two men in the chairs and more waiting and the sign in the window advertised the prices for a haircut or shave along with tooth pulling for one dollar and burials for five.
Down a short side street and set outside the hubbub of the town, stood a little white church complete with graveyard surrounded by a white picket fence. Most tourists didn't realize the grave markers were real, nor did they fully understand that the people who lived here still lived in the past, shunning the modernity of the world outside.
There were about two dozen individual buildings, most clad in weathered wood with hand painted signs, though a few, like the bank, were built strong in solid brick. Some were two-story with outside stairs leading to the upper floor. Halfway down the street was the obligatory saloon with swinging doors that allowed the honkytonk piano to be heard outside. Cowboys regularly rode up and tied their horses to the rail before going inside.
The place was a town within a town; real and unreal; a place where wolvers could live and work, yet remain hidden from the world. It should have been perfect.
Rachel began to gather dishes from the table and Mrs. Hornmeyer began to help. Mr. Kincaid stopped her. "No, no, my dear lady, you mustn't do that. You are our guest. Rachel will take care of it."
Mrs. Hornmeyer tittered bashfully. "It's quite all right, Mr. Kincaid, I do miss my little domesticities and I'd like to help."
"I do hope you don't mind," she said hesitantly to Rachel when the kitchen door closed behind them, "I feel so useless sometimes and it gets lonely sitting all by myself in my room. I'd be grateful for any little chores you might find for me to do."
Encouraged by a nod from Bertie, Rachel smiled. "Suppose," she suggested, "You wash and dry the breakfast dishes and I provide you with lunch." She knew there were days when Mrs. Hornmeyer didn't eat lunch and thought it might be because she couldn't afford it.
"Oh! I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't, but I think it only fair, don't you? Besides, Bertie and I sometimes tire of each other's company. It will be nice to have a new face at the kitchen table."
"I could keep the Ladies' Lounge tidy for you, too. I never minded working in the Sweet Shoppe," she admitted wistfully, "But now that my son and his family have taken over, I feel like I'm in the way. His mate and I, well, we don't always see eye to eye."
Bertie winked at Rachel. "Never a door closes, but God doesn't open a window."
"We'd be grateful for the help," Rachel told Mrs. Hornmeyer and meant it.
They worked for a while in companionable silence and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Mrs. Hornmeyer asked, "Do you think he'll be handsome?"
"Who's that?" Rachel and Bertie asked together and all three women laughed.
"The new sheriff." Mrs. Hornmeyer giggled shyly at the look she received from Rachel and Bertie. "It would be nice for Miss Kincaid to meet someone new and handsome that would sweep her off her feet."
"Only if he used a broom, Mrs. Hornmeyer," Rachel laughed. "I'm quite content to leave things as they are. I have no wish to mate. No wish at all."
Sensing an ally, Bertie told their new kitchen mate, "She says she sees no reason to mate. I say it ain't natural, holdin' herself off like that. A wolver woman needs a mate," she said bluntly.
Like she needs another ten pounds of petticoats, Rachel thought, but didn't say. It didn't matter what she said. Once Bertie got going, there was no stopping her, so Rachel went about her work and only listened with half an ear. She knew the lecture by heart.
Every wolver woman, or rather the wolf who lived inside her, had an innate need to breed and to breed, one needed a mate. It wasn't good. It wasn't bad. It was there, she supposed, to ensure the perpetuation of the species, but Rachel had decided long ago that the species would have to perpetuate itself without her help. It was the one aspect of her life she could control. What could a mate give her
Down a short side street and set outside the hubbub of the town, stood a little white church complete with graveyard surrounded by a white picket fence. Most tourists didn't realize the grave markers were real, nor did they fully understand that the people who lived here still lived in the past, shunning the modernity of the world outside.
There were about two dozen individual buildings, most clad in weathered wood with hand painted signs, though a few, like the bank, were built strong in solid brick. Some were two-story with outside stairs leading to the upper floor. Halfway down the street was the obligatory saloon with swinging doors that allowed the honkytonk piano to be heard outside. Cowboys regularly rode up and tied their horses to the rail before going inside.
The place was a town within a town; real and unreal; a place where wolvers could live and work, yet remain hidden from the world. It should have been perfect.
Rachel began to gather dishes from the table and Mrs. Hornmeyer began to help. Mr. Kincaid stopped her. "No, no, my dear lady, you mustn't do that. You are our guest. Rachel will take care of it."
Mrs. Hornmeyer tittered bashfully. "It's quite all right, Mr. Kincaid, I do miss my little domesticities and I'd like to help."
"I do hope you don't mind," she said hesitantly to Rachel when the kitchen door closed behind them, "I feel so useless sometimes and it gets lonely sitting all by myself in my room. I'd be grateful for any little chores you might find for me to do."
Encouraged by a nod from Bertie, Rachel smiled. "Suppose," she suggested, "You wash and dry the breakfast dishes and I provide you with lunch." She knew there were days when Mrs. Hornmeyer didn't eat lunch and thought it might be because she couldn't afford it.
"Oh! I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't, but I think it only fair, don't you? Besides, Bertie and I sometimes tire of each other's company. It will be nice to have a new face at the kitchen table."
"I could keep the Ladies' Lounge tidy for you, too. I never minded working in the Sweet Shoppe," she admitted wistfully, "But now that my son and his family have taken over, I feel like I'm in the way. His mate and I, well, we don't always see eye to eye."
Bertie winked at Rachel. "Never a door closes, but God doesn't open a window."
"We'd be grateful for the help," Rachel told Mrs. Hornmeyer and meant it.
They worked for a while in companionable silence and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Mrs. Hornmeyer asked, "Do you think he'll be handsome?"
"Who's that?" Rachel and Bertie asked together and all three women laughed.
"The new sheriff." Mrs. Hornmeyer giggled shyly at the look she received from Rachel and Bertie. "It would be nice for Miss Kincaid to meet someone new and handsome that would sweep her off her feet."
"Only if he used a broom, Mrs. Hornmeyer," Rachel laughed. "I'm quite content to leave things as they are. I have no wish to mate. No wish at all."
Sensing an ally, Bertie told their new kitchen mate, "She says she sees no reason to mate. I say it ain't natural, holdin' herself off like that. A wolver woman needs a mate," she said bluntly.
Like she needs another ten pounds of petticoats, Rachel thought, but didn't say. It didn't matter what she said. Once Bertie got going, there was no stopping her, so Rachel went about her work and only listened with half an ear. She knew the lecture by heart.
Every wolver woman, or rather the wolf who lived inside her, had an innate need to breed and to breed, one needed a mate. It wasn't good. It wasn't bad. It was there, she supposed, to ensure the perpetuation of the species, but Rachel had decided long ago that the species would have to perpetuate itself without her help. It was the one aspect of her life she could control. What could a mate give her
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