Hunted - 6

Logan left the building in a much better mood than he’d entered it and headed back to the house. As he walked he remembered he needed to find a length of pipe to use to hang up his clothes, which now resided in neat piles on his table. So he changed directions to walk the alleys instead of the sidewalks, amazed as he did at what people would throw away. If he had a bigger place he could have furnished it in style he thought with wry amusement. As it was he returned to the house not only with the perfect piece of pipe but also with two lengths of lumber that would work for shelves.

He entered the house through the back door and found Kief in the kitchen. The man looked at what Logan carried and chuckled. “All you need is some bricks if those are for bookshelves,” he said.

“That’s sort of what I was thinking actually.”

“He speaks.”

Logan frowned.

“Sorry,” Kief said. “But you're not exactly the most sociable person I’ve ever met, so hearing more than two words out of you...” he smiled.

“I… Yeah I guess I’m not. It takes me a while to get to know people and then…”

“Then we won’t be able to shut you up?”

“Well not that bad,” Logan replied as he juggled his finds to keep them balanced.

Kief immediately volunteered to help him get them upstairs. Logan hesitated for a moment before he asked if he’d take the pipe. Kief did and they made their way up to the attic apartment.

“Still pretty Spartan,” Kief commented, setting the pipe down on the floor by the door.

“I hope it’ll get better. I think I’ve got a job.”

“That always helps the bottom line. So, where are you putting the shelves?”

Logan looked around. With the table at the far end and the platform with the mattress taking up one wall there wasn’t much choice. He nodded at the last remaining wall. “There or between the mattress and the wall.”

“You’ll be bumping your head every time you go for something,” Kief pointed out. He tapped his lip while he studied the situation. “What if you used the shelves to separate the platform from the rest of the room? That way your sleeping area would seem more private and you’d still have an open space. If you got a small sofa it could go along the other wall. You’ve got about four feet of height there before the slope of the roof, so sitting wouldn’t be a problem as long as—"

“I watch me head when I stand up.” Logan chuckled

“Got it.” Kief smiled. “Yeah, that would work, and then put a small set of shelves next to the door and you should have enough storage space.”

“I’m putting the pipe there, hanging it for my clothes.”

“How much really needs to be hung up, other than shirts?”

“Well, not much I guess.”

“Then a couple of long hooks on the wall should work just fine and you’ll loose less space. God only knows you’ve got little enough as it is. Hang the pipe about…” Kief did a quick calculation in his head. “About a foot and a half out from the wall and get some nice fabric to throw over it for a curtain. You can put your jeans and stuff on the shelves behind it. Bingo, a closet of sorts.”

“You’re good at this.”

“My job, Logan. I’m an interior decorator, though I’ve never had to work with a place like this, thank God.”

Logan grinned. “Someday when I’m rich and famous I’ll hire you to do my mansion.”

“You’re on. Now, about the bricks you need. I think I saw some in the shed in the back yard that could work. Come on.”

“Why are you doing this?” Logan asked. He felt puzzled and just a bit overwhelmed.

“I’m after your hot body?” Kief laughed at the look of shock on Logan’s face. “I’m teasing. I have a hot body already and I’m not trading him in for anything. I guess I figure, since you’re living here we might as well be friends, if that’s okay with you.”

Logan nodded. “It is, I think.”

“Then come on, let’s go find us some bricks and build some shelves.”

Hunted - 5

“I’m sorry but without your degree or references from former employers…”

Logan ignored the rest of the man’s words. He’d already heard them too many times over the last few days.

Back on the sidewalk again, he scrubbed a hand through his hair while he stared blindly across the street. Then a sign caught his eye. He quickly crossed the street and entered the business. There was a small waiting room, with a desk set to one side manned by a middle-aged woman. She looked up, smiled, and asked how she could help him.

“Your sign says you hire for day labor,” Logan replied hesitantly.

“We do.” She looked him over carefully. “We specialize primarily house and yard work although we occasionally get requests for men to work on building sites.” She opened a desk drawer, took out a set of papers and handed them to him. “Fill these out first, I’ll give them to Mr. Lawrence to look over and we’ll go from there.” She pointed to a table on the far wall. He walked over, sat, and set to work.

Fifteen minutes later he gave them back to the woman. She disappeared through a door at the back of the room, then returned and told him to have a seat.

"Please," he whispered as he cast his eyes upwards. Please let this happen. He was down to his last few dollars and desperately needed a job, even if it was only raking leaves and picking up fallen branches in someone’s yard.

“Mr. Fitzgerald?”

Logan looked up with a nod, then followed the gray-hired man into the back room, which turned out to be a large office. Rows of filing cabinets filled one wall; bookshelves took up a second one. A large oak desk sat in the middle of the room with two chairs in front of it. Logan took a seat when the man pointed to one.

“I’m Mr. Lawrence,” the man said by way of introduction. He shuffled the papers in front of him before he said, “I have two jobs that I think you could handle. One is helping a landscaper who had an employee quit on him. The other is construction. It says here you’ve had some experience in interior home rebuilding.” He looked at Logan questioningly.

“Yes, sir. It was a summer job between my junior and senior year. I put down my employer’s name and address. I think, I hope he’ll give me a good reference.”

Mr. Lawrence nodded. “I’ve already emailed the company. Barring a negative response you can start to work in the morning. I hope that’s not too soon for you.”

            “Oh no,” Logan replied, keeping his sigh of relief to himself. He listened as Mr. Lawrence told him where to report and wrote down the address. He hoped he could find the place, and that either the el or a bus would take him there. After the first time, presuming they wanted him to continue on the job, it would be no problem for him to return there.

Hunted - 4

Logan sat in a dark area of the park, an empty sack of take-out food balled up in his hands. The meal had been edible. Better than the cardboard sandwiches from the bus station cafes that he’d eaten as he’d made his way across country—but it was still nothing to write home about by a long shot.

Not that I’ve got a home to write home to any more.’

His pack was gone, killed in a sanctioned wolf hunt by federal agents, and hunters who had followed in their path. With no warning the agents had swept in, taking out all but four of the pack, unaware—as Logan knew it had to be—that they had killed shifters, not true wolves. Hunters had shot three more soon afterward, while they were trying to recover from what had occurred. Only Logan had been able to avoid the carnage, since he had been away at school when it happened.

He and some friends had gone out for a few drinks. They had just ordered another round when the news came on the television in a corner of the bar.

“Hey, Logan, isn’t that where you come from?” one friend asked.

Logan glanced up, figuring there had probably been some car accident on the highway through town that was big enough to make the news. He froze when he heard the announcer talking about a massive wolf kill, his eyes locked on the screen as they showed the resulting slaughter—as if it had been the greatest thing to happen in the county in years. His family. His pack. Pictures of their bodies, some hung on display like so many trophies…  

With a low moan and then a growl of rage Logan sprang to his feet, his chair falling back with a loud crash.

“Logan, what?” he heard someone say as he stalked, and the raced, out of the bar.  

An hour later he had his backpack, crammed with his few belongings, slung over his shoulders. Then he flashed from his dorm room to his home.

His eyes dimmed with tears as he recalled yet again his return to the pack’s territory and the destruction he had found there. At first, after the initial grief had passed, he had vowed revenge. Then he had realized it wouldn’t bring his family back. He knew the agents were only doing as they had been ordered to. The hunters were another story but he had no way of knowing which scents were theirs as compared to the others involved.

And so he fled. He spent half of the small amount of money he had with him on the bus ticket. It allowed him to make it this far, to a city ten times bigger than any he had been in before.

He stood, tossed the crumpled bag into a nearby trash can and left the park. As he got to the sidewalk he saw a man exit a fancy restaurant across the street. Tall, blonde and well-built, he would have been handsome, Logan thought, if it wasn’t for the scowl on his face. He wondered what had put it there, or who he supposed. With a shrug, his imagination making up various stories to explain it, he continued on his way.

* * * *

Brice paused momentarily to watch Logan, before the restaurant’s valet brought his car to a standstill at the curb and got out to hold the door for him. He got in, tipped the valet, and drove off. As he passed Logan he glanced at him again and felt something stir in his mind, a feeling of recognition, but he pushed it aside. After all, if he had ever met him, he definitely would not have forgotten him. Not with that blaze of almost shoulder-length red hair. I’m pissed and horny, he decided ruefully. And he knew just the cure for both problems, which did not include a return to his empty condo. At least not until he had someone to accompany him.

'Love and Christmas' - A first for me.

'Love and Christmas'

is the first Christmas story I've ever written.

It's out today at JMS Books.

http://www.jms-books.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=29_105&products_id=1562

 Sequel to Hell, Look at Me

When the theater's director decides to produce A Christmas Carol to celebrate the season, not everyone is happy. Galen, the company's newest actor, hates Christmas and all he thinks it stands for. Nonetheless, he'll be damned if he won't go after the lead role of Scrooge. It’s perfect for him.

Neal, the company's brand new costume designer, takes his job in stride, and impulsively offers to help Galen learn his lines for the show. While the two men work together, Neal wonders why Galen is so against Christmas.

Will he be able to learn Galen's dark secret? If he does, will it push the two men apart, or strengthen their slowly developing interest in each other?

EXCERPT:

"Will you please hold still?" Neal grumbled.

"Sorry," Galen replied.

"And bend your arm, hand on your waist."

Galen complied, trying not to grin triumphantly when Ricky came into the costume shop to take his place with the rest of the cast to be measured for costumes.

"Now spread your legs, please," Neal said. "I need an inseam measurement."

"I know what mine is," Galen told him.

"You know what it is for the pants you buy. I need a real one," Neal replied seriously, kneeling, tape measure in hand.

Galen looked down at him, repressing a brief surge of lust. God only knows I've had costumers measure me before, but they were all females. Not a cute man who is probably off-limits. At least he knows how to do this without being touchy-feely. He chuckled under his breath, causing Neal to glance up at him. "Sorry, you hit a ticklish spot."

From behind him, Galen heard Ricky say to someone, "Ticklish spot my ass. He's coming on to Neal."

"Ricky, hush," the woman replied. Galen recognized her from her voice as Merianne. She had been picked to play Mrs Cratchit and the Ghost of Christmas Past -- just as Ricky would be doubling as Bob Cratchit and Mr Fezziwig.

"I'm not you know," Galen said quietly to Neal.

"Not what?"

"Nothing." Galen was glad Neal hadn't heard Ricky. It would probably have embarrassed him. Though why I care ...

Neal stood again, continuing taking Galen's measurements until he'd filled all the lines on the worksheet. "Okay, I'm finished with you," he told Galen.

"Have you come up with sketches for Scrooge's costumes yet?"

"I'm working on them," Neal replied, sounding distracted as he glanced at his list of cast members. "Mr. Moore?" He looked at the assembled actors.

"That would be me," Ricky said, coming over. "You got lucky," he murmured to Galen as he passed him.

Galen smirked. "Nope. I'm just a better actor."

"For old man parts," Ricky retorted.

"I'm only, maybe five years your senior."

Ricky lifted an eyebrow. "Is that all? I'd have said --"

"Mr. Moore. If you please," Neal broke in blisteringly. "There's a lot of people to measure and the day isn't getting any younger."

"Sorry."

Galen grinned as he walked away. I guess Neal has some balls after all. Wouldn't have figured from looking at him. He's cute, but ... wispy. Sort of the cliché male costumer. And young. I'm betting he's maybe twenty-five if that. Not that it matters. Like I told Ricky, I'm not looking for anything more than a one-nighter, if that, right now. I'll have my hands full learning my lines, and blocking and ... yeah. With only two weeks until opening I'm going to be too busy to even thing about sex. Not that there's anyone I'd be interested in, despite what Ricky said.

* * * *

Neal looked up when Evan Bowen, his assistant, came into the shop.

"Kids all accounted for and measured," Evan said. "And I survived."

"Oh boy. How bad?"

"They were actually very professional. But then they've been with the children's theater for a while, according to the manager there." He set the sheets on top of the other ones then looked at the sketches Neal had spread across the table. "Only four party guests?"

"Small cast, small party," Neal replied. "Same with the people in the street scenes. It's going to make for some quick changes."

"I like this." Evan tapped the sketch of Christmas Present. "You'll have to pad her, or the costume." He grinned. "Belinda's going to have a cow."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. She's a bit of a prima donna. It'll do her good though."

"Will I have problems with Merianne? I want her to look old for Christmas Past."

"Hell no." Evan smile with delight. "She's a sweetheart. But then I'm partial since she and I are going together."

"That could prejudice you a little," Neal agreed. He tapped a finger on the sketches for Scrooge's costumes. "What's he like to work with."

"Galen? Hard to tell. He's new and has only been in one show. Since it was modern, there wasn't much to do for him, or any of them, that caused ripples. From what I understand, Ricky used to be a real pain, but he's mellowed out, thanks to Charlie."

Neal shook his head. "Not from what I saw today. He and Galen got into it verbally. Not badly, but there's no love lost between them."

"Ricky wanted the Scrooge role." Evan chuckled. "It'll do him good to finally have some competition for the leads."

"Typical theater people," Neal muttered. "Okay, let's see what we've got available in fabrics on hand. And costumes from previous shows we can alter to work for this one. The less we need to spend, the happier Steve will be."

Hunted - 3

“Not very sociable is he,” Noah commented as he watched the red-haired man walk past the living room without acknowledging Kief’s ‘Hello’. 

Skye nodded in agreement. “Perhaps he’s just shy,” she said before she turned back to the television.

“More stand-offish I’d say,” Kief told them. “Like talking isn’t his thing. At least to strangers.”

“What I don’t get is why he’s in the attic. That smacks of something out of a horror flick.” Noah laughed as he made a grab for Skye. “I will drink your blood,” he intoned.   

With a roll of her eyes she ducked away. “Behave, I’m trying to watch this you nut.”

“And what is ‘this’?” Noah asked.

“The newest vampire show. It’s bad but the lead is like whew.”

The two men took a look and shook their heads. “Too fem,” Noah told her.

“And too short,” Kief added. “Vampires should be tall, dark and handsome with an air of mystery about them.”

“Yeah, but he’s still hot,” Skye protested.

“Whoa, who’s that?” Kief asked, his eyes now locked on the screen.

“That’s the werewolf. He’s the bad guy but yeah, sexy as hell.” Skye gave a passionate sigh. “I’d give my eyeteeth to meet him in person.”

“He’s probably a self-centered bastard. Most of those TV actors are,” Kief said.

Noah cocked an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

Kief chuckled. “I read the papers by the checkout line at the supermarket.”

“Which of course tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but,” Noah replied with a snort.

“Yeah, well, at least they’re amusing.” He leaned against Noah as he asked Skye to fill them in on the plot of the show.

* * * *

Across town one of the stars of the vampire show restrained himself—only because he was in public—as he looked across the restaurant table at his companion. “What the hell do you mean you’re moving out?” Brice Davies said with cold fury, his voice pitched low enough not to carry further than his companion’s ears.

“Just what I said Brice,” his companion replied quietly, “I’m over it. I got an offer for a good job in New York, and I’m taking it. I hate this city, I hate hanging around waiting until you decide to come home. I hate having to hide our relationship under the guise of friendship. Hell I hate…damned near everything right now. My things are packed. All that was left was to find a minute to fit into your busy schedule so I could let you know.”

“You don’t walk out on me,” Brice growled.

“Watch me.” His companion stood with a satisfied smile on his face, dropped his napkin on the table and strolled away without a backward glance.

Brice started to get up then sank back down in his chair. “He’s not worth it,” he said under his breath. He picked up his fork and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. "There’s plenty more where he came from. Tons of men dying to have me notice them," he muttered in a vain attempt to convince himself that things were all right. But deep down there was the fear it wasn’t really the truth.