The Keeping (17 page)

Ryne knew some of
the locals wondered about his obsessive need for privacy, the large
gate, the plethora of warning signs, but no one was pressing for
answers. That was one nice thing about Stump River. The people were
friendly, but not too nosey, seeming to be content to leave each
other alone. Maybe it was all part of their Canadian heritage. When
researching the country, he’d read about their concept of being a
‘cultural mosaic’ where individuality was encouraged rather than a
‘melting pot’ that expected everyone to blend in and conform. It
was one of the reasons he’d chosen to move here. With any luck,
people would leave him alone and his ‘culture’ would be allowed to
flourish alongside that of the other citizens. Provided someone
didn’t mess it up.

This brought his
thoughts back to Melody Greene. Frowning, he climbed back in his
truck and drove towards the house. Which pictures of his had she
seen? He didn’t care about the sunsets or the birds or the
wildflowers. It was one particular picture featuring his brother
Kane in his wolf form that worried him. Anyone studying the
picture—at least anyone who knew anything about wolves—would
immediately see that the animal in the picture was unique, a brand
new species, in fact. Well, technically not a
new
species—werewolves had existed since the beginning of time—they
were just adept at keeping their existence hidden. Of course, there
were rumours and supposed sightings, but most of those were
attributed to hysteria and folklore.

It wasn’t
hysteria, Ryne thought to himself. He did exist. His family and
friends, his whole species existed, and flourished, but only due to
carefully guarding their secret. It hadn’t always been that way.
Long ago, werewolves had been hunted to the very brink of
extinction. That was when the Book of the Law had emerged; the
product of his people’s desperation. The few remaining packs had
gathered and banded together, creating a set of laws, which, if
followed, would safeguard their existence. And since that time, it
had worked. True, in the beginning there had been terrible
sacrifices—complete relocation of every pack in order to make a
fresh start, whole packs needing to be destroyed when the careless
or defiant actions of a few led to their discovery, actual pack
wars erupting when one group refused to bend to the law—but those
difficulties had merely created greater determination in those that
remained. Eventually, the universal good had outweighed the losses.
Their existence had faded from human memory until only a few
whispered rumours remained.

For the most part,
his people had lived undetected over the past couple of centuries.
Alliances between packs had strengthened their common bond, the
need to be careful, to avoid excessive attention, became ingrained
into their way of life. Peace and prosperity was enjoyed by all;
the dangers of the past were now but a distant memory for most. Who
would have thought that a simple snapshot might undo centuries of
progress?

Ryne recalled the
day as clearly as if it were yesterday. He’d been out taking
pictures and had come across his brother in his wolf form. On a
whim, he’d snapped a picture of Kane, and when he’d seen how well
the picture turned out, he’d enlarged it, and had it mounted. It
was supposed to be for the family, not publicly shown, but his
ex-girlfriend had taken it, and then sold it, and now... Well, the
exact severity of the fallout had yet to be determined.

According to
Kane’s report, Melody Greene had told Elise that she’d heard of his
wolf photograph, but hadn’t actually seen it. But was that the
truth? Did she know the significance? Had she realized, or had
someone told her, that it was probably the only picture of a real
live werewolf in existence today? And if she knew, what did she
plan on doing about it? Or was she really just interested in his
work for its artistic merit? It was a possibility, but he was too
much of a realist to hope for that. The worst case scenario was
that she would figure out where the picture was taken and use the
information to find Kane and his pack.

Ryne clenched his
hands around the steering wheel. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
The idea of his entire family entering into a suicide pact in order
to preserve the safety of their race was unthinkable. He’d do
whatever he had to do in order to save them. If need be, the secret
of that location would die here in Stump River.

*****

Mel checked her
watch. It was exactly six-thirty. She stood outsideThe Broken
Antler and nervously wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her
jeans. Hopefully, what she was wearing was appropriate. Meeting
with someone for an interview would usually call for more
professional attire, but considering the location Ryne had chosen,
that hadn’t seemed too suitable. Instead, she’d settled on dark
wash jeans and a pretty T-shirt with some chunky jewellery for
accent.

Clothes weren’t
really that important to her, but knowing you looked good and were
dressed appropriately did provide a boost of confidence. And
confidence was what she needed right now. She didn’t usually go
into bars—at least not ones as seedy looking as this one—by
herself. Hopefully, the interior was in better repair than the
exterior. Taking in the faded paint, cracked cement and the burnt
out lights in the sign, Mel decided the location matched Ryne’s
personality—very rough around the edges.

The man was
sarcastic and rude plus she could tell he enjoyed taunting her. How
she’d ever survive interviewing him, without doing him bodily harm,
she wasn’t sure. If it wasn’t for the large sum of money already in
her bank account, and the promise of more to come, she might
actually back out. However, she’d made a deal with Aldrich and his
client, Greyson, and she wasn’t a quitter. Though, as she eyed a
boarded up window and the shards of glass on the ground below it,
perhaps now was the time to start? She wondered if the window been
broken because someone was thrown through it, and gulped at the
very idea.

A breeze swept
down the street and she shivered—her denim jacket was not providing
much protection against the cool evening wind. Taking a deep
breath, she grabbed the handle and yanked open the heavy wooden
door while eyeing the antlers that hung drunkenly overhead, hoping
they wouldn’t fall on her. Luckily, they only swayed slightly and
Mel quickly scooted inside, not wanting to tempt gravity, nor the
old rusty chain that suspended them.

The interior of
the bar was slightly better than she’d hoped. It appeared clean,
though the smell of beer and fried food overwhelmed any scent of
cleaning fluid that might have confirmed the fact. For the most
part the decor was unremarkable and could have been located
anywhere on the continent. As she’d expected, the lighting was dim,
the air stale and pedestal tables with worn chairs were scattered
about the large room. One wall contained a big screen TV, another
had racks of pool cues and dart boards, while a bar occupied the
third wall. Rows of glasses and bottles of liquor lined shelves
backed by an old mirror that had seen better days. In front of the
spirits, a large, dark-haired man, who closely resembled a bear in
a plaid flannel shirt, stood lazily drying glasses. He was talking
to the patrons who sat around the scarred wooden structure of the
bar. A quick perusal told her that none of the men there were
Ryne.

Mel shifted her
gaze from the room’s decor and began to examine each table,
wondering if Ryne was here, or if she’d arrived before him. Seeing
no sign of him, she twisted the strap of her purse in her hands,
considering her options; sit at a table or at the bar? A few
patrons were glancing her way with mild curiosity, but most just
ignored her. Still, she felt conspicuous and moved towards the bar,
eyeing a seat near the wall with a good view of the door. She’d sit
there and wait for Ryne to arrive.

Settling onto a
bar stool, she smiled politely at the man beside her and then fixed
her gaze on the door. Minutes ticked by and she shifted
uncomfortably. What if he stood her up? She furrowed her brow. No,
this had been his idea. He’d be here...wouldn’t he? Nervously, she
began to nibble on her lower lip, wondering how long she should
wait. Unexpectedly, a large hand attached to a very hairy arm
appeared in her peripheral vision and she instinctively jerked
away, spinning around to see who it belonged to.

“What can I get
you, little lady?” The bear in the flannel shirt was the owner of
the arm. His deep gravelly voice had a bit of an accent, possibly
French, she decided. He seemed to be looming over her and she
fought the urge to cringe.

“Nothing, thank
you. I’m just waiting for someone.” Mel smiled politely and made to
turn away when he spoke again.

“And who would
that be?” When she hesitated, he smiled at her revealing a mouthful
of large teeth that seemed all the whiter for the black facial hair
that grew profusely on his chin. “I know everyone who lives
here.”

“Er...Ryne
Taylor.”

“Ryne, you say?”
He chuckled and Mel had a feeling from the look on his face that a
lot of women had sat in this very spot waiting for Ryne. “Well, you
won’t have to wait long.”

“Really?” Again
Mel tried to turn towards the door, but the bartender—his name tag
said Armand—gently took her by the shoulder and spun her bar stool
to face the far corner of the room. A movement in that area caught
her attention. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she
realized it was caused by the man she was looking for. He was
leaning back casually in his chair, drinking beer and studying her
with an impassive expression. As she made eye contact, he nodded
and took another swig.

“Thank you.” She
gave the bartender a tight smile and hopped off the stool. She
could feel him watching her progress across the room, but shrugged
it off, focusing on her target instead.

Weaving between
the partially filled tables, Mel wondered how long Taylor would
have left her cooling her heels before coming to get her. The man
really was insufferable. When she finally reached her destination,
she was sure the anger inside her would have steam rising from her
collar. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

“Sit.”

Frowning at the
command—she wasn’t a dog, after all—Mel pulled out a chair and
plunked herself down, all the while wondering why she was complying
rather than defiantly remaining on her feet. Her temper rose even
further when she noted the smirk on the man’s face. Well, she’d
deal with that right now!

“And a good
evening to you, too. Why thank you. Yes, I’d love to have a seat.
What a gentleman you were, to come and meet me at the bar, like
that. Oh, it’s lovely to see you again, too. What’s that? The rest
of my day? It was fine, thanks for asking.” Mel held a mocking
conversation with herself.

Ryne blinked and
raised his eyebrows.

“That, you
insufferable jerk, is how most people start out an evening. It’s
called polite conversation.” Mel chastised him, not about to put up
with his rude behaviour.

Slowly, he took
another swig of beer before responding. “Well, you seem to know how
it’s done all on your own, so why should I bother?”

“Because...” Mel
stopped herself and snapped her mouth shut. He was doing it again.
Getting her all worked up with his little games. She wouldn’t get
caught by that again. Tonight, she was a professional. “Never
mind.” Settling back in her seat, she forced a polite smile on to
her face and said nothing.

Minutes ticked by
and silence reigned over the table. Ryne sipped his beer and Mel
stared at the TV trying to appear as if the newscast, about a now
disgraced sports figure, held her riveted. She kept her hands
tightly clasped in her lap and fought the urge to fidget. Finally,
relief came. With her peripheral vision, Mel saw Ryne signal the
server. When the woman approached the table, Mel turned ready to
greet her as a long lost relative.

It wasn’t a long
lost relative, but at that moment, Mel was sure the woman was the
next best thing.

“Hey, it’s Mel!”
The server grinned and Mel grinned back, pleased to see a friendly
face. It was Lucy, the waitress at the diner from the previous
day.

“Mel?” Ryne looked
at her incredulously. “That’s the name of a guy who comes to fix
your toilet.”

“No it’s not. It’s
a perfectly respectable nickname for Melody.” Mel defended her name
hotly while Lucy lightly hit him on the head with the menus she was
holding.

“Ouch! Cut that
out, Lucy.” Ryne grabbed the woman’s wrist and took the menus from
her. “That’s no way to treat a customer. You keep that up and I’ll
complain to Armand.”

“Armand won’t do
anything; I have him wrapped around my little finger. You just be
nice to my friend, Mel.” Lucy didn’t seem in the least worried by
Ryne’s threat. She pulled her wrist out of his hand, planted a
quick kiss on his cheek, and sashayed away, calling over her
shoulder. “If he gives you any trouble, you come see me, Mel.”

“Thanks, I will.”
Mel felt considerably better after the exchange and turned to face
Ryne. This time she was the one smirking. Knowing that she had an
ally in the building gave her more confidence. He was staring at
her again, but his expression seemed friendlier than it had when
she arrived.

“Mel.” He seemed
to be trying the name out as he looked at her. Finally, he shook
his head. “Nope. You just don’t look like a Mel. To me, you’re a
Melody.”

“You and my
mother.” Mel sighed.

“Your mother?”

“Yeah. My mother’s
sort of a free-spirited, hippie type. She was going through a song
writing stage when I was born and decided to call me Melody.”

“I like it.”

Mel blinked,
surprised by the sincerity of his comment. “Well...that’s good, I
guess.” She giggled as a thought struck her. “I suppose I should be
thankful that Mom wasn’t in her sewing and quilting stage at the
time or I might have been called bobbin or thimble.”