The Dire Wolf's Mate by Kay D. Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

rifling through her things, so would anyone else, and the windows were large and facing the horses.
     
    The cafe was small and quiet, and there was only one other customer - a younger man who was scribbling furiously in a leather journal. She wondered what he was writing; the calculator he reached out to every few minutes didn't make her think "short story" or "diary entry."
     
    "What can I get for you?" came the pleasant voice of an older lady.
     
    Rain glanced up at the menu board. "Beef and barley soup?" she asked, and the woman nodded. "Just take a seat, dear. I'll have it right out."
     
    Rain did as she asked, shrugging from her jacket and laying it over the back of her chair. The windows were large and lit the room; she grew bored with the small pattern of table and chairs and glanced out into the sunshine unseeingly.
     
    Something was odd. It took a moment for her to realize what it was - the children across the way. They were normal, noisy children, kicking a ball back and forth, except that it seemed one of them had iridescent scales over half his face, and one seemed almost to have wings, but she blinked, and the image was gone.
     
    The soup bowl slid in front of her startled her, and she looked up with a rueful grin. "Guess I've been spending too much time alone."
     
    "It happens to the best of us," the woman said, holding out her hand to shake. "I'm Millie, one of the owner's here. Where are you from, dear?"
     
    Rain smiled at her and took her hand. "Here and there, lately. But Pigeon Creek is probably where I'd call home, until I can find one of my own. It's a few hours outside of Winston Salem."
     
    "That something you looking for, then? A new home?"
     
    Rain shrugged. "I don't think I can wander around forever."
     
    The door opened then, and in stepped an old, small little man wearing a green bowtie and red suspenders. He wore an old fashioned Bowler hat perched atop his head, and when he shut the door behind him, he nodded his head to Millie and pulled it off, placing it on a coat stand in the corner.
     
    "Hello, Millie," he said.
     
    Rain thought she looked just a little relieved. "Hey there, Jim," she answered.
     
    "Cup of coffee?" he said hopefully, and Millie nodded.
     
    "Coming right up."
     
    Jim sat down beside her. "You're new," he said bluntly.
     
    "Just passing through," Rain remarked.
     
    "Where you headed?"
     
    "I don't know," she said truthfully.
     
    Jim's face broke into a broad grin. "Neither did we," he said, "when we settled here."
     
    Rain ate her soup slowly, listening to the odd little man speak. He talked about the founding of the village, revealed himself as one of the elders there. He told her that they rarely had even a handful of visitors a year, and most of them they had were family members who lived elsewhere. He talked about his wife, Myra, who was Millie's sister, and how they had an epic pie making contest every few years when their sibling rivalry got too intense.
     
    Rain found herself talking, too - about her travels, and Hiram, and her Grammy in her little cottage, miles away. Jim was a pleasant conversationalist, steering the conversation with ease around any uncomfortable subjects, and when Rain looked up and realized she needed to be going if she was going to find a decent campsite for the night, Jim offered her the use of the town's guest quarters. "It's not much," he said, "but the bed's good and soft and you can come eat supper with me and Myra."
     
    A soft bed sounded like a good thing indeed, and Rain shrugged and agreed. After she settled her bill, Jim went back to the counter, delivering a recipe card from Myra, and she thought she overheard him say, "Sidhe, maybe." But that was nonsensical, so she shrugged and made her way over to Hiram to unhitch him from the post.
     
    *
     
    Hiram had access to a small barn for the night, and hay, and she left him contentedly crunching on the dry stalks.
     
    Myra, she found when she knocked on Jim's door,