Green Valley Shifters Collection 1

by Chant, Zoe

  She was too expressive to hide her nervousness, but Damien knew that once she was there, once she had seen what the city could be at his side, she would never leave it again.

  Chapter 26

  Tawny glared at Prints from across the garden as she finally put the last of the starts and the black cat stalked after a honeybee investigating the dandelions.

  “Ungrateful turncoat,” she muttered. “I spent years trying to tame you, and who do you sit on? Who do you purr for? Not me. Not the person who pays your vet bills and fills your food dish.”

  She sat back on her heels and pushed her hair back from her face. She had forgotten her sunhat again, and would pay for it in freckles.

  And she wasn’t really angry at Prints.

  Tawny was very good at planning.

  She had always been the one who organized things—she had started the book club, almost forty years ago, and she was usually the one who usually coordinated potlucks and fundraisers if someone fell on hard times. “Director Tawny,” they had called her in school, which was nicer than saying ‘bossy.’ She picked a sensible, stable career that suited her strengths. She studiously saved money, she paid off her house exactly on schedule, and she retired the day her benefits kicked in.

  Everything went according to a plan.

  Until Damien.

  Now here she was, planting late, forgetting her sunhat, and all of the plans she’d made were in pieces at her feet.

  She was abandoning her book club, her garden, her cats, and running away to a city she dreaded with a man she adored.

  Tawny stabbed the trowel into the dirt harder than was called for and sighed.

  “Are you ready?”

  Tawny turned to find that Damien was standing at the gate, looking more crisp and confident than ever. He wasn’t abandoning his life, she thought. He was going back to it.

  “I’m packed,” she called, getting to her feet again. “I just wanted to get these in before I left or they were going to die. Stanley can water things, but I wouldn’t trust him to transplant.”

  “Running water isn’t a government conspiracy?” Damien said drolly.

  “Oh, not the running water part,” Tawny laughed. “Just all the additives they put into it for mind control or whatever. My bags are on the porch, just let me wash my hands and I’ll be ready to go.”

  She darted into her house and drew in her breath.

  It was cleaner than usual; all the library books were returned, all the house plants had been put out on the porch so they would be part of the watering cycle.

  Tawny could not resist wandering through one last time. Her bed was neatly made with clean sheets, there were fresh towels in the bathroom, so that when—if—she came back, everything would be waiting for her. The washing machine had the door propped open so it wouldn’t mildew while she was gone, and the cat boxes were all emptied.

  She had left the front door open behind her and Lady Gray, convinced that something was up, ghosted in behind her and followed her through the house.

  Tawny reached down and scooped her up, burying her face in the thick, charcoal fur. Lady Gray didn’t struggle, but she also didn’t purr, because being held wasn’t her own idea.

  “We really could take them with us,” Damien said, standing in the doorway with her last bag. “I’ve got lots of room.”

  Tawny gave Lady Gray a last squeeze and put her down with a nudge to the door. “They’re used to being outdoor cats, with grass and gardens and birds to hunt. They would hate it there, and make our lives miserable in payback.”

  Lady Gray tried to sneak back into the house and Tawny stopped her with a foot.

  “Let’s go,” she said to Damien, trying to look brave and confident. It was easier to feel brave and confident when he was looking at her like he was: adoring and excited.

  “You’re going to love the city,” Damien assured her. “We’ll go see art museums and visit gardens. There’s so much to do, and see.”

  Tawny smiled at him. “I’m going to love it,” she said out loud, and it didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like a promise. She was going to love it, because she loved this man, and that was where he belonged.

  Sometimes things didn’t happen according to the plan, she told herself as she locked the house and slipped the key into the flower pot by the door.

  Then Damien was taking her hand in one of his, easily lifting her book-heavy suitcase with his other.

  Sometimes things went better than she’d planned.

  Chapter 27

  “I’ll have a key made for you, of course,” Damien said, as they walked from the elevator to the only door in the hallway.

  “Do you own the entire floor?” Tawny asked in astonishment as he unlocked the door.

  “I do,” Damien said, opening the door and ushering her through. He decided not to mention that he owned a few of the apartments downstairs as well.

  She was, as he had hoped, struck silent with awe as they walked in.

  The front hall was not overly impressive, with its standard ceilings and understated style. But there was a hint of light and space ahead, and after a few steps, it opened into the vaulted living space, views of the city in two directions through floor to ceiling windows. The other two walls of the long rectangle were white shelves of carefully lit treasure.

  “My whole house could fit into this room,” Tawny said in awe after she had gazed at it for a few moments. “It looks like a museum.”

  “Come see the rest,” Damien said, and he led her through the kitchen. “The refrigerator is stocked with anything you could want, please help yourself. The bar is there, pantry is there. You are welcome to use anything. If there are any ingredients you’d like, leave a note on the fridge for the housekeeper.”

  Tawny opened the pantry and blinked into the room beyond. “I can’t imagine needing anything else,” she said in wonder. She closed the door and wandered around the big stainless steel island. “What is this?” She pointed at a gleaming gadget with a computer screen.

  “I have no idea,” Damien confessed. “I know how to use the coffee maker and the microwave, and really nothing else.”

  Tawny gave him an amused look but didn’t look terribly surprised. “How did Shaun get to be such a good cook?” she asked curiously.

  Damien looked at her with narrow eyes, suspecting dangerous territory. “Linda, my second wife, liked to cook. Shelley had no interest in it, but Shaun took to it like a duck to water.”

  Tawny accepted that without question, opened one side of the monstrous fridge, considered the contents for a thoughtful moment, and closed it. “Did Linda design this kitchen?”

  “Yes,” Damien told her cautiously.

  “It looks like it was made for someone who loved to cook,” she said mildly. “I’m impressed.”

  Damien led her next to the media room. “It’s like your own movie theater,” she observed with amusement. “Oh look, there’s even a popcorn maker!”

  “Three kinds of disgusting butter topping for your authentic experience,” Damien told her.

  “I like it extra disgusting,” Tawny joked.

  Next were the bedrooms.

  “I wanted you to have your own space,” Damien said. “This is the guest room I thought you would like best.”

  It wasn’t as close to his own room as Damien would have liked, but it was the smallest, coziest room, and he thought it would be the most comfortable. The windows here were smaller, though they had the same view of the city, and the ceiling was lower. It had a small walk-in closet, and a private bathroom with a claw-footed tub and a glass-walled shower with benches that doubled as a sauna.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Tawny said gratefully. “I love it.”

  They left her suitcase there, walked past the other two guest rooms, and ended at Damien’s room.

  It was a room fit for a king, a vast expanse of thick-carpeted space with an enormous custom-made bed facing a wall of mirrored closet doors. The ceiling overhead was arched,
cathedral style, and the bank of windows looked out over the Mississippi.

  The wall opposite from the windows was lined in more of the white shelving that had been in the living area, subtle spot-lighting on each item showcased there.

  “What are all these?” Tawny asked, trailing along them curiously.

  “Things I’ve collected over the years,” Damien said. “That’s a Viking sword uncovered in Greenland the same year I visited. That’s an Egyptian scarab that was discovered during a road project my company was heading in the 90s. It was a gift from the president at the time. That’s the log book of my great-grandfather, who was there for the pounding of the cross-continental railroad spike. He was one of the engineers for the project.”

  “It really is a museum,” Tawny observed. She didn’t offer to touch anything. “Everything here, it all means something to you.”

  “Every piece,” Damien said with a nod. “Why are you smiling?”

  Tawny blushed and ducked her head.

  “Tell me,” he said, hoping belatedly that it sounded coaxing and not simply demanding.

  “I was just wondering if it would be possible to make love on that bed without feeling like I was either on stage, or sneaking into a museum after hours.”

  Damien loved either idea. “Would you like to find out?” he suggested slyly.

  Tawny smiled up at him, sunshine in her freckled face. “Yes,” she said shyly.

  Chapter 28

  Tawny wondered how Damien managed to stay in Green Valley as long as he had.

  The city was constantly in motion, there was always something to do—and it was always something important, or wonderful, or exciting.

  He took her to art museums: The Art Institute, Walker Art Center, the Weisman Art Museum, until the artwork, and the names of the artists, and the long, lit hallways were all blurred together in Tawny’s memories. They went to the Mill City Museum, and she learned more about flour than she ever thought possible. He took her out to see Shakespeare at the Guthrie Theater. They went to gardens, and lakes, and waterfalls, and parks.

  They visited the Mall of America, mostly so that Tawny could say she had, and found acres of bookstores that Tawny could have spent entire days exploring.

  Tawny stayed in the vast apartment by herself the days that Damien went to his office, rattling around feeling small and judged by the decor. Damien offered her the use of a driver to go anywhere she wanted, but her few forays out by herself seemed overwhelming and chaotic. And it just wasn’t as much fun without him to share her observations with.

  Every day, a cheerful housekeeper appeared with groceries, stocked the fridge, planned and prepared meals that needed only to be put in the oven for a programmed time, cleaned the apartment to sparkling, and disappeared.

  Tawny had attempted to make friends with the woman, and thought she made some inroads, but the woman spoke only Russian, and seemed to think that conversation was keeping her from her work.

  Mostly, Tawny read, took baths, missed her cats, and wondered how her garden was growing.

  “I bought you a phone,” Damien told her one evening, and he pushed it across the table at her like it was a live bomb. “I know how you feel about gifts, but it would make me feel better if you had a more modern device.”

  They were eating dinner together in the sterile, perfect dining room. It was a luscious meal, that Tawny had done nothing to make but move a pot from the fridge to the oven and set a timer. Damien occasionally reminded her that if she wanted to do more, she only had to say so, but Tawny had never enjoyed cooking that much, and she knew that she couldn’t cook this well, either.

  If she was being very honest, she was also more than a little intimidated by the perfect kitchen. It simply didn’t look like the kind of place you could get dirty, and she was a very messy cook.

  She took the box and opened it. The sleek machine was smaller than her ugly flip phone, but Tawny knew it would do much more. “This is probably above my level of technology,” she said hesitantly. “But it’s very pretty.”

  It felt fragile in her hands as Damien showed her how it worked. He had already programmed in his own contact information, and installed a few apps he thought she’d enjoy.

  “Card games on my phone,” Tawny laughed.

  He was clearly anxious about her reaction; he hadn’t tried to get her anything since the car, and Tawny assured him, “I love it. Thank you.”

  Damien showed her the calendar function. “Here, I’m going to invite you to the dinner we’re going to this weekend.”

  He did something swiftly with his phone and Tawny almost dropped her own when it gave a pleasant little blurble and vibrated in her hand.

  “And then you accept the invite, like this.”

  Tawny watched him add it to her calendar. “What did I just commit to?”

  “It’s a company dinner.”

  “Something fancy?” Tawny asked trepidatiously. She had already worn her best clothes the few times they’d gone out to eat, and even though she could tell that Damien wasn’t picking the fanciest places, she had felt terribly outclassed.

  “I’m afraid so,” Damien said. “I can hire someone to assist you in buying new clothing if you’d like. My tailor only works in menswear, but I can certainly find someone to alter something for you.”

  He said it so casually, as if he thought it was perfectly normal to have a shopping assistant, or get clothing altered, instead of wearing whatever was good enough off the rack.

  This was his life, she realized. Casual money, busy cities, phones that kept packed schedules in perfect order.

  She wanted to refuse, but she didn’t want to embarrass him more. “Whatever you think would be best,” she agreed. “As long as it doesn’t involve high heels. I nearly broke an ankle wearing those things at Patricia’s wedding.”

  Damien laughed with her. “I assure you, there will be no goats to chase at this event,” he promised.

  They cleared the dishes together, and loaded the dishwasher; it was as much cleaning as Tawny ever did anymore, and she enjoyed watching Damien roll up his sleeves and help.

  Damien made a few phonecalls and answered emails as Tawny curled up on one of his large, modern, geometrical couches and finished her book. Sunset over the Mississippi turned the whole room gold and rose, and she looked up from her final pages to find Damien had long since finished and was gazing at her thoughtfully.

  She smiled at him slowly. “Was I making funny faces? I sometimes do, when I’m reading.”

  “You are very expressive,” he said, amused.

  “You might be, too, if you didn’t have all that facial hair to hide under,” Tawny pointed out. “I don’t think you fully recognize your advantage here!”

  “I’ll take any advantage I can,” Damien said, scooting closer to her on the monstrous couch. “Tawny, may I kiss you?”

  Tawny tipped her face up to meet his mouth, and sighed blissfully as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Any regrets, coming to the city?” he asked, when he’d kissed her dizzy.

  “Not right now,” Tawny said sincerely, throwing her book aside and putting her arms around his neck.

  Chapter 29

  “Who the hell is Tawny Summers?”

  Damien looked up from his computer to find Shelley standing in the open office door, puzzling down at her phone.

  “Is it a contractor? Some new client?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Damien frowned, not entirely sure how to answer the question. Girlfriend felt inadequate and juvenile. It didn’t sound anything like the domestic bliss that Tawny had brought into his life. “It’s a personal matter.”

  “Since when do we get personal, Dad? And why do I want to have lunch with her?”

  “She’s from Green Valley,” Damien said, as if that explained everything. In a lot of ways, it did.

  “So she’s a friend of Shaun’s?” Shelley guessed. “And I’m supposed to care, why? I’m a little old to need my big brot
her to make friends for me anymore.”

  “No!” Damien said. “Well, she is sort of a friend of Shaun’s, but... she’s living with me.”

  Shelley nearly fumbled her phone. “Living with you living with you, or living in your apartment because there is a shortage of hotel rooms living with you?’

  Damien sighed. “She is my mate.”

  Shelley was silent a moment.

  “Your what?”

  “My mate,” Damien repeated.

  Shelley frowned, and Damien recognized it with amusement as the same expression-masking frown that Tawny frequently called him out on.

  “You always said that was a ridiculous, romantic fairy tale meant for weak-willed people who needed fantasies to get them through life.”

  “I was wrong,” Damien said simply.

  “This day could not get more surreal,” Shelley said in astonishment. “I don’t know what is weirder, you admitting that you were wrong, or you trying to convince me that someone from the town that smells like cows is your destined true love.”

  Damien couldn’t help laughing, and Shelley’s eyes got larger.

  “And now you’re laughing.”

  “Just have lunch with her,” Damien chuckled. “You’ll like her.”

  Shelley narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care if I like her?” she asked flatly. “It’s not like we have this warm father-daughter relationship, and you’ve never asked me to like any of your other girlfriends.”

  “And I’m starting to think that was a mistake,” Damien told her honestly. “That I missed out by not being a better Dad to you and Shaun.”

  Shelley’s face went entirely unreadable. Without, Damien noted in amusement, the advantage of a beard.

  “Well,” she said neutrally, “I appreciate the offer. I’m really busy this week, but I’ll check my calendar for next week. I’m looking forward to meeting her at the company dinner this weekend.”