Clifford and Claire, Scene 6
Hi, folks. I have a few more excerpts from my
upcoming novel, Red Wolf Rising that
I’ll be posting this time and next. I’m also posting this one a little early so
I can pack up and head for a little weekend road trip to the mountains for some
hiking and idea-gathering. I’ve decided I deserve it, even if no one else does!
First, a quick reminder: Both my books are free in any electronic
format you need at Smashwords through April 15th! Just use the coupon code
to the right of the Smashwords link at the bottom of this post.
Now, on to today’s post…
I appreciate the little bit of feedback I’ve
gotten from these excerpts, but the more the merrier. I take great store in
what y’all say, so don’t be shy. I want this to be awesome by the time it hits publication, and y’all can help me out
with suggestions.
At this point in the story, Claire is 90%
sure she wants to reveal to Clifford that she’s a werewolf, in the hopes that
he will agree to allow himself to become one, too. She’s been waiting for the
right opportunity, and she feels she may be running out of time…
She stopped, pointing to a side trail.
“My apartment’s right up the hill. I just moved in. Come on. I’ll cook for
you.”
Your
apartment?
Alarms went off in his head. “Uh, I don’t know if I…”
“Don’t worry. It’s just breakfast. I’m
not going to jump your bones or anything.” She smiled.
“I didn’t mean to imply…” But he
remembered saying the same thing to someone else one time.
“Just making sure,” she said. She turned
and started up the hill. “Besides,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m way too old for you.”
Oh,
boy, he
thought. But he followed her anyway. The pathway led up a gradual incline and
ended at the foot of a set of wooden stairs with a handrail that switched back
and forth up a steep hill. At the top landing was a parking lot facing a row of
recently constructed apartment buildings. They crossed the parking lot and
ascended several flights of stairs to the third floor. Her door was the second
on the right. She bent and pulled a key from her right sock.
“I haven’t finished unpacking,” she
said, “so don’t judge.” She unlocked the door. He followed her inside. She
pointed towards a small table with two chairs that sat in front of a sliding
glass door which opened on a balcony overlooking the greenway beyond the
parking lot. “Have a seat while I get started.” She disappeared into a small
kitchen to the left.
He walked through a living room populated
mainly with boxes. The little dinette was the only furniture in the room. He
took a seat and spent a moment taking in the view. The window looked west, and
the sky was just beginning to lighten as the sun tried to rise over the hill
behind them.
“You can see some really pretty sunsets
from that balcony,” she called from the kitchen.
“I bet,” he replied.
“It’s the main reason I chose this
apartment,” she continued. A bell sounded, signaling the end of the heating
cycle of a microwave. “Here,” she said, suddenly appearing with a cup of
steaming liquid in her hand. She set it in front of him and handed him a spoon.
There was a faint aroma of licorice. “Stir this for a minute, but don’t let it
get cold. It’ll help the cramping. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into
another room.
Clifford began to slowly stir the
liquid, releasing more of the aroma. He took a cautious sip. It was still too
hot. He stirred some more. The centerpiece on the dinette table caught his eye,
and he leaned close to examine it. It was a very detailed wood carving of a group
of wolves. One stood watch as the others reclined serenely.
“You like that?” she asked, re-appearing
from the back room. She’d removed her shoes and sweats and was now down to a
t-shirt, jogging shorts, and bare feet. She had nice legs.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “I have kind
of a thing for wolves.”
“Not surprising,” she said, disappearing
into the kitchen again. “You’re a wolf, yourself.” He heard pots and pans
rattling.
He thought a moment. It was a strange thing
for her to say. “How do you mean?” he called.
“Everyone has a totem, an animal spirit
to guide them,” she called. “Yours is the wolf.
I recognized it before. Mine is, too.”
“Are you an Indian… I mean, Native
American, or something?”
“Yes, I am. And a shaman of sorts.”
“Really.” That was interesting. He
wasn’t sure if he believed her, though.
“Yes, really. Have you tried your
drink?”
“Oh, hang on. I will.” He raised the cup
to his lips and took a sip. “What is it? I don’t recognize the taste.”
“A concoction of different herbs. I
tried to sweeten it a little. Sometimes it’s too bitter, but it should help
your leg not to be sore later.”
He took a longer sip. “It’s not bad.
What exactly is a shaman?”
“Oh, a shaman is… a medicine woman… uh,
spiritual healer…” She poked her head around the corner, frowning. “… tribal
psychologist?”
“You have a tribe?”
“I did, for many years. Not so much any
more.”
“What happened?” He was learning
something about her. It wasn’t at all what he’d imagined.
“Time, mostly. This generation, it’s
much different from… mine.”
“I heard that.” He’d raised his fist and sang with Pete Townsend at concerts
when he was young, “… I hope I die before I get old…” Now, he was that
generation the kids didn’t want to become. “Mmmm. I smell bacon.”
“Yes, you do, and you’re going to like
it. It’s venison. Cured it myself. I brought some of my cache when I went home
to pack some things a few weeks ago.”
“Home? Where’s that?”
“Not far. Near a little town called
Troy, the other side of Albemarle.”
“I know it. I hike in the Uwharries all
the time.”
“I have a cabin right smack dab in the
middle of the Uwharrie National Forest.”
“That’s cool. How long have you been
there?”
“A looong time.” She emerged from the
kitchen carrying some utensils and condiments.
“Sounds nice. So, what are you doing in
Charlotte?”
She began to set places for them both.
She leaned across him to place two Mason jars – it looked like they were filled
with different jams - between the two settings. He could feel the heat from her
body and smell the aroma of her skin, a combination of sweat and bacon, not at
all unpleasant. “Cooking you breakfast,” she said, fixing him with a smile.
She was very close, and she seemed to
linger, until he cleared his throat and looked for something else to focus his
attention. His eyes settled on the centerpiece again. “Ahem. I really do like
that carving.”
She straightened, turning on her heel.
“I might have something for you, then.” She strode back to the kitchen. I might have myself for you, if I’m not
careful, she thought. She’d been telling herself there was a higher purpose
behind her obsession with this man, but there was no denying the physical
attraction. It might say more about his own restraint than hers that they
weren’t naked on the floor right now.
She pulled a pitcher of previously-mixed
pancake batter from the refrigerator and turned the burner on under a pan.
Then, she turned and scanned a line of figurines along the counter behind her
sink. She reached for one, pausing only a second before grabbing it up and
returning to the living room. She set it down on the table next to Clifford.
“Here, you can have this.” She walked back to the kitchen.
She stood before the stove, listening
intently for indications of his reaction from the next room. She heard a
whispered, “Wow.” There was a note of acceptance in his tone, and she exhaled
in relief. She dropped a dab of butter in the pan, spread it around with a
spatula, and poured three neat piles of batter which quickly spread into
perfect round cakes. She called to him, “You like your eggs over medium,
right?”
“Uh huh,” he replied, absent-mindedly.
She could tell he was concentrating on the carving, probably running his
fingers over it and maybe noticing some of the intricacies and… unique
features. I hope I’m not moving too fast,
here, she thought.
“This is… interesting,” he said.
She tensed, waiting for him to
elaborate. There was only silence. Bubbles appeared in the pancake batter, and
she flipped them over, smiling in satisfaction at the even, golden-brown color
of the undersides.
“Was this hand-carved?” he called. “The
detail is almost too intricate to be, but…” He wandered into the kitchen,
holding it to the light. “Yeah, I can almost see… it looks like it had to be
done with a fairly large knife.”
She scooped the pancakes from the pan
onto a plate next to the stove and picked up the pitcher of batter. “It was,”
she smiled.
“Did you do it?”
“No, but I did the centerpiece in there.
The one you have was given to me by a friend.” She poured three more cakes into
the pan. “It’s pretty old, and the natural color of the wood has faded. It was
almost snow white when I first got it. Hey, could you hand me that pan?” She
pointed.
He turned in the direction she indicated
and saw a row of iron skillets hanging along the wall next to the stove. “Which
one?”
“That one. No, the smaller one to the
left. Yeah, that one.”
He pulled it off its hook and handed it
to her. She placed it on another burner and turned the heat under it. She
plopped a glob of butter in its center. She flipped the pancakes over, stepped
over to the refrigerator, opened it, and extracted several eggs, which she set
beside the pitcher of pancake batter.
Clifford inhaled deeply. “Smells good,”
he said.
She turned and
smiled. “Glad you came?”
Okay, that was kind of mundane, intended to
set the stage for what’s to come. What do you think?
And, feel free to click on one of the links
below to order one of the first two books!
Coming up in a few days…
… more Clifford and Claire
The Draculata Nest -----------------------------------------------------------------------
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The Dragon of Doughton Park ----------------------------------------------------------
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ebook for Kindle
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