Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance - Dangerous Encounter (Part 1): Dangerous Encounter, #1

Table of Contents

ANIMAL OF MINE | Part I

Animal of Mine | Part II

Animal of Mine | Part III

Animal of Mine | Part Four

ANIMAL OF MINE

Part I

This town was boring.

It wasn't as if she'd never thought so before, but on Friday nights when she was locked in for a shift at the The Widower, the town's only bar, she was struck by how little to do there actually was. Even on Fridays, the bar was never full. There were the regulars, the first timers, the alcoholics – all those she expected to see; but patronage was never amazing. Hal, the manager, never even saw the need for more than one bartender.

That suited Chloe just fine.

She was good at her job, having started just after she'd finished community college. She'd failed to scrape together the money to jump town and so had been relegated to the same tiny po-dunk place in which she'd been born and raised.That was the thing about Pearson Bridges: if you had the misfortune of having been born here, it was pretty hard to leave. Of course, she had her parents, her few school friends and her neighbors. The town was so small that everyone knew everyone else. But, one thing Chloe didn't have enough of was excitement.

She'd gotten a small taste of it when she'd left Pearson to attend two years of school in  the next town over. There, there had been at least a few shabby night clubs and bars to cater to the college crowd. It was on campus where she'd had her first drink and danced with her first boy. Of course, the night had ended with both of them falling drunkenly into bed together and fumbling around. To be honest, she didn't remember much of giving up her virginity – only that it had been nothing memorable.

Like her entire life.

Checking a beer stein for fingerprints, the young woman surveyed the bar. It was barely nine on a Friday, and there were only a handful of patrons scattered over the dark, smoky interior. She recognized each and every one of them.

Hugh hung out in the bar nearly as much as she did. His wife barely tolerated him at home, so he plied himself with alcohol until he forgot he had one. Tara and Myra were twins, both in their thirties. They taught at the elementary school and came to the Widower to drink and bitch about their students. Alex and Byron worked in the steel mill – the town's pride and joy – and despite steady work, they always seemed to find time to blow all their cash on beers. These were people she knew well – people she had grown up with. And, like her, they had all once had dreams.

When she'd first started school, Chloe thought she might be an artist. She had always loved to draw and paint and colors on canvass spoke to her more clearly than any human companion could. She had sequestered herself in the school's tiny art studio and created works of art lauded, even, by the department head. She remembered how happy it had made her to slowly fill a blank canvass with expressions of herself, and then to see the smiles of awe and pleasure her art brought to other people.

She had, of course, been rejected from all the art schools she'd applied to. She wasn't good enough for the big leagues, and why should she be? Pearson loomed over her head constantly like a dark cloud. She was a nobody from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps people here liked her work but it was almost certainly too amateur to fly in an actual school of the arts.

And so she'd finished her two year degree and come straight back home to work. Her mother insisted she'd been lucky to find an open position in a town where half of the miniscule population was unemployed. And Chloe had tried to be grateful, really she had. After all, she wasn't anywhere as pretty or thin as the last bartender had been.

Leila Spells had run off after getting knocked up by her boyfriend Trey and God knew where the two of them were now.

As she reached up to place a wine glass in the rack above her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar and frowned.

Plain town, plain girl.

Chloe had always thought that one of her best qualities was her height. At five foot eleven, she was narrowly saved from being fat by her lofty stature. Otherwise, she carried extra pounds in all the places weight loved to settle. Her ample chest stretched the front of the regulation white t-shirt she wore when she bartended and her hips filled size sixteen jeans. Thankfully, her waist remained slim in comparison, her limbs relatively unfettered by the the sweets she proclivated towards.

She supposed the first thing people noticed about her was her body – or rather, that she didn't obsess over it like the willowy, blonde Leila before her had. Patrons who hadn't been in for months sauntered into the bar expecting to see the blonde bombshell. They instead were faced with red-haired, freckle faced Chloe, with her dull brown eyes and bumper-like behind.

Shaking her head, she sighed, moving to pour another gin tonic for Hugh when he gestured to her. Nothing exciting ever happened in Pearson.

On occasion, however, small snippets of excitement found their way briefly into the town.

As Pearson only had one bar, it was to the Widower that all passers-through ventured to drink their troubles away.  Chloe had once had  guy in from New York city – pressed and starched beyond reason, he'd told her she reminded him of his daughter and bought her a beer. They'd discussed the awe with which he'd watched the Twin Towers fall on nine eleven, and how the city had owned him heart and soul since the day he'd been born.

If only.

Chloe wished with all of her heart and her twenty four years that she might someday escape Pearson and visit one of the lauded cities her patrons told her about. New York, LA, Chicago, Atlanta; they all sounded so fabulous.

And so far away.

While it was easy to imagine herself frolicking through the waves of the warm Pacific in California, or in a sky-high office in Manhattan, actually making it to those respective locations was another matter entirely. And then, there was making it in those places. What would she do, bartend herself into stardom?

She snorted at the very notion.

No, in Pearson was where she would stay. If nothing else, she was comfortable here. She knew everything and everyone and she supposed, at least, when strangers made their way into the bar, she got the glimpse into the outside world that she always longed for.

Just last week, a man from Sante Fe had regaled her with tales of how he'd lived for three years with an Indian medicine man and learned enough to start his own holistic practice. He'd even slipped her a few samples to try out – when she was stressed  or overworked, he'd suggested.

Well, there was no chance of that. Even though Hal had headed out of town for a week, Chloe didn't anticipate anything she couldn't handle. The bar was well stocked, she knew how to bring in their small shipments, and there wasn't any patron she knew who'd get drunk enough to start a fight before he fell asleep at his table. She could handle herself, and she could handle the bar.

When Myra gestured for another bottle of cheap red, she found it quickly and uncorked it, retrieving two glasses easily from their rack above her head.

"My, My Chloe, you are looking quite fine this evening." The young woman rolled her eyes as she poured the wine wine, filling each glass just below halfway. She was used to Clyde coming around when he'd had a falling out with his Missus, and whenever he did, he hit on her blatantly until he was too drunk to remember how to speak.

You're too kind, Clyde. I'm sure the grimy t-shirt and grubby jeans just light your fire.

Yes, Ma'am. The middle-aged man's piggy eyes followed her swaying behind as she crossed the length of the establishment to give the Parson sisters their third bottle. Unlike half the men in the bar, Myra and Tara could hold their liquor. They'd be calling for pork-skins soon, and in about an hour, they'd mosey on out to the town's only twenty four hour convenience store for instant burritos.

Predictable.

You got any special plans after quittin' time, darlin?

Chloe gave him a small, indulgent smile as she popped the cap on a Corona, his usual, before sliding it across the bar to him. I plan on going home and getting my beauty sleep, Clyde. How am I to maintain this fresh face without it?

He grinned, showing a mouth full of missing teeth. That's my girl. You're on the straight and narrow you are, sweet thing.

As persistent as he was, Clyde was harmless. Sometimes Chloe even enjoyed his empty compliments. They allowed her to pretend that someone might want her – that men didn't just chase skinny behinds and empty heads.

The night went on quietly, as usual. Around eleven, Tommy Rhine swaggered in and tried to order a beer – knowing full well that he still had a good six months until his twenty first birthday. When Chloe reminded him so, he simply swore under his breath and slunk from the establishment, drawing a giggle from her. How on earth did he suppose she wouldn't know him just because he had a five o'clock shadow and a baseball cap? She'd seen his little pee pee when he'd been squalling at his mother, not a year old. He'd fool her when she went blind.

Almost everybody started to wander out of the bar, bound for their warm beds on one of the most frigid nights of the year. Winter had set in a few weeks before, and the cold snap had been brutal. Though Hal allowed her to keep the heat up high enough that she didn't need a sweater inside, the chill air outside was enough to freeze your breath on your lips.

She wasn't looking forward to it.

By the time Clyde finally stumbled out, insisting that his brother was coming to drive him home, she was ready to find her own bed. This Friday, like many before it, had been completely uneventful. She supposed she should be grateful. If she lived in a big city she'd probably have to stop big brawny men from bashing each other to bits or sweep up broken glass every night. As it was, she just had to tidy up the bar and load a few pitchers into the dishwasher.

Tossing her apron onto a hook near the small kitchen, she gave everything a last once over before she left. She'd be back the next day at four, so she needn't worry too much. She was a good, steady worker, and Hal knew it. It was why he'd trusted her with the bar in his absence.

The young woman was just getting ready to cut and run when the bell announcing a customer clanged. Chloe bit her lip, in the process of lacing up a snow boot. We're closed. It's late.

There was the sharp sound of chair legs screeching across the floor and her head jerked up, a frown marring her features. Hey, I said we're- The breath fled from her lungs on a sharp gasp as she took in the sight before her.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

There was a trail of vibrant red drops from the door all the way across the bar to a table near the kitchen, where the figure of a huge man slumped,