Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(61)

"Simon, Sammy, Simone, Sandra and," Jamie bit her lip, trying to remember the name of the smallest of them. "Don't tell me. Shakira? No... Samson! Yes! I got you all, right?"

Simon, the father, grinned. "Nailed it! Love to chat, but gotta get these animals back to their pens."

They went on their way and as soon as the diminutive family was out of earshot, Jamie turned to Erik, excitedly saying, "The corgis are herding animals. Even you have to appreciate that."

"It is funny for short people to try and be so big, isn't it?" he said, grinning broadly and obviously having absolutely no idea that was either offensive, stupid, or both. "They're cute."

Jamie heaved a sigh. "Okay, well, anyway, I'm going to ask around and see if anyone's heard from Ryan or knows where he might've gone. You keep, you know, rebuilding an entire community with your bare hands."

In the distance, as she stepped out the hole in the wall that Erik was surgically repairing, Jamie heard a great heaving sound, followed by creaking wood, and a huge crash. After all that, a cheer rose up. "One more down!" Professor Duggan huffled up to Jamie, red-faced and smiling. "And they even have proper permits for all this construction! Nothing could be more wonderful!"

She just shook her head and crossed the packed-dirt driveway that made a path through the compound. Jamie was daydreaming, partially about the amazing turnaround that Erik's soul had apparently taken, but also about Ryan, where he could be, how much she'd give to feel his hands against her skin, his arms around her shoulders, when a rattling voice broke her concentration.

"Simply amazing," came a weak, soft, and obviously ancient voice. It was the sort of voice that never raises, but whenever it speaks, everyone in ear shot quiets to hear. "This work. It's all so... amazing."

Turning to face a small, but sturdy-looking house, Jamie saw the old man Ryan had pointed out to her from a distance. He was holding a long-stemmed pipe with a crooked finger, and wearing a loose-fitting bathrobe which Jamie identified a few seconds later as a silk smoking jacket, along with Hugh Heffner-like pajama bottoms, and red slippers embroidered with golden anchors on the toes.

He took a draw off his pipe, and blew out three smoke rings before stretching his mouth into a thin smile. "Welcome back," he said. "Though we never met, I feel like we did."

Jamie quirked one of her eyebrows, and searched her memory for his name. She decided to buy some time. "I'm Jamie—"

"Ampton," he said in his paper-thin voice. "Oh, I know, everyone knows. Ryan, he hasn't been well for a long time. Sick, you see, his heart."

"He is?" Jamie asked, her jaw dropping. "He has heart problems? I—"

The old man chuckled. "Not that sort, although they are often one in the same, I think. No, he's been heartsick, you see. For so very long. But after you were here, he was singing."

"That's a metaphor, right? Spring in his step, that sort of thing?"

"Not at all, young miss. Very literally singing. Nothing I'd ever heard of, but then again, I don't like anything made after about 1952. It's all too modern."

"I... made him sing?" For some reason, that struck Jamie in a place she'd never quite felt pangs of emotion, of longing, before. "Literally sing. Really?"

"You helped heal a sick heart. You mightn't know it," he said, taking another draw and blowing out a plume of spicy, sweet smelling smoke. "There it is, though. I've known him for three years, known his aunt and uncle much longer - and never seen him act like that. Prancing about, talking everyone's ear off about you."

"Prancing?" Jamie asked with a heavy dose of incredulity in her voice. "Ryan Drake pranced?"

The old man just chuckled, his surprisingly round cheeks dimpling as he smiled. "But, he's in trouble," his eyes darkened just a little, though he kept smiling.

"I'm sorry," Jamie cut in, "I forgot your name. I feel awful, but—"

"No, no, don't worry. You probably never knew it. For all his stout heart and courage, Ryan lacks in social grace. I'm Martin Long. Very good to finally meet you."

Her head swam slightly as she took his ancient hand and shook. The skin on his hand felt like stretched leather, but when the man gripped her hand, there was strength there she didn't expect. He motioned for her to sit in one of the two swings he had on his porch. Jamie did, tucking back her wings and crossing her legs. Martin sat opposite, sighing as he relaxed into the ancient, cast-iron swing.

"If you've only been here six years, where did all these houses come from?" Jamie asked. It was the first time she'd thought to be curious about something so obvious.

Martin shrugged. "Some of them are the remnants of an old... miner camp, or possibly fur traders. The old Jamesburg was much wilder than the new one. Though memories of it have faded. Also, Ryan built a lot of them. My house, though, was old. This swing, too, was old even by my standards, and I'm obviously no spring panda."

Jamie chewed her lip, thinking back to what Ryan told her - which was startlingly little, now that she was thinking about it. The pieces of his mysterious life were hard to assemble, probably even if she knew more about him. "I just wish we had more time," she said, accidentally out loud.

"Oh?" Martin asked.