”

“My birthday’s in few weeks. I’ll be twelve. Would you make my cake? No one here can cook for shit.”

“Mark!” Bradley yelled and turned to Diana. “Sorry about that.”

He shot another glare at Mark who ducked his head again.

“Would you?” The blond boy asked.
“Please?”

“I suppose I could manage that.”

“All right! I like chocolate.”

Mark pumped a fist in the air and disappeared, feet pounding in the other direction. His voice came back into the room as he hollered.

“Hey, you butt-sniffers! Rick! Seth! Guess what? Miz Ridley’s gonna make my birthday cake!”

———

Adam pulled off the pavement onto the dirt road into the development he jokingly called a road. A billboard sign with Adam’s distinctive Lobos Luna Construction howling wolf wearing shades silhouetted against the moon and his work cell phone number announced custom-built town homes in the Shady Path Home Development. The home of your dreams in a rural living area, minutes from the conveniences of town living. All with approved financing, of course.

He pulled into the muddy, rutted swath and parked in front of the shiny insulation and sheeting covering the outside of what would become the first of a neighborhood of expensive homes. This was his investment to put all of the boys through college. He hoped.

An institutional white truck sporting the official county animal control logo was parked among the colorful collection of rusted, beat-up pickup trucks. Adam’s own red Ford had magnetic signs on each door, displaying his company’s wolf and moon logo.

The air was devoid of normal construction sounds. No pounding of hammers or whine of a saw as it ripped through wood. Adam’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of voices in the back of the structure where apparently his crew had gathered instead of working.

Scents washed over him in a blended muddle. Burnt-wood-building-material chemicals-new-concrete-hamburger-for-lunch sort of smell. Dead thing.

Adam raised his head, sorting through the odors as he angled around sawhorse tables set up on the side of the house in the driest spot in the yard. He insisted the men run the saws and orange extensions cords where there was no risk of electrocution by dragging through the mud. Besides, cleaning them up was messy business. He’d rather avoid overwork or injury by being neat in the first place.