by Michele Hauf
“Same from me, Mom. Go!”
She dashed off across the street and ran up the steps and right past the reception desk.
“Wait! You need to sign in!” cried the receptionist.
Abigail ran to the desk and grabbed the pen the woman handed her. The receptionist tapped a page in an open register with the tip of her bright red fingernail.
“Did you see a big lug of a guy with short hair and an angry scowl come in?”
The woman’s extremely tweezed brow quirked. “Kind of sexy fierce?”
“That would be him.”
“A few minutes ago. And let me tell you, that was the finest look I’ve had in days.”
“Where did he go?” She scribbled her name on the register, but her fingers shook.
“To the legal office down the hall, but you can’t go in there. He has an appointment. You do not.”
“It’s okay.” She scampered down the hallway. “This is an emergency!”
Abigail threw open the door to the office, which was actually a small legal room with rows of people sitting in chairs, and another row of standing people queued up to a registrar’s desk.
Ridge stood at the front of the line, talking to a woman wearing black-rimmed glasses behind the desk. He handed her some papers.
“No!”
The broad-shouldered werewolf turned and gaped at her—as did the entire room. Abigail pushed aside the people standing in line to make her way to the startled wolf.
“You can’t do this,” she said to the woman behind the desk.
“Abigail, what are you doing here?” Ridge asked her.
“Who are you?” the woman asked, her high-magnification lenses enlarging her eyes as she stamped the papers under her hands.
“Are those the divorce papers?” Abigail asked Ridge. “Tell me they’re not the divorce papers.”
“Signed, sealed and delivered,” he said. “For good or for ill. Much as I would have preferred it remain good. Why are you here? I thought… Well, I thought we were—”
“We’re not. We never will be. We can’t be. What I mean is, we have to be. We really can be. For us. You. Me. Ryan.”
“Ma’am, who are you?” the woman behind the desk insisted.
Abigail eyed the papers, and then an idea stirred a little flame in her thoughts. She never used magic when there were mortal witnesses, but in this instance…
She swept her finger to the right and the electrical cord attached to the automatic stapler sparked. The woman behind the desk jumped and shrieked as the papers she held ignited. Hot, swift flames consumed the papers within five seconds.
Ridge cast a wary eye at her, but she sensed the levity tickling his mouth. She threaded her arm through his, and leaned over the desk toward the woman. “You want to know who I am? I’m his wife.”
The crowd behind them tittered, and she realized they had an audience.
Ignoring everything but her heart, Abigail looked into Ridge’s soft brown eyes. “That is, if he’ll have me.”
“You mean it? You want to give us a try?”
“Us includes Ryan,” she noted. “Is that something you’re willing to try?”
“Try? You don’t have to ask, Abigail.” Ridge slipped his hands through her hair and tilted her head to kiss her.
The crowd began to cheer. Abigail wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and he lifted her from the ground to make their connection deeper, lasting and loving.
He looked aside to the secretary. “Are those papers completely burned?”
“They’re ash. I’m so sorry. We must have had an electrical malfunction. I’ll get you some new ones to fill out.”
“Nope. Not interested. Me and the wife have a family to take care of.”
They clasped hands and walked outside. Sitting on the bed of Ridge’s truck was Ryan. He saw them standing on the steps, hand in hand, and let out a hoot and gave them a thumbs-up.
“He’s a smart kid,” Ridge said.
“Just like his father. He’s going to be a handful too, like his father.”
“I’ll teach him to be a man, Abigail.”
“I know you will. He won’t have a better role model than you.”
“Thank you for letting this happen. Does this mean you’ll be my wife and we can do the family thing, and you’ll move in with me?”
“Hell, yes. But I want a real wedding first. Nothing fancy, just some flowers and—”
“And a ring. Girl’s gotta have a ring.”
“And about your werewolf…”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you need to bond with your wife, or something like that?”
“I do. You know what that involves. Knowing that, do you still want to be my wife?”
“Bring on your werewolf, lover boy.”
Epilogue
Ryan insisted on finishing out the school year in Switzerland, much to both Ridge and Abigail’s disappointment. He had friends there, and much as Ryan was eager to move back to Minnesota and spend time with his new family, he had wanted a chance to say goodbye to his friends. And he’d winked as he’d implied leaving his parents alone for a while might be okay with them.
Indeed, the boy had grown up.
Spring designed the full moon in gorgeous silver against a pale midnight sky. May was unseasonably warm, and Abigail didn’t have to tug a sweater over her arms as she walked out back behind the compound.
She liked living in the compound. There were three other pack members living there now, including Dean Maverick and his wife, Sunday, who had moved in last month. The familiar was a bit of a tomboy—she’d fixed Ridge’s truck after the accident—yet when Abigail suggested they drive into the city to shop at Macy’s, Sunday had eagerly agreed, mentioning shoes and silk scarves in one excited burst.
Abigail and Ridge had used this time with Ryan away to reignite the flame that had never died down, and it had only grown brighter and stronger each day. The Council was aware they were married, and made no comment, but she felt their approval. It was always a good thing when those from the paranormal nations married into different breeds, for acceptance was never a bad thing.
She was the werewolf’s wife. And she loved it. She loved him, every part of him, both wild and reserved.
And tonight, she intended to welcome his werewolf into her arms. She’d seen Ridge in his werewolf shape many times, and each time, though she knew his human mind shared space with his animal mind, he knew and respected her as no other being in this world had or would.
The grass was soggy from rain earlier in the day. She’d decided to pad out through the forest barefoot because it felt great to squish nature under her toes and let her hair down and surrender to it all. Ridge did not mind her penchant for skyclad while vacuuming one bit.
Witches were a part of nature; their magic relied heavily on the seasons, the earth elements and the tides of the moon. She’d let that close connection to nature slip away over the decades, and Ridge had brought her back with a new respect for all things wild and free. They couldn’t be more compatible.
The place she sought was a quiet cove set hundreds of yards into the birch forest Ridge had cleared of deadwood over the winter. She climbed over a rocky outcrop, and the glint of flame caught her eye. Candles?
Ahead sat the cove, which was covered in moss. Tonight, the rocks and ground glittered with candlelight as if a faerie fete. Ridge had lit dozens of candles.
“Romantic lug,” she muttered, and quickened her steps.
Blankets lay on the ground before a massive old oak they often sat beneath holding hands. Sometimes they more than held hands. Most of the time naked, yes, even in the winter. This was their lover’s retreat away from the world. It was protected by a spell she had placed in a fifty-yard perimeter. Others who wandered into the woods would be diverted without knowing they had been.
She stepped onto the blanket and heard a branch snap.
Tilting her head, she closed her eyes to listen. Soft
breathy huffs accompanied the sure footsteps of her husband. He walked up behind her. She stroked her fingers across the fur on his arm, drawing them to his paw.
The werewolf pressed his tall length along her back. Hot breaths panted against her neck. His fur was so soft. She tangled her fingers into it and clung. A talon tickled down her back, cutting open her dress until she felt his soft fur against her bare back and thighs.
He would take her in his werewolf form, and they would bond for the rest of their lives. And with luck, maybe tonight she would conceive his second child. She wanted to have half a dozen children with her husband; their own pack. The witch and the werewolf belonged together.
“I love you,” whispered the werewolf’s wife.
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781459226258
Copyright © 2012 by Michele Hauf
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
