by V. Vaughn
“Yes. Thank you. And that’s not what I wanted.”
Bitterness washed through him. “I could never give any of you what you wanted.” He reached for his glass on the table.
Snapping one hand forward to grab his wrist, Blaze stopped him. “I saw you that last Christmas Eve, when she told you to go. I’d sneaked downstairs to steal one of the Santa cookies and I heard everything.”
“Mijito…” Miguel bowed his head. “You must’ve been so angry. I’m sorry.”
Blaze shook his head. “At the time. But being with Annie, I get it now.”
“I know I hurt you, but I hurt your mother too. And I couldn’t make it right. Not then. Not now.” He turned his hand to match his son’s grip. “Don’t make that mistake with your Annie.”
“I didn’t and I won’t,” Blaze promised. “But it’s not too late for you either.” When Miguel drew a breath to explain, his son cleared his throat. “Okay, I know I just said I wish we’d talked more but it is late and it’s almost my turn to feed the twins.” He stood, hauling Miguel up with him. “Let’s go home.”
“I tried,” Miguel muttered. “She said go away.”
“Well, yeah. Let’s try my home.”
“You know all that money I put in your account?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow some? I’ll pay you back.”
Thanks to his son, he was able to leave Gypsy’s Roadhouse without Gypsy’s gimlet stare upon him. Shifter physiology being what it was, he'd sober up as soon as he stopped actively flooding his system with alcohol. But for the moment, he was drunk as a raven shifter on huckleberry wine, and he could only stare at Blaze blearily when his son poured him into the passenger seat of a Sunday Landscaping work truck. "I don't want your mate to see me like this," he murmured. "I hate that you're seeing me like this."
Blaze grinned at him, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "Annie only wakes up if the babies cry or I crinkle a cookie bag, so she won't see you till morning. Anyway, I seem to recall that you were the one who came for East and me after that unfortunate situation with the mama skunk and her sextuplets." He shuddered with theatrical intensity. "I still can't stand the smell of tomato juice."
Miguel leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, staring out as Blaze took them through the sleeping town to the row of streets that backed to the open desert. "That was the last summer I lived with you," he murmured. "Before your mother asked me to leave."
Blaze tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, not impatient but thoughtful. "You remember that."
"I remember it all. Every moment was precious to me."
"The twins aren't even a year old but the one thing they’ve taught me already is that every moment is a new beginning."
Miguel rolled his head to peer at his suddenly wise son. "And another chance to fail again."
Blaze chuckled. "That's the whiskey talking. A wolf gal will eat you alive if you waver, but if the bond is strong enough to drive you to drink, there's obviously still something between you and Mom."
Miguel stared out the window again. Something between them? Pups and pain. Years and yearning. Young love and old loss. Yes, something remained, but was it anything worth saving?
By the time they got to the small cottage where a single yard light illuminated the driveway and went inside, the whiskey was already wearing off. Blaze directed him to the bathroom to wash up—thankfully shifters always had a basket of extra toiletries along with the extra clothes—and when he returned to the living room, his son had tucked a sheet around the cushions of the couch and was laying out a blanket and pillow.
"Sorry, no guest bedroom yet. We want to get the bigger place farther out with more space, like you did for East and me when we were little. But that's a change for later. Wait here."
Miguel sank to the cushions, breathing in the gentle scents of milk, aloe, and the hauntingly familiar perfume of a lanolin lotion, the same one he'd bought for Solange to rub on her expanding skin and chafed nipples. He'd heard it worked wonders, though she'd never let him massage it on her. Had she bought it for Annie? Maybe in some small way he'd done something right back then.
Blaze emerged from the dark hallway, a sleepy twin in each arm. He passed them to Miguel on the couch. "That’s Micah on the left—your left—and Kyle on the right. Hold them while I warm up some bottles."
They looked more like owls than babies, all big blinking eyes over their white onesies as they studied their grandfather in the soft LED glow of the foot-tall potted Christmas tree on the side table. They were small for going on a year, but Blaze and Annie were both slighter framed, like him. Micah had a shock of pale blond hair sticking straight up while Kyle’s wispy locks were pitch-black. Kyle’s little nostrils flared, and then he smiled, flashing a few teeth.
“Yes, I know you too,” Miguel whispered. “Welcome to the pack, pequeñitos.”
Balancing two bottles, Blaze returned and plunked down on the couch. He traded one bottle for one boy. “We were just starting to night wean when they decided on a growth spurt. Just easier to get up and feed them than listen to the howling.”
“Shall we let them shift?” Miguel propped Micah in the crook of his arm. “Not so much burping with pups, and less chance of colic.”
Blaze lifted one eyebrow. “Sure.”
The presence of stable adults kept youngsters in their proper shape, depending on circumstances, but when Miguel let his wolf rise, little Micah blinked up at him with a glint of silver in his blue eyes. In a moment, he was holding an empty diaper and a squirming pup. Blaze laughed softly as they both juggled the insta-fluffbutts.
The contents of the bottles disappeared faster than Gypsy’s whisky, and the pups fell asleep like little drunkards, heads lolling back, tails limp, bellies sticking up.
“Do we shift them back?” Miguel whispered.
“Nah. They’ll be up early, and I’ll let them whiz in the backyard before the neighbors wake.” Blaze tucked one pup under each arm, then paused. “It’s nice to have you here, Dad.”
“It’s good to be here.” Miguel watched his son pad down the hall, puppy tails bobbing behind him. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling Blaze back, to tell him to memorize these everyday moments, to make sure he was doing everything he could to get this right. Blaze didn’t need the reminder, obviously—he was doing great.
The question was…could an old wolf learn a new trick?
5
On Christmas Eve morning, Solange put the corn husks and sultanas in hot water to soak for tamales de dulce and checked the slow-roasting wild turkey, and then she got to work attacking the veggies. Easton had said leftovers would be fine, so she’d make sure to have plenty.
The menu was plenty of distraction too. Ever since that night, she’d been prickly with nerves. Every creak of the house made her jump, and every flicker outside the windows could be a monster at her door.
She’d yanked the curtains closed, refusing to be spied on, so it was some surprise when she went out to the side yard to dump her compost and found a thick blanket of white softening the sharp high desert landscape. She peered up at the silver-gray sky. How long had it been snowing? All night, at least. Against the stark white, the pinion and juniper were a dark contrast, only the tiny blue berries and her adobe wall providing any color.
Dismay set her back on her heels. The kids couldn’t come out in weather like this, and the low clouds promised even more snow.
She was stuck too.
Well, she wouldn’t starve anyway. Maybe she should freeze the Buche de Noel if she was going to be by herself for the holiday. But a yule log cake just wasn’t the same for New Year’s.
With a disgruntled huff, she added her veggie clippings to the bin and went back inside. The hacienda was too far out for a landline—and for years she’d avoided talking to people—but the cell phone had added a thin line of connection. Sometimes. When the signal bounced right.
She dug through her purse, f
ound the phone, realized it wasn’t charged, plugged it in, got one bar, and sent a quick text to the boys: Too stormy. Don’t drive. Merry Christmas.
There. Better safe than stuck.
Donning her heaviest winter gear, she went back outside and walked around the hacienda, checking the power grid after sweeping off the solar panels, and making sure the outdoor spigots were properly secured. Since she’d winterized already, everything was fine. Except she was alone for the holidays.
Seeing Miguel had dredged up that last awful Christmas Eve when she’d told him the only gift she wanted was to be rid of her wolf. But she hadn’t meant him. Or…maybe she had, but she’d said it in a moment of frustration and sadness, feeling isolated from her big family because of her secrets, trapped with wolf pups in the desert, with a mate who watched her with quiet, sorrowful eyes—and loved her no matter how much she raged at him.
How much of her loneliness had she brought upon herself? She’d kept that chilly silence wrapped around her for protection—and for pride. Discovering that Miguel had lied to her had horrified and hurt her, though in the end she’d hurt herself too.
But how could she forgive him for the betrayal or herself for the anger? Could she melt the distance between them when she’d been the one to freeze him out for so long? Or should she finally let him go and let the next generation heal the wounds that had bled for twenty years?
With the storm just getting started, she could easily be snowed in for a week, so maybe with the new year she’d think about a new beginning.
Keeping one eye on the sky, she topped off the generator—just in case—and headed back for the shelter of the walled garden. At the door, she paused, listening. Even with all her senses on alert, the growl of an engine barely reached her over the restless huff of the wind. Surely the boys had known better than to try to make it out to her.
She circled to the front drive, lost the sound of the engine, and circled back around through the drifting snow to see a large UTV skirting the arroyo.
Something leaped in her, a feeling so warm she almost needed to unzip her parka.
Damn the wolf.
She wasn’t sure if she meant hers or Miguel.
He was standing straight up in the open-top, two-seat UTV—one hand on the wheel, the other braced on the roll bar—his head on a swivel as he scanned the changed landscape. But he'd always been like that: responsible, conscientious, vigilant. It was only with her that he made such a terrible mistake in judgment. Young and stupid, she'd accused.
In love, he'd countered.
Which one mattered more? Could one make up for the other?
Her wolf felt the moment he spotted her, still a distance away. The beast in her knew he was watching, knew he was coming to her. It pulled hard at the leash she'd kept on it all these years. She stiffened. She wasn't going to make another mistake—the same mistake—just because of lust and loneliness.
Whatever he might want to say to her, she'd make her own choices this time.
Widening her stance against the wind and the shiver in her bones, she waited as he guided the four-wheeler toward her.
As he got closer, she focused on what had to be the world's ugliest Christmas knit stocking cap. The white faux-fur ruff encircled his head like a snow cloud, and the long tail trailing out behind him ended in another puff. Gold glitter snowflakes decorated the length, like a little sparkle of sunlight in the storm.
But as he got closer, his expression, tight and concerned, put her on alert. "What are you doing here?" she demanded when he was close enough and throttled down. "What's wrong?"
"You're alone?" His gaze whipped around the yard.
A chill at his obvious worry and a rush of heat that he seemed to care crashed inside her, leaving her unbalanced. She scowled. "It's fine. I don't need everyone here just because it's Christmas Eve—"
"So Easton and Dena aren't here?" He settled back onto the UTV seat with a thump. "I found one of Dena’s cousin's truck bogged down a little ways from the highway. I hoped they'd made it here."
The icy chill surged over her again, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "I texted them not to come."
He nodded. "Blaze told me. And he tried to reach East, but they were with Dena's cousins and Blaze isn't sure they got the message. I borrowed this rig from the Sunday work vehicles to see if I could catch them."
She spun on her heel. "I'll get my truck—"
In a flash, he was out of the four-wheeler and her side. "No. The snow has drifted too deep in places for the truck. I'll stay out looking, but you should stay at the house in case they make it here."
She shook her head hard. "No way. I'm going with you. You can't watch the road and look for them if they're…" She kept shaking her head. "I'm going with you."
After a heartbeat, a wistful smile quirked his lips. "And you always get what you want."
She’d wanted him, from the very start. How little had she listened to him when he’d told her he was different from anyone she’d known, when he’d told her she would be different? She already knew he was different, because he made her feel things no one else ever had—desire and delight, dawning like the first light of Christmas day.
She’d wanted that feeling forever, and so she went after him like a beast on the hunt.
Only she’d been the one caught.
“I want to find the kids,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Is the stove off?”
Grumbling, she ran inside. When she returned, he slung a bulging messenger bag over her shoulder. “I grabbed a few things from the house.”
At least one blanket, she guessed, from the bulk. If—when—they found the kids, Miguel would have them covered, literally. “I wrapped up some hot food too.” She climbed into the passenger seat of the utility task vehicle.
To think she’d been reluctant to authorize the purchase since it seemed more like a toy than work equipment. If—when—they found Easton and Dena, she’d get Sunday Landscaping another one.
Miguel revved the engine. “I followed the road from where I found their borrowed truck to here, so we’ll go back as the crow flies.”
“Easton might not have the experience to travel overland, especially in a storm,” Solange fretted. He’d only reconnected with his own wolf once he’d started seeing Dena last Christmas. “If anything happens because I kept him from his wolf—”
Miguel put one hand over hers. “Dena knows this land better than any of us.”
But Dena was very pregnant, which would put her at a disadvantage. So late in gestation, it would be almost impossible for her to shift herself and the baby without risk.
The snow swirled around them, limiting visibility, drifting dangerously, and making even the heavy-duty studded tires spin helplessly a few times.
Strangely, it made the enclosure of the UTV cage feel almost intimate, kind of cozy. Well, except for the blowing snow, the cold, and the fear for their kids. But sometimes it seemed as if hard work and common troubles had kept them together more than love.
She slanted a quick glance at him before returning her attention to the whitewashed desert. Even as she looked for anything out of the ordinary, Miguel burned dark and intense in her mind’s eye.
He was bundled up almost as well as she was—he’d wrapped the long tail of his ugly hat around his neck like a scarf—but somehow she still saw him. Past the heavy winter layers, past the dark fur he’d flashed in her kitchen, past even the naked skin that had tempted her to sin again.
She’d accused him of lying to her, but… Though he’d hidden what he was, she’d always known who he was.
Her choice was simple: Never forget how he’d hurt her and let him go, or forgive him and move on.
The growl of the engine distracted her as Miguel throttled down. She sat beside him—she’d been standing the whole time, trying to get an extra few feet of perspective. “Why are we stopping?”
“There’s a shallow ridge with a drop-off just ahead. I don’t want to fa
ll over the edge. And in this whiteout, if they were coming this way, I’m worried they came to the wall and didn’t realize they were getting pushed off course.”
She pressed both gloved hands over her mouth, holding back a cry of frustration, as she looked both ways. Snowy desert in all directions. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her lap. “If…if you shifted, could you catch their scent?”
He retrieve a thermos from an insulated bag near their feet and held it out to her. “If I could, I would in a heartbeat. This wind is too strong for tracking.” When she took the thermos and drank—the water wasn’t warm, but compared to the air it seemed heated—he let out a slow breath that curled in the air before it was whipped away. “So, left or right?”
Oh, the one time she didn’t want to make a choice… She handed him the thermos and contemplated while he drank. “Easton is from California,” she said as he capped the container. “Go left.”
Despite the uncertainty, Miguel chuckled and started to spin the wheel.
“His left,” she corrected as she stood again.
“Right.”
“No, left.”
He sidelonged a glance up at her, but she just gave him a look.
“Mi vida loca,” he muttered.
Turning that direction put the wind mostly at their backs which felt more comfortable—or at least less stinging—but she knew it would be even less likely for him to catch any whiff of a scent. What if she was wrong? What if Easton and Dena had gone the other way? Or maybe they’d even gone back toward the road, hoping to flag down some other crazy Christmas driver.
“Go faster,” she urged Miguel. “As fast as you can.”
He didn’t question her, just pushed the UTV to its top speed. Up on this little ridge, the wind had worn away the snow so the wheels churned over the frozen sandy soil. As they bounced across broken chunks of sage, she held on fast to the roll bar. If they overturned, her wolf would help protect her from the worst damage.
