Tomorrow, he’d go into Coldspring and see about finding a job. Preferably hard labor that would exhaust him every day so he’d pass out when he came home. Considering what he was, it might take two jobs to do the task. He’d work as much as he could to accomplish that goal and continue to wait until thoughts of his parents no longer felt like a knife to his heart.
1985
Dillon effortlessly tossed another sack of cattle feed into his friend’s trailer. It was the fiftieth one he’d loaded in an hour.
“How can you do so much work and not break a sweat?” Steve asked, as he hooked his thumbs into his front pockets. “Especially in this heat?”
The man shrugged. “I’m a werewolf. I have superhuman strength, and the heat doesn’t bother me as much as it does humans” is what Dillon wanted to say. But he didn’t want his friend to think he was an escaped mental patient, so instead he leaned against the side of the truck and crossed his arms. “I work out a lot. Guess I’m just in good shape.”
Steve eyed him skeptically. His wrinkled face was tanned from working in the sun, and despite his advanced age, the man had a spryness about him that Dillon found endearing. “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working. And people are noticing, especially the womenfolk. The missus swears every single woman in this town suddenly has something they need from the feed store.” The old man chuckled. “I told her they were probably coming in to check the corkboard to see about finding studs to breed their heifers. She said they were some heifers looking for a stud alright, but it had nothing to do with livestock.”
Dillon shook his head. “I’ve noticed. Tell Gladis it’s not just the single ones. I may be big, but I still don’t want to fight off any jealous husbands. Especially around here, where everyone has a rifle hanging in a gun rack of their pickup truck.”
Steve’s eyes twinkled with mirth. He waggled a finger at Dillon and smiled. “I’m going to tell her. It will tickle her and give her some gossip to share with her Bunco group.”
Dillon’s brow furrowed. “Bunco?”
Steve leaned in and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “It’s really a ladies poker group, but they don’t want to call it that on account that it might offend some of the folk who think gambling goes against the Good Book.”
“Ahh.” Dillon nodded. “Got to keep up appearances.” He understood that more than Steve could possibly know.
“Something like that.” Steve climbed into the cab of the truck and leaned out the open window. “I’ll see you next week, Dillon. You let me know if my bride comes in here looking for a stud.”
Dillon tapped the side of the older gentleman’s truck and laughed. “I’ll do that. You take care, Steve.” Before he could close the door, Dillon added, “Hey, are you having any more problems with coyotes getting your calves?”
Steve shook his head as he stuck it out. “Not since we talked about it last week.”
Dillon nodded. “Let me know if you do. I’m always up for a good coyote hunt.”
“Will do.” Steve waved again and pulled away.
Dillon headed back toward the large bay door that opened into the feed room of Coldspring Feed Co-op, his place of employment since his third day in town, back in 1980. Dillon enjoyed his job. He was constantly busy, and he worked from sunup to sundown, even though the owner, Bobby Banks, told him not to. Dillon didn’t care if he didn’t get paid for the extra hours. He just wanted to stay busy. When he wasn’t working or sleeping, he spent his time guarding local herds from coyotes for the farmers. It gave his wolf time to run and hunt, which kept it in a somewhat less cranky mood. To say Dillon’s wolf was unhappy was an understatement. His wolf craved a pack. Wolves weren’t meant to be lone creatures. But Dillon wasn’t ready to go back to his pack or be a part of any pack, for that matter.
He glanced at his watch. One hour til closing time. This time of day, there seemed to be an influx of female customers. At first, the women coming in would only surreptitiously glance at him. But as the weeks passed, they started getting bolder until some of them walked right up to him and handed him their number on a piece of paper. After that, Dillon started staying in the back. Bobby didn’t mind, although he said it was amusing to watch the women make spectacles of themselves. Dillon didn’t find it funny in the least. And his wolf was flat out offended—females throwing themselves at him like dogs in heat.
The wolf only thought of their true mate, even though they’d not met her, and who knew if he ever would? It was offensive to his beast to even think of being with another female. Dillon just wanted to survive. He didn’t care about any relationships. Caring about someone meant losing them would eventually be painful. He didn’t want to go through that again. Five years after his parents’ deaths, he could finally think about them without feeling raw. He missed them fiercely, but he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. He was actually beginning to have hope that maybe it wouldn’t always hurt so badly. Maybe someday he could be happy again.
By the time Dillon returned home to his camper, which he’d been living in for the past five years, he was exhausted. Not necessarily physically, but mentally. The constant stress of pretending that he was human, that he was no different from the people around him, wore on Dillon.
He pulled off his clothes and took a quick shower. Dillon didn’t like cooking, especially only for one person, so he made himself a protein shake. Even after all the time he’d been gone, he still hated eating alone. When he was with his pack, there was always someone to dine with, whether it was Colin, his parents, or eating at the alpha’s home, where many pack members gathered every night. Dillon missed that. He sighed, downed the drink, and then climbed into bed. He turned on a loud fan to drown out any noise that his wolf's hearing might detect. The beast in him was on constant alert because there were no other pack members around to have his back. He was a lone wolf without protection. And that kept his inner beast on edge.
Dillon flicked off the light and told his wolf to chill the hell out. Then he closed his eyes and hoped that he wouldn’t see his parents’ faces—the faces of them in death, lifeless and blank. They haunted him in his dreams. “Maybe tonight will be different,” he said, just as he did every night.
Fall 1990
Dillon stood watching as the casket was lowered into the waiting grave. He had been with Steve when he suffered the massive heart attack that took his life. Steve's wife had passed away a year earlier for no apparent reason, and her death had driven Steve crazy. He had told Dillon many times that if he had known what was wrong, maybe he could have prevented it.
"You can't prevent death, Steve," Dillon had told him. "It comes for all of us. No amount of knowing when or why can stop the eventuality of it."
Dillon and his wolf both mourned Steve, who had become a dear friend over the years. Dillon had known Steve wouldn't live forever, but even so, he was unprepared for this. He stepped back and sat down on one of the chairs that had been set out for guests, most of whom had already left. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths to get his emotions under control. He wanted to throw back his head and howl.