eat him up and spit him out.
“It’ll be a minute.”
“Is this a bar? I need a motherfucking drink. If you’re too lazy to serve me, then why don’t you get the owner out here so I can talk to him?”
There’s a collective whoosh as we all suck in our breath. No one talks to Sandy like that, and not just because she’s a honey badger shifter and doesn’t take shit, but because her mate is the meanest, orneriest grizzly shifter around. And the fact he likes to hide in the kitchen all day doesn’t mean he doesn’t know exactly everything that goes on in his place.
I slide an amused gaze toward Sheriff Gant who leans back in his chair and puts his feet up so he can relax while watching this show.
With one hand on her hip and the other pointing toward the door, Sandy says, “If you think for a minute I’m going to allow you to drink my liquor after you’ve mouthed off like that to me, you’ve got another think coming. Now get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, little girl. I’m here to drink, so serve me.” He turns his back on Sandy, and spots me. “Goddamned woman.”
“You seem to be having a bad day,” I goad, wondering what other fool things this guy can do. I’m pretty happy because I’m guessing his bad mood means Caro has dumped his ass.
“Women. All they’re good for is fucking, and even then, if they have to open their mouths, they pretty much ruin everything. The bitch I came with decided she didn’t want to fish because I wouldn’t wear a goddamned life preserver. Well, I showed her. I left her ass back at the campsite with a life preserver. See how much she loves it after a night out in the woods with nothing but that cheap-ass foam thing.” He cackles and slaps the bar stool next to him.
I’m on my feet and halfway to the bar before I know it. Sheriff Gant pulls me aside before I can get my two hands around Bill’s skinny neck.
“I got this,” Gant says. “You go get the girl.”
I wasn’t lying when I said that there are a shit ton of folks in the forest, but they aren’t all entirely safe for a tasty morsel like Caro, particularly if she’s alone. I hie out of the tavern, and have shifted into my brown bear form before the door hits me on the ass.
Behind me, I hear the squawking of Bill, proclaiming that Sheriff Gant can’t arrest him for doing nothing. It’s our town. Sheriff Gant can’t arrest him for being an asshole, but abandoning someone in the woods? That’s some kind of felony, for sure.
2
CAROLINE
N ext time I think about forgiving someone, I’ll listen to my gut.
When Bill said he’d changed, my gut said, “No, he hasn’t.”
When Bill said he loved me still and wanted to give us another shot, my gut said, “Bad idea. Run for the hills.”
When Bill said he’d stopped partying so much and was holding down a real job, my gut said, “Yeah, right.”
Stupid gut, always being right.
I sigh to myself as I unroll the packaging for one of the new tents. Out flops a large tarp, some rustling material, a netty-looking thing that goes over the top, some poles, and an instruction booklet. I pick it up and stare at the pictures, but my mind keeps turning back to Bill.
I’m such a dummy. I know Bill is no good. In my heart, I know the type of person that Bill is won’t ever change. Bill’s a blowhard, and while it was fun at the beginning to date a guy who was so alpha and macho, it got old fast. I guess that’s why we’ve broken up seven times in the past three years. Actually, I think we’ve been off more than we’ve been on. And every time he apologizes, I take him back like an idiot. He says he’s changed, and I’m an optimist and I hope for the best, and so I give him another chance.
Actually, that’s not true. I’m not as much an optimist as I am lonely. I don’t have a lot of people in my life. I grew up a foster kid, bounced around between a lot of homes. I went off to college on the state’s dime, and met my best friend…who
“It’ll be a minute.”
“Is this a bar? I need a motherfucking drink. If you’re too lazy to serve me, then why don’t you get the owner out here so I can talk to him?”
There’s a collective whoosh as we all suck in our breath. No one talks to Sandy like that, and not just because she’s a honey badger shifter and doesn’t take shit, but because her mate is the meanest, orneriest grizzly shifter around. And the fact he likes to hide in the kitchen all day doesn’t mean he doesn’t know exactly everything that goes on in his place.
I slide an amused gaze toward Sheriff Gant who leans back in his chair and puts his feet up so he can relax while watching this show.
With one hand on her hip and the other pointing toward the door, Sandy says, “If you think for a minute I’m going to allow you to drink my liquor after you’ve mouthed off like that to me, you’ve got another think coming. Now get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, little girl. I’m here to drink, so serve me.” He turns his back on Sandy, and spots me. “Goddamned woman.”
“You seem to be having a bad day,” I goad, wondering what other fool things this guy can do. I’m pretty happy because I’m guessing his bad mood means Caro has dumped his ass.
“Women. All they’re good for is fucking, and even then, if they have to open their mouths, they pretty much ruin everything. The bitch I came with decided she didn’t want to fish because I wouldn’t wear a goddamned life preserver. Well, I showed her. I left her ass back at the campsite with a life preserver. See how much she loves it after a night out in the woods with nothing but that cheap-ass foam thing.” He cackles and slaps the bar stool next to him.
I’m on my feet and halfway to the bar before I know it. Sheriff Gant pulls me aside before I can get my two hands around Bill’s skinny neck.
“I got this,” Gant says. “You go get the girl.”
I wasn’t lying when I said that there are a shit ton of folks in the forest, but they aren’t all entirely safe for a tasty morsel like Caro, particularly if she’s alone. I hie out of the tavern, and have shifted into my brown bear form before the door hits me on the ass.
Behind me, I hear the squawking of Bill, proclaiming that Sheriff Gant can’t arrest him for doing nothing. It’s our town. Sheriff Gant can’t arrest him for being an asshole, but abandoning someone in the woods? That’s some kind of felony, for sure.
2
CAROLINE
N ext time I think about forgiving someone, I’ll listen to my gut.
When Bill said he’d changed, my gut said, “No, he hasn’t.”
When Bill said he loved me still and wanted to give us another shot, my gut said, “Bad idea. Run for the hills.”
When Bill said he’d stopped partying so much and was holding down a real job, my gut said, “Yeah, right.”
Stupid gut, always being right.
I sigh to myself as I unroll the packaging for one of the new tents. Out flops a large tarp, some rustling material, a netty-looking thing that goes over the top, some poles, and an instruction booklet. I pick it up and stare at the pictures, but my mind keeps turning back to Bill.
I’m such a dummy. I know Bill is no good. In my heart, I know the type of person that Bill is won’t ever change. Bill’s a blowhard, and while it was fun at the beginning to date a guy who was so alpha and macho, it got old fast. I guess that’s why we’ve broken up seven times in the past three years. Actually, I think we’ve been off more than we’ve been on. And every time he apologizes, I take him back like an idiot. He says he’s changed, and I’m an optimist and I hope for the best, and so I give him another chance.
Actually, that’s not true. I’m not as much an optimist as I am lonely. I don’t have a lot of people in my life. I grew up a foster kid, bounced around between a lot of homes. I went off to college on the state’s dime, and met my best friend…who
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