“I think they’re just beautiful,” she said warmly. “And they match the gloves perfectly.” She waved a pair of genuine hand-made pigskin gloves at him.
He forced a smile to his face. “They do look warm,” he managed past his fury. That rich bastard Bascom had easily put a month’s wages on Amber’s hands. And the same again on her feet.
“They are,” she said happily. “And they are so soft. I love the color too. They’re perfect.” She glowed like a kid at Christmas.
“It’s a good red.” He gave her a boost into his truck.
“But I’ll treasure them mostly because of the giver,” she murmured shyly.
He gaped at her. She was blushing. It dawned on him that she believed he was the provider of the snappy red boots and exquisitely expensive gloves. He was tempted to let her go on thinking that. But sooner or later, Bascom would claim credit for his gift. He backed out of his parking space and got a grip on his temper.
“Hang on one minute, Amber. Don’t say another word. I didn’t buy those boots and gloves for you. Which is not to say I don’t wish I had, but I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?” She sounded almost in tears. “But I got them muddy.”
“Only a touch around the soles. The mud has mostly frozen. They still look fine.”
“I can’t send them back with mud in the treads.”
“Why would you send them back?” he asked. He turned onto the main drive that led to the road to town. Amber didn’t seem to notice that he had bypassed the turnoff to her cabin.
“I can’t keep such an expensive present when I don’t know who the sender is,” she wailed. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
It was almost amusing. If it hadn’t pissed him off so much. Who but his Amber still cared about such things? She might almost have been raised in the South. “You said yourself you got them muddy and will have to hang onto them. Are you sure you can’t think who would slap down a credit card to buy you expedition-quality boots?” he hinted.
“It wasn’t Heather.”
“No?”
“No. I called. And, I forgot to tell you, Lance. There’s awful news. Stella’s sick.” Her voice broke.
“Hey. Hey. It’s going to be okay. Stella is in a good hospital. She’ll be fine. What did Heather say?”
“That they were giving her antibiotics in a drip. Another tube. That poor little scrap is stuck like a p-p-pincushion.” Amber’s tears came then.
He handed her a box of tissues from the dashboard. “Blow your nose. It’s been a long, hard day, but we’re going into town to eat the blue plate special at the diner.”
“Are we?”
“We are. And then I thought we could buy some groceries, in case you felt like cooking me lunch tomorrow.” Take that, Calvin Bascom.
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose defiantly. “Thank you. I’d like that – supper and groceries both. If only I knew who to thank for these boots.”
“Calvin.”
“Calvin? Why would Calvin Bascom buy me boots and gloves?” She was genuinely, totally surprised. And not very happy.
“Look in the mirror,” he teased.
“I’ve looked,” she shot back. “Nothing special there. Calvin dates supermodels and actresses. What would he want with me?”
“What any red-blooded man would want when he meets a girl as sweet and pretty as you.”
“You think I’m sweet and pretty?” she asked.
He sneaked a look at her rosy cheeks and downcast lashes. Sweet, innocent and fresh as flowers in a field. “As jonquils in the springtime,” he assured her.
“What are jonquils?” she asked.
“Daffodils.”
“Oh, thank you.” But her pleased smiled didn’t last. She sighed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“If Calvin gave me these things, I can’t keep them. It wouldn’t be right to accept such expensive presents from a man I’m not related to.”
It would serve that poaching bastard right if she threw his damned expensive presents in his face. But Amber needed those boots and she wanted them. “Seems to me Calvin is kinfolk. His first cousin is married to your sister. Calvin and Patrick are closer than brothers. Raised together, by what I hear. That would practically make him your brother-in-law.”
“It still doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what my Aunt Debbie would say,” she fretted.
“Not your mamma?”
“My mother died when Heather and I were real little.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard. What about your daddy?”
“He died before we were born.”
He clucked his tongue. “So who raised you?”
“Lots of people. Mostly we lived with my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Marlene. And sometimes with my Grandma Shirley. But Aunt Debbie is my favorite aunt and always gives us good advice. Come to think of it, she’s a Bascom too.”
“Is she?” Lance asked.
“Yeah, she married Cal and Patrick’s Uncle Gilbert*.”
“Oh. Yeah. I knew that. So Debbie Bascom is your aunt?”
“Yup. French Town is a very small place.”
“Hmm. Well now, what do you think your Aunt Debbie would say about those boots and gloves? My own grandma would say that as long as they were a gift from a relative, you should accept them with thanks.”
“Would she?”
Lance chuckled. “She would. And she would advise you to write Mr. Calvin Bascom a nice prim note on your best paper and send it to him right away, so he didn’t get any misplaced ideas.”
He sneaked a look at her. Amber’s eyes were round. “She would?”
“My grandma is an old-fashioned Southern lady. When my sisters got to be old enough to think about beaux, she gave them each boxes of pale blue writing paper with their names engraved at the top, so they could write letters of thanks for any little thing they received.”
“Gosh. I don’t think I’ve even got a notepad.” She sounded worried, of all things.
“We’ll go to the drugstore.” Lance Prescott, Boy Scout and etiquette adviser to orphans. If his buddies in Recon could see him now.
She visibly cheered up. “Okay. What should my letter say?”
“That you are grateful for his kindness in providing such a useful gift. That you like the boots and gloves and wish the sender good health.”
“Sounds a little stuffy.”
“That, my dear, is the whole idea.”
At last she giggled. “I don’t know why Calvin Bascom even wants to look at me.”
“Maybe he sees how happy your sister has made his best friend, and wants that too.”
“How happy Heather has made Patrick?” she parroted.
“Yes. Hasn’t she?”
“I never thought of it like that. I mean, I always think more of whether Patrick could or is making Heather happy.”
“Marriage is a two-way street. I’d say a man who picks up and moves himself across country for a woman is dead set on making her happy.”
“Huh. Well, Calvin Bascom is too namby-pamby for me. For gosh sakes, he plucks his eyebrows.”
“So he does. But honestly, Amber, here we sit, two people who make our livings trimming stray hairs from the fetlocks of horses. Plucked eyebrows don’t seem much different. Or like much of a crime.”
“Well, he also waxes his chest!”
That made him laugh. “I did that once,” he told her.
“Really?” She was genuinely shocked.
“Really. Hurt like being painted with fire.”
“Oh. But why?”
“I wanted a tattoo. The artist told me to get waxed first.” He shook his head. “Talk about your pain and suffering to be beautiful.”
“You have a tattoo on your chest?”
He felt the blood in his face. But he had started this. “I do.”
“What is it?”
“Well, you have to understand, I was nineteen. Proud as punch of my first promotion. Bunch of us guy
s had been drinking. Went to a tattoo parlor. I wanted the Marine insignia across my manly chest. The artist must have been blind drunk. I wound up with a big brown bear with a rose in her mouth.”
“You have a brown bear on your chest?” She sounded not shocked but astonished.
“She’s really a black bear – but she has – had – cinnamon colored fur. And a big red rose in her mouth.” He laughed. “It’s not as silly looking as it sounds, but it’s a good thing my chest hair thickened up.” Not that there was much left of either the tat or the hair.
Her blue eyes were like saucers. Her grin about to split her face. “I can’t wait to see that.” Sounded like she meant it too. Not that his chest was any kind of sight for a young lady.
*Bearly Beloved
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Calvin~
The look on Amber’s face when she saw those nasty old boots were gone was utterly priceless. He had come into the vestibule in time to hear her wondering if she should keep her boots and gloves if she didn’t know who had sent them. By now, Patrick should have told Heather she had.
It was the work of a moment to slip outside and throw those boots into the dumpster and cover them up. Not as if there was much holding those worn soles on. The stitching was shot. So was the waterproofing. Even after a whole day of drying indoors, they were still soaking wet.
Amber was risking frostbite and arthritis by working in wet socks and thin worn out gloves in subfreezing temperatures. She would be far more comfortable in those waterproof boots he had found online. FedEx had done a splendid job of delivering them on time.
The only fly in the ointment was that while he was spying on her, Prescott had scooped up the girl and taken her home. Not that she seemed any too eager for Calvin’s company. What he ought to have done was found some job that would have kept Prescott working late. But he hadn’t, so he might as well head home.
The big house was warm and welcoming. Rosa was making dinner in the kitchen and had a kiss and a hug for him. Dad was relaxing in the living room with Laura and Steve and a pair of women. Strangers, for all they had glasses of wine in their hands. The twins were asleep in matching bassinets, but when he would have picked Kenny up Laura warned him off with a hard look.
“She just got them down,” whispered Steve.
“Hey, Cal,” Dad called. “Come meet our new vets. Dr. Amanda Arruta, and Dr. Sophia Franklin.”
Calvin smiled as the women stood up. Extended his hand. Shook. “Veterans or veterinarians?”
“Both,” said Dr. Arruta briskly. “At least I am.” She was a sturdy, capable looking female with short, no-nonsense dark hair and incongruous dimples in her rather severe face. Her crisp navy tunic and pants looked like a uniform.
Arruta eyed him critically from head to toe and found him wanting. “Your father tells me you’re in the Reserves.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Major. Marine Corps. Retired.” Scorn tautened her features. Arruta sat down.
Dr. Franklin looked softer. Sleeker. Her blonde hair was worn loose around her shoulders. She was wearing makeup. Not a lot, but enough to give her rosy cheeks and long lashes. Her camel-colored slacks were set off by a chocolate turtleneck. She smiled at him, shook hands and sat back down. She sipped at her wine glass.
His nose told him Arruta was a grizzly bear and Franklin a mountain lion. Lioness. What was up with that? In Clive’s day, the no-shifter rule had been strictly enforced. But Laura was a changed woman since her marriage.
Laura raised her glass of sparkling water. “Amanda and Sophia are going to split Dad’s workload,” she announced. “Welcome to the Double B, ladies. I hope you will both be happy here.”
Calvin found a glass and poured himself some of the red the veterinarians were drinking. “Welcome.” So these were the vets who were going to give Dad the time be a grandfather and granduncle. He was on board with that, whether or not they were shifters.
Laura began to inquire about their accommodations – they were apparently staying in the main house until their apartments in town were ready. In the buzz of conversation Cal moved over to admire the twins. Bigger every day. Not like Patrick’s three. Steve wandered over and indicated he wanted to talk. They slipped away to Steve’s office.
“So what do you think of our new horse doctors?” Steve asked when the door was shut.
“They seem fine. At least Dr. Franklin does. Maj. Arruta must just have woken up cranky from hibernation. But I thought they weren’t due for another week.”
Steve laughed. “Arruta pulled rank on me too. I don’t mind. Must be hard being a Latina working a male-dominated profession like large animal husbandry.”
“Maybe. More likely she thinks only Marines are real service people.”
“Could be. They’re here early because Freddie and I put our heads together and figured out what their former employers wanted in order to release them early.”
“Which was?” Cal asked curiously.
“Moses Bingley wanted to breed his championship Angus to Laura’s Evergreen Boy. And Colorado Agricultural Products is run by a good old boy who wanted a donation to the CU football team. The ladies settled for a month’s pay as a bonus for hurrying up their move.”
“Win-win,” Cal agreed. “That what you hauled me away from my niece and nephew to say?”
“Hell, no. I wanted to tell you what I found out about Lancelot Jefferson Prescott.”
“Lance-fucking-lot?” What the hell kind of sissy name was that?
Steve laughed. “Good Southern name.”
Calvin threw himself into a chair. “What about him?” Maybe Steve had found the goods on that fortune hunting bastard.
Steve picked up a printout. “Born and raised in Falkirk, Tennessee. Enlisted in the Marines after high school. Spent four years in Recon.”
Calvin’s brows rose. Recon was the Marine Corps most elite group. You didn’t make Recon without some serious commitment and training, and balls of steel.
“Had one too many missions. Was badly injured on the last one. Blown to hell and gone. That’s when his eye was damaged. He got a medical discharge and sent home with a chestful of medals. Psychiatrists expected him to eat his gun.”
Calvin wasn’t about to ask how Steve had gotten a look at Prescott’s military records, let alone his medical charts, both of which should have been confidential. “Guess he wasn’t that hungry,” Calvin said. Well, didn’t that suck? Lance was a genuine US hero.
Steve nodded. “There were incidents, however, at home in Falkirk. Police were called. No charges, but his wife left him, sued for divorce, and married his first cousin.”
“Christ on a crutch. What a thing to do!”
“That’s when he came out to Colorado. Left his job at the Falkirk distillery and signed on at the Double B.” Steve folded the paper and stuck it in a drawer.
“Falkirk. Falkirk. Why does that ring a bell?” Calvin asked frowning.
“Bourbon.” Steve walked over to a shelf and handed Cal the bottle of amber liquid he removed.
Cal read the label. Whistled. Twenty-year-old Falkirk. “Is Lance related to these Prescotts?”
“Grandson of Thomas Jefferson Prescott, President and former CEO of Prescott Distilleries. And the founder and owner of Prescott Horse Farms.”
“Son of a gun.” Cal poured himself two fingers of the bourbon. “You want some?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“So he comes from money?” Cal asked.
“Seems to. Not that he’s any long-lost heir. The present CEO of Prescott Distilleries is Thomas John known as Tommy Jack. He’s the cousin who married Lance’s ex. I can find out if Lance has a trust fund, if you want.”
“Nah. Don’t bother. If Prescott wanted money he’d be in Tennessee kissing ass.” Shift. Shift. And double dang. Not a fortune hunter. Just a certified military hero.
“I guess we’ve got an explanation for why he’s so great at training horses,” Steve said. “Laura figure
d him for a natural, but it looks as though he’s been around them all his life.”
“Yeah,” Cal said sourly. All his fucking life. Prescott Horse Farms were justly famed for their thoroughbreds. Year after year, they raised the two- and three-year-olds that won the big races and the most coveted prizes in American horse racing.
They went out to join the others at the dinner table. Where, after two hours of being patronized by Dr. Arruta, and watching her turn on the charm for his father, he finally excused himself to go keep watch on Amber’s cottage. Shift and damn.
It was colder than a witch’s hind tit tonight. The Chinook had churned the soil into mud that had frozen solid when the wind changed. He couldn’t see or smell any trace of snake, although he didn’t think this surface would take a print. And this dry windy air didn’t hold odors well.
He returned to his tree. Amber’s house was dark. He got settled just in time to see Prescott’s old truck rattle up to the cabin. Prescott escorted her to her front door, they had a little conversation and then she invited him in. At least she was wearing his warm boots. But Prescott was the one going inside.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Lance~
In Success, they had bought groceries and a box of note cards that would not have found any favor with Grandmother Prescott. Too casual. But the flowers on the front had appealed to Amber, and naturally enough there were no boxes of heavy laid-vellum writing paper in the Success drugstore.
Their dinner conversation had roamed around, but had not come back to Bascom’s gift. All in all it had been a successful date. He thought Amber had enjoyed herself. And she certainly had needed warmer boots and gloves. He just wished he was willing to spend Tommy Jeff’s money. But not even for Amber would he touch a penny.
He parked the truck as close to Amber’s cabin as he could. The ground was frozen solid, so he had no excuse to carry her tonight. But perhaps he could make an occasion. He did get to take her elbow when she skidded on a patch of ice clinging to a boulder freshly exposed by the thaw and freeze. Be still my heart.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
“I would. But I don’t think you are ready for what I want,” he replied with probably too much honesty. But last night’s dream had kept him buzzed all day.
Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 8) Page 16
