Tales from Tarker's Hollow Page 3
“It’s a hobby of mine, I used to study Native American symbology in Copper Creek, the town where I used to live,” she explained quickly. “I guess I’d better go freshen up before I head upstairs. Thanks again, Edward.”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked.
She nodded and tried to smile.
Based on the look on his face, it didn’t have the intended result.
She dashed out the glass door to the ladies’ room before he could say another word.
Her heart was broken, but there was some small sliver of happiness.
The sad history was not all she had found. She had also found lovely descriptions of the life of the Lenape. And there were references to many names, including Tokala, the shaman.
It seemed that he, and the rest of the small tribe occupying the area that was now Tarker’s Hollow, had disappeared without a trace just before the town was founded.
7
When her work day was nearly done, Bonnie began to get excited about heading back to the amphitheater.
She allowed herself to lean against the frame of one of the library windows with a view over the trees and picture the granite benches with their symbols on the hillside.
She tried to remind herself that those symbols had probably been there forever, that it didn’t mean anything. That it had only been a dream.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
* * *
Cressida:
Hey, beautiful! Ready 4 ur big date?
* * *
Shit. Desperately, Bonnie tried to think of an excuse.
* * *
Bonnie:
You know, I’m feeling a little under the weather.
* * *
Cressida:
Don’t even. Saw you eating lunch outside 2day.
* * *
Shit.
* * *
Bonnie:
Are you sure this is a good idea? I know you put him up to it?
* * *
Cressida:
Hell yeah. Have fun! Call me with deets 2morrow!
* * *
Bonnie had no idea how to reply. Cressida was sort of tricky to talk to.
* * *
Cressida:
Or not. Whatever. But ur gonna want 2. Mac is F.U.N.
* * *
Mac? She’d thought his name was J.D.
Mac might be better, Bonnie didn’t like guys who went by initials. They always sounded like boys who played baseball in high school and then went on to sell insurance and wonder where they’d gone wrong.
But it was certainly a lot of nicknames, and Bonnie was suddenly unsure about Cressida’s credentials as a matchmaker. She sounded like she’d tested the merchandise.
Bonnie slipped the phone back in her pocket.
How could she have forgotten she had a date? Especially with the guy who had been the pack’s temporary alpha at this time last year.
She knew from their brief meeting that he was handsome and smart, so why not give him a chance?
My mate, her wolf replied instantly.
He was a dream, she tried to explain. But the wolf wasn’t to be reasoned with.
She really just wanted to be released in the woods.
Just like Bonnie’s libido.
A dream like that was a sign she probably did need to find a guy.
She dashed home and had time to freshen up before her cell phone buzzed.
* * *
610.555.1984
Hello, Bonnie. It’s J.D.. I’m downstairs.
* * *
Bonnie:
Okay, be right there.
* * *
Bonnie pinched her cheeks in the mirror and tried to wink at herself. It came out sort of forced.
She made a note to herself not to wink at this guy, whatever his name was. Then she realized it was probably a moot point.
The trip down to the porch was like a walk to the gallows. Though she couldn’t help but feel a little pleased when she got there.
J.D. was leaning on the porch railing. His blonde hair was a bit too long, and a little disheveled, like he’d just run his hand through it.
He wore a tweed blazer with a white button down shirt underneath, very professorial looking.
Best of all was the confident half smile that crinkled his blue eyes.
“Good to see you again, Bonnie,” he said, taking her hand in his own and brushing the back of it with a delicate kiss. “You look lovely this evening.”
She blushed a little, in spite of herself. Not many guys could pull of a move like that. He was nice. Like a real gentleman. There wasn’t a spark or anything, but at least his hand wasn’t sweaty.
“So, there’s a Mediterranean place, a coffee shop, a diner, a little—” he began.
“I’m sorry, did you say a diner?” Bonnie asked.
“I was hoping you’d pick the diner,” J.D. smiled.
“What does J.D. stand for?” she asked.
“The little guy, the environment,” he listed. Then he winked at her. “Jerome David,” he explained with a raised eyebrow. “But really, just call me Mac, everyone else does.”
“Okay. Mac,” she said.
He opened the car door for her and helped her in. Bonnie basked in presence of the first chivalrous man she’d met since arriving in Tarker’s Hollow.
Once they were on the road, she felt freer to look at him. The opposing headlights lit his face at intervals. He was older than she’d first thought, but not much - just enough to seem a little sexy.
“So what do you teach?” she asked him. They hadn’t made much small talk over Thanksgiving dinner, and she realized she knew very little about him.
“I used to teach high school History,” he replied. “But then I bought the hardware store in town last winter. Now I adjunct at the college part-time too.”
“History?” she asked.
“Yes, I know. Women go gaga for it,” he smiled sardonically.
“Do you know anything about local history?” Bonnie asked, unable to resist.
“Not as much as some, but I do enjoy it,” he said. “Were you curious about the house where you’re staying?”
“Well… I wasn’t,” she replied. “But now I guess I am.”
“Oh, there’s nothing bad, about it, just an interesting story. Though there are plenty of stories around here about George Washington visiting this house or Thomas Jefferson taking a bathroom break at another one,” Mac joked.
“What happened in my house?” Bonnie asked. “Did Betsy Ross lose a thimble in there or something?”
He laughed a deep rumble, and she remembered for the first time that he was a wolf.
“It was supposed to have been owned by a countess,” he told her.
“Really? Who was she?” Bonnie asked.
Mac shrugged.
“Ainsley went to the courthouse and checked the chain of title once and it just went back and forth between these two names again and again for generations. Until the ‘40s, at which point the owners have been known entities.”
“Does anyone know anything about those two families?” she asked.
“They were all doctors,” Mac replied. “No countesses.”
“So… that sums up what you know about local history then?” she asked.
He laughed again, and this time she was ready for the raspy sound of it.
“I just assumed you were asking because people like to say a countess lived in that house,” he replied.
“I’m not so interested in countesses—”
“Well that’s good—“
“I’m more interested in early history,” she said. “What do you know about the Lenni Lenape?”
“Wow, some first date,” Mac replied. “The story of the Lenape is one of the saddest you’ll ever hear.”
“I know,” Bonnie admitted. “I read about it today.”
“Did you know there was one small contingent that didn’t migrate west with the others?” Mac asked.
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“No,” Bonnie said, her interest piqued.
“The founders of the college were Quaker,” he explained. “It was their wish to promote peace, with the Lenape, and with nature. While most of the tribe was being moved, Lucretia Alan and Benjamin Wharton made a home for the Lenape who agreed to stay, on the land that later became the Sycamore Woods neighborhood just west of Tarker’s Hollow.”
“Isn’t that the creepy abandoned neighborhood?” Bonnie asked.
“Yes, soon it will be under a highway,” Mac said, a hint of sadness in his voice.
“How can you live here like this?” Bonnie heard herself asking. She chided herself internally for judging. But how could a wolf be a wolf in a place where the woods were disappearing and the humans outnumbered them ten to one?
“It’s our home,” he answered simply.
“What about the humans?” she asked.
“It’s their home, too,” he answered.
“How do they not know? How do you keep it undercover?”
“People see what they expect to see. Maybe they wonder about the howling, or why some of the citizens who seem to have the least in common spend so much time together. But they don’t see what’s actually there.”
“Like Ainsley and Cressida, you mean,” Bonnie ventured.
Mac smiled.
“Yes. Like them. But those two have more in common than you would think. Give it time, you’ll get it.”
Bonnie figured she could spend a lot of time with all-business Ainsley and all-trouble Cressida, and never see it. But there was no point arguing.
Besides, Mac was pulling into the diner.
The sign outside proclaimed it to be The Barry White Diner. Cute.
Inside, the booths were orange naugahyde and the waitresses wore red skirts with white blouses and aprons.
Dozens of familiar faces from town were there eating and talking. They got a couple of nods and smiles. Bonnie figured everyone in town would know by tomorrow that they’d been on a date.
She and Mac both ordered eggs and toast and bottomless coffee. It came as a big meal with juice and pancakes and bacon for two dollars less than it would have without. Bonnie wondered how she was supposed to keep her curves under control in a place like this, where a cheese steak was a thing, and you saved money by getting extra food on your order.
“So, you said the Quakers wanted to keep the Lenape around, but was that really all?” Bonnie asked, knowing it couldn’t be the whole truth.
“Well, there was a little more. Wharton was a shifter, did you know that?” Mac asked.
Bonnie shook her head.
“The Lenape were the ones who guarded the portal before the shifters, at least that’s my theory based on what little records we have,” Mac ventured. “But before the Quakers could finish building the college, the small group of Lenape disappeared. And so the shifters took over their watch.”
“That would line up with what we learned in Copper Creek,” Bonnie nodded.
Mac smiled at her, as if noticing again that she was a woman, not just an apparent history buff.
Problem was, she didn’t want to stop talking about the Lenape.
She took a breath though, forcing herself to relax, and smiled back at him.
He really was pretty handsome in a rumpled way.
His nostrils flared slightly as he took her in, as if she were warm gingerbread, fresh out of the oven.
“So do you teach local history anywhere?” she asked.
“No, it’s just a hobby of mine,” he told her. “When we’re finished with dinner, I can show you the artifacts I’ve collected. If you’re interested?”
Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
Why not?
Bonnie smiled slowly at him and nodded.
Mac raised his hand for the check.
8
As soon as the car pulled up to Mac’s place, Bonnie was intrigued.
The house wasn’t large, but it looked like something out of a BBC Jane Austen dramatization. A winding walk led to the open front porch. The flat stucco front of the house had a round decoration over the front door. The roof slates were enormous in comparison to the size of the cottage.
Huge bushes with large, waxy leaves surrounded the exterior of the house, so that Bonnie could imagine looking out of the windows from inside and feeling as if the house were in a jungle.
Mac opened her car door, and led her up the walk. The night was nearly silent, even though they were still in Tarker’s Hollow.
He opened the metal grate door, and they stepped inside.
He was a bachelor, and the house showed it. High ceilings with beautiful moldings towered over tattered leather sofas and overflowing bookshelves on well-worn Oriental rugs. It wasn’t neat, but it was clean. Bonnie wondered if someone came in to clean for him, or if he dusted all those books himself.
Pottery and travel souvenirs lined a glass case in the entry hall. Dragons, trolls, tea pots, and other odds and ends occupied each shelf. The walls all had that lumpy, textured look.
“Your house is amazing,” Bonnie told him.
“For Tarker’s Hollow, it’s not spectacular. But I like an old house, and you know what they say about high ceilings?” he winked. “Big bookshelves.”
Nice.
“Drink?” he asked.
She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. It wasn’t a large space, but it was homey.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“What are you having?”
“I was going to try the gingerbread stout from the micro-brewery over in Springton,” he said.
“Sounds good,” she agreed.
He plucked two beers out of the fridge, popped off the tops and handed one to Bonnie.
He gave her a half-smile and then raised his bottle to hers.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers,” she replied.
The beer was thick and filling.
She’d run out of the Barry White Diner like she was on fire, she was so eager to see the artifacts. As a result, she hadn’t really eaten much.
She put the beer down carefully, to remind herself not to get tipsy. It was harder for a wolf, but an empty stomach would speed it along.
“Have you been to the brewery?” Mac asked.
“No, it’s been such an adjustment moving here. And with the new job… I don’t know, I haven’t been going out much, I guess,” she floundered, cursing herself for sounding pathetic.
Mac politely ignored the second part of what she said and concentrated on the first.
“You’ve got to check it out. As a matter of fact, it’s sort of wonderful that you’re new to town. I’d love to see it all for the first time myself,” he mused.
“You’ve been here a long time, then?” she asked.
He nodded.
“My whole life.”
“Do you ever want to live someplace else?” she heard herself ask him. It was a silly question. Wolves always came home.
He didn’t answer right away though.
She looked up to find that he was gazing at her pensively.
“I always thought it’d be nice to travel more,” he said. “See the scenery.”
Bonnie could have sworn he was talking about her. She tried not to blush.
He really was good-looking, and definitely her type. Why wasn’t she into him?
He slipped out from behind the counter.
“Let’s take these in the living room,” he said.
She grabbed her beer and headed after him, her boot catching on the edge of the carpet in the living room.
As if in slow motion, an arc of her beer flew out of the bottle as she clambered to stay upright.
Mac spun and caught her so easily, that most of the beer fell back into the bottle.
He was so close, his eyes on hers, the light wolfy scent of him washing over her. His arms were warm and he was real. A valued member of the Tarker’s Hollow pack and a nice, smart, handso
me guy.
So Bonnie was horrified when a very loud growl escaped her throat as he bent to kiss her.
They both froze in surprise, and then Mac righted her and backed up a step.
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to over-step…” he trailed off.
Bonnie gaped at him, red-faced.
Inside, her wolf was pacing angrily.
Why? Bonnie wailed.
My MATE, the creature’s heart replied.
Oh boy.
“I’m so sorry, it’s been a long day, I’m not sure why…” she began.
“No problem, I’ll take you home. Unless you still want to see those artifacts?” he asked her doubtfully.
No she didn’t. She wanted to go home.
“Yes, I do,” she replied.
Again they stared at each other, surprised, but he recovered graciously and walked over to the glass case in the foyer.
He swung open the back panel and gestured for her to help herself.
“Most of the Lenape items are on the third shelf,” he explained.
Bonnie gazed at the objects inside.
Most were basically trinkets, though there were several arrowheads, and a pipe.
But there were also one or two really lovely pieces of smooth red clay pottery.
And was that…?
“A tomahawk,” Mac explained.
A well-worn stone tomahawk.
It was all very interesting, but nothing really spoke to her. She wasn’t really sure what she’d expected.
“There’s a little more on the shelf below,” Mac offered.
Bonnie bent slightly, and spotted something wonderful.
Tiny animal figures carved from wood lined the shelf - a bear, a wolf, a rabbit.
A fox.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“What do you like?” he asked.
“The little animals, they’re lovely,” she said, kneeling to study them more closely. “What were they for?”