Coyote_Inn(1).pdf

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Cover art by Anastasia Rabiyah © June 2010

Amira Press

Baltimore, MD 21216

www.amirapress.com

ISBN: 978-1-936279-24-1

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or

mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-

mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

Coyote Inn

Tressie Lockwood

Chapter One

When Jarrika stepped off the bus in the middle of her new hometown,

she didn’t know what to expect—people being neighborly, kids running

around, maybe. What she got was tossed into the middle of the past. Neat

rows of houses lined the streets, all similar in style and size. Lawns were

manicured, and there must have been a rule book somewhere about what to

include in the décor, because at each driveway lay a bicycle turned on its side

like the rider had just dashed inside for a quick homemade snack from Mom.

She half expected a 1950s Oldsmobile to come rolling around the corner, but

prayed it wouldn’t. Were there even any black people in this town?

Jarrika shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and gripped her suitcase’s

handle. With any luck, the raggedy thing would hold up until she reached her

destination. At the end of the residential street, above the trees, Jarrika

spotted the mountains beyond. She smiled as hope swelled in her chest. If

the people were as friendly as the land was beautiful, everything would be

okay in Oregon. This move had to work out because she was out of money

and out of resources.

Once Jarrika stopped to check the address she’d been given against the

nearest house. She groaned realizing she had another five blocks at least.

When sweat poured down her back from the beaming sun and her physical

exertion, Jarrika stopped. The neatly paved road had turned to partial gravel,

then to full-out dirt. The lawns on this end were a tad less cared for, and the

houses farther in between.

Spotting a building at the end of the block that was in desperate need of

a paint job among other repairs, Jarrika pleaded with God that this was not

Coyote Inn. “You can’t be so cruel,” she said to her maker. He didn’t answer,

and sure enough, the joke was on her.

When she was close enough, she noticed the sign above the wraparound

porch. One side had come loose, so it dangled, faded and worn. If she

squinted, she could make out the Inn part, but most of the letters in Coyote

were missing.

“Great,” she muttered. “I’ve inherited a stupid inn that nobody with half

a brain would ever want, let alone visit.”

A low growl behind her made her spin around and stumble back to fall

onto the steps. The wood under her cracked, but Jarrika was focused on the

animal with its teeth bared and eyes so pale they creeped her out. Her throat

went dry, and she held up a hand, hoping it wouldn’t set the beast off.

“Good boy. I’m not an enemy. You don’t want to eat me.”

The animal inched closer.

Coyote Inn

Tressie Lockwood

Jarrika squeaked. “Help? Anyone around here? Please!”

The door behind her opened, and when the animal looked to see who

was coming through, Jarrika took the opportunity to scramble up the steps

and leap behind the man standing there. She gripped the man’s arm and

peeked out. “You have a gun or something? I think it’s a wolf.”

“Is that how you city folks handle your problems?” he asked. “Just shoot

it?”

“He almost attacked me, and you’re just standing there.” She hadn’t

removed her eyes from the animal. Since the man came on the scene, the

thing acted like it hadn’t a moment ago been sizing her up as its next meal.

The stupid beast had the nerve to sit down as if it was simply enjoying the

fresh air. Hadn’t she just walked down from civilization with the lawns and

the bikes and whatnot? What was this?

“For your information,” the man said, still not moving to help her, “he’s

a coyote. And he’s mine. I have no intension of shooting him. Now, mind

telling me what you’re doing on my property, miss?”

“Your property!” Forgetting the creepy pet, she rounded on the man, at

last giving him a once-over, and promptly forgot what she was going to say.

She was pretty tall for a woman at five foot ten, but this man was taller, at

least six-four. He was all lean muscle, not an inch of fat that she could see,

no weight wasted. His chiseled jaw appeared cut from steel, bristled like he

shaved with a knife—when he felt like it. What unsettled her most was that

his eyes matched those of the coyote, being pale and hard like he didn’t give

a crap about her or anyone else.

His shirt hung open to the waist, showing off rock-solid abs, and the

aforementioned knife was tucked in the band of his slacks. Jarrika wanted to

look lower but was too nervous to. She took a step back. Tall-and-Dangerous

reached into the bowl in his hand and removed a scrap of meat. He turned

toward the coyote, allowing her to see that he had pulled long, silken black

hair into a ponytail on his back. He whistled, and the animal came bounding

up like a pet dog.

The fact that he ignored her pissed Jarrika off, so she went down to lug

her suitcase onto the porch. Seeing she struggled, the man made no move to

help her. Swearing he’d be all apologies when she showed him just who

belonged here and who didn’t, she snapped open the case and searched

around for the manila envelope she’d tucked there before leaving for her trip.

The coyote came up to nose around in the case. To Jarrika’s

embarrassment the mangy mutt snagged a pair of her panties and took off

with them. Jarrika jumped to her feet. “Hey!”

Coyote Inn

Tressie Lockwood

“Casey, get back here,” the man yelled, but the animal kept running and

soon disappeared.

Jarrika glared at him. “You owe me a pair of panties.”

He ogled her up and down, the interest in his eyes annoying her. “I’m

sure you’ve got more.”

Jarrika clenched her hands at her sides and then snatched up the

envelope. She ripped open the flap and pulled out the official document

she’d been sent. Handing it to him, she couldn’t keep the smug expression

from her face. “This will show you that I have every right to be here, and you

don’t.”

He took all of two seconds to peruse it before handing it back. “That’s a

load of horseshit, if you’ll pardon my French.”

“I won’t!” She snatched the sheet back and stabbed it with her finger. “It

says right here in this letter that I have inherited this inn, and right here is the

deed to this property. You can’t deny my rights. I’ll get a policeman or

someone to come to make you leave.” She put her hands on her hips and

drew herself up to her full height. “Maybe you think I don’t belong here

because I’m black. Is that it? I know how these small-town people think.”

He tugged his knife from his waistband and began to clean his fingernails

with it. Jarrika tried not to show her disgust. After a minute, he tapped it on

the palm of his hand and started over toward her. Oh no, he’s going to kill me.

When will I learn keep my mouth shut?

With each step he advanced, she took one in retreat until she hit the

wooden rail behind her. He stood over her, eyes narrowed. Her heart raced,

and she was pretty sure it wasn’t all about how scared silly she was.

“Trust me, your lovely chocolate skin has nothing to do with why you

don’t have a right to be here.” His pale gaze dropped to her lips, and he

leaned closer but didn’t touch her. He breathed deep like he was taking in her

essence. “You smell like a city woman.” The disgust was not disguised in the

least.

“So what?” she demanded, wanting to run but forcing herself to stand

her ground.

He jerked the papers from her fingers and speared them with the knife

on the post next to her. A jab of his finger under the county name brought

her attention to it. “In your excitement to claim my property, did you stop to

notice the discrepancies?”

Dread rolled in her belly. “W-What discrepancies?”

“The fact that the county name is fictional, for one.”

It couldn’t be. Jarrika looked at the deed, and then she tugged the map

she’d purchased to help her find Mythe Cove, Oregon. She peered close to

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