was just as warm as her husband, and bustled around Rain like a mother hen, making sure she was warm and comfortable and had plenty of food on her plate. Jim would be inside in just a few minutes, she explained. He was making sure the chickens were all put up for the night.
"Jim," she said when the man finally came through the door. "Leave it open for a few minutes. Jamie isn't back yet."
They exchanged glances.
"Jamie?" Rain asked, and Jim took his seat at the table.
"You'll meet him later," Jim said, noncommittal.
Rain quickly found out while Myra seemed to be an excellent baker, she wasn't the best of cooks. The meat was just a tad overdone, the vegetables poorly seasoned. But the biscuits she served with them were rich and buttery and flaky, and the pie she served for dessert was downright decadent. "I'm glad you caught me on a pie making day," Myra confided. "It's always best warm from the oven."
All through supper, the door had remained open, and Rain wondered whether or not this was a frequent occurrence. She'd heard of country folk who didn't lock their doors; had lived with some of that ilk although she was a bit more private herself - she'd had one too many things nicked before. But she'd never heard of someone having their door standing open all through supper unless it had a screen on it. She wondered what was wrong with Jamie that he wasn't able to turn a doorknob.
And then she found out. Dark fur glided through the doorway; the mass of animal easily as tall as the table. She dropped her fork. It made a clang against the plate.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jim exchange another glance with Myra.
"This is Jamie, Rain. Jamie, this is Rain."
Jim got up to shut the door, and Rain noticed that the backside of the wood had a peculiar looking latch, hanging by a thin rope. It must be for Jamie, she thought. So he could get out the door on his own.
Her initial shock worn off, Rain picked up her fork again and resumed eating. Jamie looked at her warily, but he didn't seem aggressive. He jumped up onto an overlarge sofa in the corner and laid his head down on his front paws, his gaze never leaving her.
"I didn't know dogs could come that large," Rain said into the awkward silence.
"He's not a dog, dear," Myra said, offering her another scoop of pie.
Rain patted her stomach and had to refuse. "I'm completely stuffed. Thank you, Myra. It was delicious."
Myra nodded and smiled and put down the spoon. "He's a wolf."
"A dire wolf," Jim corrected, and from the corner, Jamie blew out a snort.
"A dire wolf," Myra agreed.
"But I thought - " Rain was confused.
"That they were extinct?" Jim supplied. "It's a bit of a common misconception. Incredibly rare."
This time Jamie looked as though he were scowling, and Rain felt herself give a silent chuckle. "Well, it's true," Jim defended.
Rain couldn't keep her eyes off of him. She thought she was being somewhat rude, nearly staring at the large animal her hosts must keep as a pet, but every time her eyes focused on something else - their faces, the dishes she helped to clear, the whittled animals displayed proudly on a shelf - her gaze seemed to find it's way back to Jamie in no time, and Myra smiled at her, knowing.
"Would you like to pet him?" she asked.
"Myra," Jim warned.
"Fiddlesticks," Myra said, and led Rain over to Jamie's couch. "You aren't blind, old man," she said, and Jim chuckled.
"No, I guess not."
Rain crouched beside him without bidding, her eyes bright and her face flushed. Jamie's head, larger than her own, cocked to the side as he regarded her curiously. His breath blew hot in her face. His eyes were stunningly alive and intelligent. Without warning, he opened his mouth, pink tongue spilling from his maw and lapping a stripe over her neck and up the side of her face. She shivered.
Myra stepped back, allowing Rain access to reach
Learning to Kill: Stories