by Keri Hudson
Jessica nodded. “I’m sorry, it was a long trip.” She extended her hand and Quinton took it very gently. “Jessica Hume, nice to meet you.”
Quinton wasn’t sure what her disposition was, but by the glares Deliah kept shooting him, it seemed the best thing was to back off. “Well, I think Walt has a Moscow mule waiting for me in the bar. If you ladies will excuse me?” They both nodded, muttering a few pleasantries before Quinton turned and crossed the lobby back to the bar. He knew the drink had already been thrown away, and he felt more and more that he should just slip out and head back to his cabin.
But for some reason, he lingered, and it was no mystery to him why that was; it wasn’t the cold copper mug, but the hot redheaded woman. He returned to the bar and Walt eyed him, the two sharing a little smile. Even Walt seemed to know what was suddenly on Quinton’s mind. And he seemed also to realize that, coming back to the bar alone, Quinton had accepted defeat.
Well, Quinton thought, who wouldn’t?
“Moscow mule?”
Quinton wondered about the question. He certainly felt like an ass, not a mule. “I don’t even know what that is.”
Walt pulled another cold copper mug from the little fridge behind the bar. “You’ll like it.” He began mixing the drink, though he had little of Quinton’s attention.
“Excuse me?” Quinton turned to see Jessica walking toward him, wearing a sheepish smile on her lovely face. “I’m sorry about that, back there. I didn’t mean to be rude. Y’know, just got in, some guy’s suddenly hitting on me.”
“Is that what I was doing?” It was.
“No, I… I didn’t mean, just…” Jessica shook her head and waved her lithe, milky hand between them just a bit. “I’m sorry, it’s really been a long trip. Can I buy you a drink?”
Walt was just finishing the Moscow mule, setting it down on the bar. “I’ll make another,” Walt said, “on the house.”
Jessica smiled and sat down at the bar next to Quinton. He glanced around, noting the lack of her bags. “Had them bring up your bags?”
Jessica shrugged. “So sick of dragging those damn things around. Makes me wanna never leave the house!”
Quinton understood that feeling. He was already ready to admit that if she were in his house, he’d never leave it.
“What brings you out of the house this time, then?”
“My job! Why else come way up here? Not that I mean to be insulting about it, it looked beautiful from the plane, but… I mean, it’s not very close to… well, to anything really, is it?”
“It’s close to me,” Quinton said.
An awkward silence passed before Walt put the second frosted copper mug in front of Jessica. She took a sip of the cold drink, a mix of ginger beer, vodka, and lime juice. It was bracing on the tongue and soothing to the soul.
“Whoa, this is good. I’ve never had one of these. I know they were the big thing a few years back.”
“We’re a bit behind the times way up here.” After another long pause, Quinton added, “Sorry. I guess it’s no better from my end.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
There was only one answer in Quinton’s head, however preposterous it was going to sound. “Maybe you’re just… too beautiful.” She seemed struck by the remark, and Quinton knew he’d gone too far. “I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful, it’s… distracting.”
She seemed to consider it, looking down at the drink in her hand, a little smile curling into her cheek. “Oh, well, that’s not very MeToo, but… it’s very flattering anyway.”
“It’s not what?”
“MeToo,” Jessica repeated. “Hashtag MeToo? The movement against exploitation of women?”
Quinton could only shake his head as he reviewed his memory. “I’m against the exploitation of women, of course, but… I dunno.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Jessica said, “Harvey Weinstein? Jeffery Epstein?” The names weren’t familiar. “I don’t understand… it’s Quinton, right?” Quinton nodded. “Well, don’t you watch the news, Quinton? YouTube, the internet?”
“I’ve never owned a TV,” Quinton said. “I’ve seen them, of course.”
“Of course.” Jessica twitched just a bit, leaning that lovely head forward, a red curl falling over her cramped, freckled brow. “What about a computer?”
Quinton shook his head. “Why?”
“Why?” She seemed absolutely struck dumb. “I… banking, email, paying your bills… the internet! How do you keep in touch with your family?”
It was a question that resonated deep in his heart and his soul. “I haven’t got a family.”
Jessica’s expression instantly softened, brow arching, mouth falling. “Oh, Quinton, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s fine. You? Family, I mean?”
“Folks’re in Florida, condo in St. Pete’s. She did well in real estate.”
“Nice. And you?”
Jessica shook her head and took another sip from her frosty copper cup. “I don’t own.”
“No, I mean… what do you do, what brings you here? You never said.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Jessica set down the mug. “Research, actually, it’s pretty boring stuff.”
“Research… you?”
She seemed offended, looking Quinton up and down. “Why not, because I’m pretty?”
“Well, no, I mean… you’re not pretty, you’re gorgeous! You could marry the Prince of Monaco or be a movie star.”
“I don’t like Monaco or Hollywood,” Jessica said with a shrug. “I’m not even sure I like Anchorage.”
Quinton knew what she meant by that, and it hurt just a bit. She wasn’t talking about Anchorage or Alaska, she was talking about him. But a part of Quinton had to admire it, was even attracted to it. She was obviously not some flighty woman to be casually seduced, and Quinton had enjoyed his share of those. This woman did not give herself away. She was going to put any man who desired her to the test, and as far as Quinton could imagine, every man would desire her.
“Maybe you’ll be won over,” Quinton said. “But be careful. It’s rough terrain out here.”
“So I’ve heard, all the people that, how do you put it, go missing?”
Quinton could only shrug. “Glaciers, ice caverns and fissures, predators everywhere, weather currents that send small planes crashing into the mountains…”
“Grand,” Jessica said, raising her copper mug. “Glad to be here.”
“Glad to have you.” They each took a sip, and even Walt glanced at them from the other end of the bar. “So, you’re researching…?”
“Oh, right… climate change. I’m working on an independent study on the effects of the temperature on the area here… snowfall, things like that.”
Quinton wouldn’t have expected anything less. Of course this comely woman would be on a mission of mercy, the angel of the tundra.
“That’s a worthy cause,” Quinton said. “You’ll find a lot to study, I’m sure. How do you do it… with instruments, or a computer probably?”
Jessica huffed up a little chuckle. “I have a laptop, of course. This is more of a photographic thing, actually. I’m taking photographs of the same terrain that was recorded five years ago at the same time of year, to show how much things have changed. It’s really important, I think.”
“I think so too.” Quinton couldn’t help but glance at her left hand. Even without TV or the internet, he knew that was where he’d see a wedding ring, if she’d had one. “You came here alone?”
Jessica nodded. “Broke up with my… my business partner just before coming up. Guy decides he wants to stay behind, hook up with some massage therapist he met up with.”
Quinton didn’t need to hear any more. It was the best news he’d ever heard. “Well, look, it’s really not safe to go around the area alone. If you like, I can… escort you, make sure you get the pictures you need and then, well, get back on your way.”
Jessica smiled. “That migh
t be very nice, actually, but …” She looked at Quinton again in a way he well understood. A woman like her would be a prize to any man, and she had a right and a wisdom to be protective. Any woman who would wander out into the Alaskan wilderness with a man she didn’t know would be a fool, and she didn’t strike Quinton as any kind of fool.
So Quinton said, “Ask Deliah, she manages this place. She knows me.” Quinton said this knowing the risk. He knew how Deliah felt about him, and that she might be jealous and want to lie to her new hotel guest in order to prevent a rivalry. That was possible. But it struck Quinton as unlikely.
Deliah and Quinton had a sexual tension that was hard to deny, but they had a friendship that was impossible to discount. And Deliah was a good person, a friend with integrity and character. Whatever her personal doubts, she wouldn’t want to see her guest fall into peril by venturing out alone, and she wouldn’t falsely impeach his integrity, he felt certain.
More likely was that Jessica would be worried that, if Quinton was trying to lure her into a trap, Deliah could just as well have some part in that ugly arrangement. But Quinton had to quell his own doubts. What profit would it be to Deliah if Jessica were to fall victim to him or to any man? A small payoff? But… surely she could be taken without a conspiracy, which would be even riskier!
But Quinton’s doubts and worries were laid to rest when Jessica said, “I did feel a bit nervous about coming up here alone, tell you the truth.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow morning, eight o’clock sharp?”
She seemed to give it some thought before nodding and raising her copper cup. “Thank you, Quinton.”
He broke an easy smile. “More than my pleasure.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Quinton walked out of the Gold Dust in a mild state of shock. He’d just met the love of his life, he was certain of it. It was love at first sight, for him at least. She was radiant, she was sweet and funny and friendly and just a bit feisty.
And she seemed fairly receptive. Her first reaction had been the one he’d expected, shunning his come-on for just what it was. But she’d come back into that bar, she’d sat and chatted.
And he was to see her the next day, to escort her around the area. His mind reeled at the thought. Women had been attracted to Quinton, so that wasn’t the surprise. But just to have such a woman appear in Anchorage, with him there, and to have her accept his invitation made things seem too perfect.
It must be fate, he thought, destiny, it has to be! The Earth knows what’s happening; in some way she herself is the greatest player in this game of our lives. She knows she needs us lupes to fight the ursines. We’re the protectors of the Earth and almost everything on it. As she turned just so to throw us together? Or is it just dumb, blind luck?
Quinton didn’t have to think too much about it as he walked down the street toward his motor sled.
Who cares? Fate or luck or coincidence, what’s the difference? She’s alive, she’s here, and tomorrow she’ll be with me! Jessica Hume… Jessica Hume-Williams, that has a nice ring.
A cold stone turned in Quinton’s stomach as his mind wandered into uglier terrain. I’m overreacting, he told himself. She’s not even from Anchorage, she’s here on a trip. She’ll never leave wherever she came from. Best I can hope for is a fun week, maybe she’ll sleep with me, but… she doesn’t seem like that type. I’d almost rather she didn’t, but… but if she did…
The visons of that magnificent moment flashed in his imagination: throwing her head back to expose that lovely neck, breasts pink and perfect, rising and falling with her heated breath as she pulled him closer.
But that only inspired the dread, the knowledge of what almost certainly awaited him: a return to his lonely cabin and his lonely life, to go on knowing his perfect woman was out there in the world with other men, normal men, luckier men.
And that brought another thought—his cabin was two hours away by motor sled, and he’d volunteered to be back earlier the next morning without thinking. That meant four hours of travel.
Should I just get a room and stay? No, I need to clean up, shave, make sure my cabin is perfectly presentable in case she comes over.
Comes over, he had to repeat, like she’s some girl from high school! How’s she ever going to wind up in the cabin? I’ll be lucky if I get to see her hotel room, but…the cabin?
Still, the notion clung to the back of his head: her living with him, their children playing on the floor. Sheer, lovely confusion overtook him. Quinton had to stop, unsure of which direction to go or what to do, for just about the first time in his life.
“Mister Williams,” a familiar voice behind him said. Quinton turned to see Anchorage County Sheriff Richard Spalter, fat in his tan uniform, gray hair thinning. The two men shook hands as the sheriff approached.
“Sheriff Spalter, nice to see you again.”
“You too,” the sheriff said, looking Quinton over. “Looking well. How’s life outside of town?”
Quinton wasn’t sure how to answer that, especially given the immediate circumstances. So he answered simply, “Well enough. In town?”
“Well enough. Selling off a few more pelts?”
Quinton nodded, glancing back at the Gold Dust. He was almost worried that the sheriff was slowly getting at the subject of the town’s glorious new visitor. Could he know? How? Anchorage isn’t that small!
“Well, I better be getting back,” Quinton said, to the sheriff and to himself. He had a choice to make, and that stunning redhead had him befuddled, unsure. Neither choice would be exactly right, so ultimately it hardly mattered.
“Be careful out there.”
The two men parted company and Quinton took his uneasy leave of the lawman. But Sheriff Spalter turned to give him a glance before moving on, Quinton knew it. The sheriff had always treated him fairly and with some modicum of respect. He’d known his parents since before their tragic deaths, and since then he’d shown Quinton a kindness, a respect, which Quinton often took for mercy.
But there was something else about the sheriff, a vague underlying suspicion radiating from him, and Quinton didn’t have to guess what that suspicion might have been about. Most normalos had no idea that shifters existed at all, and that was for the best. Were it known, they’d be feared and hunted and persecuted instead of being accepted for who and what they were. But there were some who knew, or thought they knew. There were conspiracy theories, but nobody ever acted on them.
The way Sheriff Spalter always dealt with Quinton, he had the feeling that the sheriff knew Quinton’s true nature, that he knew about his father. But he didn’t stand against Quinton, he’d never challenged his father, and that was just as well. The chubby sheriff might have known Quinton’s secret, but he seemed willing to keep it, and he wouldn’t be the first. Shamans, some members of otherwise distant and isolated communities, had seen and known shifters and never told. Some people had the wisdom to accept what they did not quite understand, to be faithful instead of fearful, to want more for others and for the Earth than for themselves.
Quinton had known altogether too few of them, but he had high hopes that he’d just met one more.
Jessica Hume.
Quinton mounted his motor sled and, after a quick trip to the gas station, began the long trip home. He drove fast, feeling the rush of the engine humming through his arms, his legs, the snow spraying up on each side of the motor sled. He felt the power of his own body in a way he rarely did when not in his lupine form. When he was in the full thrush of the hunt or the fight, Quinton was living his potential. His lupe senses were much sharper, his strength incredible. But in his human form, he was only a man—strong, tall, able in a variety of ways, but still lacking the power of his lupine self.
Quinton didn’t even want to think about it. Jessica knew nothing of shifters, he had to assume. And considering what she knew or didn’t only further beguiled him, as Quinton could hardly track what he was thinking and feeling. It w
as a swirl of blinding information, and all Quinton could truly do at that moment was speed that motor sled through the snow toward his mountain cabin.
Quinton took in the magnificent mountains in front of him, the curves and crags, white and green, sloping and sweeping. The sky was crystal blue, white clouds rolling. The landscape was always breathtaking to him, and even more so then. Every color seemed bolder, more crisp, the smell of the pine cutting through the exhaust of the motor sled. And Quinton didn’t wonder why.
Even images of Anchorage seemed more pleasant, better than they had ever seemed before. Long a source of emotional discord and a near-blight on the landscape, Anchorage suddenly seemed welcoming, intriguing, a blessing.
Maybe I’ve been away too long, he had to think, too isolated. Maybe it’s time to embrace the city, the community of it. No reason I can’t still fulfill my duty, my purpose, and not still be a bit closer to the populace. Lots of other shifters do it. And Jessica might be more interested in moving to Anchorage rather than some cabin in the mountain.
A small figure in the distance grabbed Quinton’s attention, coming directly at him from the very mountains he was entering. A chill ran up his back even in that cold, the heat of the motor sled beneath him. At first he couldn’t be sure, but by the spray of powder, Quinton knew it was a motor sled like his own. So he knew he wasn’t looking at another animal attack.
But as the two men sped toward each other, his massive frame came into clearer view. That bushy red beard crusted with snow and ice, goggles over his lifeless eyes.
Carl Red Fellows.
Red slowed down as he approached and Quinton did the same as their vehicles drew near, finally stopping and idling next to one another. Quinton looked the big man over, broad shoulders and thick torso, no neck under that tangled mess of rust-colored hair.
“Quinton.”
“Red.”
Red glanced at the skyline of Anchorage behind Quinton. “Comin’ out?”
Quinton nodded and glanced back himself. “You’re headin’ in.”
