Page 6 of Last Call at the Doghouse

Now here she was, calling a tasteless power bar breakfast.

Had she crashed and burned, or was she free? Had she walked through an open door into a new life, or fallen out of favor with whatever gods or tricksters ruled the universe?

Didn’t matter, did it? She was here. Might as well make the best of it.

When her businesses were successful and she bought a cabin by the lake, she’d make a trip to Knoxville and haul back the stuff she had in storage; her physical assets from the divorce. The furniture and kitchen doodads would make for a good start. She’d have a better kitchen than she’d had before. Well, maybe equal. Her old one would be hard to top, but anything was possible.

She wondered if today’s workman took on private projects, like updating kitchens. Where had that thought come from? He’d seen her in her underwear and hadn’t had the decency to pretend he hadn’t. Holt could recommend a handyman who had better manners.

Back to planning for the future…

From here on out if she entertained it would be her choice and her friends, not Andrew’s or anyone else’s associates. She’d make herself fabulous breakfasts and eat on a deck overlooking the lake. Alone. No more cardboard bars. She would live in peace with only her businesses and her friends, few as they may be, to occupy her time.

If her life wasn’t better yet, it soon would be.

She hoped.

CHAPTER 2

Armi Sherwood was pretty, sexy, confident. Ballsy, even. She was the kind of woman he might ask out under different circumstances. He might even date her for a month or two. In the past fifteen years that had been the limit of his so-called relationships.

This would all be easier if she was a hag, but just his luck, she was not.

After a long day of working on motel renovations, Mitch Duncan took a quick shower, thought about shaving and decided not to bother, grabbed a beer, and headed for his front porch. Every time he wondered why he’d bought this place when he had no idea how long he’d be here, he sat on the porch and looked out over Angel Lake, and he remembered. Some days it was still hot as hell, but in the evening when the sun set, and in the morning right before it rose, this was more like heaven. He’d never lived in such an isolated place, and he liked it.

Might as well enjoy every moment of peace he could before the shit hit the fan. Which it would. If he was lucky all would be quiet for a month or two. Maybe even into the next year, which would be awesome. That would give them time to prepare for what was coming.

Somehow he didn’t think he had that long.

He needed to introduce himself to the woman; should’ve done it yesterday after he saw her in her window. Instead he’d been steering clear of the bar, working on the far end of the motel instead of right beneath her window. There was plenty to be done in and around the place, almost enough to keep him so busy he forgot what was coming. Almost was the key word.

If he thought too much about the magnitude of the changes that had blind-sided him in the past few months, it might drive him crazy. There were moments when he felt the insanity, right there at his fingertips.

Arminda Sherwood might push him over the edge.

Was it too late to run? Could he get far enough away to wipe this obligation from his mind and his gut? He didn’t think so. Fate was a bitch.

He had to make contact with the woman—Armi, her friends called her Armi—at some point. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but he couldn’t put it off forever.

Beer finished, sun fully set, Mitch rose to his feet and started stripping. He was never going to get used to this. Never. And at the same time he was beginning to love who he was, what he had become, the same way he loved this beautiful but isolated place.

As the shift began, he growled…

* * *

The Milhouse brothers didn’t perform at The Doghouse every night. Weekends only, when the crowd they brought in was healthy enough to generate the income to pay them. If there was a full moon on a weekend, as there was on this September Saturday night, they were elsewhere. Running, chasing, howling at the moon. It wasn’t necessary that they stay within the limits of Mystic Springs in order to shift, not anymore, but as far as she could tell, they did. Habit, she supposed. Comfort. That was their known territory. It was home.

She’d heard plenty of howling close by on full moon nights, but the Milhouses weren’t the only shifters in the world. Not even the only ones in Alabama. Some were new, finding their power after the cosmic change that had taken place almost a year ago. Others might’ve known what they were but had chosen to live away from Mystic Springs so they wouldn’t have to worry about their wild proclivities.

That choice had been taken away from them. It didn’t matter anymore if they liked being a werewolf or not.

On this full moon weekend, with no werewolf musicians available, Stella had decided to try her hand on the stage. Her background music was recorded, but her surprisingly good voice was live. The small crowd, a dozen or so customers of all ages who were spread across the room at tables and at the bar, loved her. They didn’t get rowdy the way they did when the brothers were rocking. No, they seemed to be lulled into a trance when Stella sang.

Some back home had seemed to be amused by Armi’s friendship with Stella. The dark-haired spitfire had never pretended to be something she was not to please anyone. She spoke her mind, drank whisky while those around her sipped wine or mango margaritas, and though she never said much about her past, Armi suspected it was more than a bit wild. It was no surprise that Stella knew how to work behind the bar. It was a surprise that she had that voice.

Armi was jealous. The saying, Can’t carry a tune in a bucket could’ve been written for her.

Mary took over the bar during the sets. Stella had planned three short sets for the night, and was in middle of set number two. Mary was eager to learn a new skill and had gladly agreed to be bartender, but she didn’t have much to do. While Stella sang no one ordered drinks. It was like they couldn’t take their eyes off the stage. Armi would wait on tables if she had to—she’d reluctantly said she would—but that wasn’t necessary with the crowd mesmerized.