by Knox, Abby
Her Big Shifter Daddy
Big Easy Shifters: Book Five
Abby Knox
Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
First edition published 2018
Edited by Aquila Editing
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
Chapter One
Rosemary needed the juicy details, and nothing was going to stop her from digging them up.
Spying the box nestled in the back corner of the senior DuChamps’ dressing room closet, Rosemary knew she'd hit pay dirt.
If the guests expected her to deliver a speech about her parents, Betsy and Lionel DuChamp, Rosemary needed a fresh story. Always the epic stonewallers, Betsy and Lionel themselves were no help.
And even if her parents were helpful enough to reveal even a single anecdote from their past, Rosemary had no doubt her parents would leave out the best parts. They simply didn’t talk about how they met, always skirting the subject.
But Rosemary could not be stopped. Not in love, and not in life in general.
Setting aside a lockbox and a rack of shoes from the 1980s, Rosemary took a closer look at the container that was decoupaged with flowers, lace, and old-fashioned Valentines. It looked like something a much younger, more carefree Betsy would have crafted for herself. There was a decade of dust over some words written on a label on the side. Rosemary rubbed away the dust, revealing the word “letters."
“Eureka, baby!” she called to her husband, Ash, who was wrangling small children in the main bedroom. “I have found it.”
“Don’t take anything too personal, baby.”
With the box gripped under one arm, Rosemary stomped out into the bedroom that adjoined the dressing room and placed the other hand on her hip. She shot a sassy look at her husband and said, “What on earth do you think we are doing here, Ashton? Looking for life insurance paperwork?”
Ash bounced the little one on his knee and looked up at his wife pleadingly. “Baby, I don’t want to know anything about Betsy and Lionel’s super-personal history. Forgive me, but I ain’t the biggest fan of your daddy. And I have too much respect for your mama.”
“That’s because you’re a good Southern boy. Now I’m just gonna open this box and make sure it has what I’m looking for, and then we can go pay our proper respects—fully armed with some great stories.”
Ash grumbled. “The sooner, the better. Being in Lionel’s bedroom is creepy enough.”
Rosemary muttered back at her husband as she set the box down on the bed and gently eased off the lid. “You could have taken the kids down to the playroom while you waited.”
Too busy having her mind blown by what was in the box, Rosemary barely registered his reply about the little ones going through a phase fraught with tantrums every time their mother was out of sight.
She pulled out the first item, a small, yellowed envelope the size of a thank you note. On the front was the word “Betsy,” but there was no stamp and no address. The writing was her father’s unmistakable penmanship.
“Whoop! Here. We. Go.”
* * *
Dear Betsy,
I am sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I scared you with the way I behaved. That was wrong.
You have to understand that you are the first and only person to whom I have ever admitted wrongdoing. Here’s why I did what I did: Jimmy Boudreaux can’t have what’s rightfully mine. He simply cannot have you. You and I are meant to be together. And not in the way you think. Someday I’ll explain what I mean.
My only regret besides you seeing me flatten a student out like that on the dance floor is that I didn’t pick you up and carry you off to be my bride. I would have, if the other chaperones didn’t expel me from the building.
You will find, in time, I can be as gentle as a kitten. But only with you. Anyone else who tries to take what’s mine will know the consequences of tangling with a predator.
Your protector,
Lionel DuChamp
Rosemary looked up from the letter and gaped at her husband.
“What?” Ash asked.
“I tell you what, this is the dirtiest of pay dirt, and I am here for it.”
Ash rolled to his side and struggled to stand up, with a toddler attached to his leg. “Great, can we go to the thing now? These kids are wrinkling my suit.”
She clucked. “Just hang on a minute. I gotta put together the whole story. Lemme keep reading.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
Flipping through the stack of envelopes and cards on the bed, Rosemary realized all of this was in chronological order. Judging by the dates, everything was a complete correspondence-based timeline of Betsy and Lionel’s courtship. Almost all of Betsy’s correspondence was sent on formal, luxurious stationery with impeccable handwriting, complete with stamps and postmarks. They looked like they’d been sent to his office rather than his residence. Almost all of the notes addressed to Betsy appeared to have been hand-delivered. What the hell was that about? Rosemary wondered.
Rosemary had an idea. “Call a sitter. You and I have work to do, Mr. Boudreaux.”
* * *
Mr. DuChamp.
I don’t know who you think you are. What you did was so out of line, rude, distasteful, and unbecoming of a chaperone of a debutante ball that I hardly know what to say.
First of all, Jimmy Boudreaux and I are friends. Nothing more. Not that that’s any of your business.
And if you think I would cross the street to spit on you if you were on fire, you got another think coming. Another thing: get with the times, buster. Men don’t own women.
Betsy Hyde
P.S. I do not know how you found a way to slip that note under my pillow, but that’s a surefire way to frighten a girl. Please do not approach my mother’s house staff ever again. They are not here to help you, a thirty-year-old grown man, stalk an 18-year-old girl.
P.P.S. I don’t know what you mean by calling yourself a predator. But try that again, and you’ll know the consequences of tangling with a feminist bitch.
Chapter Two
Sitting cross-legged on her parents’ bed, her gown hiked up around her thighs, Rosemary dropped the letter in her lap. “My mother was a teenage feminist? Boy, howdy. What the fuck is my life?”
Ash had just hung up the phone after talking to their best friends, Bobby and Pen.
“They’re on their way to get the rug rats. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Eyes wide, Rosemary handed her husband the letters to read for himself. “I’ve always wondered how a meek, prim and proper lady like my mother raised a brat like me.”
Scanni
ng the correspondence, Ash raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s what you got out of this? First of all, let’s talk about how your dad was crushing on a teenager. A teenager who was not interested. Secondly, she doesn’t even know he’s a panther shifter in these letters.”
Rosemary shook her head. “Knowing my dad, the stalking and the concealing his true identity doesn’t shock me at all. I’m reeling at the fact that my mom ever spoke to my dad like that. Or pronounced herself a feminist. Who is this person?”
Ash shrugged. “Well, kitty-cat. You didn’t lick it up off the street after all.”
* * *
Darling Betsy,
You are adorable.
If I were stalking you, you wouldn’t even know it. There are only three reasons a man shifts into beast mode: He’s either hunting, out of control of his emotions, or going to fight. You provoke me in all three of these areas. I’m on the hunt for you, Betsy. You toy with my emotions and rile me up. You make me want to fight and destroy everything standing in your way. And anything standing in our way.
As a modern girl, you probably don’t know this phrase. But what I am doing is wooing you.
I don’t stalk the people I care about. I go after them with my chest out. No shame. Head held high.
My enemies never see it coming. Just ask my schoolmates at the Citadel. The only thing that pleases me more than taking what’s mine is fucking with the people who piss me off.
Do not underestimate Jimmy Boudreaux. I’ve had him checked out. He’s a shrewd young man with a head for business. He’ll do well in life. But he won’t provide you with half of what I can offer you, baby girl.
Your one true mate,
Lionel
P.S. I have never once approached your house staff to deliver a note.
P.P.S. You look like an angel when you sleep.
* * *
Sir,
You’ve sold me on Jimmy Boudreaux. Maybe I will see if he wants to date me, after all. I mean, he is at least my age and not a creepy older man who likes to hang around debutante balls, ogling young ladies.
As I see it, you’re either lying about having your notes delivered via the house staff, or you’ve somehow manipulated one of my siblings. Or, you’re sneaking into my room. Your response seems to imply the latter. If you’re trying to woo me (and yes, I know what that means), you’ve only succeeded in scaring the bejeezus out of me. I suppose you should stop watching vampire movies because you aren’t half as sexy as Dracula.
It seems you are suffering from delusions. Might I suggest writing in a journal instead of writing me these ridiculous letters? I find it helps.
B.
* * *
My beautiful girl,
Do not taunt me over Jimmy Boudreaux. I understand that smelly mutt is getting ready to graduate college soon. If he so much as touches a hair on your head, I will see to it that no one in this city gives him a job. I’m sure that then, he won’t be able to provide you with the luxuries to which you are accustomed.
If you’re frightened, you’re right to be. That will prepare you for some difficult truths to come. It can be challenging for ordinary people to accept that certain phenomena are true. And no, I don’t mean vampires. Or zombies. What I am is just as powerful, lethal, and single-minded as the Monsters-of-the-Week. The difference is, you—and you alone—have tamed this beast.
All my affection,
Lionel
Chapter Three
Ash sauntered back into the room, no idea what carnage his wife had uncovered.
Blithely, he reported, “Bobby and Pen said they can stay with the kids overnight, for as long as this thing lasts tonight. Hey, what’s wrong?”
Rosemary shook the letter at Ash. “My dad is a psycho!”
Ash laughed. “You’re just now figuring this out? Come on; we should get going.”
Shaking her head and gesturing at the pile of letters, she replied. “No fucking way. I can’t stand there spouting the praises of their relationship when it all started with this…this terrifying mess! And the things he says about your dad!”
“He never liked my dad. That’s no secret.”
“And now we know why! It wasn’t just business. He felt threatened because he thought Jimmy wanted to date my mom. The man was out of line,” Rosemary said. “And anyway, the thing hasn’t started yet. Chas and the rest are there to help set everything up. Then there’s a cocktail hour. We have plenty of time until I have to give my speech. They don’t technically need us until that time.”
Ash replied, “It would be nice if you were there to greet guests?”
“Meh,” she answered. “I’m not a fan of Daddy’s business associates. And right now, I’m not a fan of my daddy.”
“True, but have you ever been?”
Rosemary shook her head and handed over the notes and letters she’d just read. “Here. We’re going to sit here and read these together, from top to bottom. If I’m going to give a speech, I need the full picture. If it’s not a pretty picture, I’m going to need us both to be on the same page before my family cuts me off for speaking the truth.”
Ash took the letters and notes Rosemary offered, sighed, and sat down on the massive bed across from his wife.
“All right. I don’t like this. But if this is what you want to do, I got you, baby.”
* * *
Mr. Du Champ,
I appreciate the fact that you have not tried to reach out to me while I’ve taken my time to respond to your latest missive.
Over the last month, I’ve been piecing together specific memories and events in my life. And I have questions.
I think you’ve been there, or been around, since way before that most recent debutante ball of my baby sister’s.
On the day of my debut, more than three years ago, I felt so strange. I felt a presence. It was oddly disappointing yet exciting at the same time. I know it makes no sense. But there I was, dancing with all of these boys my age, dancing with my daddy, going through the motions. It was my day to be celebrated, but I felt alone and out of place. I felt like something bigger was waiting for me.
Was it you all along?
Because if you were there, at my coming-out ball, and you have some mysterious power over women like Rasputin or something, then you’d better buckle up because I’m going to go to the newspapers with this. Lionel DuChamp is a pervert and a groomer.
It doesn’t sound good for business.
B.
* * *
My dear Betsy,
I was not in attendance at your debutante ball. I would never imprint on someone underage. What you felt must have been Fate. And not fate as you know it. Fate with a capital “F.” It’s a power that is a mystery to me, and I wouldn’t know how to begin to explain it to you.
If you want an alibi for where I was that night, I was on the other side of the world on a business trip.
If you don’t believe me, and you think I’m some kind of monster, then name your price. And I’ll never bother you again.
Lionel
* * *
Lionel,
I believe you.
Please, for the love of all things holy, tell me what you are.
And please tell me you didn’t sneak into my room again.
Betsy
Chapter Four
Rosemary pressed her mother’s letter to her chest. “She calls him Lionel. She’s warming up to him. Or this is all a game with her. I can’t figure her out.”
Ash smirked at his wife from across the stack of stationery on the mattress. “Oh, you wouldn’t know anything about playing games, would you?”
He was referring to Rosemary's abstinence games she'd put Ash through in the months ahead of their nuptials, a gauntlet of temptations and frustrations that Ash had never let her live down.
“You loved it,” she said huskily.
Ash shook his head and licked his lip. “Don’t even try to seduce me on your parents’ marriage bed. That’s fucked up, youn
g lady.”
Rosemary pouted. “Fine. Moving on.”
* * *
My sweet Betsy,
I can’t tell you how relieved and overjoyed I am that you believe me when I say I never knew you until you were 18.
As to the other thing, I feel like the only way to explain it to you is if we meet in person. I promise not to touch you. It’s better if we stay at a safe distance until you completely comprehend the truth.
I will be on your terrace tonight at midnight.
You must stay inside behind your locked window. Yes, I indeed have ways of getting inside the house. The difference is if you are awake, and if I frighten you, I might not be able to control myself. When you are calm and asleep, I am in control of myself. You will understand after tonight.
Your Lionel
* * *
Rosemary jumped up off the bed. “Oh my god, oh my god. He’s going to tell her!”
Ash spluttered and looked up from his reading. “Baby, I’m one letter behind in this saga. Let me catch up before you shout the spoilers.”
She pointed at him with the letter in her hand. “Ha! You are into this!”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Now let me read.”
* * *
Dear Lionel,
