Free Wolf Heat by Dina Harrison Page A

near the jukebox with their beer bottles and began to people watch. It was one of the more entertaining parts of coming up North; the entire culture was different than it was in Minneapolis. Up here, people talked like it was the 1800s and acted like you were either one of them and with them, or an out-of-towner and then you were only good for however much green you spent to support the locals.
              “Isn’t this fun?” Belinda shouted over the jukebox. “Aren’t you glad you came?”
                  As Shauna was preparing to yell back a sarcastic response, the front door of the bar flew open with a force that smacked the door knob against the opposite wall. A tall man, 6’6” at least, floated in. Shauna would swear later that he was literally floating, and that she remembered that detail especially because how on earth a man that size could do anything but lumber around was a mystery. His jet-black hair was slick with the rain that had begun to come down in town, and his black leather jacket, broken in at all the right places, had small wet splotches on them. People turned their heads out of curiosity to see who it was, but the man must have been a townie because a few people nodded a greeting but the majority went back to their conversations without even trying to subtly sneak a look at this man who, tall and dark, was whatever word came after handsome in degree.
                  He locked eyes with Shauna and he cocked his head. Haven’t seen you in here before , the look said. Shauna tried to look away but found she could not. Instead, she stood and walked over to the strange man, Belinda calling after her.
                  “Hi,” he said when she came to stand before him. A small smile played on his gorgeous lips, and Shauna had the feeling that he was mocking her, though she had no idea why he would be since they hadn’t ever met before.
              “Hi,” she said. “I’m Shauna.”

              That interaction, for Shauna had no better word for it, had been more than six months ago. She had tried to remember the rest of the night. Tried to remember what had happened to her, to Belinda, and what, if any, connection there was to the man or to anyone else she had run into while at the bar. Doctors, therapists, hypnotists, no one had been able to get anything out of Shauna except for the physical description of the man, the name of the bar, and that she and Belinda had been together at least long enough to order two bottles of Grainbelt, the remains of which had been found near the dumpster in the back of the bar two days later. DNA tests on the bottles had proven them to be Shauna and Belinda’s, though no one could figure out why they were sitting where they were and why they hadn’t just been thrown away. Both bottles had been empty, though Shauna swore that she only took a sip or two from hers.
                  The memory loss was bad enough, but Shauna had been experiencing what she had come to describe as “physical trauma.” That didn’t even begin to cut it, of course, but Shauna knew that she had to be careful, especially with her regular family doctor, or she’d be sent to the psych ward. Maybe, of course, that was exactly where she belonged.  Her increased heart rate and body heat had been chalked up to the stress and trauma of the incident. The weight gain, same thing, though the doctors couldn’t explain why Shauna’s weight gain appeared to be muscle only and was actually resulting in a leaner appearance for her. As for the insomnia and the constant napping during the day, Shauna’s therapist said those were classic signs of depression and had given her prescriptions for Xanax and Wellbutrin. The Xanax she should take whenever she felt her heart rate increase—a panic attack, undoubtedly—and take the Wellbutrin each day. Nothing was helping, and, finally, Shauna couldn’t take