SHAPESHIFTER ROMANCE: Protection of the Wolf (Paranormal Shifter Army Navy Seal Protector Alpha Wolf Romance) (Fantasy Military Action Adventure Urban Werewolf Romance Short Stories) (35 page)

“How do you like the house?” he said, pouring her a cup of coffee.

“It’s a long way from Quackenbush Avenue,” Alex said, somewhat quietly.

“Your mother is coming from San Francisco with your father today,” he told her.  “They texted me this morning.”

“I’m glad,” Alex said.  “I miss my mother.”

“She always seemed very sad that you didn’t move out here with her,” Thom told her.

Alex said nothing, as she dusted off some hard feelings from her past and put them on a fresh shelf.  Everything seemed different today, she thought.  The world wasn’t as vibrant as it had seemed on their trips together and she wasn’t sure why.

They took the day off, watched a movie, showered and puttered around.  They were both tired from the trip and when Thom sat down to do some work, Alex went and took a nap.

Beth had texted her earlier and Alex texted her back.

“I miss you,” Alex wrote. 

She thought of her father, probably sitting on the couch reading the paper right now, ready to do the crossword puzzle.  She’d spoken to him at least twice a week since she left, but she hadn’t told him she was head over heels with her stepbrother.

When their parents arrived at dinnertime, both she and Thom snapped into a new routine.  They avoided one another’s eyes and they both felt uncomfortable all through dinner at one of Napa’s famous eateries.

Alex pushed the food around on her plate, feeling tired and not at all like socializing.  She did her best to fill them in on the trip and Thom Sr. told her how pleased he was with the glowing reports about her that had come from his son and some of their clients.

Her mother couldn’t take her eyes off Alex.  She seemed older, more confident and measurably more mature and she was taken aback by how absolutely beautiful she was.  And yet, being the same old Alex, she didn’t seem to know it or care.  It was refreshing, and also rare.

When they got home that night, Alex went right to her room to change.  She didn’t understand why she was feeling so uncomfortable.  Maybe all the time changes had gotten the best of her.

Her mother came in and sat down on her bed.

“Everything okay, honey?”

“Yeah, Mom.  I think I’m still exhausted.  But I want to thank you for giving me this chance.  I really love this job.  It was the most fabulous two weeks of my life.”

“I knew you would,” her mother said. “I’ve been trying to find a way to get you involved in our lives and I think this was the perfect opportunity.”

Before she left the room, she turned to Alex and told her to be careful.

“Everything’s new right now,” she said. “Take things slowly.  Feel your way through them.”

It was as if she knew, Alex thought.  But how?  Had they made some blunder?  Had someone her stepfather knew seen them together somewhere?

They were all due to visit a vineyard the next morning---a new account they were coveting and Alex lamented the fact that she’d have to ignore Thom again.  She found herself missing him as she lay in bed, wishing she could reach out and put her arms around him.  She was confused, yes, but one thing was clear.  Thom had become very special to her.  And she wasn’t sure she wanted to live without him, despite what anyone else thought.

She heard a light knock on her door and watched as Thom came tiptoeing in.  Alex had to stifle a laugh, watching as he practically crawled over to her, terrified that he’d be discovered in her room.

“God, I miss you,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I miss you too.  It’s lonely in bed without you.”

“You’ve been off today,” he said. “Totally not yourself.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’m just confused.  Sometimes I resent my decision to stay in New York and live without my mother.  And the next minute I miss my father and am glad I spent my childhood with him. I look around and see everything that you have and I feel envious sometimes, as if I am Cinderella, just here to sweep the floor.”

“You have a place in this company,” he said. “Your mother always talked about ‘one day.’ Maybe it’s time you made more room for her in your life. I think you sense that, and it must be confusing to you.  You’d have to let go of other things, like your life in New York with your father, or your dreams of teaching.”

Alex laughed. “All I wanted to do was move to a place like Wyoming and become a teacher.”

“Maybe it was a way to not have to make a decision.  You could choose neither of your parents and live somewhere that was just your own.”

“Maybe,” Alex said, holding Thom tighter in her arms.  “But what I wanted was trees and grass and to get away from the crowded streets of New York.  Maybe that was a way of yearning for my mother.”

“Alex, give yourself some time.  We’ll work for a few weeks and you can go home again.  You can go back to where the old Alex lived and try to gain some perspective there.  You can work from home for a few weeks before I’ll need you out here.  Maybe you’ll decide not to come back at all.  But you get to choose who you want to be.”

“I think I could fall in love with you,” she said.

“I was hoping you already had,” he said, hitting her with a pillow.

“Tomorrow morning,” Alex said, sitting up, “we’re going to go downstairs and tell our parents about our relationship.”

She laid back down in his arms, thinking of her little room on Quackenbush.  It was waiting there for her and always would be. But Alexander Bill was ready to move on to her exotic place near the trees.

Napa seemed as good a place as any.

THE END

Bonus Story 8/10

There it is again. The beeping of that dang alarm clock that I hate so much. The curtains on the window do very little to shield my eyes from the sun as I roll over to hit the snooze button for a couple more minutes of well-deserved sleep. There is only one problem with my plan. I am already at the edge of the bed and you might say that my roll was enough to send me over the edge. Literally.

Oof. I forget sometimes how hard wood floors are. Nothing is broken, but I’ll have bruises for a few days thanks to that dang alarm clock. And speaking of alarm clocks. The thing is still going crazy on the night stand. It fits snugly in my hand, almost as well as a softball and that gives me an idea. I used to throw a pretty mean softball when I played on the team at school. Let’s see if I still have it. My wind up rips the cord from the wall with a jerk. The release is perfect and I watch, still in my pajamas and pissed over falling out of the bed, as the alarm clock slams into the far wall and shatters.

“Serves you right.” I tell the cheap hunk of plastic as I pad by it to the bathroom.

I make a habit of not looking of myself in the mirror when I first get up so I won’t have to see what my hair looks like. Tossing and turning does a number on my already curly hair and I don’t particularly like seeing it all a mess. Once the water is on and at the right temperature I climb into the shower. The warm water does wonders for my sore muscles from falling out of bed, so I take a few more minutes than I normally would have. Alright. I stayed in for thirty minutes.

The shower was nice and it helped to wake me up some, but nothing like this new coffee I’m drinking. A bean from Costa Rica that has enough caffeine to really get my day going nicely. As I sip on the cup the sweet thought that I don’t have to work today slips into my mind. Yes! A small romp around the room seems in order, but after a couple laps around the island in the kitchen I’m bent over, towel on my head with my hands on my knees, panting like I just ran a 5k marathon. Looking down I can see that my cute little muffin top has turned into a full-blown spare tire. When the heck did that happen?

“Note to self. I need to work out.”

I really do, but not until I’ve had another cup of this coffee. Turning on the TV I flick through the news channels to make sure that the world didn’t end while I was asleep. The group on channel three seems to be chipper about some new application for their smartphones, so I guess the world is still going after all. Since I don’t have to be anywhere today I decide that I might go to the store for a few things. I never was one to sit around all day even though I pretend to be.

In the bedroom I throw on a pair of sweats, a bulky blue sweater that I like more than anything I own and an old pair of shoes. One look in the mirror is all I need to see that I’m not winning any beauty pageants, but I didn’t plan on entering any today anyway.

What a world we live in. I have to lock my door and I don’t plan on being gone more than fifteen minutes. Twenty at the most. When I was a little girl, we never locked our door. Never. But then again my dad was the Sheriff for twenty years in Grain Valley. People knew that we had guns and they knew that we would use them. I have a gun too. A little .32 revolver in my purse and I know how to use it.

I push the button on my key fob and I’m rewarded with the bonk of my car horn telling me that I can get in now without the alarm scaring the living daylights out of me and everyone else in the neighborhood. My little car has been with me for a long time now, but it still starts like it did the day I got it. I back out of the driveway and crank the music up. The music pours from the speakers and I take out on my big adventure for the day. A three minute drive to the grocery store.

Normally this is where I would be griping about having to work at a nursing home six days a week from Tuesday to Sunday, but pulling into the parking lot this morning I’m glad for the weird schedule. There aren’t five cars in the parking lot. For most people today is the start of the work week, but not for me. Eat that Garfield. I don’t hate Mondays. I love them.

I lock the doors on my car with the button on my key fob and once again the bonk of the horn lets me know that everything is safe and secure. Inside the store I grab a cart that I know I won’t need out of habit and start for the frozen food section. I like my pizza, but as the little run around the kitchen let me know earlier pizza doesn’t like me so well. Or maybe it likes me too well. Either way I put five of them in the cart along with a couple of boxes of bread sticks. Nothing better for a late night snack than a couple of bread sticks heated up in the microwave. I top off my purchase with a couple half gallons of ice cream, rocky road and fudge brownie blast. A couple bottles of red wine and I’m done, so I start for the registers. Okay, five bottles of wine, but don’t you judge me. I like to watch TV and drink a glass or five of wine of a night.

Of course. No one is working at the registers. I guess I’ll have to go to the most beautiful cashier in the place. I pull my cart up to the self-checkout knowing full well that something will go wrong. There it is!

The light above me goes off when I try to scan the wine and an automated voice tells me that I need to wait for an employee to verify that I am twenty-one or older. That you Mr. Machine. I’m flattered, but I’m thirty-eight. I haven’t looked like I was underage for twenty years or more.

After a five minute wait a lady with a scrunched up face that looks like she is pissed off at the world and just waiting for someone to blow up on comes shuffling around to where I am. She takes one look at me and scoffs as she puts in her key and turns it. A couple taps on the keyboard and Mr. Machine says that he is satisfied that I am old enough to buy booze.

“Thank you.”

I try to tell the lady, but she merely gives me another scoff and shuffles back out of sight to her labyrinth or wherever it was that she came from. I do all the work myself and it still took me just as long as it would have if a human cashier would have helped me, but then again they didn’t have to pay anyone to help me. I did the work myself. Next time I’ll have to wear a blue vest to show them that I’m a valued employee. Once my goods are loaded into my car I pull out on the road and crank the music back up. No radio for this woman. Don’t get me wrong.  I like country. Not this new drivel. I like country from back in the old days when it was real country. I prefer rock though.

The light turns red and forces me to stop beside an older woman in a full-sized sedan. My singing draws her eyes as I continue to jam out to my music and belt the words out at the top of my voice. She rolls her eyes and mumbles something to herself as the light turns green and she pulls away. I smile and give her the finger. Most people are too scared to act themselves. Why? I am who I am and I’m not ashamed in the least. If I want to sing at the top of my lungs, I’ll do it and to hell with anyone who doesn’t like it. As I near my house, I notice that something isn’t the same as when I left. It takes my brain a second to realize that there is a motorcycle in by driveway that wasn’t there when I left earlier.

Whom do I know that drives a motorcycle? No one that’s who. Laying my purse in easy reach so I can grab my little .32 pistol if necessary I pull into the driveway. A large man comes around the corner and right away a smile breaks out on his face. It takes me a moment to notice him under the beard and the close-cropped mohawk, but the smile gives it away. No one, but my stepbrother could have that smile and those eyes.

***

I slam the car in park and leap out without turning it off. Running up the driveway I try to think how long it has been since I last saw him. It has to be at least five years. Maybe six.

“Jonathan!” I call out to him and his smile widens even more.

“Martha!”

We meet and he wraps me up in a bear hug. He always was a big guy, but now he is absolutely huge and judging by the way he crushes my sides with his bear hug I’d say that most of it is muscle. I pull back and look up at him. He always was taller than me.

“You look good. A little wooly around the edges, but good.”

He rubs his beard and shakes his head. “You always did say whatever was on your mind Martha.”

“No use hiding what you’re thinking.”

“You look good too.” He holds me at arm’s length and looks me over.

“Yeah right. I look like I’ve been eating too much and working out too little. Speaking of eating. I’ve got some groceries in the car. Help me bring them in and I’ll fix you something if you’re hungry.”

“I just ate, but I’ll help.”

We gather the groceries out of the car and he hefts the bags with all the wine bottles in them. He shakes his head with a smile and starts for the house without a word. I unlock the door and let him inside. Pointing him to the kitchen, I follow after shutting the door. He sits the bags on the island.

“Groceries huh?” He clinks the bottles together.

“I like grapes.”

He bellows laughter and pulls one of the bottles out of its bag. “I might not be hungry, but I am thirsty. Do you have anything besides this stuff?”

“Sorry, but I don’t.” I don’t drink beer and rarely drink anything harder that wine.

“Give me a minute.” He turns and starts for the door.

“You’re leaving already?” I ask.

“No. I’m gonna run down to a little package store I saw on my way into town and pick up something to drink. Do you want anything?”

“Yeah. A bottle of vodka.”

“Vodka?” He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t changed a bit have you?”

“No, but you have and now that you’re here we’re going to celebrate you being back. I haven’t seen you in five years.”

“Six.”

“Has it been that long?”

“It has.” He opens the door and turns back. “I’ll be right back and then we can get to catching up. So long.”

That ‘so long’ makes it sound like he is never coming back, but it’s just a thing we have done ever since I can remember. We never say goodbye. We always say so long. If you knew anything about rock, you would probably know what song that comes from, but if you don’t I won’t be too hard on you.

The sound of Jonathan’s bike is a loud rumble like thunder as he starts it up and pulls out of the driveway. I take the time he is gone in to put away the groceries that I bought and put on some different clothes. Not that I’m not comfortable, but it seems to me that sweats and a sweater aren’t exactly clothes to have on for company even if it is your stepbrother. I slip into an older grey shirt that I like because it enhances my more than ample breasts and it has one of my favorite sayings on the front. ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.’ A pair of shorts that show off my legs and I feel much better. You might be thinking asking yourself why I didn’t put on a pair of shoes and I’ll tell you. I hate shoes. I’d go barefoot if I could, but people give you weird looks if you do that in public. I can also imagine that look you have about my choice of clothes, but I can assure you that I’m not trying to seduce my stepbrother. If he notices what I am wearing then so be it.

I pour myself a generous glass of wine and wait for Jonathan to get back. As I wait, I find myself wondering what he is like after war. I’ve seen the television shows and the movies that depict men who have gone to war as being totally different than they were before. Will he still be the same guy who liked to listen to funk while he smoked a joint? Something tells me no, but we’ll see.

The rumble of his bike is loud as he comes down the street and pulls back into the driveway. Seconds later he knocks on the door. I roll my eyes and hurry to the door. He is standing on the other side with a paper sack in each hand and a grin on his face.

“You don’t have to knock you dork.” I tell him.

“Yes, I do. This isn’t my house Martha. It’s yours and I won’t just go barging in.”

“Don’t look at it like that. My house is always your home Jon. Whenever you need it. Remember that.”

“Thanks.” For a second his voice is hoarse and tearful, but then it returns to its normal gruff tone. “Now are you gonna let me in so I can put this stuff down or am I gonna stand here on the sidewalk all day?”

“Get in here.”

***

He sits the paper bags down on the counter top and rips them down the sides. The case of beer he puts in the fridge, but he leaves the bottle of vodka on the counter top. He opens a beer and downs most of its contents in a single swallow.

“Where do you keep your glasses Sis?”

Wow. That felt weird as hell. I haven’t had anyone call me Sis in a long time, but I have to admit that it felt pretty good. I point him to the cabinet above the sink and check out the bottle of vodka he brought. It’s a half gallon! Good lord. Apparently when I said celebrate.  He took it as get fall down drunk and pass out before the sun goes down.

While he looks for glasses, I tell him I have something I need to do really quick and step into my bedroom. I think I better call work before I get too far gone and tell them I won’t be in for work tomorrow. I’ve got a few vacation days stored up and a few sick days as well. Who am I trying to kid? I’ve got five weeks of vacation and I’ve never taken a sick day since I started working at the nursing home. I call the shift boss for tomorrow and she answers the phone on the first ring.

“Hello Martha. Is there something I can do you for?” Ginger’s voice is always so calm and gentle. It’s a lot of the reason she is so good with people.