by Lynn Lorenz
Who did he know who could help him with the kids?
Scott ran through everyone he knew in the pack but came up empty. Time was wasting, and he needed to get hold of those boys. As soon as someone found out, it’d be all over town.
He got out of the car and strode up to the house. Knocked on the door. No answer.
“Hey! Charles! Timothy! It’s Scott Dupree, the sheriff. Are you in there? I need to talk to you.” Shouting through the door wasn’t the best solution, but he couldn’t just bust it in.
After waiting a few minutes and seeing no movement, Scott headed to the backyard. Maybe he could see something from there.
He went through the gate in the fence and followed the cement path to the back patio. A nice stainless-steel grill stood to one side, and a wrought-iron table and chairs filled the patio. Out in the yard, a large play set with a fort on top and swings. Toys lay strewn about on the grass as if the boys had just left.
At the back door, Scott knocked again and called out. No answer. It was summer, so they could be anywhere. Maybe at camp? If it was a sleepaway camp, he’d have to find out which one.
Scott tried the doorknob, and it turned. The door opened. Not a good sign.
“Hey! It’s Sheriff Dupree, boys. I’m coming in!” Scott eased into the house and found himself in the kitchen.
Clean. Everything nice and tidy. If the boys were there, this might have been more messed up. It would have if he’d been left home as a kid.
He moved into the living room and then began the search of the house. After five minutes, he’d cleared it and returned back to the kitchen.
On the fridge was a calendar. He took it down and laid it on the counter, then checked out today’s date. Nothing. So he went back a few days.
And there it was. On the Friday before, someone had written Lake Charles and the name of one of the casinos.
So Wyatt and Marie had gone away for the weekend. So that meant someone had the kids. But who?
Scott turned back to the calendar, searching for any clues. On the side was a number and the notation, Boys. He picked up the phone on the counter and dialed.
A woman answered. “Hello? Is that you, Marie? You’re back already?”
Scott thanked God for his good luck. “No, it’s Scott Dupree, the sheriff. Who is this?”
The woman’s voice signaled her confusion. “Scott? This is Ginnie Comeaux. What’s wrong? Why are you calling from Marie’s phone?”
“Do you have the boys there?” Thank God. Ginnie and her husband were pack.
“Yes. Charles and Timmy are here. Is something wrong?”
“I need you to stay calm. I don’t want the boys to know about it until I get there, understand?”
“Sure.”
“Can you go somewhere private?”
“Okay.” Silence. “I’m in my bedroom with the door shut. The boys are in the game room.”
“Wyatt and Marie were in a fatal car crash this morning.”
“Oh, my God!” she cried out. Good thing she’d moved to the bedroom. “Are they both…”
“Yes. Death was instant, from what I can tell.”
“Oh God!” Her voice rose an octave.
“Please stay calm. I’ll be there in a few minutes to talk to the boys and to you.”
“Okay. I want to do whatever I can to help. The boys are going to be devastated.”
“I think for now, if you can keep them a few more days until we figure out what to do, it would really help.”
“Of course.”
Scott got her address, wrote it down in his notepad, and hung up. He left the house, making sure the back door was unlocked, just as he’d found it. He might need to get back in later.
Chapter Five
Scott took a deep breath as he stood at the door to Ginnie’s house. This had to be one of the hardest death notifications he’d ever done. And, frankly, he was thankful Ginny was there to help him.
There would be no way to soften this, so Scott settled on sitting them down and telling them the truth right away. Get it over. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
He knocked, and Ginnie opened it immediately. She must have been waiting for him just inside. Her face was pale as she hustled him inside to the living room.
“I’ll get the boys. I’m going to take my son, Evan, to his room, but I’ll be back. Have a seat.” She pointed to an upholstered chair. Scott sat, hands clasped between his legs, one knee bouncing like a rubber ball as he gathered his thoughts.
In a few moments, Ginnie returned, leading Timmy by the hand and followed by Charles. Scott stood.
Both boys were blond, blue-eyed, looking a lot like Wyatt to Scott. He hoped the acorns fell far from that tree, but the distrust in Charles’s eyes made him doubt it. Timmy was just a smiling little kid, and Scott thought he saw a lot of Marie in the child.
“Hello, boys. I’m Sheriff Scott Dupree.”
They nodded as Ginnie got them seated on the couch and Scott sat back down in the chair. “Thanks, Ginnie.” She gave him a sad smile.
“I’ll be back in a little bit, boys, but for now, the sheriff needs to talk to you alone.” Scott had hoped she’d stay. He was on his own with this one.
Charles’s eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t speak. Timmy nodded, his eyes wide as he stared at Scott.
“You’re a cop?” Charles’s tone was wary.
“I’m the sheriff. Same thing, but it means I’m the head cop.”
“You have a gun!” Timmy pointed and bounced up and down on the sofa cushion.
“Yes.” Scott smiled at him. God, this sucked. “I also am the pack leader. Do you know what that means?”
Timmy shook his head.
Charles glared and sat up straighter. “You’re the man that beat my daddy up. The fag.” His lip curled as he said it as if it tasted bad.
Scott’s mouth dropped open, and his gut contracted in response.
Had that snotty kid just called him a fag? Oh, hell no.
Scott pulled himself under control. He wasn’t there to argue with a child, but no way did he expect this level of rudeness from a kid that young, and it threw him off what he’d thought of saying.
Timmy paled. “Are you going to hurt him again?”
Scott sighed. “No. Last year your father challenged me as alpha. The rules of the pack stated we had to fight, as wolves, to establish a winner. I won. Your father agreed to stay in the pack, or else he would have had to leave, and your mom didn’t want him to go. So we weren’t friends, but we’re pack brothers, and as pack alpha, he’s just as much my responsibility as anyone else in the pack. And that includes you two boys.”
Timmy relaxed, but Charles stayed on alert. “But you’re a fag, right?”
Scott sat back. This wasn’t going well. “That’s not a nice word. Please don’t use it again. Let’s park that for now, Charles. I’m here for a different reason, and we need to talk about it.”
“Did Daddy do something bad? Are you going to send Daddy away this time?” Timmy’s voice wobbled.
“No.” Scott braced himself. “I’m here as the sheriff and as your pack alpha. Boys, there’s been an accident this morning. Your mom and dad were in a wreck. They didn’t survive.”
Both boys stared at him. Timmy blinked as he tried to take it in. Charles grew still.
“They’re dead?” Charles’s hands curled into fists. “Dead?” His voice rose.
Timmy crumpled against Charles and burst into tears. “Mommy’s dead?” He wailed, “I want my mommy! Momma!”
Charles pushed him off. “Shut up, Timmy.” His face contorted into a mask of rage. “Dad’s dead too?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry, boys.”
“Who’s going to take care of us?” Timmy hugged himself. “We can’t take care of ourselves. We’re just kids. We can’t mow the lawn, Daddy said so. We can’t drive.”
Charles turned to him and shouted, “I said shut up!” Then he punched his brother in the arm, and Timmy burst into tears again as he wr
apped his hand around the sore spot.
“Hey, Charles, stop that!” Scott got out of his chair and pulled Timmy away, seating him in the chair and taking his place on the couch next to Charles. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Ginnie standing in the doorway. He shook his head, and she stepped away.
“Charles. It’s awful. I know it. My dad died when I was a teenager, just a little older than you. But I’m here to let you know you’re going to be taken care of, both of you. You’ll be together, no matter what.” Scott reached out to touch Charles, but the boy recoiled.
“Don’t touch me, fag! I hate you!” How could a child his age have such rage and anger inside?
Shocked but more irritated, Scott had had enough. “Charles, I told you not to use that word again. It’s rude and uncalled for, and it’s disrespectful. Whatever your father said about me, I’m still your pack alpha. Did your father tell you what that means?”
Charles sank back, arms folded across his chest, but he nodded. “You’re the boss, and the pack follows you.”
“That’s true, but the pack doesn’t follow blindly. When you have your initiation, you’ll learn more, but we often vote on issues concerning the pack. But I do have a lot of say over many things, like who a pack member can marry. Had your father beaten me, he had the right to kill me or exile me, just as I did for him.”
“He would have killed you!” Charles shouted.
“Perhaps. But I won. And I’m not the kind of man who kills someone, especially if they have a family. A true leader has to think beyond what they want for their own personal gain, and think about what’s best for the pack.”
Charles clamped his mouth shut, his gaze still shooting daggers at Scott.
Timmy sniffled. “Where will we live now?”
“I’m not sure, but you can’t stay by yourselves. Ginnie, can you come in?”
Ginnie came around the corner. “Yes, Sheriff?”
“Ginnie has agreed to keep you boys for a few more days.” He smiled up at her. “It’s probably best if they have people around them they know.”
“I agree. It’s summer, and I’m a stay-at-home mom, so it’s not a problem.”
“Good.” He turned back to the boys. “I’ll come back in a few days, once I’ve figured out where you need to be, okay?”
Timmy nodded, and Charles turned his head, refusing to look at him. That was the best he’d get from the boy right now. Whoever got these kids had their work cut out for them, especially with Charles. That boy needed… Well, Scott remembered mouthing off to his dad at that age and the ensuing spanking. Lack of respect for someone elder would have gotten the same treatment. Times were different now. He had no idea how Wyatt had raised his boys, but this didn’t bode well.
Timmy just looked as if he needed lots of love and hugs. He needed his mom.
Charles needed…
Scott thanked Ginnie and said good-bye to the boys. Charles sneered at him. Timmy ran to him and clung to Scott’s leg, the child’s red-rimmed eyes begging him not to leave.
“I’ll be back. Don’t worry, Timmy.” He gave the kid a pat on the back as Ginnie gently pulled the boy off and led him back to the sofa. Timmy fell onto it and buried his head in the pillows as his little shoulders jerked up and down with his sobs.
Scott walked to the door. Ginnie followed. “They’ll be okay. This is just…horrible.”
“I know. Thank you for keeping them until we get them settled somewhere permanently.”
“Sheriff. I know Wyatt was…difficult, but Marie was my dear friend. I’d do anything for her, it’s just…” She looked back toward the boys and lowered her voice. “I can’t take them in. Truthfully, I’d take Timmy in a heartbeat, but Charles…is as difficult as his father, and I have my own son to think of. I can’t handle Charles, and I won’t allow him to bully my own child.”
“I understand.”
Scott did, but it would have been great if they could have stayed there. He left and got in his car.
There was no choice.
He’d have to call an emergency meeting of the Rougaroux Social Club.
»»•««
Charles looked over at his brother. Little baby. Momma’s boy. If Dad were around, he’d have given Timmy a reason to cry. He’d learn, just like Charles had learned.
His lip quivered, but he sucked it back inside, keeping it still and under control. If he just stayed strong, in control, he could survive this. Just as he’d survived everything else.
Timmy whimpered, ran his arm across his nose, and looked at Charles. “What are we going to do?” he whispered.
“You heard ’em. We’re staying here for a few days. Then…” He shrugged. Someone would take them. “We’ll have a new home.”
“I don’t want a new home. I want my home. I want Mommy.” Another tear tracked down Timmy’s pink cheek. His blue eyes were red-rimmed, his thick brown lashes damp. Of course he wanted Mommy. She’d protected Timmy, as she used to protect him. Then Charles had gotten too old, and she’d let their dad take over.
Teach him how to be a wolf. To be a man. That’s what Dad had said.
Charles hated being a werewolf. Wanted to be a normal kid, with a normal dad who didn’t have to teach him to be “werewolf tough.”
Timmy would be spared that with Dad gone. Lucky little brat.
“Don’t you want Mommy?” Timmy sniffed.
Charles slid over on the couch and patted Timmy’s knee. “Yeah, I want her too.” A lump grew in his throat, but he swallowed it down. His dad wouldn’t have it, nosiree. No son of his would be a weak, whiny baby.
Dad. Charles just bet this was all Dad’s fault. How many times had he heard his mom and dad argue about his dad’s driving? Well, he’d finally gotten them killed. Stupid. So stupid.
Timmy nodded. “The sheriff was nice.”
“He’s a fag. Forget him.”
“But he’s the pack leader. We have to listen to him. Mommy and Daddy said so.” Tommy looked up into Charles’ face. “What’s a fag?”
Charles shook his head. “Nothing good.”
“But what—”
“It means he’s gay. He likes boys, not girls.” Charles rolled his eyes.
“I like boys. I like Evan ’specially.” Timmy smiled shyly. “Why is that bad?”
Charles growled. “You’re so stupid, Timmy. Forget it. Daddy didn’t like him, so we don’t like him. Got it?”
Timmy shrugged. “I s’pose so.”
Miss Ginnie came back into the room. “I’m so sorry, boys. I’m sure the sheriff will find somewhere nice for you to stay.”
“Why can’t we stay here?” Charles wouldn’t mind it, even if it meant having to put up with Evan. He was as bad as Timmy, always whining, crying, and tattling to his mom.
Miss Ginnie glanced around. “You can’t. We really don’t have the room for two more children.”
Charles just bet she meant they didn’t have room for him. Bet she’d take cute little Timmy. Everyone liked him. He set his jaw, gritting his teeth together.
“I understand.” He took Timmy’s hand. “Come on, Timmy. Let’s get you washed up. You’re a mess.” Between the snot and tears, his brother didn’t look so cute.
And something told Charles he was going to have to count on Timmy looking cute.
»»•««
Ted put down his paintbrush when he heard Scott’s car pull up to the house. He cleaned the brush and covered his paint, then wiped off the multicolored splatters on his hands.
Scott was home early, and that couldn’t be good. Scott rarely sneaked home for a nooner, so, what was up?
Ted listened as Scott climbed the stairs up to the raised house above his artist’s studio, each step dragging on the wood. Not a happy sound. Not eager.
His mate was upset about something.
He had no idea when he’d become so in tune to Scott’s moods and feelings, but it had happened over this past year they’d spent together. And Scott had done the same with him.
/>
Tuned in, as if his wolf could smell whatever scents Ted gave off with his moods.
Pheromones?
He figured it was something werewolves and their mates shared, but Scott had never mentioned it. Ted had just started taking it for granted.
They were mates. Linked by something so deep it couldn’t be broken. And God knew, in the beginning, they’d tried.
After drying off his hands, he left the studio and headed up those same stairs, only he took them two at a time, eager to find out what was upsetting his wolf.
When he came through the door, Scott was seated on the sofa, the phone to his ear.
“This is Scott. I’m calling an emergency pack meeting tonight at eight. Everyone who can be there is required to attend.” He hung up and glanced up at Ted. “Hi, babe.”
“Hey. What’s up?” Ted plopped down next to him. “You’re home early. And calling an emergency meeting.” He put his hand on Scott’s knee.
“There was a fatality on the interstate. It was Wyatt and his wife, Marie.”
“Merde.” Ted whistled. “That’s horrible. Marie was a nice lady. And even if Wyatt tried to kill you, I know he was part of the pack.” He massaged the tight muscle along Scott’s thigh, hoping to bring him some comfort.
“Yeah. They have two boys.” Scott sat back and exhaled. “The older one, Charles, is just like his daddy. Mean and a bully. Timmy is just a little kid and more like Marie. Sort of meek and mild. Still…I know what it’s like to lose your dad. It’s about the worse thing a boy can experience.”
Ted sighed. “What can I do to help?”
“I missed lunch, and we have to be at the club early. How about some dinner?”
“Something light? Soup and sandwiches?”
“Sounds good.” Scott leaned back and closed his eyes. “I had to tell the boys. Man. That was bad. Timmy fell apart. Grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go.”
“Damn, that’s rough.”
“The older boy, Charles? Called me a fag.”
“What?” Ted’s voice dropped an octave. “You’re shitting me. To your face?”
“Yeah. I’m sure it’s what he’s heard from his father for the last year. Wyatt might not have worked against me in the pack, but he sure kept himself busy poisoning his son’s mind.”
