The Alpha Claims A Mate

by Georgette St. Clair

  They turned down Wishing Well Road and raced towards a small, picturesque motel. The sheriff drove past the motel and up a small hill, where the well sat.

  “Let me handle this.”

  As they pulled up in front of the wishing well, they saw a skinny young man run past them, all elbows and knees poking out of holes in his clothes.

  The sheriff quickly parked, and the young man dropped to his hands and knees. His clothes fell off him as he shifted into the form of a scrawny coyote. The sheriff leaped out of the car and followed suit, shifting into an enormous gray wolf and racing right out of his clothes to chase after the coyote.

  He easily overtook him and the coyote fell to the ground, rolling onto his back and waving his paws in surrender. Less than a minute later, both men had shifted back and trotted over to where Ginger stood, holding out the sheriff’s clothes which she’d scooped up off the ground.

  She looked away, shielding her eyes. She’d gotten a brief glimpse of the sheriff’s naked body, the solid muscles outlined in sharp relief, the massive muscles of his thighs, and the thick phallus that dangled between his legs, and she was struggling not to hyperventilate. Could she suddenly have developed asthma, at age 26? Where did they keep all the damned air around here, anyway?

  “Good lord, woman, why you looking away? Haven’t you ever seen anyone shift before?” the sheriff laughed, grabbing his uniform and quickly pulling his clothes back on.

  “We don’t generally run around naked in the city,” Ginger said, looking away. “That’s kind of a weekend thing, done out in the suburbs, and only with friends.”

  The young man shimmied into his dirty clothes. When Ginger looked at him, she saw he was just a teenager. He was wearing an old army jacket, despite the heat, and a grimy white tank top and jeans that were too big for him.

  “Ginger, meet Cletus Arbuckle. Cletus, put back all the coins that you stole before I kick your ass.”

  Glowering, Cletus trudged over to the wishing well, emptied out his pockets, and threw all the coins back in.

  “Poor bastard,” Sheriff Armstrong said to her in a low voice. “His father died in a hunting accident, and his mama took it real hard. She used to work as a cleaning lady; now she’s just a certified drunk. Doesn’t do a lick of work. I may have to call in county services soon to take his younger brothers and sisters away.”

  Ginger winced. “Ouch. I hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “Me too, but I don’t have a lot of options. “

  Cletus trudged over to Ginger and Loch, his head hanging down.

  “God damn it, Cletus, you got to cut this shit out. Pardon my French,” the sheriff said apologetically to Ginger, and she couldn’t help but smile, there was something so country-chivalrous about the way he said it.

  The sheriff turned back to Cletus. “You’re lucky you’re still a juvenile. When you turn 18, you’re looking at doing some real time. Then who’ll take care of your family?”

  Cletus shrugged angrily.

  “I told you before, if you need money, I can give you money.” Sheriff Armstrong’s voice softened.

  “My daddy didn’t raise me to take no charity,” Cletus muttered, his eyes glittered with tears. Then he muttered something else in a barely audible voice, something that sounded suspiciously like “Fuck you.”

  “What did you just say?” The sheriff’s shoulders raised up and his eyes blazed with anger.

  Ginger cringed. He was about to cuff Cletus to the ground, and humiliate him further, or haul him in to jail, or…

  “Hey!” she said brightly. “You didn’t tell Cletus about the plan you were telling me about just a minute ago. Sir,” she added hastily.

  “Plan?” Sheriff Armstrong stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “You know! The plan you came up with! It was such a great plan! You said, if you caught Cletus stealing one more time, you were going to sentence him to work for the community center for six bucks an hour.”

  She’d pulled that from her memory; Imogen had been filling Marigold in on the town’s latest news, and she’d told her that they were building a new community center. Her handy man had quit because they’d hired him to help put in a garden.

  She turned towards Cletus, talking fast and praying that the sheriff didn’t blow up right there. “Yep, he said that you’ll have to hold down a full time job for the next…ah, two weeks, as punishment. 9 to five.”

  “I ain’t afraid of work. Not like anybody would hire an Arbuckle in this town for any job, anyway.” Cletus glanced at the sheriff, half fearful, half hopeful.

  “Is that really what you said?” he asked him.

  “Uhhh…of course. You aren’t saying my lovely assistant’s a liar, are you?” The sheriff was struggling to wipe the look of surprise off his face.

  “No, sir, I ain’t saying that. If that’s what my sentence is, I guess I’ll have to do it. When do I start?” he couldn’t hide the eagerness in his voice.

  “Tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp.”

  “Oh, and lunch is provided free,” Ginger said, glancing at Cletus’s bony frame.

  He looked at her suspiciously. “You’re not trying to give me no charity, are you?”

  “No sir. Not at all,” she said, noting his look of surprise when she called him “sir.” “Everybody who’s working on the community garden gets lunch free. It’s standard.”

  “All right then.” He nodded, then turned and jogged off down the road. Ginger waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to the sheriff.

  “Okay. Let me have it,” she winced. Please, don’t eviscerate my Alpha, she thought desperately. I’m pretty sure my pack would ban me from not just the city but the state of New York. Forever.

  Chapter Four

  “Let you have what?” That amused grin was back, and Ginger found that, despite herself, a little shiver ran through her body and her nipples swelled into tight nubs. He was so annoyingly sexy when he smiled. “You’re a puzzle, Miss Ginger. Maybe if I could figure out what you wanted, I could give it to you.” There was a teasing quality to his voice, and a twinkle in his golden-brown eyes as he said it. As if he were picturing what he’d love to give to her.

  Or maybe that was just Ginger’s sex-starved imagination.

  “Well….I thought you’d yell at me for what I did just now.”

  “Naah. You were surprisingly diplomatic about it.”

  Ginger winced at the “surprisingly” part, but she’d earned it.

  “And that was actually pretty damn smart of you,” Sheriff Armstrong continued. “I should have thought of that myself years ago. Every time I tried to offer Cletus and his family money, they say they don’t take charity; I should have realized the solution was to find Cletus some kind of job. He’s right that it’s hard for him to find any work, the Arbuckle’s have a bad reputation in town. Especially Cletus, he did time in juvie for a vandalism spree after his father died, smashed the windows on a bunch of businesses on Main Street, and a lot of folks in town hold that against him.”

  “I’ll pay for his salary,” Ginger said, relieved that this wasn’t going to get her in even more trouble with her pack. “And his lunch.” She could charge it to her credit card, skip lunch for the next few months when she was in New York…

  “Don’t be ridiculous, woman. I’ll get the town to cover it out of petty cash. We do need that garden weeded and planted.”

  They climbed back in the car and headed into town. “Next time, consult me first,” he added.

  “Will do.” She nodded, relief rolling over her. Disaster averted. Her Alpha, and her standing with the pack, were safe. For now.

  “I’m going to take you to my office now, introduce you to everybody. We expanded our building recently. I’ve got boxes and boxes of filing that needs to be done.”

  “Great!” she forced a bright, cheery smile, but inwardly she quailed. How would everyone at the station react to the woman who’d publicly insulted their Alpha? And how had she ma
naged to get herself into this mess?

  Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she pulled it out and glanced at it.

  “Boyfriend?” he said, glancing sideways at her.

  Hmmm. Why was he asking?

  “I don’t have one of those,” she said. “But I do have a mother who’s apparently called me 11 times this morning.”

  “No boyfriend? Men in New York must not know a good thing when they see it.”

  “You’re too kind. I had a boyfriend. We…wanted different things.” That wasn’t a lie. She wanted fidelity, more passion and a wedding ring, and he wanted to have sex with Bitsy Saperstein.

  Her phone rang again.

  “Why does your mother’s ring tone sound like the wedding march?”

  She shot him a dirty look, flipped open the phone, and her mother’s shrill voice rang in her ear.

  “What have you done? Did I raise you like this? How will we ever get you married now? Are our packs going to be at war?”

  “Mother,” she said, gritting her teeth together. “I am in the car with the sheriff. Everything is fine. Everything is going very well.”

  “Really?” her mother perked up. “Does he like you now? Is he single?”

  “Mother.”

  “Maybe you could cook him dinner. Show him how domestic you are. I’m going to text you some recipes as soon as I hang up. Or maybe-“

  “I’ll call you tonight,” she said hastily, and hung up. Loch was stifling a laugh. “Don’t,” she said crabbily. “Just don’t.”

  The sheriff’s building was a squat brick structure, with black shutters and a big sign out front that said Blue Moon County Sheriff’s Office, with a picture of their logo, which was a wolf howling at the moon. It was located in downtown Blue Moon Junction, which was what passed for a town in those parts. They were gliding into Loch’s parking space by the front door when the radio crackled again.

  “Some kind of disturbance call at Terry Jones house,” the dispatcher said. “She specifically asked for you to come, sheriff.” There was an undertone of amusement in her voice.

  The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He pulled out of the parking lot, looking annoyed.

  About five minutes down the road, they pulled into a mobile home park. The homes were small but neat-looking, surrounded by well tended little yards.

  The sheriff parked in front of a house towards the back of the park, and as he and Ginger walked up the pathway to the mobile home on 3622 Sandhill Crane Court, he said to her “Brace yourself.”

  “For what?” she asked, puzzled.

  “You’ll see.”

  They walked up the white gravel path to an entrance which was flanked by artificial roses in plastic pots, and the sheriff rapped on the door with his knuckles. The door flew open, revealing…a voluptuous naked woman. Well, not totally naked. She was wearing a bikini made of saran wrap. It was quite evident that she waxed.

  “Ready to unwrap me, Sheriff?” she purred.

  Then her gaze lit on Ginger, and her face fell. “What’s she doing here?” she pouted.

  “Miss Jones. I have talked about this with you before. This is inappropriate, and a waste of county resources. You could have taken me away from a real emergency.”

  “But-“ her lower lip stuck out.

  “No buts. Next time you place a fake emergency call, you will be prosecuted.”

  Her eyes widened with anger and shock, and she slammed the door hard before letting out a stream of curses. He turned and walked down the walkway, with Ginger following behind him and struggling not to laugh as they climbed back into his car.

  “Soooo…I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that at one point, you did hit that, and she wants an encore?” Ginger said, struggling and failing to keep a straight face.

  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” His tone was irritated and he stared at the road straight ahead, but Ginger thought she saw a little smile struggling to break free.

  “A little bit. Yeah. This will make a great story to tell the friends back home.”

  “You in such a rush to leave us?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” she said politely.

  Hell yes, before I accidentally offend someone else and start a full on war, she thought. Or before I climb on the sheriff and start humping his leg.

  Stupid annoyingly sexy sheriff.

  He harrumphed, and turned on the radio, flipping through channels until he found a country song.

  Her cell phone rang, and she saw that it was Marigold. She quickly hit the “talk” button.

  “Oh my God, have you had sex with him yet?” Marigold said.

  “Why, hello, Marigold. You know, he can actually hear you. I’m in the patrol car with him. He’s like a foot away from me. So shut up, is what I’m trying to say.”

  “Oooohhh! Did he arrest you? Are you in handcuffs?”

  Her face reddened. “No, I’m not in handcuffs. How would I answer the phone if I were in handcuffs?”

  “Good point. Hey, sheriff hot stuff! When you guys do it, you should do it in the back seat of the patrol car!” Marigold yelled into the phone. “Or maybe on the hood!”

  “I am going to murder you when I get home tonight!” Ginger hissed, and clicked the phone off quickly.

  Blushing, she turned and shot a venomous look at the sheriff, who was stifling a snicker.

  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” she demanded.

  “A little bit. Yeah. So, you’re going to murder your friend tonight? Are you confessing in advance?”

  “You hoping to put me in handcuffs?” She could have bitten her tongue off as soon as she said it. What happened to her promise to herself to be the only woman in Blue Moon County who did not stroke the over-inflated ego of Sheriff Loch Too-Sexy-For-His-Shirt Armstrong?

  “Ginger Colby. I’d heard that big city girls were kinky, but I had no idea.” His warm brown eyes were like melted chocolate, and a smile curved his lips.

  Her cheeks flamed red, and a sudden image flashed through her mind of herself handcuffed to her headboard while Sheriff Armstrong spread her legs open with his big, strong hands and... She pressed her legs together and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, praying she wasn’t leaving a damp spot there. She’d die. She’d literally die of mortification.

  She quickly changed the subject. “So, you and trailer park Terry – you never answered my question.”

  She was pleased to see that he looked uncomfortable. “Never on duty. That’s all I’ll say. And only once, with her.”

  “Never on duty? Ever? With anyone? In your whole career?” Ginger gave him the skeptical side-eye.

  He spluttered and then made an abrupt turn at an intersection, swerving the car so hard that she banged into her door and clutched at her seatbelt.

  “Cherry pie?” he said.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Ginger gasped.

  “You like cherry pie? We’re going to Edna’s house of pie right now. Their pie is excellent.”

  “Well…sure. Although I’m more of an apple pie girl myself.”

  “Good to know.” They pulled up in front of a small diner style restaurant with a handpainted billboard sign that showed a perky 50s style waitress holding up a pie in one hand.

  Ginger felt everyone’s eyes on her as they walked through the door, and she blushed. One man in a booth let out a low, appreciative whistle as he checked Ginger out.

  Loch’s eyes blazed amber with fury and he spun to face the man. “Watch yourself.” It came out in a growl, and the man quickly ducked his head, muttered “sorry”, and pretended to be very interested in his menu.

  The waitress lit up when they sat down at the table, simpering all over the sheriff. He grinned at her and winked, much to Ginger’s annoyance, and the waitress nearly dropped her tray of plates.

  Of course, there was no reason it should bother her. She and the sheriff weren’t an item. They would never be an item.


  The sheriff was sitting across from her, and she could feel his legs brushing against hers, and the physical contact almost made her whimper out loud.

  She stared down at the menu.

  Concentrate on the pie, she thought. Come on, Ginger, you can do this.

  All she had to do was resist the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on for two weeks even though he kept throwing sexy innuendo her way, and also refrain from making snarky remarks born of sexual frustration, and she’d be able to go home in two weeks and put the sheriff out of her mind forever.

  Piece of cake.

  “So, those archeologists…are they still getting harassed by people from the panther nation?” Sheriff Armstrong asked.

  Thank God, she thought. Normal conversation! Any more flirting and I’d crawl across the table and lick his neck. I am not a woman of willpower, damn it. My size sixteen ass is living proof of that.

  “They’d mentioned it. What’s that all about? They’re not on panther territory, right?”

  “No, but they’re uncomfortably close. Probably not the best place for a dig. The panthers suspect them of secretly looking for tribal artifacts, and the site keeps getting sabotaged. Tires have been slashed on vehicles, tools keep getting stolen. They posted a security guard there, and the security guard quit the next day, said he saw panthers pacing around in the shadows all night long.”

  Blue Moon County was located on the border of The Panther Nation, a huge section of Florida forest and swampland that was inhabited only by a small, close-knit tribe of Native American shape shifters. It was strictly forbidden for anyone who didn’t belong to the Panther Nation to venture on to the property unless invited by the panthers, and they had resolutely refused to allow any archeologists on their land.

  Some of them interacted with the outside world, operating stores, bars, farm stands, and a casino on the edge of their territory; some were more reclusive and never left their land.

  “Well, they’ll be out of there in a few weeks, right?” Ginger said.

  “If they last that long. I’ve got a bad feeling about it. I’ve been stepping up patrols, doing everything that I can to keep the peace out there.” The sheriff frowned as he dug into his pie.