Scotty stared at her for a moment, several expressions flashing across his face, but then his mouth tightened and he shook his head. “Never mind. That’s a conversation for another day. One when ye’re no’ swaying on yer feet from exhaustion. Go on to yer bed and get some rest. Ye’ve had a tough day.”
Beth remained where she was, her mind turning everything over. In truth, she knew what he said was true. She had changed a great deal over the last ten years. Before that she’d been a “hurting unit”—angry, bitter, resentful . . . She’d felt like life had kicked her in the teeth, repeatedly . . . and it had. But she’d continued to do that kicking herself afterward. And then, ten years ago, they’d been clearing out a rogue nest and come upon a terribly abused dog. Half starved, burned, beaten, and tortured in ways she couldn’t even guess by the rogues in the house, the poor beast had been at death’s door. It had also been terrified, growling and snarling viciously, not letting any of them near him.
Deciding it was beyond helping, one of the other hunters had intended to shoot him, but Beth had intervened. To this day she couldn’t say why exactly, but she’d looked into his eyes and something had called out to her. Perhaps she’d recognized herself looking back—the young terrified her who had been peering out at the world through her own eyes since she was a child. Whatever the case, she’d offered him part of her lunch, talking to him softly the whole time. It had taken a lot of patience and coaxing, but eventually she’d got the dog to eat. Beth hadn’t tried to touch him or get too close—he’d been too skittish for that, and she’d understood. There had been times in her life when she hadn’t trusted anyone to get too close or to touch her either. So she’d left him to eat and had gone back to work, helping with cleanup now that the rogues in the nest had been apprehended.
At first the dog had stayed where he was and followed her with his eyes. But when she’d walked around the side of the building, he’d followed, creeping just far enough around the corner that he could see her again. She’d noticed, but ignored it, and just gone about her business. But when he followed her again the next time she moved out of sight, she’d started to talk to him as she worked.
In truth, Beth couldn’t recall what she’d said to him, really, except that she’d told him she was going to call him Ruff because he barked and growled anytime anyone got too near, and because he was in such rough shape. By the time cleanup was done and she and Dree had headed to their vehicle, Ruff had reduced the distance he kept between them to two or three feet. He followed them to the SUV and when she opened the back door, he’d hesitated only a moment before hopping inside.
Beth had taken him home, and fed him again, but allowed him the distance he wanted. She’d then gone to bed and had been just dozing off when she’d felt him hop up on the foot of the bed. She’d almost told him to get down. The poor beast was crusted with filth and blood. But in the end she’d let him be. When she woke up it was to find him cuddled up against her in bed. He’d let her pet him, and bathe him, and after eating again had gone docilely with her to the vet.
Within a very short time, Ruff had been a different dog altogether. A beautiful American boxer, he’d grown strong and healthy and had become an affectionate, cheerful, and loyal companion. He’d grown in confidence and lost any hint of skittishness. It was as if the abuse had never happened. He’d let it go and moved on, enjoying his life with her. Beth had been amazed. The vet hadn’t. He’d said animals were the smarter creatures, living in the now and not dragging past baggage along with them through life. Ruff had it good now and was enjoying it.
Beth had learned from Ruff. She was nearly a hundred and sixty-five years old by that point, and had dragged the misery of her mortal life around with her for the last hundred and fifteen years since being turned. But she’d determined to be like Ruff, set that past down and travel on without it. It had taken her a little more time and effort than Ruff. Beth had slipped a couple times, and again picked up that baggage she was so used to carrying, but eventually she’d managed to set it down and leave it down so that it became just a part of her past and remained there where it belonged. Doing so had changed Beth’s life tremendously. Her anger and bitterness had evaporated, she’d started to enjoy life more, and she’d become the person she suspected she was always meant to be.
So yes, Beth had changed. Apparently it had not gone unnoticed by Scotty, and that in turn had changed his behavior toward her. Interesting.
Breathing out slowly, Beth finally nodded and simply said, “Fine. I’ll go to bed. Alone and without a guard,” she added firmly, and when he opened his mouth on what she suspected was going to be a protest, she reminded him, “I’m the one in charge of this mission. You and Donny are my backup, so I know you’ll listen to me when I say you’re not spending the night in my room guarding me like some defenseless child. Understood?”
Scotty’s mouth snapped closed, but he nodded stiffly.
“Good.” Turning, she walked out of the kitchen with a quiet, “Good sleep.”
Eight
Beth pushed through the Emergency Exit door and found herself in the alley again. The tap tap tap of high heels drew her gaze to the weeping woman just as she suddenly stopped and dropped to a crouch before the garbage bins. Beth peered at her and then shifted her gaze to the figure standing, hidden in the shadows cast by the bins. Squinting her eyes, she tried to pierce the darkness and get a better look at the person waiting to attack her, but all she could make out was the shape of someone tall in a suit.
“Chestnuts! All ’ot, a penny a score!”
Startled, Beth turned at that cry and peered down the alley in the other direction. Her eyes widened, and for a moment she thought the alley was on fire on the far end. Even as she had the thought, though, she was suddenly standing in the midst of all that light and heat, and she saw that what she had thought was a fire was actually hundreds of lights coming from the stalls lining both sides of the way. Each stall held at least one and sometimes two lights to illuminate the wares. Some had candles, while others had the smoky flame of old-fashioned grease lamps. Together, though, they all worked to light the whole area so that she was nearly dazzled by the colors around her. Here a splash of red apples, there purple pickling cabbage next to a stall of yellow onions, and then a butcher’s stall with slabs of meat piled high behind a butcher who paced back and forth, sharpening his knife on a steel that hung from his waist.
It was Saturday night at the market in Tottenham Court, when it was so crowded you could barely move. The smells were overwhelming, and the noises . . .
“Now’s your time! A half quire of paper for a penny!”
“A pound of grapes two pence!”
“Pick ’em up cheap here! Three Yarmouth bloaters for a penny!”
“Fine russets, penny a lot!”
The din was incredible and something Beth had forgotten.