Fires Of Solstice Part 21

"I'm going to go talk to Shadow now. I haven't been down to see him today yet."

Bleddyn remained still, his gaze locked with hers. Then he nodded. "He's anxious for your company." He turned toward the bathroom then stopped. "Meredythe?"

She was still standing, watching him. "Yes?"

"I have to make a trip into town-to the grocery store. Would you like to go along? Winterbourne has a fairly decent restaurant. We could get a bite to eat without having to worry about doing the dishes."

Her mind raced. He hadn't told her everything he knew about werewolves, she just knew it. She might learn something. The fact that Bleddyn was so devastatingly attractive had nothing to do with her agreeing to go to dinner. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Great. I'll be ready in about half an hour, so make sure you feed Shadow."

"I'll do that now."

After he disappeared into the bathroom, Meredythe turned off the computer, gathered up her papers and CDs and shoved them into her briefcase.

Dinner with Bleddyn. Her mind began to wander down erotic paths. The dark, curly hairs on his chest were as soft as they looked. A picture of the thin line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans appeared in her mind. A s.h.i.+ver slid down her back.

She stared at the closed door of the bathroom. Just how did Bleddyn look naked? Did his b.u.t.t really look as good as it did in those tight jeans he wore? And his c.o.c.k...

She took a step toward the door.

The sharp pain in her leg dissolved her fantasy.

"Ouch! Methuselah, how often have I told you not to use me as your scratching post?"

"Meerrooww," the cat answered and weaved back and forth through her legs.

She glanced at the closed bathroom door once more and s.h.i.+vered. After a quick stroke from Methuselah's head to the tip of his tail, she said, "I'm going out to see Shadow now."

Methuselah yawned and rolled over onto his back. Finally. I didn't think she was ever going to pay attention to that lead about werewolves.

"It's a small town-barely eight thousand people when you count the outlying areas," Bleddyn said as he maneuvered his truck into a parking spot at Winterbourne's only grocery store.

"Pretty quiet, I'll bet," Meredythe answered as she looked around.

Bleddyn's grin flashed. "Better for wolves that way. Not as many people to bother them."

Releasing her seat belt, Meredythe opened her door and jumped out. "I can see your point."

Bleddyn walked around to her side of the truck. Tucking her arm under his, he led her into the grocery store. Thirty minutes later, he wheeled the cart back out to the truck and deposited their purchases in the back. "We can leave the truck here. The restaurant is only a few blocks away."

Meredythe looked up and down the street. "Aren't you afraid someone will steal everything?"

"No. Winterbourne is a quiet town, remember."

"It's quiet towns like this that have the most skeletons buried in its closets," she snorted as she slid her arm under his and nudged him forward. "Come on, I'm hungry."

Chuckling, Bleddyn lengthened his stride so he could keep up with her.

Meredythe closed her eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air. A cold breeze ruffled her hair and she s.h.i.+vered. Even though a warm front had come through and melted most of the snow, late November in upper New York State was still cool and brisk.

Though it was after six o'clock, many of the shops on Main Street were still open, their owners outside stringing garland or Christmas lights or both around their doors and windows. Every one of them wished Bleddyn and her a good evening.

Meredythe smiled. Small-town America, where everybody knew everybody else. How she loved it! Someday, when she'd accomplished everything she wanted to in journalism, she'd retire to a town like this and write... something.

As they strolled toward the restaurant, Bleddyn stopped numerous times to introduce her to various townspeople. Henry Hamilton owned a drugstore that still had a soda fountain. Agnes Carson had a dress shop with one of the loveliest wedding gowns she had ever seen in the window. Then there was Sally Marsden's Miscellany Shoppe where, Sally told her, she could find just about anything she could imagine. Just glancing in the window told Meredythe it was the kind of shop Aunt Evelyn would love. She made up her mind to go browse soon.

"The restaurant is in the middle of the next block," Bleddyn said as they stopped at the curb.

"If we ever get there," Meredythe teased as they crossed the street. "Is there anyone in this town you don't know?"

Bleddyn grinned, but before he could answer, they were interrupted again.

"Bleddyn, good evening."

Bleddyn nodded. "h.e.l.lo, Richard. How are you? Anything exciting happen in town today?"

"Mrs. Thompson's cat got stuck up her sycamore tree," the older man answered with a grin. "And Billy and Bobby Norwood were caught stuffing eggs into old lady Brenner' s mailbox again. You know, the usual." His gaze s.h.i.+fted to Meredythe. "And who's this pretty lady?"

"Meredythe Welsh, meet Richard Fletcher, owner and publisher of The Winterbourne Chronicle. Meredythe's a reporter from New York."

The portly man's handshake was robust. "A reporter! With you, Bleddyn? What's the world coming to?" he said with a wide grin. "You should be honored, young lady. Bleddyn Glyndwr has allowed exactly one other reporter to interview him in the years he's been here-me. You are certainly in select company. How did you manage to get your foot in the door?"

After he left go of her hand, Meredythe shook it, opened and closed it, then shook her fingers again to restore the circulation. "The blizzard sort of blew me in. He either had to let me in or let me freeze. How did you manage to get an interview, Mr. Fletcher?"

"Call me Richard. It wasn't hard. I just drove up to the house and refused to leave until he talked to me."

"He sat in the driveway for five hours," interrupted Bleddyn. "I think he'd have stayed all night."

Fletcher nodded. "I would have. Kept the doors locked tight too. That wolf he lets run loose sat under a tree and stared at me all day. Wouldn't let me out of my truck."

Meredythe chuckled. "Keri was a lot nicer to me."

"You're a lot prettier than I am, Ms. Welsh."

"Meredythe, please, and Keri's a female," she bantered back.

Fletcher's laughter rolled down the street. "Smart girl you've got there, Bleddyn. Better be careful. She might discover all your secrets."

Meredythe laughed with them, but...

Did she detect a note of warning in Richard Fletcher's voice?

"I don't have any secrets to hide, Richard, you know that," Bleddyn answered with a wink. "Now if you'll excuse us, I promised Meredythe a meal at the Winterbourne House."

"Why didn't you say so? Just get the special, whatever it is. You won't be disappointed," Fletcher said. "Goodnight, Meredythe. Enjoy your stay in Winterbourne. You won't find another town quite like ours anywhere else."

"Goodnight. It was nice meeting you."

With a jaunty wave, Fletcher slid into the blue pickup truck parked at the curb and drove away.

"Quite a character, isn't he?" Meredythe asked.

Bleddyn gently grasped her elbow and guided her down the street. "Very much so, but a good friend, nonetheless. Here we are."

They stopped in front of a red brick building with a simple wooden sign reading Winterbourne Public House and Restaurant. Bleddyn pushed the door open then stepped back for Meredythe to precede him.

Gentle warmth rolled out the door, embracing Meredythe and pulling her forward into the softly lighted foyer. Through a door on at her left, she could see a long mahogany bar where a handful of patrons chatted convivially. A burst of laughter lured her to the doorway. Glancing to the back of the room, she noted the small group of men chuckling around a dartboard. The tall, gray-haired bartender strolled down the length of the bar and leaned against it.

"Good evening, miss. Can I help you?"

Before she could answer, the woodsy cologne Bleddyn favored enveloped her. He slipped her coat from her shoulders and said, "She's with me, Zach."

The bartender's grin was affable. "Evening, Bleddyn, what can I get for you?"

"Nothing tonight. We're here for dinner."

"Then you'll want the special."

"I'll take your word for it."

A buxom blonde bustled down the length of the taproom toward them. "h.e.l.lo, Bleddyn. Two for dinner?"

"Meredythe, I'd like you to meet Penny O'Calahan, chef extraordinaire of the Winterbourne House."

Penny's Irish accent was unmistakable. "Go on now, Bleddyn Glyndwr. You'll be turning my head with all that blarney."

The bartender's voice rolled across the bar. "Her head is swelled enough already. I have to live with the woman, you know."

Smiling, Meredythe asked, "Have you been in America long?"

"Ten years ago, himself at the bar talked me into moving here to manage his restaurant. I wasn't here more than five months and himself forced me to marry him."

"Forced! Ha! More the other way around, woman."

Fisting her hands on her hips, Penny snapped. "Don't you be telling people I plied you with the drink until you were agreeing to marry me, Zachary O'Calahan, or you'll be sleeping in your bar tonight."

Grumbling and laughter drifted across the bar, but Penny's order went unchallenged by her husband.

"He's a good man, Zachary is," she stated as she led Meredythe and Bleddyn into the dining room, "but he needs reminding of his place now and again." She glanced over her shoulder at Meredythe. "Men are like children. They need structure and discipline. Don't be forgetting that," she said with a meaningful glance at Bleddyn.

Bleddyn chuckled as they followed Penny. "We'll have two of tonight's specials. Do you want anything to drink, Meredythe?"

"What's the special?" she asked as she slid into the booth.

"Shepherd's pie," Penny answered.

"Then I'll have a beer. Whatever you have on tap."

Bleddyn seated himself across the booth. "Make that two."

"Aye, two drafts." With a warm smile, Penny bustled off and returned almost immediately with their drinks. "I'll have your dinners out in a jiffy."

Glancing around, Meredythe sipped her beer. Penny had seated them in a fairly secluded booth away from the other diners. The large potted shrub sitting just behind them also sheltered them from curious glances.

Leaning back against the high back of the booth, she smiled and said, "So, Bleddyn, what do you know about werewolves?"

Chapter Eleven.

Bleddyn glanced around the room. The low hum of conversation from other diners drifted toward them but didn't intrude. More people than he'd expected were here, but Penny had seated them in a secluded booth. When the waitress delivered their two mugs of beer, he nodded his thanks. Lifting his, he sipped slowly.

Meredythe sat perfectly still, her eyes locked on his.

"Well?" she asked.

"Lycanthropy."

"What?"

"The scientific name for believing oneself to be a werewolf."

She frowned. "I know that. I want to know how much you know about it. You are the expert on wolves."

After another quick glance around the dining room, he set his gla.s.s down. No one was paying attention to them. "I've studied the phenomena off and on over the years."

Her fingertips rolled a drumbeat on the hard oak table.

"And?"

Ignoring the other diners, he focused on Meredythe. She sat across from him, eyes sparkling with interest. Lifting her beer, she sipped then placed the mug back on the table. White foam smothered her upper lip. When her tongue swiped her lip clean, his c.o.c.k jerked. Erotic images of what that tongue could do to his body flashed behind his eyes.

"Bleddyn?" Her tone was impatient.

Shoving his fantasies into a dark corner of his mind, he reached for his beer. "Most lycanthropy can be attributed to schizophrenia or other mental diseases."

Locking both hands around her gla.s.s, Meredythe leaned forward, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brus.h.i.+ng the top of the table.

"I read that. What about the ones who aren't mentally ill but still believe they're werewolves?"

Bleddyn pulled his eyes away from the nipples that pushed against her soft sweater and sipped his beer. After a couple of quick swallows, he said, "Lycanthropy is not really my field of expertise. I'm interested in real wolves, not people suffering from delusions."