The Dirty Dozen: Alpha Edition

by Kay Maree

  I had no answer but I held him close. Whatever he needed, I was there.

  ****

  For the next several weeks, Bull and I carried out a complicated juggling act of working at the bar and managing the two boys.

  Cindy’s cremation marked the lowest point, and it was awful to see Archie suffer. He cried for his lost mother. I did, too, though I never knew her. Bull kept us all together.

  Then, in the third week of January, Archie’s birth father finally answered his messages and showed up at the bar.

  Bull took him into the office, stony-faced, and with anger coming off him in waves.

  My heart thundered, and I stared at the door. So much could change depending on what he had to say.

  Ten minutes later, the man slipped out and left, not making eye contact with anyone.

  He didn’t even glance at his son who sat at a table with Lena, Benjamin, and me.

  I jogged in to find Bull at his desk. He held out his arms, and I went to him, curling up on his lap.

  “He’s given him up,” he said into my neck. “He had the nerve to ask for money, and I told him how much Cindy’s funeral cost, and he shut his stupid mouth.”

  “Archie’s safe?” I murmured, wonder filling me.

  Bull pulled his head back. “He’s mine. I’m already on his birth certificate, but if that man put up a fight, he could’ve had him.”

  I knew this. We’d discussed it in Bull’s apartment while the boys slept in hastily erected cots in the spare bedroom. We’d talked it through with the authorities who opened the case on Cindy’s suicide.

  With the bar busier than ever over New Year’s, and all the arrangements Bull had taken on for Cindy’s affairs, I’d propped him up, taking shifts and working at his side. Without any real discussion, we’d fallen into a routine. I wanted to keep it.

  “And you’re mine,” I told him.

  Bull’s eyes flared, and his fingers gripped my waist. “Hold that thought.”

  Standing, he led me to the bar and to where Lena sat. She rose, lifting Archie to her hip and taking Benjamin by the hand.

  “Back around six?” she asked with an eyebrow raised at Bull.

  “Aye, and thank ye.” He patted the boys on the head, and Lena left.

  I stared after her, racking my brain for something I’d forgotten. Lena had babysat for us any number of times, but I didn’t remember planning anything today.

  Denise bustled out of the kitchen, a backpack in hand. “Here you go.” She handed it to me. “I put two flasks of coffee, the second for the drive home.”

  I bounced my gaze to Bull. “Drive? What’s going on?”

  My mysterious man only smiled and pulled me under his arm before escorting me to his truck. We took off through town and out onto the forest road.

  “You remember what you said to me when we met?” Bull sat in the driver’s seat, looking finally at ease after a horribly busy and stressful time. “You said I’d make one big vampire.”

  A laugh erupted from me. “I did.” Then I got with the program. “Is that where we’re going? On the Twilight tour?”

  “Autumn Phillips”—he now knew my real last name—“you’ve lived under my roof for weeks now, caring for two wee bairns that are neither yours nor mine by birth, and you’ve never complained. Ye make me happy, and it’s been bothering me that I haven’t done anything for you. I’ve never even taken ye on a date. I couldn’t let that lie.”

  “All I want is you.” The mirth in me slowed, replaced by another sensation entirely. “From the moment I first saw you, I wanted you.”

  “Ah, Autumn, you’re going to make me jump the gun.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bull pulled the wheel, stopping the car at the side of the road. “Out,” he ordered.

  I complied, jumping down to crunch in the snow. Around us, tall trees soared, and a soft light filtered through. There were no other cars around, and the pristine beauty of the wilderness reigned.

  Bull reached my side of the car then, without pause, dropped to one knee in the snow.

  My hands shot to my mouth.

  “Autumn, in all my years, I’ve never met anyone as kind and selfless as ye. Ye are the most beautiful lass I’ve ever known. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll show ye how much ye mean to me.”

  He reached into his pocket and produced a box.

  Tears pricked my eyes.

  “I’ll build ye a home, and I swear I’ll take care of ye. We already have two boys, but if ye want more, I want that, too. Lasses with your hair. Boys made of ye and me. A house full of happiness and love. I never had it, but I want it with ye.”

  “I want all that. I love you,” I whispered, trying not to sob. I loved the huge man more than I thought possible.

  “And I am in love with ye. I know it happened quick, but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Autumn Phillips, will ye marry me?”

  “Yes!” I croaked, and Bull rose, taking my mouth with a hard kiss.

  His lips lingered on mine, his passion soaking through. He loved me. It had been a whirlwind, and so unexpected, but what we had was perfect.

  Finally, he remembered himself, and he dragged his lips from mine and placed the ring on my finger. It slid into place, and I’d never loved an item of jewellery so much.

  I gazed at it—a gold band with a ruby setting.

  “It made me think of ye, the red, like autumn leaves. Ye should see it here when the trees change colour. Come autumn, it’s even more beautiful. Like ye.”

  I tried to answer, but a sob escaped me, and Bull bundled me into his arms. Then there was no more need for words.

  Eventually, we made it onto the tour, but not that day. An empty apartment and a picnic on the floor—and other actions—stole our time.

  My world became his, and his mine. Together, we made it so much more.

  I was going to marry the Scot of my dreams.

  EPILOGUE

  Autumn

  In the spring, Bull and I married in a gorgeous ceremony in Falls Ridge’s tiny church, with our two sons as cute-as-buttons page boys. The whole town was invited, and joy filled the air.

  Everyone loved Bull, and he received endless compliments on how his grumpy scowl had been replaced with a happier expression. They’d also accepted me with open arms, and Benjamin and I couldn’t have found a better home.

  I’d written to my father and sister to tell them the news of our marriage, but neither replied. I couldn’t blame them. They faced years in prison, or more, following the evidence I’d uncovered. Both sets of solicitors had harangued me endlessly, to the point where my hot alpha non-vampire fiancé took my phone and warned them that if they ever called me again, they’d answer to him.

  The calls stopped.

  My family knew where to find me. If, in time, they wanted to reconnect, that was their choice. I had a whole new life to get on with living.

  A few weeks after our wedding, I’d dropped the boys off with Lena for a playdate, and returned home to our apartment to find it unexpectedly empty. A note sat on the kitchen worktop, written in my husband’s hand.

  Follow me, it read.

  I turned it over and, on the back, was a hand-drawn map with local roads marked and directions leading into the forest.

  I frowned at it for a moment, but as I did, my gaze snagged on the kitchen calendar, one we kept to mark important family dates. I stared for a moment, then an excited shiver ran through me. I was late. By a couple of weeks, at least.

  Oh heck. What to do first? Grab a test or chase my husband?

  Maybe both.

  I darted to the bathroom and riffled through the cabinet. Bull wanted more kids, and so did I. We’d agreed to let nature decide our fate, but this was pretty soon.

  With care, I peed on the stick then capped it, washed up, and carried it in my handbag to the car. Getting out of the apartment and ready to drive took two
minutes, and trundling the car to the edge of the village another three.

  I eyed my bag. Could I peek or should I wait?

  My excitement overflowed—having news like that to deliver would be the greatest gift. In haste, I found the kit.

  A blue cross beamed back from the tiny window.

  Pregnant!

  “Eek!” I shrieked.

  Then I put my foot down and followed Bull’s map. It took around ten minutes to wind my way along an old logging trail that led deep into the forest. I knew the route—we’d taken the boys here for hikes, with them in backpacks or toddling amongst the leaves—and I loved the view of the hills and rolling woodland.

  In a clearing where we’d picnicked, I spotted my husband’s car, then saw the man himself.

  For a moment, I admired his broad shoulders stretching his t-shirt and his muscles flexing as he cleared a few stray logs into a pile. The morning sun fell on him, highlighting browns in his tied-back black hair, and making him golden. Then he turned and saw me and smiled. My stomach flipped. How did I ever get so lucky?

  I killed the engine and hopped out onto the ground covered in springy pine needles.

  “Hey there.” I grinned at him.

  “Hey yourself.” In a second, he was at my side and bowing me back in a deep, satisfying kiss. With two children—currently—our alone time was limited so, usually, we grabbed at each other any spare moment we had.

  “I have news,” I murmured against his mouth.

  “I do, too. Let me go first,” he commanded.

  “If you like.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and he led me into the clearing.

  “Do ye like it here?” Bull asked, gesturing to the sweet site and the gorgeous views.

  “Very much.”

  “Good, because I bought it.”

  I gaped at him. “You did what?”

  “I told ye I’d build ye a house. Here’s as good a place as any.” He cocked his head, his smile irrepressible. “It’ll take a wee while, but it’ll be exactly as we want it. I’ve contracted an architect, and we get the first set of plans on Monday.”

  I clapped my hands to my mouth. “What? You… I can’t even!”

  Then I was in his thick arms and showing him rather than telling him what I thought.

  “I did good?” He smirked, knowing he did.

  I burst out laughing at the sheer joy of the moment. “What if I’d said no?”

  “Then I’d build ye the house of your dreams somewhere else. But I knew ye wouldnae turn it down.”

  He did. He knew me better than anyone.

  I pressed my lips together, calming myself. “My go.”

  “Aye? You had news, too?”

  From my bag, I fished out the pregnancy kit and handed it over.

  Bull’s smile dropped, and pure emotion replaced it as he stared at the reading. “Pregnant?” he said, so soft and quiet. Full of wonder.

  Oh boy. Tears welled and wouldn’t stop.

  “I know last time this happened to you, it hit you hard,” I said, bringing him into my arms. “But it got us Archie, and he’s perfect, just like my family’s screw-ups got us Benji. And just like you and I found each other. You, me, and our boys are going to have a baby to take care of.”

  “A bairn!” he finally said, finding his words. “Not even half a year ago, I was alone. Then you drove me off the road, and my life has never been the same since.” With a whoop of happiness, Bull collected me in his arms and spun me gently around.

  Then, on the site of our new home, we kissed, and kissed, and kissed some more.

  I’d run to Falls Ridge seeking refuge, and the small, peaceful town had delivered so much more. Alongside shelter, I’d found family, I’d uncovered my true self, and I’d fallen so hard in love I’d never be the same again.

  Come the fall, four would become five, and our happiness would be complete.

  The End.

  About the Author

  JOLIE VINES is a romance novelist who lives in the South West of England with her husband and toddler son.

  From an early age, Jolie lived in a fantasy world and is never happier than when plot dreaming. Jolie loves her heroes to be one-woman guys. Whether they are a huge Highlander, a touch starved earl, or a brooding pilot, they will adore their loved one until the end of time.

  Her favourite pastime is wrecking emotions then making up for it by giving her characters deep and meaningful happy ever afters.

  Want to contact Jolie? Find her on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. She loves hearing from her readers.

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  https://www.jolievines.com/newsletter

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  Plucked

  MV ELLIS

  PLUCKED

  Copyright © 2019 by MV Ellis

  The right of MV Ellis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE

  QUINCY

  One year earlier

  “And the winner of Best Classical Album is…” There was a drumroll, and the awards presenter waited with fake bated breath. “… Bowed and Dangerous.”

  Of course.

  The bad boys of classical music were bound to walk away with the accolade. I bit my lip to quell the tears that were threatening to flow, plastered a fake-ass smile on my face, and clapped along heartily with the rest of the audience. The last thing I needed on top of everything going on in my life was to be called out for being unsporting, or a diva. That would have just been the final insult in what was shaping up to be the week from hell.

  One of the members of the group took to the stage to accept the award, and I wondered idly where the other one was—they were a duo.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to win. This kind of shit never goes our way. I’m accepting this on behalf of both of us, as King can’t be here tonight, due to the fact that he’s at home with a stomach flu, shitting and puking his guts out.” A snicker blew through the room, then died in the air, presumably when people realized they were laughing at someone else’s misfortune.

  “Anyway, there are a bunch of people to thank—you know who you are, but nobody else does, so I’ll just say a big fat thank you to you all. That’s it. Peace, motherfuckers.” He brandished the award aloft, and cast his dark brooding eyes about the room as though looking for someone, before shrugging and sauntering from the stage like he had all the time in the world. Arrogant bastard. Not that he didn’t have reason to be, on a purely looks basis. He was stupidly attractive—all smoldering dark features beneath his mop of thick dark hair.

  It wasn’t that I thought that Bowed and Dangerous were undeserving of the accolade. I hadn’t listened to their stuff, but I knew it was highly regarded in the industry. It wasn’t even that I thought I was more deserving—not having heard what they did, I had no point of comparison. It was just that in the shitstorm that was my life right now, I could have
used a little well-timed pick-me-up. A sign that I wasn’t better off digging a huge hole and burying myself in it forever.

  As it was, in five short days I’d moved out of the apartment I’d shared with my now-ex boyfriend of four years, due to what he described as “irreconcilable differences.” Though, he’d fundamentally misunderstood the concept, as the differences in question were that I wasn’t his ex-girlfriend and childhood sweetheart, with whom, it turned out he’d never fallen out of love.

  To make matters worse, I’d been in talks with my record label, Sonic Bully, regarding my next album. I’d put forward a raft of new and original music—songs that I’d written either alone, or with collaborators—for their consideration. After weeks of deliberation, they’d let me know that they had decided against going that route, in favor of the tried-and-tested strategy of releasing an album of covers. Again.

  In a nutshell, there were a lot of Rihanna and Beyoncé songs in my future. And now I had to sit around a table with those same record execs at this awards ceremony, as though I didn’t want to push each of their faces into ground glass. Fuck them, and fuck my life.

  Not that I had anything against RiRi or Bey, per se. In fact, I thought they were both great at what they did. I just wished the idiots at the label could see I had more to offer than a rehash of someone else’s music, and would trust that people would buy something other than covers from me, if I actually put it out there.

  So, along with the shame of moving back in with my parents until I could find a suitable apartment, I would have to deal with the indignity of being known as ‘that violin chick who plays other people’s music’ forever. I would also have to smile and thank people graciously when they offered their commiserations for not winning the award, and probably every award I was ever nominated for, if I was up against people like Bowed & Dangerous, who I was pretty sure wrote their own material, and actually got to record it.