Hair of the Dog (4 page)

“Hope you like steak,” he called to her.

One side of her mouth turned up in a half grin. “Didn’t you
have steak for breakfast, Mr. Mayor?”

Now would be a bad time to mention he’d had a hamburger for
lunch. Shrugging, he said, “I like steak.”

“How does your cardiologist like it?” Ivy climbed the back
stairs in slow, casual cat-like movements.

He patted his stomach. “Believe me, I run it off.”

She followed him inside. “Does your wife run too?”

“She…she used to.” The words tripped recklessly out of his
mouth. Talking about Molly still hurt, but Ivy wouldn’t know that. People who
knew her—him—them together, avoided reminding him, which only served to remind
him. “We’d run together.”
Is she wearing lipstick?
Ivy’s supple lips
nearly leapt off her face in a pucker of pinkish peach. To change the subject
from Molly, he asked, “What do you think of Mystic Springs so far?” The topic
seemed generic enough to keep them on the right side of business dinner
conversation.

“I was beginning to think we’re in Southern California
instead of the Pacific Northwest, what with all the beautiful people.” She
snatched a cucumber out of the salad bowl. It vanished between those sumptuous
lips of hers, crunching between her straight, white teeth. “Can’t be natural.”

Grant took pleasure in her ability to make herself
comfortable in his kitchen. The same kitchen she’d been nearly naked in last
night. That might be part of the reason she made herself somewhat at home now.
He felt himself losing a little of his usual control at the memory of her pert
breasts and shapely hips. Maybe she’d throw a pitcher of water on him later,
turnabout being fair play and all.

“Healthy lifestyles,” Grant assured her.

He looked away, hoping to regain some of the power she took
from him effortlessly by simply being near. Her low-rise jeans hugged her hips
just tight enough to cause his jeans to tighten up in the vicinity of his
button fly. Her V-neck T-shirt fit like a second skin, although he didn’t sense
she intended to beguile him with her casual attire. Her allure came from
within, although she looked quite stunning in the fading sunlight.

“I guess,” she replied. “You do have incredible longevity
here in Mystic Springs.”

Someone’s been doing some research
. “Fresh mountain
air, clean living and we like to blame our health on the hot springs.” Grant
flashed her a sincere smile. “Helps promote tourism, true or not.”

“Speaking of tourism—”

“Let’s not talk business.” Grant placed a cold bottle of
beer in her hand, a less romantic option than wine. He breezed by her to the
barbecue grill on the back porch. It wasn’t quite barbecue season yet, but
Grant disliked scrubbing pots and pans. Besides everything tastes better
grilled. She followed him out. “Medium-rare okay?” he asked.

“Medium-well, please.”

“That’s just sacrilegious,” he teased her. “I’d have my
grill brush ripped from my grip and my picture displayed in the grilling hall
of shame.”
Please, please, please don’t douse it with ketchup.

“Okay, Mayor McOverlyDramatic. Medium.” She wrapped her
plump pinkish lips around the mouth of her bottle and took a swig of beer. Her
lips glistened from the moisture. Her tongue swiped seductively along her
bottom lip. “If we’re not going to talk about the job, why
am
I here?”

“You want to talk about what happened this afternoon in my
office?” He knew the feeling well, the loss of control over your own body.
Giving over to a darker, wild side. He’d learned to manage his urges, along
with most everyone else in Mystic Spring. But they had a mentoring program.
Living life on the wild side was a way of life. Ivy had no one.

“Clearly I don’t. Who would?” Her cheeks tinted pink to
complement her lips. “But how did you know to drench me with water?”

“It was either that or slap you.” He grinned at her. “That
might not have been received too well.” It also could have had the opposite
effect, sending her directly over the edge, snarling and snapping or scratching
and hissing. Whichever the case may be. Grant had no idea what to expect from
her, or whether to expect nothing at all.

He flipped her steak over on the grill. He’d wait until hers
was nearly done before taking the chill off his.

“No.” She snorted a laugh, which he found charming.
“Naturally, I prefer being soaked.”

“Can you tell me what brings it on? Fear? Fatigue?
Confusion? Anger?” He paused, trying to choose his words wisely. “Passion?”
There was no wise way of posing his inquiry. He knew that feeling well too.
He’d suffered a loss of control several times over the past twenty-four hours.
Always in her vicinity.

“Yes, yes, yesity-yes and hell yes.” Ivy took a long swig of
her beer, probably to wash down her honesty. “I avoid all of the above.”

How’s that working for you?
He tossed his steak over
the coals. “What triggered it today?”
Passion? For me?
He could hope,
but it would be unwise. Careless. Dangerous. Disappointing. He turned away from
his steak.

She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. “To be
honest, I think it was the painting above your credenza.”

He fought to remain emotionless about her admission. “Let’s
eat.”

She looked skeptically at his rarer-than-rare steak, but
followed him inside. Grant fed her at the breakfast bar instead of the dining
table, avoiding any romantic trappings. No candles or flowers for them. He’d
almost served her dinner to her on a flimsy paper plate.

“What is it about my painting that makes you dizzy and
weak?” he asked nonchalantly, like asking if she cared for cream in her coffee.

“Listen, Mayor Grayson, I don’t want you thinking I can’t
handle the stresses of the job. I can and I will.” While she spoke, Ivy cut her
steak into eensy weensy pieces with the business end of her steak knife. “Yes,
these…these spells have wreaked havoc in my life for nearly all my life, but I
will
get a handle on it. Yes, I should have told you sooner. I will overcome the
blackouts and I’m determined to be a great asset to the resort. To Mystic Springs.”
She fanned herself with her hand.

“Should I get a pitcher of water?” he asked.

Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe. Not so cold this time,
please, Mr. Mayor.”

He flipped on the ceiling fan, yanking the chain for high
speed. “Can you call me Grant?”

“Sure.” She started panting, same as in his office earlier
in the day.

He found her panting oddly exciting, and felt himself slip
over to his true nature, to his animal side, which everyone had—but he had more
of it. The wolf inside him freed him and at the same time imprisoned him. It
gave him the gift of release that everyone needed. Some found it in drugs or
booze, gambling or food. He found his freedom running through the woods with no
boundaries or clothes. Wind through his fur. Dirt under his nails. The moon in
his sights.

His blood coursed through his veins, fast as a runaway
freight train. The hair on his body prickled. “Excuse me.” He rose from the
counter.

“I think I might pass out.” Ivy gulped at the air. “My head
is pounding and everything is blurry.”

“Look at me, Ivy.” He lifted her chin with his fingers that
tingled from the change coming over him. His finger and toenails ached. Teeth
itched. His body hair stood on end.

She did as he asked, looking straight through him. He swore
she could see the real him. The beast. Ivy showed no fear. He pretended for a
moment that he saw acceptance in her eyes.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
He demonstrated the technique and she mimicked him. “Good girl.” They breathed
together, pushing and pulling each other back over the line of normalcy.

“Your eyes look funny,” she whispered with a hint of fear.
“Glowing like embers.”

He clamped his hand behind her neck and plucked her glasses
off her face with the other hand. “So do yours.” Hers didn’t. They reflected a
gold-green hue from the earthy colors of the cheery kitchen Molly had
decorated. But he could blame Ivy’s eyes for not seeing his changing eyes
clearly.

His animal instinct was to take her mouth with his, but
she’d end up bent over the kitchen counter at his mercy whether she consented
or not.
I’m a man. I’m a man. I’m a man
. The puddle of blood left behind
from his rare steak wasn’t helping.
I’m not a beast.
Grant hadn’t felt
this out of control around any woman. Not since Molly. And as Bobby Joe had
pointed out, Ivy wasn’t a beauty in the classical sense. Wars would not be
fought over her. And yet, here he was fighting his demons because of her
proximity. The townsfolk believed her to be magical, that Ivy was destined to
save them and their way of life.

“Keep breathing,” he said to her, to himself. “Better?”

She nodded in sync with her deep breathing.

He released his firm hold on her just in the nick of time,
before he followed the beast to the wild side and burrowed into her mouth with
his tongue and his teeth. She nearly toppled off her barstool. “We need to get
a handle on this.”
I need to get a handle.
He cracked his knuckles.

Ivy continued nodding.

“What happens…what happens if you can’t stop it?” he asked.
He’d love to know what kind of changeling she was. In the stories of his
people, she could become whatever she fancied. A bird, a bee or a fish. Grant
became a gray wolf—always. That’s who he was. It bore him respect from others
farther on down the food chain, not that he’d eat any Mystic Springs residents.
That would be in poor form. Bad on election day too.

“I black out,” she admitted. “Sometimes I don’t remember. I
just come to with my underwear on inside out. Other times, I dream. I dream of
running through the woods or soaring through the sky. I swim—”

“In Mystic?” He had to know. Any insight could prove
helpful. If she only knew his motives in asking were entirely self-serving. Not
just for him, but for the community.

“I think so.” She gnawed on her cuticle. “I breathe. In my
dreams…I…I breathe underwater.”

Nice skill
. “They’re just dreams,” he assured her.

“Are they?” She surveyed the room as if expecting the door
to crash in beneath the force of some rather burly orderlies who would then
cart her off to the funny farm where they’d have a warm, cozy padded cell with
her name on it and a cocktail of sedatives and anti-psychotics waiting.

“You’re safe here,” Grant assured her. They had no mental
facility in town. Crazy was just a way of life.

“Where’s your wife?” she whispered. Her chest began to heave
against the mix of fear and passion. He could smell it. Things she’d bottled up
for all these years. She’d be a force to be reckoned with once she broke free
of the world she believed she lived in and gave over to the life she was meant
for. Unless they were all wrong about her.

“Relax.” He petted her silky hair. “She’s dead. Two years
now.” Ivy’s eyes flashed golden. “Not to worry. I’ve no designs on you.” Did
she believe him? Did he believe himself? Hurt and disappointment shone in her
eyes.
You’re not meant for me
. “No offense, Ivy. I’m just not ready.”
And
I never will be
.
I never will be. Once more, with feeling. I never will
be.

Ivy rocked on the deck of her cottage in a vintage wicker
chair, a throw draped over her against the chill. Her head remained muddled
after too many battles with blackouts, too close on the heels of each other.
The news of Grant’s marital status—widower—only added to her bewilderment.
Determined to collect her thoughts and get some work done, she leafed through
the binder of information she had about Mystic Springs.

It felt like college again, cramming for an exam with a
hangover and a caffeine buzz. But if she couldn’t impress Grant with her
beauty, grace or sex appeal—and that was a given—she’d wow him with her
management skills. Although, all things considered, she looked damn doable.
Potential blackout spells aside, Ivy was having a good hair and complexion day.
She’d always had a nice enough body, but hid her frame beneath loose, comfort
clothes in an array of drab colors and outdated fashions she’d buy secondhand
or off the clearance rack.

She studied the map of the resort grounds, spotting the
eerie accumulation of fog over the hot-spring-fed pool area in the distance.

A swim would do her good. In her dreams, the water felt like
a second home to her. She did her best thinking while swimming laps in her own
little world. In the real world, not so much. Her mother had warned her of the
dangers of swimming too soon after a meal, swimming in deep waters, swimming
without a lifeguard. Swimming in general. Among other things. Talking to
strangers. Jaywalking. Internet dating.

A visit to the pool could be called research. She had to be
familiar with the amenities, after all. Ivy wiggled into her one-piece suit
before grabbing a towel and a cold beer. The resort was barely at half capacity
this early in the spring, so chances of some solitude were good.

Covered neck to knees in a robe, she headed for the pool.
Faint music floated in the air from a nearby house. She heard the theme song
from a television show emitting from a cottage as she passed. The name of the
show escaped her. The solar lights along the path seemed dim to her. A vast
void of darkness rested between each light. Ivy felt vulnerable in the void.
Watched. Critters rustled in the shrubs. Her head snapped in the direction of
the sounds. Birds shot out from the brush and took flight, making her flinch.

She stopped to listen to the night. There was safety in
noise. She continued on, finding comfort in the sound of her flip-flop clad
feet slapping the path. The sign on the fence of the pool listed some rules,
most of which she was breaking with her bottle of beer and the late hour. Swim
at your own risk, the sign said.

I’m the manager.

She kicked off her flip-flops, slung her towel and robe over
a lounge chair and placed her beer on a table. Ivy let the cool spray of the
shower wash over her, rinsing a layer of sweat, grime and doubt away. She dove
into the warm water, crossing half the length of the pool beneath the surface.
It felt like home, like a womb. She imagined the minerals seeping into her
skin, rejuvenating her insides. Ivy was too chicken to relive her dreams and
breathe. Why had she mentioned it to Grant? She trusted him for no reason.

When Ivy propped herself up on the ledge of the far side of
the pool, a wolf paced outside the fence as if stalking her. His intense gaze
pinned her frozen in place for several strong beats of her heart that rattled
her entire being. Ivy reached out, more so mentally than literally, beckoning
him to come to her. Her impulse was to bury her fingers in the softness of his
fur. Fear failed to kick in, even though her mother had warned her about the
dangers of wild animals and strange dogs, both domesticated and wild. A fence
lay between her and the wolf, true enough, but she still had to walk back to
her cottage later.

She eyed him. “Beautiful,” she mouthed. It was no doubt
dangerous for him to be so close to civilization. “Shoo!” Ivy waved her hand at
him, but felt bad about rejecting him, even for his own good. “Get! Go on!”

Instead of running off into the night, he sat, guarding her
she thought.
From what?
From herself? From drowning? From her blackouts?
She chuckled. More likely she resembled a snack to him. She’d never heard of a
wolf used as a service dog. And for good reason.

Suddenly a baseball bat hit the fence, rattling the links,
startling her and the wolf. She gasped. The wolf bolted a few feet away, slowly
working his way back, showing very little fear of the man or the bat.

“Scat!” an old man dressed in coveralls and holding a bat
yelled to the wolf. “You shouldn’t be here, miss.”

“I…I’m the manager of the resort.” Would he believe her? Ivy
barely believed herself. Her voice trembled with concern for the wolf. She
feared the man with his bat more than the wolf.

“I know who you are.” He paced the inside perimeter, tapping
the fence with the bat. The wolf stood his ground. “There are rules for a
reason. Pool closes at dusk. Get yourself dressed. I’ll walk you back to your
cottage.”

Her impulse was to assert her authority to the underling,
but being ripped to pieces by a wolf would leave the underling in charge.
Common sense told her to fear the wolf. Something more primal insisted he meant
her no harm. Or she’d had too much to drink. Her mother had also warned her
about petting stray dogs, feeding stray dogs and drinking too much.

Ivy pulled herself out of the water. “He’s a beauty.”

Without taking his eyes from the canine, the old man
replied, “That he is.”

* * * * *

Grant sat on his front porch reading the newspaper in the
blush of the early morning sun. A beautiful spring day was in the making.
Spring, when nature renewed itself. A season of rebirth and new possibilities.
Never had Grant felt that more than today. Was it the sun? The wildflowers? The
slow-moving river beyond? He wasn’t certain.

He ignored Adam Griswold’s slow, lumbering approach toward
ruining his potentially perfect day.

Adam stopped at the steps waiting to be acknowledged. “Morning,
Grant.”

“Good morning, Adam.” Grant failed to look up from his
paper. “Something I can do for you?” He knew this wasn’t a social call. Adam
wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire, but he would probably spit on him for
general purposes. Some sort of wolf-versus-bear rivalry from before they were
born. Adam and his clan gave them no reason to call a truce.

“Now that you mention it,” Adam began, and Grant regretted
posing what he’d hoped would be a rhetorical question. “I’m wondering if you
might introduce me to Miss Fontainebleau.”

“No.”

“No?”

Grant turned the page. “I did my part. I got her here. Be a
man or whatever you are and introduce yourself.”

Imagining the two of them together turned his stomach. As
sturdy a woman as she was, Ivy was still too delicate—physically, anyhow—to be
with the likes of Adam Griswold. Special too. Not to mention smart, talented
and enchanting. Grant stole a moment to picture her with any man in Mystic. No
one came to mind except himself. He shook the notion from his head.

“Just a simple intro to break the ice,” Adam protested. “You
don’t gotta say anything flattering about me.”

Like I could
. “No.”

Adam stabbed a finger at him. “You lost my vote, Mr. Mayor.”

“I never had your vote,” Grant muttered in annoyance. “I’m
not the town matchmaker or pimp. Get your mama bear to invite Ivy back to the
cave for a meal or something.”

“Don’t mock me!” He persisted with the finger jabbing in
Grant’s general direction. “You think you’re better ’an me, don’t you?”

“Do bears shit in the woods?” Grant replied dryly.

“Good morning!” Ivy waved from a few yards away as she
crossed the freshly mowed field. Due to his heightened sense of smell, Grant
caught a whiff of her clean scent that mixed with the smell of the grass and
spring crocus, creating a lovely bouquet.

“Oh shit,” Adam mumbled as he straightened his collar.
“She’s coming this-a-way.” He checked his zipper, for some mysterious reason.
“What do I say?” He breathed into his hand.

“Good morning, Ivy,” Grant replied to her greeting, ignoring
Adam’s questions. “How did you sleep?”

“Never better.” She walked straight toward Adam. “Hope I’m
not interrupting.” Thrusting out her hand, she said, “Ivy Fontainebleau,
General Manager of Mystic Springs Resort.” She turned her pleasant grin to
Grant. “I never get tired of saying that.”

Grant soaked up a mixture of the sun and her joy. “The title
suits you.” She reminded him of walking, talking sunshine on a stick. Not that
he thought of her as a sucker, but he could have licked her all day if he
weren’t still in mourning. Unfortunately, he and Adam thought alike on the
matter of licking.

Adam glanced over at Grant, who hid a smirk. Adam’s glance
turned into a glower, waiting for Grant to make the introductions. Seemingly
tired of waiting, Adam poked his hand towards her reluctantly. “Adam. Adam
Griswold. I own the Mystic Putt an’ Paintball.”

She smiled brightly and grasped the hand he offered. “An
entrepreneur. Good to meet you, Adam.”

Adam inclined his head, probably trying to figure out if
he’d been insulted. Best to use four to five letter words not exceeding two
syllables when conversing with a Griswold. “I’d be proud to offer you a free
hour of our Kill or be Killed Paintball Free-For-All. We do it every Friday
night rain, or shine. I’ll even throw in an extra round. On the house. For
you.”

“Better take him up on that, Ivy.” Grant folded his paper,
setting it on the table. “An offer like that may not come around again anytime
soon.”

“I will certainly think about it,” she promised. “Can I get
back to you?”

“Maybe you’re more of a miniature golfer.” Adam continued
pumping her hand. “I’d treat you to a round anytime, day or night. Just let me
know.”

“Thank you.” She wrestled her hand away from him.

“No. Thank
you
.” Adam allowed Ivy her hand back and
retreated, slowing now and again to glance over his shoulder, probably to try
to catch Grant maligning his reputation.

He’d let Adam do that himself. He was his own worst enemy.
His photo might actually come up during an internet search of the same.

Ivy turned and bugged her eyes out at Grant. He chuckled.
She shook the circulation back into her fingertips and climbed his steps to the
porch. “What was that about?”

“You had him captivated.” He didn’t want to talk about Adam
or his kind. “Orange juice?”

“Yes, please.” She took a seat in the opposite porch chair.

The chair Molly had always sat in while they’d watch the
activity in the marsh in the early mornings, doing this very thing. Coffee and
conversation. At night it would be wine and conversation. Conversation often
led to cozy cuddling and then they’d move inside for some naked necking. His
stomach roiled with guilt over the yearning for Ivy he fought now.

“What do you think about some advertising in the Seattle and
Portland area?” she asked. “Newspapers. Regional magazines. Maybe a billboard.”

Grant poured her a glass of juice and, to avoid her inquiry,
he asked, “Where are your glasses?” She looked stunning, her eyes gleaming in a
greenish-blue tint that somehow matched both the grass and sky. Her chestnut hair
cascading along her shoulders shined in the daylight. If he had to describe her
appearance in one word it would be sunny.
No, happy. Wait—glowing.

Ivy touched her fingers to her face. “I didn’t realize I’m
not wearing them.”

“Headache gone?” He’d suspected last night her headache
stemmed from wearing glasses she no longer needed to correct vision no longer
impaired.

“Actually, yes.” She sipped her juice. “I feel amazing.
Speaking of amazing, I was at the pool last night and I saw a wolf.” Her
declaration had the enthusiasm and wonderment of a small child.

“A wolf?” He exaggerated a frown. “Are you sure it wasn’t a
dog or a coyote?”

“Oh I’m sure. It was so surreal. He just sat there looking
at me from the other side of the fence.” She absently picked up the front page
of the newspaper. Next she stole a piece of toast from his plate. “He was
beautiful.”

Trying to hide his amusement, he asked, “How do you know it
was a he?”

Shrugging, she said, “I don’t know.” She took a bite of the
toast, still mulling over his paper. “I just do.”

He considered asking her if she’d like to just move in.
Grant could get used to Ivy and her scent. He enjoyed their little chats. Every
other man in town would envy him and hate him and vote to replace him as mayor.
Small price to pay.
She’s not for you, Grant.

He couldn’t do that to Molly, Grant reminded himself. He had
sworn to her there’d never be another woman for him. Grant needed to fight the
animal within him. “Wolves don’t normally venture this close to civilization.”
They certainly shouldn’t. Reckless was the only way to describe the behavior.

“What do you think it means?” she asked.

I think it means I need to be near you. I have to watch
over you. I wanted to see you in your bathing suit.
“Just looking for a
drink or food, I suppose.” Grant needed to distance himself from her before she
made him grow careless. More careless.

Her brow drew together. “Are the guests and staff safe?”

Always thinking like a manager
. “We’ll put out some
capture traps,” Grant said to set her mind at ease.

She dropped the paper and clamped her hand on his wrist like
a cuff. “You won’t hurt him?”

“Of course not.” Grant patted her hand. “We release them in
a remote area.”

She put her hands together in prayer. “Can I please start
working today? Pretty please? Just a half day? After lunch I’ll go check out
more of Mystic.”

Luckily, he’d had an office cleared out for her. He’d also
lined up some mundane management tasks to keep her busy. Scheduling employees.
Interviewing summer help. Regular mechanical and service maintenance. Things
too boring to imagine and nearly too daunting to do.