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Copyright © June 2010, Tressie Lockwood
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.
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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!”
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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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