weird energy that seemed to be swirling around my body, Cooper’s eyebrow winged up to his hairline. Mo leaned against the counter, her head whipping back and forth as if she was watching some sort of dirty tennis game.
“So, Maggie, do you live nearby?” The question seemed loaded, just by the tone Nick was using. I stared at him, trying to decipher the slight tilt to his head. A good hunter excels at interpreting body language, whether it’s an elk preparing to bolt or a guy sneaking peeks at your ass. Dr. Thatcher already knew where I lived. I could only assume he had asked me that because he wanted to talk about the valley.
“Not too far,” I said blithely.
“I was thinking Maggie might be able to show you around the area, Nick.”
My facade dropped for a second, and I shot my brother a meaningful look, the meaning being “shut the hell up.”
Cooper didn’t even blink, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Well, Nick heard I was a field guide, asked me to take him on some of the tougher trails around here. But I really don’t have time in my schedule. And since you’re the only one who knows the area almost as well I do . . .”
“That won’t be possible,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ve gotta work.”
“Oh, you can move your schedule around,” Mo said, grinning at me. “Your hours are pretty flexible.”
OK, that was going too far. Being an unofficial official for the pack meant settling disputes between pack members, monitoring the wildlife (i.e., food sources) available around the valley, controlling the pack when we ran together. And it’s hard to find a day job that will accept “got kicked in the ribs by an agitated moose” as a reason to call in sick. The village paid me a salary for maintaining records and appearances at the town hall. And I was the closest thing there was to law enforcement in my valley. I didn’t have time to escort the yummy doctor around by the nose.
OK, that wasn’t true. I spent a good portion of my “work day” bored out of my ever-loving mind. But no one, particularly the yummy doctor, had to know that.
“Mo, my hours are none of your business,” I said through a clenched, fake smile.
Nick shrugged, and the motion brought his arm brushing across my shoulder. It felt as if a warm electric current had passed through my skin. I held my breath, willing away the tremor that skittered up my spine.
“Well, if you find a way to fit me into your schedule, let me know. I’ll probably just wander around the eastern butte for a few days, take in the sights,” he said. “I’m a climber, and I’m eager to see what sort of trouble I can get into around here.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked. The eastern side of the Wheeler Mountains range was where Buzz had uncovered the bones of hikers who disappeared the previous year. “That’s not exactly a beginner’s slope.”
“I’m not exactly a beginner,” he said, smiling.
“So says every goofball who manages to hike across the parking lot to a sporting-goods store and buy a North Face jacket,” I muttered.
“You’re saying I need a guide.”
“Yes.”
“So, you’ll go with me,” he said, as if the matter were obvious and settled.
“Ye—wait, no. Wait, what?” I spluttered.
“I’ll give you a call to settle the details,” he said, nodding at Cooper and Mo. “It was nice to meet you all.”
He turned and walked out of the saloon, leaving me gaping after him.
What just happened?
“Are you high?” I asked Mo, slapping her arm. “Why did you guys tell him that I would show him around?” Evie shot me a sharp look, and I lowered my voice. “This is the man who wants to reveal our existence to the world, and you want to set me up with him? Are you and Cooper that desperate to double date?”
“No, I figured this was the best way to keep him out of our hair. He’s your problem now. What better way to keep an eye on him than to accompany him on his investigation? He gets nothing but goes home happy. You . . . get a little something and go home a lot less cranky,” Mo suggested, giggling unrepentantly when my brother winced. “What? After watching you talk to him, I think we should change our approach. Keep our enemies close, so to speak. Hell, maybe you could convince him that a Sasquatch did it or something.”
“Nah, we couldn’t do that,” Cooper said. “Sasquatch is a pretty nice guy.”
“Sasquatch is real, too?” Mo whispered. “Why do I have to find things out like this? I’m in the family, too.”
“Look, we don’t speak to Thatcher,” I told Cooper as Mo dashed back to the kitchen to check on some pies in the oven. “We don’t take him into the woods. Nothing. As far as we’re concerned, Dr. Thatcher doesn’t exist.”
“Is that a decree from the alpha?” Cooper asked, lowering his tone to a whisper.
“Do I need to make it a decree, or do you have the sense to admit that we need to stay away from him?” I asked.
“What’s the verdict?” Mo asked, coming back to refill Cooper’s coffee mug and top off my Coke.
“Maggie said she doesn’t want us talking to him,” Cooper said, sipping his coffee. “No visits, no tours, no spilling of ancient family secrets.”
Mo frowned. “I don’t think you’re giving us a whole lot of credit. I think I’m clever enough to maintain a friendly conversation without vomiting up forbidden information. I have just as much to lose as you two. And if he tries to interview me, I’ll just tell him I’m afraid his pocket recorder will capture my soul or something. Come on. Maggie finally has a crush on somebody. This is going to be better than one of those Japanese game shows.”
I glared at her.
She shrugged. “For the rest of us.”
“One of these days, I’m going to catch you without your trusty fire extinguisher. And then your ass is mine.”
“Bring it on, Scrappy Doo.”
I SAT AT MY DESK in the community center/town hall, writing out the whopping four paychecks the village issued each week. One to myself; one to our village physician, Anna Moder; one to my cousin Teresa, who taught twenty-six kids in all twelve grades at the village school; and another to my gargantuan cousin-but-might-as-well- be-my-brother, Samson, who was the closest thing we had to a civil engineer. He delivered the mail, ran our modest recycling program, and maintained our handful of public buildings. He also occasionally fell asleep while driving a snowplow, but he was such a cheerful guy it was hard to stay pissed at him. Besides, every village needed an idiot.
I didn’t live in a normal little town. Every single household in my valley was either were or descended from were. And I was related to each and every person there on one side or the other, and I’m very aware of how wrong that sounds.
Dating as a werewolf is complicated, particularly for packs in the Great North. Every pack has to maintain close relationships with other packs and “import” mates at every opportunity, to prevent inbreeding. You practically have to review your extended genealogical history before you can agree to a movie and dinner.
This might sound isolated and sort of claustrophobic, but wolves don’t know any other way. A pack generally lives in close quarters, filling an apartment complex, a subdivision, or a gated community in the case of more urban, affluent clans. In southern packs, it usually means parking a number of double-wide trailers on a farm. For us, it was a self-contained, nearly self-sustaining, community surrounded by some of the richest hunting lands known in the Great Northwest.
Not that I like to brag or anything.
I munched on a handful of red Swedish Fish I kept in a huge apothecary jar on my desk. I had to refill the damn thing about once a week, depending on how often Samson stopped by. The rest of my morning would consist of checking on a pothole in the parking lot of the village clinic and writing up a schedule for the community center that might finally settle the ongoing feud between the local quilting group and the bridge club.
It was good to be the queen.
OK, so I had the most boring job in the village. I considered it a trade-off because the rest of my responsibilities—running, hunting, protecting the borders of the valley, and so on—were pretty awesome. And
