Compliance

Sheriff Otis T. Busby tsked as he ambled around the motorcycle. The big mook in the leather jacket gripped the handlebars so hard his knuckles whitened, and ground his ugly teeth but didn’t say anything. His girl, a petite, curly-haired blonde, clung to his back and watched Busby out of huge, nervous eyes.

“Wellnow,” Busby drawled. “We got us a problem here. You know what it is, biker boy?”

Biker Boy didn’t answer. From the look of him, he sure wouldn’t mind sinking those tusks of his into Busby’s neck. Busby’s eyes narrowed. A lot of residents in Talbot’s Peak looked at him like they’d like to take a piece out of him with their teeth. Sometimes he could swear he heard them growl. Must be something in the water.

“I asked you a question, biker boy.” He let his hand fall to his nightstick. He didn’t like bikers, he didn’t like biker gangs, and he sure as shootin’ didn’t like it when he talked to somebody and they didn’t answer him. The girl wasn’t talking either. That only ticked him off more.

The slam of the patrol car door distracted him. Officer Gordon hurried over. Gordon was new to the Talbot’s Peak force, and on ridealong with Busby until he learned the lay of the land. Busby didn’t wave him off. He could probably handle the biker himself, but it never hurt to have backup.

“Excuse me.” Gordon nodded briefly to the sheriff before he addressed the biker. “You’re Porker, right?” The big biker eyed him warily out of small, piggy eyes before offering up a curt nod. “Thought so. You don’t have to say anything. Look, it’s – well, it’s the helmet laws. You and any passengers you carry around have to wear helmets. That’s why we stopped you. It’s for your own safety.”

The biker sneered his opinion of helmets and helmet laws. “And hers,” Gordon added, indicating the blonde. The biker’s smile disappeared.

All three turned their heads toward Busby. “Yeah, that’s it,” he snarled. “You know what happens to a head if it hits the pavement at 60 miles an hour? It isn’t pretty, and I hate filling out the paperwork. The next time I see you two on a bike, you better have helmets on or you’re getting citations.”

He stalked back to the car. Gordon trotted after him. Busby shot the patrol car off the berm, leaving the biker and his girl in a splash of gravel.

# # #

Porker glared after the cop car’s retreating taillights. He had no use for cops. Calling them “pigs” was an insult to pigs, and he didn’t like being insulted. Worst of all, the cops had upset Mary. He felt her trembling against his back and squeezed her shoulders to reassure her. She stared up at him and mouthed a silent What was that about?

Porker pulled a small tablet and pen from his jacket pocket. He was still learning to sign, and his stutter made lipreading difficult for her. The pad offered an acceptable stopgap. She nodded at his printed Fucking helmet laws and looked at him expectantly.

Yeah. What now? He had a helmet with him; it kept the cops off his ass if he got stopped, like now. But only the one. That got Mary off the hook, but wouldn’t save him from a ticket if they spotted him again.

He handed her the helmet and wrote out his reasoning. Cops think you’ll split your skull. When she looked at his own bare head, he scoffed. He’d take his chances, with the road and the cops. What did people think he was, a pussy?

Slowly Mary smiled. She passed back the helmet and slid off his bike. She started removing her clothing. Porker’s brows climbed. Not that he didn’t object to a wallow, but right here at the side of the road?

Then he realized what she had in mind, and his face split in a slop-eating grin. See what the cops had to say about this!

# # #

“You’re too nice to people,” Busby snapped at Gordon the second they were in the car. “Especially these people. Something weird’s going on in Talbot’s Peak. It used to be a normal town with normal people in it. Now it’s all … weird.”

“Weird how?”

Busby rapped his hand against the steering wheel. “It’s nothing I can put a finger on. Time was, all I had to worry about was some drunk cowboys on Saturday night. Now we got biker gangs and UFO sightings and a sex club out in the woods. I don’t even want to talk about the newspaper. I think the editor’s on drugs or something.” He shook his head. “It’s like they’re animals.”

“I doubt if it’s that bad.”

“You haven’t been out here long enough to remember the old days.” He shot Gordon a sharp look. “Just why are you here? Weren’t you in Denver before?”

“I don’t like cities. I like Montana. The woods and the mountains suit me.”

And your buddy Wayne’s here, Busby thought sourly. The state authorities had strongly suggested he add Gordon to his team. He smelled Wayne money and Wayne influence behind it. Well, that didn’t cut any ice with Otis T. Busby. In his opinion, the Peak’s slide into weirdness had started when old Johann came over from Austria and got in that feud with the Hancocks. Now they had that Khan asshole stirring up shit. Damn furriners.

The growl of a motorcycle overtook the rumble of the cruiser’s engine. Busby glanced in the rear view. “Well, lookie here.” He slowed deliberately to let the biker pass. His grin had its own feral quality to it. “You better have a helmet on, boy.”

The cycle whizzed past them. The biker did indeed have a helmet on. He also had a bighorn sheep seated behind him. The bighorn had its forelegs hooked around his waist. The bike roared down the road and disappeared.

Busby nearly spun out. The cruiser ended up on the side of the road with its right-side wheels in the runoff ditch. “What the freaking hell was that?” Busby squeaked.

“Biker with a helmet on,” Gordon said calmly.

“I mean what was that on the bike with him!”

“The bighorn? She'll be okay. They’ve got heads like concrete. If they take a spill, those horns would probably do more damage to the road than vice versa. You want to cite them anyway?”

“What, give a ticket to a sheep?”

“It’s your jurisdiction.”

“How do you know the bighorn’s a she?”

Gordon shrugged. “She’s riding on the back, isn’t she?”

Busby peered at him closely. Like the man said, weird. The weird was best left alone. Busby transferred his stare to the road, after the now-vanished motorcycle. “I’m sure that constitutes animal cruelty … somehow. We’ll let it go this time. But if I catch that guy again, with or without his sheep, I’m giving him a ticket on principle.”

“If you say so.”

“Yeah. I say so.” Busby restarted the car. Talbot’s Peak. It used to be such a nice, quiet place. Not for the first time, he contemplated retirement.

New Release Coming Soon By Solara Gordon

I love cover art and the images artist come up with for covers. This is my latest release due out next month. What I love most is the realistic aspect of the picture. The sensual playfulness and erotic nature is caught in the shot very well. Jinger Heaston's cover at is fantastic. She's done both of my covers now. I hope to have her on future releases too.

This has been a long week work wise for me. Too often not enough sleep or hours to accomplish what is needed. I'm in the middle of revisions and edits so my muse is caught up in tweaking the story line and roughing out the edges for the juicy read you've been waiting for.

Here is a blurb tid bit for you:

Who better to get snowed in with than your friends? That's what Val Swarter thinks until she finds herself sharing a king-size bed with her boyfriend Darryl Swanson and his best friend Mason Cox. Val's desired both Mason and Darryl for sometime and she knows the two men have shared threesomes before. None of them wants to jeopardize their friendship, but when desire turns into a frank discussion and love is revealed, they’re going to have to decide how to become three in love, a cohesive family triad.

Have a great weekend everyone! Enjoy the cover art! Enjoy letting your imagination conger up a story to go with the cover and blurb.

Smiles,

SOLARA

Friday the Thirteenth Strikes Again - Those Dang Tunnels

Friday the Thirteenth, Fri May 13th, 5/13/11 … anyway you phrase it, and it all comes down to a date most folks think of as bad. “Bad things happen on this day.” “It’s a day of murders.” “Jason’s gonna get ya.”


Mumbo Jumbo or truth? Who knows. Mostly I think it’s a state of mind, but even some of my characters are leery of the day.

~When I approached Nick for a flash, he growled and told me not to come back until tomorrow. Zeva called him a pussy in a sing-songy voice and all hell broke loose. They are now playing chase through the woods like two silly beasts.

~Pretty Penny…oops, Penelope is hip deep in Aussie withdrawals, so Friday the 13th is not a good day for her.

~Adair is shocked and irritated that Meghan didn’t scream, but passed out instead. He has things to do, lessons to teach the teacher no matter what day it is…

~Mother Nature is taking on Father Time in a verbal smackdown and didn’t want to take the time to debunk the 13th mystery for us.

I did however find one desperate dolphin that is not having a very good day. Here’s to hoping the elusive sea monster will come out and play! ~wink~

~~~~

Finley Fairaday squelched the urge to buck and wiggle as the ultra thin nylon cords tightened against her soft hide. She just had to follow this stinking tunnel away from the warm waters of the Pacific, didn’t she? Instead of kicking back and swimming rings around her precious islands, she’d gotten a twitch in her tail to check out the mainland.

She’d wanted to see if there really was a sea monster living in the tunnels along the coast. And did these tunnels stretch all the way inland into Montana of all places? How cool would it be to see a part of the world not butted up against the ocean? She could see real mountains, and fluffy white snow—and be cold without having to dive deep to achieve it.

What she hadn’t planned on was the damn fish net blocking her way. Why was it here of all places and how could she break free? Without the use of her human hands she was all but stuck and doomed to quickly asphyxiate. Her dolphin body could last only seven minutes without air and that was in the direst of emergencies. She was currently pushing her way past the four minute mark.

If she shifted, she would be totally out of air and with no way back into her dolphin self. Yep, she was screwed…Friday the 13th strikes again. And where was the dreaded sea monster of which everyone spoke? Couldn’t she, in her last moments, at least see the beast? Hell, she’d even offer herself up as a snack.

Chewed or drowned—ugh, what a choice to make in her last moments.

Holy Smurfing Tea Bags!

Marissa had had it up to there with the little blue twerps! What was the point of having a cat in the house if he couldn’t keep the smurfs away? Ok, technically, they were pygmy dwarfs but they were blue, annoying and were constantly getting into the tea leaves. Didn’t matter that she didn’t keep sarsaparilla around; they still got into it and made a mess.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect them to respect the lack of rootbeer fixings in my coffee shop since they aren’t actually smurfs,” Marissa grumbled to herself as she swept up the evidence of yet another tea raid.

“Who are you talking to?” a sultry, somewhat raspy voice asked. Marissa jumped dumping the contents of her dustpan back on the floor. She spun around looking for the speaker, mindful of the fact that it had been a while since that bitch, Maggie, and her batboy toy had taken a pot shot at her. She found a large, white Persian cat with the lightest silver points she’d ever seen. Wow, what a lovely cat! she thought to herself. This being Talbot’s Peak and all, she figured out pretty quickly that this was probably no simple cat.

“Yeah,” she said to the cat, feeling a little silly. Lex could speak in his cat form, but he usually didn’t. “Can I help you? I’m closed right now so—”

The cat sighed miserably. Marissa cocked her head to the side, recognizing the mannerism.

“Hey, aren’t you that lady who ordered an Iranian coffee this morning?”

“Yeah,” the cat said, mirroring Marissa’s earlier one-word answer.

“So what are you doing back here?” Marissa asked, curious despite her best effort not to be.

“The truth? I have nowhere else to go. I had a bit of a row with Lexor earlier and…”

“Enough said,” Marissa interrupted, not unkindly. “I’ve lived with the little twerp since I was a child; he can be a very… interesting person to get along with. So I’m Marissa and you are?”

“Dorri,” the cat spat out. Marissa stared in amazement.

“The cat-goddess who stole Lex’s heart and broke it when he was just a kitten?” she asked in amazement.

“You know of me?” the cat, Dorri, asked, sounding a bit amazed, as well.

“Oh my god!” Marissa laughed out. “Every time Lex gets morose—which is a lot, I asure you—he goes on and on about how love is a fickle bitch and recounts the story of the protector goddess with the body of a siren and the heart of a hag.”

“Are-are you his cub, then” Dorri asked hesitantly. “You said he raised you.”

“He bought me from my good-for-nothing mother for some spell casting supplies when I was a child,” Marissa said, shaking her head. “I’m not his cub, per say, but he did raise me, after a fashion.”

“Oh!” the cat said, sitting up prettily. “You are the monkey child he’s always talking about!”

“That’s me,” Marissa confirmed, rolling her eyes, “though I’m neither, of course.”

“Neither what?” the cat asked. “You mean a monkey child? To one as old as Lexor, you most certainly are a child and you are human, so you are a monkey.”

“Monkeys have tails,” Marissa shot back. “Humans don’t so we are, technically, apes. And twenty-three may not be old, comparatively, but for my species, it is full grown. Nor am I his child, so I am not a child at all. If anything, that makes me an ape-woman. I prefer witch, though.”

“Ah,” the cat purred wisely. “Yes, I imagine he would have need of a slave who could work magic.”

“I’m not a slave!” Marissa shot back, beginning to get angry. “You have a lot to learn about life outside of whatever hole you’ve been living in!”

“Yes,” the cat murmured, sinking back down to her tummy, looking dejected. “That is what Lexor told me what he threw me away.”

“Dang,” Marissa said , feeling low for hurting this little goddess’s feelings. It wasn’t her fault she had no idea how to get on in a town like this where all the species got along. More or less, anyway.

“I don’t suppose you could help me figure out how to fit in better,” the cat asked cautiously. Marissa eyed the cat consideringly. Then she eyed the mess on her floor from ruined tea leaves.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said in a calculating tone. “You run off these dammed smurfs and I’ll help you win the twerp back.”

“I don’t want to win him,” the cat sputtered, flustered. “I am only here because I need cover so I can serveil the Yakooza!”

“Sister, you can tell yourself that all you want,” Marissa poo-poo’ed. “You haven’t been moping about your job, though. You’ve been moping over that goofball, Lex.”

After several minutes of her and the cat having a stair down, the cat looked around.

“So what are these smurf things? I don’t want to get into trouble for attacking something that is not considered food here.”

Feathered Wings of Fire

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers. Omy! Am I worn out. I spent most of yesterday writing my three blurbs and filling out the cover art questionnaire for KANDY APPLE AND HER HELLHOUNDS. I don’t know about other authors, but it takes a lot of concentration and focus for me. Sometime, it feels as if I weigh each word, and by the time I make it through, my eyes end up spinning like pinwheels. Although, perusing pics of cover model, Jimmy Thomas, definitely has its sexy rewards.

So, the upshot is, my brain is mush, and I don’t have a blog for today. I’ve been banging the ole memory banks for something that would hopefully be entertaining, or just interesting.... hmmm...

Okay... checked out hellhound pics. Nothing. Checked out a couple of other ideas. Nope.

Ah, after perusing my WIPs and Flash Fiction file, here’s an oldie Flash. It’s always interesting how time and distance gives a better perspective. However, I haven’t altered it. Here it is, warts and all.
~~~

Feather Flash Day ~ July 20, 2008

Feathered Wings of Fire

ONE

Scrambling quickly up the small pile of red desert boulders, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun with one hand. Fascinated, she peered at the immense dark shape in the sky, unable to tell if it was a small plane or a humongous bird. Staring for all she was worth at the odd-looking shape, whatever it was, maybe even some kind of UFO, her breath hitched when it banked suddenly, then powerfully glided over the parched landscape. Wings, definitely giant feathered wings. Her breath jerked again and her heart drummed with wild elation. Probably just an enormous buzzard, though.

TWO

Still, a tiny, tiny thump of hope tingled in her breast as the magnificent bird grew larger, and seemed to head in her direction. Crouching, she fumbled for her camcorder inside her stuffed backpack, but no go, unless she was willing to take her gaze off the...mygawd! She straightened, sucked in a big fat breath, then forgot to breathe. Thunderbird, echoed in her mind. Thunderbird, it banged around like a large bouncing rock falling into a canyon. Thunderbirds, like the ones talked about on late night radio, the crypto sightings, the American Indian myths, the 1800's picture she’d Googled.

THREE

Like the one sighted in Alaska flying beside a Cessna. Of course, the pilot and passengers had freaked out huge time. “God, I hope so. I hope it’s a Thunderbird,” she whispered, thinking if she spoke too loudly, it would frighten the legendary creature away. As the ginorous eagle-looking bird sailed closer and closer, her blood sang with excitement while trepidation curled her toes. “It could want dinner,” she murmured, remembering the tales of monstrous nests containing human bones. Still, she stood her ground on top of the sun-baked boulder, and waited, greedily searching for every detail she could observe.

FOUR

Brown mahogany, the giant wing feathers gleamed beneath the sun. Looking translucent, the tip edges shimmered with gold. As he flew closer his flight feathers streamed a golden flame of light. He. The ginormous eagle had to be a ‘he’. Sailing beneath the sun, he obstructed her view of the sky, and darkened the land around her with his shadow. Mesmerized, she watched his entire body glisten gold as if an ancient sky goddess poured gold dust over his dark feathers. Stunned by his sheer size, his incomparable glorious beauty, still, she couldn’t make herself believe he was a hallucination.

FIVE

Aware her own body entered a state of paralysis, she did not care. Shifting his flight pattern, the Thunderbird creature rose, flying higher. Her heart nearly stopped, stabbed by raw disappointment. Come back, she desperately whispered inside her mind. Majestically he circled directly above her, catching inside his shadow as he languidly spiraled higher. She concentrated, memorizing his every winging movement. “Omygawd.” Her throat closed in awe at what she witnessed. He sparkled with a fiery aurora of colors as he flew in slow motion. His entire body. Unable to take it all in, she dropped her hand, and blinked.

SIX

Then she shut her eyes. Forcing them wide again, she gasped, her breath ripping from her lungs. His tail feathers blazed, rainbows of fire flowing, jets of amazing color that put the brightness of the sky to shame. Thinking, Firebird....she felt her body fall backwards. Her mind blanked. When she emerged back into awareness, she felt strong arms around her. Incredibly strong arms. She blinked, daring her own eyes to open. Starting violently, she wondered how the strange gorgeous man held onto her. “You are here. As we previously arranged.” His unique bold voice fire-stormed over her senses. “What?”
~~~~~~

Wouldn’t a thunderbird-firebird creature be a great addition to Talbot’s Peak?
~~~~~~

From the Kougar’s Writing Den ~ White Fang, Ace Reporter

*Unedited Six Sentence* progress on the latest WIP novella...

Chapter Seven ~ Interview with the Biker Alpha

White Fang followed Dante through the bar’s rudimentary kitchen. The Biker Alpha halted, opening a door storage room door.

Instead, they stepped onto a carpeted platform, and White Fang held his tongue as they moved down a wide, newly installed stairway at a brisk pace. Once they walked along a spacious corridor, atmospherically lit with gaslights, he estimated they were a good twenty-five feet below ground.

Dante stopped before a door at odds with the nineteenth century setting. It could have come from a medieval castle, and White Fang’s brows raised as he read the ornate sign: There Be Shapeshifters of Every Kind. Beware of Fangs, Claws and Tails.
~~~

Note: For a look at the first six chapters ‘six sentence’ openings, check my page.
~~~

Happy Month of May Shapeshifting

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~

Hog Wild

The gang brought their Harleys to gravel-spitting halts before the main entrance to Dante’s bar. Only after Porker swung off his bike did the rest dismount. He strutted through the door with his posse at his back. From the stench it smelled like the wolves were out in force tonight. Like he gave a slop. If their size and number couldn’t make a carnivore think twice, the flaming boars’ skulls on the backs of their motorcycle jackets sent message enough to give even the drunkest wolf pause. Nobody fucked with the Javalinas.

Porker bypassed the bar tonight and headed straight for the door to the Pleasure Club. One of Dante’s hosts, a low-ranker by the bite of his sweat, stepped into their path. Porker gave him points for guts. Dante must pay through the ass for this kind of loyalty.

He gestured to his lieutenant, Mouthpiece. The heavyset pig waddled forward. “Porker wants to sample the pleasures of the club tonight.” Porker sneered, and Mouthpiece duly echoed it. “If that’s okay with you.”

Of course it was okay. Dante knew Porker and his boys. They drank and spent freely and didn’t start trouble, though they’d been known to finish it on occasion. Many occasions. What was the point of getting blitzed if you couldn’t knock a few wolf heads together?

The host escorted them downstairs and tried to lead them to a table in the back. Porker nodded to Mouthpiece, who yanked the host’s arm. “Porker wants that one,” he said, indicating a table near the stage. Porker held up three fingers. “And the three surrounding it.”

The host swallowed hard, but complied. One of the tables was occupied. The host shooed the deer seated there away with promises of salads and free drinks. Porker motioned to his gang to seat themselves, then yanked out a chair at his personal table. The chair groaned a protest but settled in under Porker’s ponderous weight. Chairs or chicks, everybody was happy to let Porker ride in the end.

Which brought him back to his reasons for stopping by tonight.

They’d had a grand week, knocking back beers at that rally in South Dakota, but now it was time to kick back and wallow with the ladies. Porker considered Dante’s private rooms in back and dismissed them. He wanted more than paid entertainment. Tonight he wanted a lady who meant it when she squealed. He wrinked his snout for a whiff of pig, but didn’t catch anything but wolf. Pickings might be lean in a carnie hangout. On the other hand, it was early.

As long as she wasn’t one of those sensitive types. That was the one problem with ladies. Even the by-the-hour ones wanted to talk sometimes. Porker wasn’t a talker. Get in and get out with as few grunts as possible. That was the credo he lived by, and it had served him well.

He took a sloppy swig of his beer and idly watched the wolf gyrating up on the stage. She was doing a number with the faggy snake again. Hey, to each his own, as long as Snaky kept his coils to himself. Porker didn’t wallow in that sty. He’d considered hitting on the she-wolf once upon a time, but she had ten years on him and was way too New Agey. He gulped another swig and peered around the room. Finally, the place was crowding up. Something decent had to be in here somewhere.

Then he saw her. Correction: he saw her. A curly-haired little slip of a cutie, with curves in all the places he liked them and skin as milky as a newborn piglet’s. She looked completely out of place in the Pleasure Club. She was seated at a table with a redheaded wolf; the two were making a ton of hand gestures at each other. Probably the only way they could talk dirty around all the noise and the music.

One look and Porker was smitten. He would have the girl, and that was that.

He elbowed Mouthpiece and pointed her out. Mouthpiece went white around the lips. “Dude, you nuts? You know who that is? That’s Bo Ewing’s sister. Ewing, the football player. They’re bighorns, dude. Tough as shit. You don’t want to mess with that herd. Besides,” he added with a shrug, “looks like somebody beat you to her.”

Who, Red? A minor trifle. Porker heaved himself off his chair and shoved his way through the crowd toward the lady’s table.

Again somebody beat him to the punch. Six juvenile wolves had ganged up on Red and Porker’s new lady and were leering and poking at her. “C’mon, say something, sweetie,” the leader pressed. “Bet I can get you to make noise.”

Red got up to muster a defense. Porker knocked him aside with a jeans-clad hip and confronted the lead wolf himself. “Who the – ” the wolf started, and Porker slugged him. Some things you didn’t need words for.

Stepping over the semiconscious wolf, Porker executed a courtly bow to the little bighorn. [Sorry. Couldn’t resist that one.] By now Mouthpiece had reached his side. “Apologies for the disturbance, miss,” he said. “Porker requests the pleasure of your company.”

“She ain’t interested.” Red had elected to make a stand. “Why not scoot on back to your seats? Plenty of gals around for everybody.”

“Porker’s asking this one out. If you don’t want him to feed you your tail, you’ll just – ”

Mouthpiece went urk and slid aside. Porker grabbed at him. His hand found a patch of wet stickiness at the small of Mouthpiece’s back. These mutts must be part coyote. A real wolf didn’t stoop to human weapons.

Confirming his guess, one of the bastards showed off the knife he’s rammed into Mouthpiece. “Good thing I brought my pigsticker,” he said with a chortle. “I knew it’d come in handy. You want some too? Here, piggy piggy.”

The puppies must be new in town, if they didn’t know about the Javalinas. They sure as hell didn’t know Porker. He didn’t bother with taunts or threats. He just waded in and started doing damage. A boar his size, with his hair-trigger temper, could do a shitload of damage.

Was the lady watching? This little display ought to impress her good and –

He didn’t see the knife go in. He didn’t even feel it at first. He’d just cracked a wolf’s forearm when his gut got queasy and his legs started shaking. He felt the hot wetness soaking his t-shirt and knew what the sumbitch had done. He grunted. From the corner of his blurry eye he spotted the wolf casually twirl the knife and wave it at the terrified bighorn girl.

Screw that. Screw being stabbed. Nobody messed with a lady while Porker was around.

“Hey.” The wolf glanced around. “You g-g-g-g-get your h-h-hands off her.”

The wolf started at him. “What?”

“I said – ” Porker drew himself up to his full imposing height. “You get the fu-fu-fu-fu-fuck away from her, you son of a b-b-b-b-bitch.”

The wolf gaped. Then he giggled. Then he guffawed. “I’m sorry, piggy, I didn’t quite get that. You w-w-w-want me to w-w-w-what?”

Oh yeah. They always went right for the mockery. The old sour rage had had decades to build, from the schoolyard on up. It countered the weakness brought on by the stab wound nicely. Porker swung his ham-sized fist and crushed the asshole’s snout. The wolf hit the floor, knife and all.

Porker sagged into a chair. He looked around for the lady. She stood in the shelter of Red’s arms, her enormous eyes fixed on Porker. “S-s-s-s-s-sorry, m-m-m-miss,” he said.

Now, with the action over, Dante’s security finally showed. Dante himself arrived with them. He grimaced at the bloody knife in distaste. “Human weapons. What the hell’s wrong with pups today? Fangs aren’t good enough any more? Hey, Porker. How you holding up?”

Porker just shrugged and gestured toward Mouthpiece. Security had already herded the lookie-loos off and was checking over his wound. Porker glanced once at his own wound, then paid it little attention. What did it matter at this point? She’d heard him talk. She knew. Next would come the laughter. Or the pity, which was worse.

What came instead was a cool cloth pressed against his side to stem the flow of blood, and bright bighorn eyes, and a shy smile.

“We’ve called the ambulance,” Dante said. “You sit tight, Porker. We’ll get you and Mouthpiece taken care of.”

“Th-th-th- “ He gave up and shrugged. Understanding, Dante moved away.

“Thanks, man.” Red stood behind the bighorn girl. “Hounds were drunk off their asses. I’m Jamie Olsen. This is Mary Ewing. Your name’s Porker?” Porker pressed his lips together and didn’t speak. Instead he looked at Mary’s smile. She had the brightest smile. Why didn’t she just say the obvious and get it over with?

“Not a talker, huh?” Jamie said. “Guess you wouldn’t be.” Mary took one hand away from tending Porker’s wound long enough to dance a hand at Jamie. “What? Slow down. Oh. Mary wants to tag along with you fellahs to the hospital, if that’s okay with you.”

“What’s w-w-w-w-with the h-h-h-h-hands?”

“Oh, that. Sign language. Mary’s a deaf mute. I’m still learning. She can be a real chatterbox.”

The wolf prattled on for a while, but Porker had stopped listening. The lady was deaf. She couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear his shame.

Jamie touched his shoulder, a sly look on his face. “Y’know, my buddy Lamar knows sign language better’n me. Bet he’d be happy to teach you. So you two can, y’know, get to know each other.”

Porker looked at Mary. She smiled silently back. “Oh, fu-fu-fu-fu – hell yes!”

# # #

Th-th-th-that's all, folks!