Sassy Shifter Shenanigans Book 1: Howling for Trouble
Just another day in a small mountain town. Enjoying the hustle and bustle of comfort. This morning however something feels off.
The Cedar Cup provided pure sensory overload. The dark roast perfume from the espresso machine was heaven. Hell was the sugary syrup the Chang twins mainlined behind the counter between orders.
Three weeks in Howling Falls and I was navigating the floor like a pro, balancing a tray of mocha lattes while dodging a stroller the size of a small SUV. I’d stumbled on Millie’s trifecta, coffee, wine, and dog boarding, as the town prepared for the Star-Watch Festival. The population was about to triple, and sanity would plummet accordingly. Perfect place for a shifter on the run.
I parked the drinks on a corner table for a pair of thirty-somethings dressed in flannels with backpacks at their feet. They’d come for some spring hiking around Mt. Shasta, as most people did. My borrowed apron suggested, Espresso Yourself in a cheerful font. The irony burned nearly as much as the cheap polyester.
What did wine, coffee, and pets have in common? They all gave me a headache. I’d had extra pressure building in my head since I arrived in the small mountain town. No one believed dogs, wine, and coffee were a great business idea like someone who lived at a high elevation and had suffered drain bramage.
Ah, Millie. I felt like I’d known her forever. She had been sweet to welcome me into her home like a long-lost niece. Everyone helped in a small community, which included the puppy who came in from the cold, seeking a place to hide her past.
Me.
An older man with a silver beard was holding court by the pastry case. I’d quickly learned the names of the regulars. George Harper was in here at 9:00 sharp every morning to order black coffee, no cream or sugar, thank you. Total grandpa vibe from the moment I met him, radiating warmth and the scent of cherry pipe tobacco. A glossy eight-by-ten photo gleamed under the track lighting where he stood. Stars blazed across Horseshoe Turn Trestle like somebody had sneezed glitter glue at the night sky. Every time George tilted the print, the gaggle around him oohed and aahed like it was the Mona Lisa wearing sunglasses.
George’s grin almost swallowed his face. “Took it last week at two AM. Perfect angle, perfect shutter speed, perfect night.” Bless his heart. I wished I was as passionate about serving coffee and wine and taking care of boarded dogs as George was about his astral photography.
George lived down the mountain in the neighboring town of Dunsmuir, but he was often up here in Howling Falls for his photos and boarded his dog with Millie, an old friend.
Fern Ridley materialized beside him as I rounded the counter, a whirlwind wearing jangling silver bracelets and enough patchouli to stun a moose. Her small, angular face was framed by wild graying hair. Her voice could shatter glass. “Glorious, George! Utterly glorious! The trestle’s energy field must have been positively humming!”
Sure, Fern. George puffed out his chest like a proud pigeon.
My job description included stocking sugar packets, not lurking, but my photographic memory, the part I usually kept locked down tight, nudged me closer. The print was good. Pinpoint stars curving into darkness, mist rising below like a spooky shroud. One caught the light, gleaming. George had skills.
My nose twitched, catching something metallic and sharp under the pipe smoke and coffee. Cold camera gear. George had brought his setup. The lens cap dangled from a strap like a tiny, bored UFO.
“Roxie!” Fern waved me over, her bangles clattering like bells. “Come see this miracle of focus!”
Deep breath, plaster on a smile. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, but I managed to look perky. I’d learned that back home, when I felt like I was in a cage. Turned out that pretending I was interested around my family had carried over well to a service job.
I dumped the empty tray on the counter. “Looks amazing, George.” I meant it. You could see the care he had poured into it.
He beamed. “Planning a whole series before they decommission the excursion line. Got an invite to the lens swap meet tomorrow. Might sell a few prints.”
A thick magazine with super glossy pages and fancy gold messages about wine auctions peeked out of his messenger bag. All week, George had been talking about there being a wine connoisseur in town: Everett Brae and his wife Marissa. I’d seen them in Millie’s a few times.
Brae gave off an “I know better than you” vibe that made me want to shove my fist through the counter. Millie wasn’t a fan either, but customers were customers. Neither of us minded his wife Marissa, who was interesting. I wondered where they’d gone. They hadn’t attended last night’s tasting. One couldn’t come to Howling Falls to see celestial wonders and not indulge in Millie’s wine.
Fern’s nose wrinkled like she’d inhaled burned hair. “Smells like a high school swim meet in there. Mira! Milo! Did you two unleash a new horror chemical?”
Mira Chang, twin number one, didn’t pause in her milk-frothing ballet. “Locker room funk is not on today’s specials list, sorry.”
Milo, twin number two, seamlessly finished the thought. “But we will offer extra espresso shots for courage at half price.”
I grinned. The twins were perfectly choreographed caffeine ninjas. The weird smell was probably the ancient plumbing having a panic attack, thanks to the tourist invasion. Old buildings get performance anxiety, too, especially ones in quirky small towns that probably haven’t seen a plumber since the Nixon administration.
Fern prattled on, but I stopped listening to her as a low buzz vibrated through my boots. A vehicle was rumbling up.
Through the window, I saw the sleekest and blackest SUV ever to grace Howling Falls’ crumbling Main Street. It idled at the curb like a panther waiting to pounce.
The scent hit me before the driver opened the door: a cedar forest after a hard rain, pencil shavings, and…gun oil. Sharp. Way too clean. Predatory. Every instinct screamed “Danger, Will Robinson!” That smell had teeth. Big ones.
The back window slid down two inches and mirrored sunglasses reflected the dusty shopfronts. I saw tactical-looking upholstery inside. Then shhhk, the window slid back up. The engine was still running, a faint heat haze shimmering above its hood.
Talyn Shore’s security detail. This morning, Millie had told me the platinum pop goddess was hiding out in our little town. How “hiding out” worked when you brought along a private army was beyond me. This had to be the alpha bodyguard. My inner coyote flattened her ears, whining. Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
George, bless his oblivious heart, hadn’t noticed. He was proudly pointing at his photo. “Tomorrow night, I’ll set up under the trestle again. Meteor shower peaks around three. Supposed to be clear skies.”
“Watch your step out there,” I warned, the lingering scent of danger deepening my worry lines. “Those railroad ties get loose and slide, and there is lots of gravel.”
He chuckled, waving a hand. “I’ve walked those tracks for forty years, kiddo. They’re in my blood.”
Fern drifted toward the restrooms, still muttering about chlorine ghosts and demanding answers. Customers filled the space around George like minnows regrouping. Some were locals, others were tourists. George was happy to entertain both.
I retreated to the counter and rescued my abandoned tray. Mira slid a steaming mug topped with whipped cream and sparkly lunar sprinkles toward me. It looked like a five-year-old’s dream breakfast. “On the house. You look caffeinated but existential.”
“That is my default setting these days.” I took a sip. Sweet mocha goodness. Unadulterated happiness bloomed on my tongue. Okay, adulterated with caffeine.
Sage cologne drifted in like a warm desert breeze. I turned to see Tyler West ambling in, cardboard tote of Amazon parcels balanced effortlessly on one arm. The bell over the door dinged twice, extra cheerful for him. Everything seemed extra cheerful for Tyler.
Stupid moon, waxing toward full, made me hyper aware of…details. Tyler’s dimple creased his cheek when he smiled. It was worse when I was ovulating. Today, the full moon and my hormone cycle were conspiring against me.
He spotted me and grinned. That damn dimple. He nodded a friendly hello to George. “Special delivery for Mister Harper. Looks like that camera battery kit arrived.”
George clapped his hands together. “Right on time, son! Perfect.”
Tyler handed the box to George, then deposited the rest of the parcels on the pick-up shelf like he owned the place. He ambled back over to me, snagging an extra coffee sleeve from the dispenser. Mira had prepared his coffee; he always ordered the same thing.
“Morning, Rockstar.”
My nickname. It gnawed through my carefully constructed cool like termites in untreated lumber. He claimed he came up with it after seeing my beat-up guitar case leaning against Millie’s porch.
I lifted my sparkly mocha in a mock toast. “Live performance at noon. One show only. Tips appreciated but not required.”
Tyler laughed, dimple flashing again. It should require a permit. “I’ll make sure I get front row seats.” He glanced around the packed café. “Place is buzzing. When are you off? I could give you a hand lugging things back to Millie’s. I have the van today.”
Though Millie also owned the café, her main business, the pet boarding and wine lodge was located down the road. I lived there, and most days, I didn’t work at the Cedar Cup. This morning, they’d been short-staffed, and Millie had asked if I could fill in for an hour or two. It was slowing down, so Mira nodded. “We can handle it from here.”
“Are you seriously flirting to get free labor?” I raised an eyebrow at Tyler as I untied my apron.
“Absolutely. Efficient time management.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Still at the pastry case, George carefully slid the photograph into a protective plastic sleeve. After that, he poured the coffee Milo had given him into a thermos. “Thanks for the caffeine fix, folks. See you all at the trestle tomorrow!” He raised the thermos in a general salute and shuffled toward the door, camera bag at his side. The bells chimed his exit.
I watched him step onto the sidewalk. As he passed the idling black SUV, the front passenger door cracked open about six inches. There was a flash inside, possibly sunlight off metal or a camera flash. My pulse beat hard again. George continued down the block, oblivious and unharmed. The SUV door clicked shut. Silent. Smooth.
Keep tabs on the creepy black SUV. Check.
Tyler followed my gaze. “That ride looks serious.”
“Talyn Shore’s security. Millie told me this morning. Probably waiting for the starlet to finish her organic kale smoothie.” I hadn’t seen the blonde pop goddess yet. She might be wearing a disguise.
“Or plotting world domination from the comfort of leather seats, one song at a time!” He nudged my elbow. “Speaking of Millie’s, I have two pallets of premium kibble arriving this afternoon. I might need a second set of muscles to unload.”
“Flattery might earn you several synonyms for ‘yes.’” I flexed an arm. “And possibly cookies.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Homemade?”
“Store-bought. Lovingly re-plated on a fancy dish.”
“Good enough.”
I hung the stupid apron on a hook behind the counter. “Later, twins,” I called over my shoulder.
“Return soon, caffeine gladiator!” Mira called back.
“Bring sanity!” Milo added. Fat chance of that.
Outside, the crisp mountain air felt amazing after the café’s roasted haze. Tyler matched my stride as we headed toward the wine lodge, Amazon tote tucked under one arm. His delivery van was two doors down.
“You sure you can spare time from your package-delivering empire to haul dog chow?” I asked.
He unlocked the cargo door with a beep. “I schedule my route these days. Perks of being a senior driver.”
“Ooh, fancy.”
“Yup.” He leaned against the van and studied me. The easy grin was back, but his eyes were observant. “So, you settling into Howling Falls?”
“As much as anyone can settle in three weeks. Could do without the toxic waste smell from the café’s plumbing, though.”
He chuckled. “Small towns sometimes have…quirky infrastructure. Gives them character. At least there’s no traffic.”
“No traffic, but enough gossip to fuel a small nation.” I gestured vaguely at the street. Most storefronts sported glittery star decals. Festival banners flapped from every lamppost, proclaiming Reach for the Stars! or something equally cheesy. “Seriously, does this place always quadruple its population for a meteor shower?”
“It’s tradition.” Tyler hefted a box from the back of his van. His biceps flexed in a way that was not helpful to my concentration.
I cleared my throat. “Millie says the kennels are booked solid through the weekend. Looks like I’ll be refereeing corgi wrestling matches until further notice.”
“You’ll need earplugs for that. Those little bark cannons fire nonstop.” He slid the van door shut with a solid thunk. “See you around three for the kibble chaos.”
I nodded. “Stretch first. Those bags weigh more than we think.”
He smirked, his dimple making another guest appearance. “Worried about me, Rockstar?”
“Worried about the workplace injury paperwork. It’s notoriously tedious.”
He stepped back, gave me a half-salute, and slid into the driver’s seat. The van pulled smoothly away from the curb, leaving behind the scents of sage and diesel exhaust.
I exhaled. My heartbeat was doing that fluttery thing again. The moon was still five nights from full, but my inner coyote was sniffing the air, sizing up potential mates like an over-caffeinated, hormone-fueled matchmaker. This would be loads of fun.
Down, girl. Seriously.
I glanced back at where the black SUV had been parked. It was gone. No engine growl, no tire squeal, no door slam. Just…poof, like a three-ton ninja. The air still held the cedar and gun oil scent, sharp and wrong. A cold shiver snaked down my spine beneath my jacket.
Will Roxy be able to keep her profile low and blend into the town, or will the mystery brewing in the black SUV blow her cover? Find out on June 27th when Howling for Trouble: Sassy Shifter Shenanigans Book 1 is released. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.
