“Are you all right?” It was Fina’s voice, muffled by the room and the hallway that separated her bedroom from Owen’s. Despite that he heard the anxiety in her tone.
“How’s Sheriff Timberman’s family taking it?” This was Nath’s voice. He didn’t sound groggy. Huh. Guess Owen wasn’t the only one not sleeping tonight.
Owen heard Cutler’s response but tuned it out. Things whispered in the dark between mates were nobody’s business but their own.
For a moment he envied Fina’s good fortune. Then he remembered how every single one of his relationships had failed. A long time ago he’d figured out he had no gift for being a mate. He’d spent too many years without a pack, hiding who he was. What he was. Now he was a were by birthright only and content to live that way.
He picked up Fina’s voice again. It sounded less tight, like whatever Cutler said had made her feel better. Then she sighed—a warm, feminine sound of pleasure. Cutler and Nath made similar masculine sounds and when they did Owen deliberately tuned all of them out.
Fina was an extraordinary woman. This pack was lucky to have her. The three weres down the hall would be getting married this summer. Of course the state paperwork would list only Cutler’s name as groom but the people that mattered, their pack, knew both brothers were equally her mates. Personally Owen couldn’t imagine an Alpha giving up one of his privileges.
Any Alpha he’d known would kill another male who so much as touched their mate. It looked like Fina had found a mate as extraordinary as herself. Two of them.
Wyoming was working out well for Fina. She’d made a good life here for herself and for Ryan. Owen knew the same couldn’t be said for him. He liked the place well enough. The weres he’d met in Cutler’s pack were good people. Despite that Owen had already decided he’d move on in a month or so. Find a pack he could live on the outskirts of and join in a run now and then. Find a job he liked doing, a friend or two and maybe a few frisky females who’d get off on his size and rogue persona.
When the bedframe down the hall started rocking Owen put his pillow over his head and willed himself to sleep.
Chapter Three
“Turn here, Owen.” Ryan sat up straight in his booster seat and pointed at the roadside café Owen was just about to drive past. Owen flicked on his turn signal and slowed down. The big Ford F250 he’d bought in Tennessee obeyed with a smoothness that belied the power humming beneath the hood. He’d fallen in love with the vehicle as soon as he’d cranked the ignition on the dealer lot and had written a check faster than a were on a speed date.
“Why here?” The café had a country charm to it, a big play area and an even bigger parking lot. That parking lot was surprisingly full considering the place was a couple miles away from the interstate.
“Let’s have chicken for lunch. You said you’d get lunch, right?”
“Huh,” Owen grunted as he pulled into a parking spot and killed the ignition. “What you’re saying is you’ve tasted my cooking.”
Ryan didn’t answer and was uncharacteristically quiet as he undid his seatbelt. Owen took that as a yes. After they’d stepped out of the vehicle Ryan took Owen’s hand and tugged.
“Playground first,” he insisted and led Owen over to the tall swing set. He claimed the middle swing and started pumping his skinny legs. “Push me, Owen. Really high.”
Owen couldn’t remember the last time he’d pushed a pup on a swing. Maybe he never had. He positioned himself behind Ryan and tried anyway.
“Higher. No, higher,” Ryan repeated, annoyance creeping into his voice. No doubt about it, the kid was the natural-born son of a Beta.
“Give me a break. I’m new at this.”
Ryan sighed loud enough for Owen to hear but didn’t criticize him again. The first gentle pushes made Owen a little surer of himself. He pushed a little harder then a little harder still. “Tell me when it’s high enough.” Holding his breath, Owen took two steps back. The arc of the swing now required it. After another couple of pushes he had to lift his hands higher to reach the swing. Then higher.
Ryan laughed…a sound of uncontained joy. “A bit more,” he called out and curved his back so he could throw his whole body into the next upward swing.
Owen wasn’t sure his nerves could take more. The kid was already sailing ten feet off the ground at the apex of each arc and Owen could only catch him partway down. Then Ryan laughed again. The strain in Owen’s chest eased at the thrill and exhilaration in his cousin’s voice. He pushed again, a little harder than before, then stepped aside and watched Ryan’s face—red, sweaty and smiling as he threw his body back and forth, pumping his legs for all he was worth. Owen smiled too and stepped beneath Ryan when the momentum of the swing lagged. He pushed again. And again.
After what felt like a long time Ryan dropped his legs and dragged the soles of his running shoes over the sand beneath the swing set. Stepping aside, Owen broadened his focus, surprised he hadn’t felt a compulsion to scent the area in a good fifteen minutes. When Ryan jumped off the swing Owen followed him over to the monkey bars then hovered while Ryan did his best to defy the laws of gravity.
The strain in Owen’s chest came back and hung on tight.
“Time to pick up lunch and get going,” Owen finally ordered. “There’s milk in the truck, remember? We told Fina we were just going into town to pick up a few things.”
Ryan shot him a look of defiance full-grown men carrying assault rifles hadn’t dared. When Owen cocked a brow and glared Ryan backed down wordlessly. He climbed off the monkey bars, took Owen’s hand and leaned his forehead into Owen’s hip. For a moment Owen held himself still. Then he cupped the back of Ryan’s neck and accepted the pup’s nuzzling. It felt weird to his human self but his inner wolf recognized the apology in the bonding gesture. Owen didn’t step away until Ryan did. Even then Ryan still held his hand and put his weight into dragging Owen over to the café entrance.
A sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot.
“Hey, Suzanne,” Ryan called out. He let go of Owen and ran over to the driver’s side. “What’re you doing here?”
“It’s Tuesday.” The voice was confident and obscenely cheerful and it said Tuesday like that somehow explained everything. It was also very, very feminine.
The owner of the voice stepped out of the cruiser and Owen felt his brow and the corner of his mouth go up.
“Everybody at the station pitches in and we have chicken for lunch.”
“Us too,” Ryan said and smiled up at the deputy sheriff as she ruffled his hair in passing. “Not Cutler though. He’s helping Mr. Amos’ pack. Somebody died.”
“Yeah.” Her attention zeroed in on Owen and stayed there. “So I heard. That’s sad news. Who’s this?”
She moved closer, subtly positioning herself between Ryan and Owen—who she was checking out like he was a face on a wanted poster. The challenge, the sizing up of him in her expression and body language were unmistakable. Still wearing a deliberately crooked smile, Owen leaned back on his heels, crossed his arms over his chest and looked back just as hard as she was looking at him. He saw it the instant recognition hit her. When she saw the similarities between him and Ryan—hair, eyes, nose. Despite that she continued to position herself between him and his little cousin.
“That’s Owen. He’s a soldier. We used to email all the time but he lives here now.”
“Here?” The suspicion in her voice was unmistakable. Her earlier cheerfulness was replaced with a cool, in-command tone.
“At the ranch,” Ryan answered. “With me, Fina, Cutler and Nath.”
Owen sized her up openly and without apology. The brown shirt and standard tan pants with the dark-brown stripes down the outsides of her legs did nothing to disguise a face and body that had his inner wolf jumping forward to get closer and butting its head against the barriers Owen erected around it. She smelled like vanilla, cinnamon and sun-warmed skin. The smile on Owen’s face kicked up a notch. This was a prime bitch, ripe a
nd worthy.
Down boy, he muttered to his inner self and added a gentle nudge to his wolf’s ribs to get his point across.
The female carried a gun on her right hip. Now that was hot.
Blonde and blue-eyed, she sported a set of drool-worthy breasts. She had a radiant, perfectly oval face and straight, brilliant teeth.
Damn. His appreciation for law enforcement just went up a notch. But her overt suspicion was starting to piss him off. “Yes, I’m a male outsider.” Owen answered the questions he felt hovering behind those beautiful, critical eyes. “I’m also here on your Alpha’s invite, living in the Alpha and top bitch’s home. See, this is why I don’t like being around packs. Everybody assumes you’re going to undercut their business and hump their women. Not necessarily in that order.”
Ryan peeked around Suzanne and stared up at Owen in amazement. The woman started grilling him.
“Where are you from? Where’s your pack?” That spectacular body was now planted firmly between him and Ryan.
“Eastfield. Tennessee.” That shut her up for about a second and a half. Last May, while he was in Iraq, his small pack in Eastfield had been massacred by rogue weres. Only Ryan and Fina had survived…and Fina had been lucky to get away alive.
“How long do you intend to stay here?”
She was getting pissy and Owen figured it was time to get pissy right back. “I know packs don’t take kindly to stray males but if you’d use your head instead of letting your prejudices jerk you around, Blondie—”
“Blondie?” The outrage in her voice made it shrill. One hand got real close to the baton looped on her belt and her fingers actually twitched.
“What?” Owen snarled. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to be rude? Like I said, Blondie, Cutler and Nath invited me to stay awhile.” He planted his hands on his hips and leaned over her. At six-two he was over a half-foot taller than her. “Listen. I’ve been handed enough bullshit from the Taliban to last a lifetime. I don’t need any fresh on the stick from the likes of you.”
Owen had risen to the rank of Sergeant First Class before retiring. Dressing down insubordinates had been his special gift.
“And don’t even bother reaching for that baton or those handcuffs. I haven’t done anything wrong and besides, you’re acting like a were challenging another were. Not a law-enforcement officer doing her job.”
Color rose in those smooth cheeks of hers. The sight of it satisfied him…and made him ease off. A little.
Owen continued to bark at her though. “So unless there’s some other reason you’re sniffing around me the way you are, we’ll be going.” The pointed up-and-down look he gave her made the corners of her mouth lift in an unmistakable snarl. “I’d wish you a good day but I’m not feeling that charitable all of a sudden. I wonder why.”
He stepped around her, took Ryan’s hand and headed for the café.
“Owen,” Ryan called out. He sounded as outraged as the woman had. “You were mean to her.”
“Yeah well she started it.”
“Cutler says men are supposed to treat women nice.”
“She’s not a woman,” Owen growled as he opened the door for Ryan. “She’s an anti-personnel device in a D-cup.”
“What’s a D-cup?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
That evening, after Ryan was in bed, the adults sat around the living room. During a break in the hockey game on the flatscreen, Cutler stood. “I need to talk to you, Owen. In private. It’ll only take a minute.”
Owen followed the big sheriff into the room they used as an office.
Cutler was the same height as Owen. Two years younger, Cutler had regulation-short brown hair…which he was running his fingers through so hard Owen worried he was about to yank a patch of it out.
“This investigation into Ed Timberman’s murder is making me crazy,” Cutler said as he crossed over to an antique cabinet set against the wall.
“Any leads?”
“Nothing,” Cutler answered with a harshness that was unusual for him. He was an Alpha and could be as volatile as any of them but he was also calm, centered and confident. “Some partial tire tracks, a voice recording from a disposable cell and a chewed-up bullet fragment.” He swore under his breath then opened a drawer. “Not to change the subject but I wanted to personally invite you to our next pack run. Two nights from now. The day before Ed’s funeral.”
Cutler reached into the drawer. From where he stood Owen saw the neatly stacked cardboard boxes inside. They were small, each maybe four inches square. Cutler lifted one of the boxes out, opened it and pulled out the silver case inside. “The pack needs a run,” Cutler added absently. “I hope you’ll come.”
The boxes were arranged in three different stacks and when Cutler opened two more boxes Owen realized they each contained a different style of silver case. One was ornate with fine filigree work and scrolling, one simple, one in between.
“I remember my time in the military.” Cutler was looking over the silver boxes in his hand like he was trying to decide something. His expression was tense, making it obvious he wasn’t enjoying what he was doing. “How hard it was to find opportunities to run in my fur. For me, that was on furlough mostly.”
Owen nodded.
“I met some weres in the military,” Cutler continued. “Not many but some. Good men. We’d get together and run whenever we could, which wasn’t often.” He glanced back at Owen, smiled thinly then resumed picking over the silver boxes. “Some of them I still count amongst my best friends.”
Finally Cutler chose the plain box and put the others back. “Ed was a simple man. He was fierce about what was right and wrong and I’d like to think he died because of those beliefs. Whoever killed him has got nothing to worry about from human justice. It’s pack justice that’ll take him down in ways that redefine pain.” Cutler snarled and the muted voices in the family room fell silent. With visible effort he lowered his shoulders, closed up the cabinet and turned back to Owen. His eyes, an aqua Owen had always thought way too pretty for a man, reflected anger and pain. “There are a lot of things about being an Alpha I love. This is one of the things I hate.”
He handed the small plain silver box to Owen.
Cutler kept talking. “It’ll be a big funeral. Ed was well-liked. Had a good reputation in these parts. Plus, being killed in the line of duty, police forces from all over the country will send representatives to attend. A couple from Canada too, last I heard. They’re holding it out in Casper because no place else has a facility big enough.
“After, of course, there’s the private memorial service. Weres honoring their own.” He looked at the box meaningfully. “Along with the other Alphas, I’ll present his widow with a token of our mourning. Remorse expressed in blood and tears.
“Anyway,” he continued, inhaling sharply and looking Owen in the eye. “I wanted to thank you for watching over Ryan while I’ve been away. And to get you to promise to come to the pack run. Also, to ask if you could run this into town for me tomorrow. Have it engraved.”
He paused and Owen gave him a moment. The silence between them wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.
“My pack would be stronger with a male like you,” Cutler said eventually. “But I have to tell you straight out, if you’re as much a natural leader as I suspect you are I won’t extend an invitation for you to stay permanently.”
Owen felt his mouth thin but he held back on commenting. He’d felt this moment coming since his arrival.
Cutler continued, “This is a good place to live and I’d like to think you could use us as a benchmark for any other pack you think of joining. A good place to raise pups.
“Weres need one thing above all else—an established hierarchy. We’ve got that here and I won’t let anyone mess that up.”
“Like the hierarchy in Pinebridge has been shaken.”
“Yeah. Something like that,” Cutler agreed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and
forefinger then continued talking. “Anyway, run with us because you need to and so you can remember what it’s like to be part of a pack.”
“Okay,” Owen answered with a nod. “But if your pack needs a run to reaffirm their bonds, won’t I kind of stick out?”
“Not this week. Nath’s brought in a couple of guys as consultants for his ecotourism business and they’ll be running with us too. Fina suggested to him over the winter that he look at expanding his offerings. These guys apparently work for other tour companies in the warmer months. Ones not run by weres. They do things like rafting, wagon rides, horseback riding, mountain biking. Nath says if he likes what they’ve got to offer he might hire one or two of them as guides.”
“Fina’s father was a genius when it came to business. Sounds like she inherited her father’s talent.”
“That she did. Oh and if you’re going to hang around for a while, try not to piss my dispatcher off again.” Cutler grinned wryly. “When she gets mad she takes it out on the rest of the station.”
“She started it,” Owen growled and wondered why he felt the need to justify himself.
“Never figured she didn’t. But things are running tense in my department since Ed’s murder. It’s worse in Pinebridge.”
“Is that why they asked you to help?”
“Huh. Perceptive bastard, aren’t you?”
“Never said I wasn’t.” Owen shook his head curtly. He slipped the silver box into his shirt pocket and laid his hand over it like he was protecting it. “If the deputies in Pinebridge were incompetent or not trained to handle a murder investigation, I figured you might have mentioned it.”
“They’re neither. They’re just too close to it. Hell, their dispatcher’s taken a medical leave of absence. He’s got the worst case of survivor guilt I’ve ever seen. They’re all hurting. It’s a credit to their second-in-command that he’s keeping them involved without making them shoulder the responsibility of taking the lead in the investigation.” Cutler headed for the door and Owen followed.
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