Free Stray Cat Strut by Shelley Munro Page A

shifter. There
would be no mate for me.
    “Damn it, boy.” My father smashed his fist
into the table, his face turning red with irritation. The knives and forks and
condiments my mother had placed on the table jumped and lurched out of place.
“Are you listening to me?”
    I inhaled deeply, wondering how this
conversation had slithered into dangerous territory so quickly. I blamed my
friends Saber and Felix Mitchell for putting ideas into the old man’s head.
“Yeah, Dad. I hear you. The neighbors can probably hear you.”
    “Listen to your father, son.” My mother’s
voice was low and soothing as if she recognized how close we were to jumping
into a shouting match, into saying things we’d regret.
    “I’m listening.” But it was a lie. I didn’t
have to since I knew the lecture by heart. Somewhere out there was the woman
for me—maybe another shifter, if I were really lucky. We’d mate and spend the
rest of our lives together. Be happy. No point fighting fate.
    On cue, my parents cast each other adoring
looks. A snort escaped before I could censor it—a fact that didn’t escape my
father. But hell, I was so tired of the constant bitching about my lack of
success with women. The same old tired litany. The words, oft repeated, ground
away at my self-control.
    My father drew himself up and glared at me
from beneath bushy brows. “There’s a mate for you. All you need to do is find
her.”
    “Dad!” My tone was sharp, demanding he
listen. I leapt to my feet, my heart pounding. “I’m not hooking up with a
female. I’m not interested in women. I’m gay.”
    For an instant, we stared at each other.
Shock hit us all equally—my parents suffered from the announcement while I
couldn’t believe I’d actually confessed the truth.
    I was gay and women didn’t do it for me.
    “That’s a good joke, Saul. Nearly had us
there.” My father’s booming laugh echoed inside the steamy kitchen. He really
thought I was joking.
    My mother’s face was pale when she scanned
my features. She didn’t laugh because something in my face convinced her I was
telling the truth. Her eyes rounded and turned glassy, as if she might cry.
    I glanced away, unwilling to see her pain.
“I’m not joking, Dad. There won’t be any mate for me because I’m gay.”
    There was a strained silence in the
kitchen, broken only by the insistent clack of a clock. We stared at each
other, the tension palpable.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt it out
like—”
    “Get out.” My father’s words were icy cold.
Distant. I knew this wasn’t the time to argue that being gay didn’t make me any
different, that I was still his son.
    I turned away, hesitating only when I heard
my mother’s sob.
    “Don’t cry, Allison. Saul isn’t worth it.
He’s sick. Abnormal. He is not our son. Go,” my father snapped when he noticed
I’d paused. “Don’t bother coming back.”
    I continued walking, stopping only to grab
my wallet and keys off the kitchen counter. I walked outside and climbed into
my SUV. I sat motionless in the driver’s seat. Sick at heart. Disillusioned. I
burrowed my hands through my unruly dark hair and cursed before shoving the
keys in the ignition. My father was wrong. I was normal. I was just like
everyone else in Middlemarch. All I wanted was love.
    * * * * *
    Aoraki Mount Cook National Park is a
thriving tourist destination. In the winter it’s skiing while in the summer the
mountains of the Southern Alps are the preserve of trampers along with the
tourists wanting to get a closer look at New Zealand’s highest mountain
peak—Aoraki, the cloud piercer.
    O’Hara’s, one of the bars near The
Hermitage Hotel in Mount Cook village was bustling with a mixture of tourists,
workers and locals. Since it was a Saturday night, the bar had employed a band
and a male singer belted out a rock classic. Several couples danced, bodies
writhing in time to the beat of the music in the dimly lit room.
    I leaned against the bar