Best in Show

Laurie dug her hand into the shoe box on the coffee table and came up with half a dozen blue ribbons. “Geez. How many are in here?”

“I dunno.” From the kitchen came the sounds of Digger rummaging around in the fridge. “Where the scat’s the—”

“Look in the door.”

“Oh yeah.”

The rummaging stopped. Laurie sighed. “My boyfriend, the mighty hunter. Can’t find things he put in his own refrigerator. It’s a good thing you grow your own food.”

“Correction.” Digger came into the living room with two bottles of Lexor’s Pale Ale. He handed the unopened one to Laurie and took a swig from the other. “I grow vegetables to lure in my own food. There’s a difference. You can’t hunt a leaf of lettuce.”

“You sure can grow one, though.” She held up the blue ribbon that proved it. “Did you win every produce exhibit at the fair?”

“Not every one. Some horse won for sweet corn. The judge was a horse, so I think it was fixed. I didn’t enter for cabbage because I didn’t grow any, and my peppers sucked this year. Even Lorelei said so.”

“That didn’t stop her from eating them.” Laurie picked another blue ribbon out of the box. “’Best Flower Arrangement’?”

Digger’s face got red. “You weren’t supposed to see that one.”

“Well, you do have that beautiful flower garden.” She spotted a flash of third-place yellow in the box. “What happened here?”

“Oh, that was Baked Goods. Meat Pie. They didn’t tell me it was supposed to be ground chuck and not woodchuck.” Digger shrugged. “Tasted fine to me.”

“Ooooh, this one’s huge! Best in Show?”

“For the zucchini, yeah. I wanted to cook it for you, but Louie offered me cash for the whole display. He said he wanted to use ‘em in a special. I couldn’t turn him down.” He raised his bottle to her. “You’re drinking your fried zucchini dinner. Enjoy.”

“We should make a display out of these. Hang it over the fireplace.”

“What for? Because I’m good at growing bunny bait? Most of that’s your doing, or tips from Lorelei. Why don’t you take those home with you? I feel funny just looking at them. Like I cheated or something.”

“It’s your garden and your efforts. You earned these.”

He wasn’t buying it, she could tell. Wolves weren’t supposed to enjoy gardening, or growing things, or digging in the dirt. The pack as a whole considered it unlupine.

Well, Laurie had an answer to that. She put down her bottle and picked up the biggest blue ribbon, the Best in Show. “I only want this one, and I know just where to put it. Right where it belongs.”

Before Digger could protest, Laurie knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his fly. She fixed the blue ribbon to the place of honor. “There we go. Biggest zucchini in Talbot’s Peak.” She gave his “zucchini” a squeeze. “And so firm!”

Digger made a low, growly noise.

“Taste … mmmmm, salty. Look! It’s growing as we speak. We’re going to need a bigger ribbon. Shall I check the radishes while I’m down here?”

His assent came out as a croak.

“Zucchini in heart of palm,” Laurie murmured in between licks. “With radishes on the side.” She sucked enthusiastically until the sauce arrived. “Now that was worthy of Best in Show. You, sir, are one hell of a gardener.”

“Gimme a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready to plow your field. Oops! Looks like the growing season’s started already.” He tugged her blouse up over her head. “We won’t be needing this.”

She yanked at his trousers. “Or these.”

Suffice to say, Digger claimed yet another prize. As the saying goes, farmers do it dirty.

Just A Quiet Night Out

I could be home, Beth Carter thought. She dodged a flying beer mug and just barely made it under the table with her dress intact. A plate of hors d’oervers sailed overhead like a Frisbee, scattering Vienna wieners the length of its trajectory. I could be watching Dancing With the Stars or reading a book or something. But nooooo. Everybody at work says this place has the best food around and why don’t you give it a try?

Someone tipped a table over. Beth risked a peek beyond her table’s rim. She couldn’t be certain, but it looked like a hawk was trying to divebomb a wolf in a tie and sports jacket. The wolf, like Beth, had taken refuge under a table. Every time it tried to dash for the door, the hawk lunged at its muzzle with talons and beak. Beth pulled her chair before her for extra security.

Trouble was, the food here actually was downright tasty, at least the bit she’d been able to sample before the hubbub started. It had all begun so innocently. She walked into Rattigan’s, ordered a drink and the Mucho Muncho Nachos, and amused herself trying to guess which patrons were human and which weren’t. Rumor had it Rattigan’s catered to shapeshifters. Beth had heard the stories about Talbot’s Peak but never believed them. Shapeshifters? As in werewolves? Seriously?

She’d been sort-of flirting with a cowboy at the bar when the man in the sports jacket came in. He took a seat in the corner and ordered a burger. Maybe his burger wasn’t as good as her nachos. He’d certainly been vocal about whatever his problem was. The server, a striking woman with feathers in her hair, took it in stride, and marched his plate back to the kitchen. She returned shortly with another serving. The man knocked the plate aside with a sneer and a loud suggestion about what she could do with the food here.

They must have put something other than whiskey in her drink, because the next thing Beth knew, the server had turned into a hawk, the rude customer had turned into a wolf, and fur, feathers and food starting flying.

She eyed the door and considered making a break for it. Something that looked like a bear in a hoodie lumbered past her table. It started waving its paws, though whether at the wolf or the hawk Beth had no idea and didn’t want to know. I should have gone to the vampire bar.

When the rat with the cleaver came out of the kitchen, she knew she was going to faint.

“Hey.” Someone wriggled under her table. She cowered back until she realized her new companion was, or at least looked, human. “You okay, miss?”

The bear bawled. The hawk screeched. Somebody flung a salad at the wolf. Beth whimpered.

“Human. Thought so,” the man said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

How they made it to the door unscathed Beth had no idea. The man must be a running back; he maneuvered her through the chaos like he was headed for a touchdown and the whole offense was after him. The quiet bar had turned into a zoo gone berserk. “Is that a panda?” Beth said before her rescuer thrust her and himself into the relative safety of the street.

Not a moment too soon. Sirens announced the imminent arrival of the cops. “Time to skedaddle,” her savior announced. They legged it down the block.

“Don’t let that put you off Rattigan’s,” he said while they watched, from a safe distance, the cops round up the patrons and herd them into the backs of patrol cars. The wolf and the woman, her hair-feathers now askew, got separate cars. “Usually it’s pretty quiet. Well, there was that bit the other week when the special pulled a gun on the dinner crowd, but that doesn’t happen too often.”

“Um … ’kay … ”

"It’s a good place to drop in for a drink and a bite. Louie’s the best danged cook we’ve had in Talbot’s Peak in a coon’s age. I don’t blame Sam for going off on that flea-bus.”

“Sam?”

“Sam Knighthawk.” He nodded toward the police car with the server in it. “She won’t hear a word against Louie.” He pointed out the wolf, now human again, his sport coat in tatters. It didn’t cover nearly enough. Beth hastily looked away. “Food critic,” her rescuer explained.

“Ah.”

The man snorted and dusted his hat against his thigh. Beth recognized him now. The cowboy. He was even cuter up close than when he’d been leaning on the bar. He tossed back his rich, copper-colored hair before he put his hat back on. “Name’s Tanner,” he said. “I herd cows at the Wayne spread back of the hills. You’re … ?”

“Beth. Beth Carter.” She checked her dress for stains. Oh crud. That smear on the knee wasn’t coming out without a ton of Tide.

Tanner grinned. “Well, Beth Carter, I’ve had my eye on you since you came in. I’m sorry you had deal with that. That isn’t how shifters act. Not on a normal day, at any rate.”

“I kind of figured.” She looked up at him with sudden suspicion. “I suppose you’re … something?”

He laughed at that. “Oh hell yeah. Nothing carnivorous, so don’t you worry. Would you let a fellah give you a ride home?”

Oh heck, why not? The whole point of the evening, aside from the food, had been to see an actual shapeshifter. She smiled up at the lean, handsome cowboy. “I’d like that.”

#

Beth’s report on her visit to Rattigan’s the next day at work had to be carefully edited. She mentioned the bar fight, but not the forms of the fighters. She especially left out her wild, exhilarating ride on the bare back of a mustang. Both her rides, and the one she had lined up for Friday. The way she saw it, that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

She roared up to Dante’s on her usual night and in her usual reckless fashion, on a tricked-out Harley so smokin’ with chrome it would make the most Hellacious of Angels drool with envy. A knot of leather-clad bikers loitered out front; they hastily cleared a spot for her. Her name was Jeanie O’Hare, but she preferred to go by Honey Bunny. No timid cottontail, she: of Texas jackrabbit extraction, she was wild and she was dangerous, on her bike and off. Males dissed her and her powerful kickboxing feet at their peril.

The Calhoun boys waited outside for her arrival, also per usual. Nate and Donny – better known in their pack as Nipper and Yipper – had a standing bet with Honey. “Tonight’s the night,” Nipper said to his brother. “Tonight we score.”

“In your dreams.” Honey grinned. They always forgot just how sharp a hare’s hearing could be. She lifted off her helmet and shook out her flowing blonde tresses. Every male in the parking lot zeroed in on the performance. Let ‘em look, she thought. Some lucky pup would get to do more than look tonight. She loved to get down and dirty, and always with a carnivore … or two. Hoppin’ and boppin’ with a partner who might eat her at any second added spice to the encounter.

But first they had to earn their way into Honey’s bed. Every game had rules, and hers were tricky. But then, hares were tricky beasts. Probably why the Calhouns were so hot to land her. Tricks, hot sex, and no ties afterwards. What coyote could resist?

The boys confronted her right outside the door. “We want another rematch,” Nipper said.

“First give me some sugar.” Honey dug her fingers into Nipper’s thick black hair and dragged his head down to hers in a scalding kiss. He lived up to his nickname by nibbling on her lip. Yipper shouldered in next. He was a tongue man, and plunged his dipstick down her throat like he was checking for oil. She wouldn’t mind a roll in the briar patch with either of them. But the game came first.

“You know the rules, boys,” she said. “We race to the old logging road and back. I win, I laugh in your face. You win, you’ve got my full attention for the evening. Who’s it going to be, Nip? You or your brother?”

“Screw that,” Nipper said. “Yip’s riding, but when he wins, you get both of us. We’ll work out the logistics afterwards.”

She studied them both doubtfully. “I don’t know, boys. Think you can keep up?”

“You’ve never been with a coyote, have you?”

“I meant your ride, boys. If all you’ve got is some little putt-putt, why should I even mount up?”

The coyotes sniffed indignantly and showed her their bike. It was only a Yamaha, scrawny as a geek next to her burly Harley, but it looked clean, and Honey knew Yipper had a magic touch with engines. Among other things. Leave it to these randy boys to pull in a ringer on her.

“All right, you’ve got yourself a race, but not until I’m ready. I came to hear the band. Which one of you gentlemen wants to escort me?”

“We’re coyotes,” Nipper said. “That pretty much scotches the gentlemen part. But hey, I’ll spring for drinks.”

I’ll bet you will, Honey thought with a mental smirk. Coyotes had a rep for playing fast and loose with the rules. Well, so did she. She stuck to the non-alcoholic side of the drink list. Wouldn’t do to get tipsy with these two around. With coyotes, you had to keep on your toes.

She did allow Nipper to hang all over her on the dance floor, even during the fast numbers. He was one hot cutie and damn, was he limber. Same for his blondie brother. Someday, she mused, it might be worth her while to throw the race and take a Calhoun for a test drive.

Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen Yipper for at least twenty minutes.

“He’s checking the bike,” Nipper assured her. “What? You think we’d pull something shady?”

“In a heartbeat, sweetie.”

Nipper just shrugged and grinned at her. Seconds later Yipper horned in and finished the dance with her. He wasted no time in groping her ass. “There’s no cottontail back there,” she informed him.

“Just warning up for later.”

“We’ll see.” The music ended. “In fact, let’s see right now.”

Back in the parking lot Honey inspected her ride. It seemed untouched. Yipper strapped on his helmet and mounted up. Honey hopped onto the Harley’s seat. “Give me some sugar,” she ordered Nipper. “Just in case Yipper gets lucky.”

“You’re getting us both,” he reminded her, before he kissed her hard. He gave her a nip on her neck in lieu of a good luck. While he had her distracted Yipper kickstarted his Yamaha and roared off down the road.

“Oh, no fair,” she said on a laugh. Like it made any difference. Her mechanic dad had taught her everything he knew, and she’d picked up more on the road. There wasn’t a cycle in all of Montana that could outrun the Big Bopper. She revved the engine, confident she’d catch him in five minutes, ten at the most.

Nothing happened.

No growl of engines, no vibrations, nothing. Her bike made a whimper and just sat there. She was still sitting there with Nipper laughing beside her when Yipper pulled into the lot twenty minutes later. “Hey, where you been? I missed you.”

Honey hopped off the Bopper. “What did you do?”

Yipper and Nipper exchanged grins. “Well, you’re always demanding sugar from us.”

“So we gave you some.”

“In your gas tank.”

“Nothing in your rules says a race is cancelled just because a bike won’t start. Guess I won. Or we won. Or you won. Win win win.”

She looked from one to the other and started to laugh. She could get used to coyotes. “You’re paying for that engine.”

“Worth it,” they chorused.

“I’ve already got a room,” Nipper added. “In the morning we’ll flip a coin, see who calls AAA and who gets to take you to breakfast.”

“And between now and then?”

The coyotes leered at her. Honey leered back. Looked like she was in for a night of hard riding after all, and she wouldn't have it any other way.