The Alpha's Fight: Huntsville Pack Book 3 (5 page)

“Soon it won’t be my business either,” Ryder said.

“How so?” asked Jackson.

Ryder took a deep breath. Here it was, the moment of truth. He hoped Cal and Jackson liked him enough to support what he and his grandmother planned to do. “I’m starting a new pack. I just bought three hundred acres and filed the paperwork with the Pack Council this week.”

Cal frowned. “Are you afraid to challenge your alpha? Why wouldn’t you do that? You sure as hell know how to fight.”

Ryder shook his head. “Some packs aren't worth leading. Timber Creek has changed since I was a kid. And not for the better.”

Cal sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he looked Ryder over with a hard gaze. “So, you’re going to be the new alpha in town.”

Ryder nodded. “That’s the plan. My own land. My own pack. No troublemakers like Mason or his buddies causing problems.”

“How do you think Mason is going to take the news?” Jackson returned to the dining room, a steaming plate of pizza rolls in his hand.

“He already knows and he’s mad as hell. Somehow he found out what we were up to and he’s been sending pack members to challenge me.” Ryder flexed his fists.

“But you were a pro,” Cal said. “You fought in the Pack League circuit. You’re not going to lose.” The Pack League organized all the sport leagues for shifters, who were banned from human teams due to their superior strength and stamina. Events were broadcast on a private online streaming service that only shifters knew about.

“You were the national champion, right?” Jackson asked.

Ryder ducked his head and spun his lemonade glass in a slow circle.

“Don't be modest. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. You were something else," Cal said.

Ryder’s ears grew hot. “Thanks, Cal.”

“Did you try out or did they recruit you?” Jackson asked. "I always wondered how that worked."

“I went to one of their regional try-outs and the rest is history.” He rubbed his neck, uncomfortable with the focus on his fighting.

“Does Mason know all this?” asked Jackson.

Ryder nodded. “Yep.”

“Then he’s a fool to challenge you,” Cal said.

“Mason believes his own hype,” Ryder said, taking a pizza roll and popping it into his mouth. Heat seared his tongue and he lunged for his lemonade, downing it in one gulp. Sucking in a breath and wincing as it aggravated his now burned tongue, he said, “The thing is, these challenges aren’t legal. There’s no pack yet.”

“But if you die, there won’t be a pack at all,” Cal said.

“Yeah, I think that’s the goal. But if he waited until the land is officially pack land, he’d be able to claim all of it,” Ryder said.

“I would guess he’s worried about not being able to get rid of you, hence the early start. He may believe his own hype, but he’s also one to hedge his bets. I’ve played poker with him,” Jackson said, gingerly biting into a pizza roll.

“So what do you want from us?” Cal asked. “We’re not going to war for you, so let’s get that out of the way upfront. Huntsville is in a good position for once and I’m not going to mess that up by getting between you and Mason.”

“Understood,” Ryder said, although he had hoped for more. “I just wanted to let you know what was happening.”

“We appreciate it and you can count Huntsville as a friend once this business with Mason settles down.” Cal stood and extended his hand across the table. “Even though the pack will remain impartial, I know what kind of wolf Mason is and I’m glad to see you striking out on your own.”

Ryder stood as well and gave Cal’s hand a firm shake. “Thanks.”

“I think we need something other than lemonade to mark the founding of your own pack,” Jackson said, ducking into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he grabbed three beers and passed them out. Raising his bottle, he said, “A toast. You’re a good man Ryder. I’ve been honored to know you, and while Mason might be a whole hell of a lot of trouble, I know you’ll come out on top.”

“Hear, hear,” said Cal.

They clinked the necks of their beers and drank in silence.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Cal said, “Now where’s Chloe? I want more cookies.”

Jackson gave an apologetic smile. “She’s in Hudson shopping for the baby.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “Again? I saw her truck the last time she went shopping. It was full to the point of tipping over. Don’t you have more than enough baby stuff by now?”

Jackson shrugged. “She says we need it all. I’ve learned that I need to not argue with her about it.”

Ryder shook his head. “Better you than me, man.”

Jackson leaned over and clapped Ryder on the shoulder. “You say that now, just wait until you find your mate. She could be bat shit crazy and you won’t mind one bit.”

Ryder raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Pretty much,” Cal said. “My Betty had eighty pairs of shoes and purses to match. I never understood it, but it made her happy and when she was happy, I was happy.”

“What do you even do with that many shoes?” Ryder asked, mystified.

“As far as I could ever tell, you take over all the closets in the house with them.” Cal sighed. “One day I came home and she slapped an over-the-door hanger thing into my hands and said ‘this is for your clothes.’ I said, ‘I have a closet, what do I need this for?’” He chuckled. “Here, all her stuff had gotten to be so much there wasn’t room for me anymore. I was evicted.”

“But you’re the pack alpha.
Who
does that to you?” Ryder asked, sputtering.

Cal just smiled. “You know how to tell if a woman really loves you?”

“How?”

“When she takes over your house.” He held up his beer again. “A toast to my Betty. She kept my heart just as full as the closets.”

Not convinced closet hogging was something to be lauded, Ryder participated in the toast half-heartedly. He liked the Huntsville pack and admired the way Cal had run it, especially compared to Mason, but this thing where women overran your life with stuff didn’t sound appealing to him. At all.

No one needs more than three or four pairs of shoes. And how much baby crap do you really need anyway?
He was in no hurry to find out.

Finishing his beer, he stood. “Thanks for the meet. I’ll keep you posted on how things go.”

“What are you going to do about those challenges?” Jackson asked.

“Hide, for now,” Ryder said. “I’m not fighting illegitimate challenges. If Mason doesn’t like that, then I guess
he
can challenge me. As much as I want to set up my pack in peace, that would be one fight I would accept.”

He made his goodbyes and headed for his Ducati. Hopping onto his bike, he hit the road and set a course for Crescent Pines. It was time to talk to Grandma Tillie.

“I
’m not so sure about this." Jane looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall of Tillie's room and tried to hide her horror. She hadn’t intended to have anything to do with the nursing home date night thing, but in the end, boredom prodded her into seeking Tillie out. It was either that or stare at the ceiling some more. She’d tried to go outside for some fresh air only to be practically tackled by a burly security guard. He’d informed her she wasn’t allowed to leave the building. Not until the sheriff gave the all clear.

Being trapped in a nursing home, she’d decided, had to be some kind of violation of a shifter’s rights....at least when the shifter in question wasn’t over a hundred years old.

Not knowing what else to do, she'd made her way to Tillie's room. It was the same size as hers but felt smaller due to all the stuff crammed inside. In addition to the bed, there was a couch, a recliner, a television and lace doilies to cover them all. Family pictures in cheap gold frames took up the entire wall over the couch, some dating back several hundred years.

Tillie, for her part, had welcomed Jane with open arms and then produced a sequined ball gown with plunging neckline. It was blue and sparkled like the night sky was puking up stars.

“What is this?” Jane had asked, fingering the beaded fabric.

“Your dress.” Tillie had beamed at her, clearly pleased with herself.

“For what?”

“Tonight.” Tillie made a shooing motion. “Go on. Try it on. See if it fits.”

“Is this what you guys usually wear?” Jane stepped into the bathroom.

“Yeah, sure. We all get dolled up,” Tillie said.

Jane had wiggled her way into the dress and tried to be brave. Granted, all she had were scrubs, which weren’t exactly fashionable, but this dress had overshot good taste by a galaxy or three. There were shoulder pads, very generous ones that could protect a football player.

“Whatever happened to jeans and a nice blouse?” she murmured to herself. Although she had to admit, the dress did flatter her bust. If only it didn’t hug every curve and bulge elsewhere, too.

She cast a doubtful look at the older woman. “This seems kind of fancy, don’t you think?”

Tillie spun her finger in the air. “Turn around. Let me see.”

Jane obliged and did a slow turn.

Tillie whistled. “You’ve got a great figure, Jane.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Jane moved to face Tillie and shrugged, helpless against the forces at work in her life.

“There are shoes, although I don’t know if they're your size.” Tillie handed over a shoe box.

Jane pulled out a pair of stilettos that matched the dress. Casting off the slipper socks she’d been using, she slipped a foot into a shoe, shocked to find it fit.

“Well, those are going to work. Good.” Tillie gave a nod of approval.

Jane put on the other shoe and started to teeter like a skyscraper hit by an earthquake. “I’m not sure fitting is the same as being able to walk.”

“Eh, just do what everyone else in this place does, lean into the wall if you need to.” Tillie stood up and grabbed her walker. “Are you ready?”

“Umm, sure, but don’t you need to change?” Jane asked.

Tillie waved to her navy velour track suit. “I’m all set.” She headed for the door.

“Wait, why am I dressed like a drag queen then?” Jane tripped after Tillie.

“Because,” Tillie said, quickly outpacing Jane despite her age. The stilettos really put her at a disadvantage, but Tillie was getting away and she didn't dare stop to kick them off. Leaning into the wall with one hand, she tottered after the older woman as fast as she could.

“Because why?” she asked, catching up. "I thought you said everyone dressed up."

“You’re too skinny for anything else,” Tillie finally said. She gestured to her stomach. “Maybe you haven’t noticed but with age comes extra weight. Our clothes are too big for you. So, Hazel offered the dress. It’s from her pageant days.”

Jane's ankle twisted and she staggered into the wall to keep from falling. “Who’s Hazel?” Fed up with the shoes, she took the time to kick them off. Scooping them up, she hurried after Tillie—who'd just kept on cruising— for a second time.

Tillie shook her head. “She’s my neighbor.”

At that, someone poked their head out of their room. “Do I hear my name?” A thin, frail woman with hair teased until it almost stood up on end stepped into the hallway. She wore a track suit as well, one that was covered in sequins and jewels. With a gasp, she came over to Jane, bony hands reaching out to gently pat her shoulder. “Oh you look lovely, darling.”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your dress,” Jane said with the nicest smile she could manage.

“Well, we can’t send you to date night in scrubs.” Hazel sniffed. “I wore this one in the nineteen eighty Miss Howl pageant. I was first runner up." She sighed. "I have all these beautiful gowns just languishing in my closet. It's nice to see someone wear them again."

Jane bit her lip so she wouldn’t suggest Hazel should continue to let the dresses suffer. Taking a calming breath, she said, “I guess I really need to see about some new clothes. Do you ladies know if I have a purse around here somewhere?”  She brightened at the question, realizing if there was a purse, there might also be some form of I.D. Maybe she could ditch the generic Jane she’d been stuck with.

But Tillie dashed her hopes with a shake of her head. “Sorry, child, but no. You had nothing but some clothes that were more scraps than anything else. As far as I heard, they threw everything away.”

“Oh.” Jane closed her eyes for a second, deflated.

Tillie engaged in the awkward series of movements that would turn her and her walker around. Scooting up to Jane, she patted her arm. “Don’t worry. The sheriff is on the case. He’ll be here soon enough and I'm sure he'll tell you what he knows.”  She then reversed direction, her walker clanging and banging against the wall as she misjudged distance. “Now come on. I haven’t seen my grandson in weeks and we have important business to discuss.”

“And there's cake,” Hazel said with a bright smile. “I like cake.” She trailed after them as Tillie led the way, her walker thumping on the floor. Jane made up the middle, struggling not to trip over the hem of her dress.

The nursing home went all out on date night, Jane learned. She took in the scene as she slipped her skyscraper stilettos back on. The event took place in the large lobby off the main entrance. The room had been decorated with balloons and lots of fake flowers, which Jane learned were dusty when she went to touch one, thinking it was real.

The women all wore track suits, their hair set in tight gray curls while red lipstick brightened their lips like a stop sign. The men either wore high-waisted slacks or sweatpants, their bald heads gleaming almost as much as the sequins on Jane’s borrowed dress. Jane tried to hide behind a fake potted palm, but that didn’t stop her from shining like a beacon of tacky.

They all saw her. Every single one.

“I thought vision was the first to go once you got old,” she muttered to herself.

“Come on,” Hazel said, grabbing Jane by the elbow. For an elderly woman she was pretty strong. She managed to drag Jane out from behind the palm, thrusting her into everyone’s direct line of sight.

Resisting the urge to cower, Jane forced herself to stand up straight and act like she hadn’t noticed the attention she’d attracted. But she didn’t miss any of it. A few women were frowning. Someone tut-tutted. The men were slack-jawed. Given the popularity of track suits, Jane figured they probably hadn’t seen a woman in a dress in decades.