by Dani Harper
Not only his family but the world itself had advanced in ways he hadn’t expected. Culley’s business was a prime example. It was online and he had tried to show it to James in Connor’s home office. The computer hadn’t remotely resembled the last one James had seen. And it was mind-boggling to learn that most people had one—or two or more—in their home as a matter of course. Devlin had one in his pocket for God’s sake. There was no doubt that James had some real catching up to do in order to fit into the human world. He’d felt seriously overwhelmed, emotionally and mentally, by the time everyone went to bed near dawn.
Small wonder he’d chosen to sleep outside for a few hours, claiming he was too hot to remain in the house. Whether his siblings bought that excuse or not, James didn’t know, but it was an immense relief to be out in the night air, away from all the little technological marvels that marked this new century. He’d rather have Changed, curled up in the nearby woods, but if he was going to be human, he had to learn to make do. The porch swings didn’t look overly comfortable, but he found an old hammock between a couple of trees behind the house. And so he let himself be lulled into exhausted sleep by the soft susurrus of the breeze in the aspen leaves.
At least Connor had waited a couple days before springing his big idea on James. “I know you’re still trying to adjust, bro, but you’ve got to have a reason to get up in the morning. You used to have your own ranch, used to enjoy it. Hell, you were damn good at it. I’ve never seen anyone with a gift like yours, and heaven knows my land could use that gift. The ground’s just lying there fallow and wasted when it could be producing, but we both know that I’m never going to have time for it. Zoey loves the place but she’s a city gal and running the newspaper keeps her busy enough.” Connor waved his arm at the buildings, the fences. “Look at it, it’s a mess. But it doesn’t have to be. There’s no reason the farm can’t belong to both of us. Zoey and I talked about it and we’re proposing a partnership. We’ll put up the money and give you signing authority on all the farm accounts, if you’ll just get this place whipped into shape.”
In the end James had agreed to it, even though his gut was tight with fear, as if the whole thing was a monstrous trap, a ploy to keep him human, keep him here. It was an emotional reaction, he knew. He’d already made his decision to walk on two legs. But in truth, he hadn’t given a thought to what he was going to do with his time. Protecting Jillian wasn’t working out to a full-time job, especially since she didn’t want him to defend her. Connor was right—again, which was getting just a little irritating—and so James found himself suddenly in charge of a very large, very rundown farm.
At his brother’s invitation, James had taken up residence in an empty farmhouse. It had begun its life as a cabin for the hired man but had been added to over the years until now it was more like a sprawling lodge. The last person to live there had been his brother’s late friend, Jim Neely. Old Jim had loved Connor’s animals as if they were his own children, and there was nothing but good energy in and around the house. Good location too. Tucked back away into the trees on the opposite side of the farmyard from Connor’s place, the house was invisible from every direction until you were almost standing in front of it.
But God, that first night indoors, in a bed . . . James had been disoriented, frightened in some primal way, like a child afraid of the dark. He didn’t tell Connor, but that first night he had ended up sleeping outside on the porch. And the next night as well. No blankets, no pillow, just curled on the weathered boards like—
Like an animal. James made a disgusted sound. Jesus, it’s just a bed. I’ll sleep in the damn thing.
In less than an hour, James was back on the porch, sweating. He swore viciously, half at himself and half at the bed that terrified him, and waited for his head to clear and his heart rate to slow to normal. He tried to think rationally when what he really wanted to do was tear the offending piece of furniture into tiny shreds with his teeth. And wasn’t that just another sign of his animal nature? Would his first impulses always be those of a wolf? “Okay, okay. Small steps then. Maybe I can’t sleep in the goddamn bed just yet, but I don’t have to sleep on the porch either.”
He got up and went inside, just stood in the living room. So far, so good. Maybe he could sleep on the couch. Even a wolf would probably like sleeping on a couch. He remembered sprawling on Jillian’s couch, wondered if it had been a good idea to startle her like that. Hell, that whole night hadn’t been a good idea. Look what it had brought him to. Warring with his wolf side, trying to sleep indoors like a human being . . .
To be human or not to be human, that is the question. Culley had once paraphrased Hamlet when a wild game of four-legged rough-and-tumble gave the young Macleod boys a tough decision to make. Should they tell their mother about accidentally collapsing her line of clean laundry or stay in wolf form and run for the hills? It was over a century and a half ago, and they had laughed over that line many times since.
It didn’t strike James as funny now. He no longer had the luxury of contemplating that question because Connor had been right. James couldn’t just pop back into his family’s lives, decide it wasn’t working out, and vanish again. It would be cruel, and he was not a cruel man. He was only beginning to understand how much he had hurt his loved ones by disappearing the first time. He could never bring himself to do that to them again. Add to that the instinctive imperative to protect Jillian—if only from himself and his wolf nature—and James felt there was no other choice for him. He had to resume a human life.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it. James stalked into the bedroom, kicked the offending bed, and grabbed a pillow and blanket. It had been simple to be human once, even enjoyable. He didn’t remember having to struggle so damn much, didn’t recall experiencing this level of frustration. And if it was simple once, it could be again.
He stretched out on the couch in the front room but couldn’t relax. His eyes simply refused to close. His body wanted to curl up in a ball. He’d opened all the windows, but the room still felt stifling, even claustrophobic. At the clinic he’d managed to sleep in the loft, but it was wide open to the elements at one end, and the ceiling rafters were high above him. Burrowing into a pile of straw had been a whole lot more organic, more natural, than trying to get comfortable with a blanket and pillow. He thought wistfully of the hammock behind Connor’s house. Maybe he should put up one of those in the yard. Yeah, that’ll work real well in the winter. And the thought that he would still be human months from now was somehow depressing.
Jillian’s probably sound asleep. An image popped into his head, and he let it linger: the small blond woman curled in her bed, her short hair sticking up in every direction, her delicate faery features, the pajamas with the silly frogs on them . . . He hoped she was sleeping better than he was. The last time he’d spoken to her at the clinic, she’d looked ready to drop, but then, she’d fought more than one battle that day.
That whole scene with Mountney, for instance. Jillian’s body language had shown no fear as she faced down the arrogant bastard and traded verbal blows. There was passion in her voice, in her face, as she stood up for a neglected animal, a passion her body didn’t seem big enough to hold. It lit her up like a prairie wildfire, leapt out and scorched her adversary. And the glorious blaze of her pulled at something in James as he watched. Pulled him now just remembering.
He had successfully resisted the powerful urge to charge in and protect her. He’d learned enough about her to know that Jillian didn’t want to be defended, even though Mountney was doing his best to bully her with threats. In fact, she seemed to think an offer of help was some sort of statement on her abilities. So James accorded her the respect he would give another Changeling and allowed her to fight her own battle. But his wolf nature hadn’t made it easy. A low growl had crept into his throat, and his control seemed balanced on a high, thin wire in a strong wind. James knew then, knew, that if anything in the highly charged scene shifted even slightly—if Jillian show
ed a moment’s uncertainty, if Mountney lifted a hand to strike her—the wolf would have been at the man’s throat in a heartbeat.
None of that had happened, thank God. James had partially appeased the wolf by standing, simply standing behind Jillian and glaring over the top of her head at her assailant as only a Changeling could glare. The guy had backed down and left in a hurry, but Jillian definitely hadn’t appreciated what James had done. And she had no way of appreciating what he hadn’t done.
Later when she went head to head with that Forrester woman, James was again fascinated by Jillian’s passion. She cared. She cared about the animals, she cared about her ideals, and she even cared about him to a degree. The incident in the loft had shown him that. Not every woman would risk asking a half-naked man if he needed anything, especially after he’d just grabbed her and scared her almost to death. A warrior spirit and a compassionate heart. Small wonder he was mesmerized by her.
Which meant he’d have to be a hell of a lot more careful.
In the past, Jillian Descharme had left an impression on him, even as a wolf, that he couldn’t shake. A connection he didn’t understand but couldn’t deny. But he had to stay in control, had to find a way to watch over her and keep his distance at the same time. It would be too easy, much too easy, to become involved with her, to encourage a relationship that would only place her in further jeopardy. His job was to protect her, even from himself.
Some protector I am. He couldn’t even win a battle with a stupid bed, of all things. And he didn’t seem to be gaining any ground with the damn couch either. In the end, James slept on the bare floor just inside the open door. It was a start.
Connor didn’t see his older brother for days. The work around the farm was done as if by ghosts. The animals were fed and cared for, the tool shed tidied up, bales stacked and grain moved. Connor caught a rare glimpse of James as he was walking the far fields at sunup, kneeling now and again to run his hands through the soil. Maybe I pushed him too hard about taking on the farm. Maybe it’s too much too soon and he needs more time.
Then one night he came home to a very different farm than he had left that morning. There were construction crews on the roofs of the buildings. Flatbed trucks of materials filled the lane. Heavy equipment vied for position in the corrals and smoke rose from burning piles of discarded fencing. The peace and quiet of the country had been replaced with a cacophony of power tools. He found a place to park his truck and walked into the heart of the chaos until he found James giving detailed instructions to a crew of electricians. Connor was intrigued. He waited until his brother finished, then tapped him on the shoulder. “Who are you and what have you done with my farm?”
“I’m your partner, and this farm needs to be brought back from the dead.”
“Can’t argue with that. It’s needed serious work for a long time. How the hell did you find so much help? Looks like somebody kicked over an anthill.”
“I discovered one thing that hasn’t changed in thirty years—money still talks. I figured there’s no point dragging all these projects out, so I offered hefty incentives to finish by the end of the month. Just in time, too. There isn’t a roof that doesn’t leak, and two of the equipment sheds are on the verge of collapse. There’s no watering system for the stock, and the fuse box in the stable catches fire when you turn on a light.”
Connor put his hands up as if surrendering. “I admit it, it was grim. I thought this place had a lot of potential, but if it was left in my hands, it would just revert back to the forest, like those ancient ruins you see in South America.”
“You didn’t do so bad. You got a contractor to come in and renovate the house at least. I hate to think what kind of shape it was in.”
“Well, it had an air-conditioned roof that matched the barn, for one thing. Once we got that fixed, the contractor pointed out other things that should be done too. Remove the weasel family from the kitchen, the bee colony from the attic, and so forth. One thing led to another. I figure it’s pretty much a new house now, but I like it. I imagine I’ll like what you’re doing when it’s done too.”
“I hope so. Look, if you and Zoey want anything done a certain way—”
Connor shook his head. “Nope. You go right ahead and do it, do anything, any way you see fit. Believe me, we’ll be perfectly happy as silent partners.” As he scanned the farmyard, his gaze rested on three big shaggy beasts with long sweeping horns that hadn’t been there the day before. “Christ, are those Highlands?” He knew full well they were, but it was so damn good to see them. He quickly blinked away the unexpected moisture from his eyes.
“Zoey told me about what happened to your livestock a couple years back, how they were all wiped out. I, uh . . . I figured it would be a good move to infuse some Highland Cattle genes into our Angus herd. You know, they have a good feed conversion ratio and they—”
Connor put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You don’t have to make excuses, bro. You did that for me, and I appreciate it, big time. I’ve really missed seeing those hairy critters around here.” He was about to walk away, then turned back. “Almost forgot. Our multitalented Culley sent these over for you. It’s your new ID.”
James surveyed the little plastic cards his brother dumped in his hand. “Which one is the ID?”
“All of them. It’s a collective term for the basics. Driver’s license is probably your main one. Birth certificate—that’s important. You’ll have to memorize the new year, but the date and place are the same. Figured it would be less confusing for you.”
“Seems to be a lot tougher to be a Changeling in the twenty-first century. Tougher to hide your age.”
“You got that right.” Connor rolled his eyes. It was a perennial problem for all of them. The lifespan of a Changeling was much longer than that of a human, and they aged very slowly. And that meant James couldn’t use a single document from his previous life. Because according to them, he was seventy-five years old. Or dead. Either way, he had to start fresh. As Connor had. “Zoey says she can put a few gray streaks in my hair eventually, and Birkie has a little magic that will make me look older. I figure I’ve got maybe twenty to thirty years left here before I need to move on. I’m thinking I’ll try Alaska next time. Mom and Dad want to go there too. Or Wyoming. Carlene says it’s incredible.”
“Mom and Dad still coming here to visit?”
“In the fall. They’re leading a historical tour of the Highlands until late September. Then they have the rest of the year off, said they’d like to spend it here with us. You know, their first impulse was to drop everything and rush over here to see you. But they thought maybe that might be overwhelming, that they should give you a little more time to get your human feet under you.” Connor watched his brother’s face. Decided not to mention that holding off had been his idea, but he wasn’t sure at that moment whom he had been protecting, his parents or his brother. “It cost them, James, let me tell you. They love you. We all do.”
James nodded, then abruptly walked away. Connor let him go. I know it costs you too, bro, just to be here in human skin. Please don’t give up.
He walked out of the bank with two new accounts, two more plastic cards, and a sheaf of papers and brochures. James’s first impulse was to dump the paper into the nearest trash can, but Culley had cautioned him against doing exactly that. Thank God Culley was doing his bookkeeping, if it meant keeping track of this much crap.
James had to admit that Culley was doing a very good job of it, though. His youngest brother had showed him a lengthy list of assets and investments waiting to be transferred into James’s new accounts. Wealth accumulation was relatively easy with a long lifespan, but still, James had been shocked at the amounts.
He’d also been humbled. He’d never thought about all the things his family had had to deal with, all the details that had to be taken care of. They’d even had to bury Evelyn, sort her belongings, sort his belongings, sell off the ranch, all without any help from him. As if he had
died. What had he put them through? Automatically he thought about his parents again, and his throat tightened up. He wanted to see them, badly, and dreaded the powerful emotions that were sure to come with it at the same time. Maybe he’d be more comfortable, better able to handle those emotions in a few months, when he’d had more practice at being human. Maybe pigs will fly. That’s the whole damn problem with being human. You always end up feeling things you don’t want to feel. Nevertheless he wanted to see his folks. He had no idea how he was going to apologize for his thirty-year absence, but he was damn well going to try.
The scary part was that he couldn’t promise his family anything, not a thing. He had no idea how long he could stand to be human. All that held him to a two-legged existence was the overriding need to protect Jillian from his own wolf. As long as it takes. I’ll do it as long as it takes.
He’d hoped that just being human would be enough to keep the wolf away from Jillian. God knew it wasn’t enough to keep her out of his mind. He caught himself thinking about her countless times through the day, and at night he dreamed about her frequently, often reliving that kiss at the clinic. Sometimes dreaming beyond the kiss. . . .
When he awakened one night on the very verge of Changing, he realized he’d have to find some other way to appease his alter ego. There was no doubt in his mind that if he’d finished the Change, the damn wolf would have headed straight to the clinic. To Jillian. Maybe I need to give it what it wants. Some of what it wants, he amended. If he dropped by the clinic in the morning, saw Jillian, would the wolf be satisfied?
He didn’t know that once would be far from enough. And it didn’t take long for Connor to notice either. His brother was waiting for him at the edge of the field when he finished seeding one night.
“Noticed you were at the clinic again today.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, seems like you’re there a lot. Any special reason?”
