by Deanna Chase
“We all bite. We’re werewolves.”
“You know what I mean. How come you never come in?”
He shrugged. “Bar’s not my scene.”
“You’re a young male werewolf who also happens to be a firefighter and you’re a Kincaid, and the bar’s not your scene?” She laughed. “No lies on Christmas. Santa’s watching.”
“It’s not a lie,” he growled. “Don’t judge me by my name. Please. You don’t see my sister drinking and out every night, do you?”
“No, but she’s married and a mother.” A blind man could’ve seen how upset he was. “I’m sorry. It was a dumb thing to say. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just thought, I don’t know… You seem like someone who’d be in my place all the time. Anyway, I’m sorry I upset you.”
He stayed silent longer than she was comfortable with. “I appreciate the apology. And I’m sorry I snapped. I hate being defined by my name. You must understand that. Not that it’s an excuse.”
“Sure, I get it. Being a Merrow hasn’t always been easy.”
“I meant you must understand because you know what my family is like. The name Kincaid conjures up a less-than-upstanding image. Doesn’t it?”
It was her turn to be quiet. “Yes. It does.”
He took a deep breath. “This is my chance to reinvent myself. That’s all.”
She felt for him on so many levels. “I feel like we should start over.”
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we should be friends. We’re basically family since your sister is married to my brother. We should at least be able to be civil to each other.” Since they weren’t going to be making out anytime soon. Regrettably.
“Okay. We start over. Hi, I’m Sam. Your driver for the evening.”
She laughed. “You know what I mean.”
He grinned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, who are you again?”
They both snickered.
The trucked slipped, fishtailing slightly. Sam’s hand shot out and he grabbed her arm, going instantly serious until he had control of the vehicle again.
She sucked in a breath. His instinct had been to protect her. But maybe that was just being a brother and nothing more.
“You okay,” he asked.
“I’m fine.” But it was nice to be asked.
He dropped his hand.
She twisted to see if the case of champagne was okay. It was. She let out a relieved sigh as she turned back around.
He kept his eyes on the road. “How’s the Dom? All good back there?”
“I don’t think it moved. You strapped it in tight. Roads are getting bad, huh?”
He looked up at the sky through the windshield. “This snow doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”
“Good thing we’re almost there.” She pointed ahead to where the Ellingham estate sat atop a rising hill. With the lights on around it, highlighting the falling snow, it looked like a castle of ice.
“Not too much farther then.”
“Nope.”
They returned to silence as he navigated the road.
So they were going to be friends, were they? His agreeing to that much gave her hope. Stupid, foolish, high school hope, but she was a woman after all. And he was gorgeous and built and very sweet and the son of an alpha. A crappy alpha, but that wasn’t Sam’s fault. He was not his father and clearly had no intentions of becoming anything like the man. All that talk about starting over. How could a woman be around Sam and not want him? She sighed.
“What was that for?”
“Oh, nothing.” Just the wolf in her yearning to run free with the wolf in him. She gave him new directions as they pulled into the long driveway. “Just park right in the front of house.”
“Your wish is my command.”
If only, she thought. Then her Christmas would be perfect.
3
Sam opened Bridget’s door, then turned and tipped his head back to get a good look at the building in front of them. He let out a low whistle. “This is some place. No wonder you called it an estate. How many people live here?”
“Not entirely sure. Elenora Ellingham, of course, and her secretary, Alice Bishop, who’s also a witch, so mind yourself. As for the rest of her staff, I know she’s got at least a housekeeper, a gardener, and a chef. Not sure if there’s anyone else.”
He shifted back around to face her. “You’re telling me five people live in a house that looks like a hotel and most of them are staff?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
He shook his head. “Money doesn’t always buy sense, does it?”
A throat cleared and they both turned to see a man standing in the open doorway. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Hear what?” Bridget asked.
Sam twisted away so the man couldn’t see his face and made crazy eyes at Bridget.
She grinned at him and nudged him with her elbow as she spoke to the man. “Julian, this is Sam Kincaid. Ivy’s brother. You can thank him for the use of his truck.”
Sam turned around and gave a little wave.
Julian snorted. “I think you’d better be the one to thank him, seeing as how this delivery should have already been here.”
“I’ll get the champagne,” Sam said. He slipped around to the back of the truck and wiped a thin layer of snow off the box before releasing the tie-downs. He lifted the box, bumped the tailgate shut with his hip, and walked back to Bridget.
She wore a crown of snowflakes, and in the house lights, they sparkled like diamonds. Something he’d never be able to give her. The thought of how large the delta was between them put him back in a dark place. To be so close to her, to be able to taste her scent on his tongue, and yet still be so far away. It felt like the universe’s way of punishing him for not seeing the truth about his father sooner.
“Come on,” she said. “Julian’s waiting.”
“Forget me,” Julian shot back. “It’s Didi who’s missing her champers.”
Bridget tucked the two extra bottles she’d brought into the crooks of her arms. “Keep your frock coat on. We’re coming.”
Sam followed her into the house. The foyer was large enough to park two of his trucks in. An older woman in a blue velvet gown and loads of expensive-looking jewelry appeared at the far end.
Her mouth made a shape that screamed displeasure. “I see the matter of the champagne has been rectified.”
Bridget nodded. “Elenora. I trust Julian explained what happened?”
The woman nodded. “He did.” Her expression softened. “I do appreciate your coming out here this evening to make things right.”
Bridget held up the other two bottles. “These are on the house.”
“Very kind of you.” She smiled, showing off fangs. Then her gaze shifted to Sam. “See that the bottles are stored in the walk-in.”
He nodded, not sure what else to do.
The woman left, leaving him and Bridget alone with Julian. Bridget waved Julian off. “Go ahead, go back to whatever you were doing. I know where the walk-in is.”
Julian shook his head. “Cook will freak out if I don’t take you in. She’s already in a snit because her kitchen helper quit. Some dustup about getting stuck in the walk-in because of not knowing how to get the door open.” He rolled his eyes. “The woman had a complete claustrophobic meltdown, and now cook has to do Christmas dinner by herself. Between that and the champagne, it hasn’t been a fun day here. Follow me.”
They zigzagged through the house, finally accessing what felt like a back hallway, which it probably was, something used by staff. A strange shriek met their ears.
“What on earth is that?” Bridget asked.
“Cook,” Julian answered. “She likes her opera. Usually Didi makes her keep it down, but today no one’s telling her anything.” He pushed the doors open to the kitchen. The music rolled over them like a wave. Sam had no idea what language it was.
Julian stood there, t
rying to get the chef’s attention. “Frauke. Frauke.”
A tall woman with the build of a second-string linebacker turned to face them. She wore chef’s whites and held an enormous whisk tipped in white froth. She eyed the strangers, then saw Julian. “Ja?”
He motioned toward Bridget and Sam as he shouted to be heard. “They’re putting Didi’s champagne in the walk-in.”
Frauke threw her hand up like she didn’t care and went back to whisking.
Julian shrugged.
“Hey,” Bridget said. “Is the standing rib roast in that walk-in too?”
Julian nodded.
“You mind if I check that the right one was delivered?”
“Whatever makes you happy. Thanks for bringing the bubbles. You need anything else?”
“No, we can let ourselves out.”
He gave them a nod and pushed back through the door.
Bridget motioned for Sam to follow her. She seemed to know her way through the kitchen. She kept to the perimeter, giving the cook a wide berth. The walk-in was in the back corner. She pulled the door open, reached in to turn on the light, then stepped back to let him through.
He went in and she followed. She put the bottles she was holding on a shelf. The door closed behind them, giving them a break from the opera.
“Wow, that’s loud.” Bridget made a face like she was clearing out her brain. “I think my ears are ringing.”
“Not my kind of music, that’s for sure. Where should I put the rest of this champagne?”
She pointed. “That empty shelf.”
As he did that, she rummaged around until she found the standing rib roast. She crouched down to check the label on the heavy-duty plastic shrink-wrap.
“Is it the right one?”
She nodded and stood. “It is. I guess the only thing Lenny screwed up on was delivering the champagne. And showing up for his shift today. He’s still totally fired.”
“I don’t blame you for that.” Sam rubbed his hands together. The walk-in was chilly. “Ready to go?”
“Yep.” She turned and pushed the release bar on the door. It sank against the frame but the door didn’t budge. “What the—” She jammed it again.
Nothing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She pounded on the door. “Hey. Hey!”
“What’s the matter?”
She turned to face him. “The kitchen helper didn’t get stuck in here because she didn’t know how to open the door, she got stuck because the pin in the handle is missing. Look.”
She pushed the lever several times. It moved with no resistance.
Sam looked once more at the door, then at Bridget. “Are you saying we’re stuck in here?”
The muscles in her jaw tensed and eyes glittered with the icy anger of the wolf inside. “Yes.”
“How does the cook come and go and not get stuck?”
Bridget glanced around, then kicked something on the floor. “That’s how.”
He looked at the thing she’d kicked. A scarred triangle of wood. A makeshift doorstop. “She couldn’t tell us the thing was broken?”
“I don’t think she speaks much English.”
Sam growled. “Move to the side.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Throw my weight against it.”
She got out of the way. “I’m not sure it’ll work. These things are built like vaults.”
“I’m two hundred and twenty pounds of werewolf. That door’s going to pop like a tick.” He took a few steps back and a stack of plastic medical bags on a high shelf caught his eye. He took a closer look at them. “Is that… blood?”
She glanced in the same direction. “Yes. Why else do you think a solitary vampire needs a walk-in? I mean, besides all the fancy parties Elenora throws here. She likes to keep a large emergency stash on hand.”
He curled his lip. “I’m so glad I’m not a vampire.” He shook his head and leaned his body forward.
Bridget held up her hand. “You do realize if you break that door off its hinges, Elenora will hold you responsible for repairing or replacing it.”
He straightened. “Are you serious?”
She curled her fingers in to point at herself. “Do you not see me here on Christmas Eve delivering her champagne?”
“Good point.” He sighed in frustration. “What then?”
She settled onto a wooden veggie crate. “We wait.”
“We could pound on the door and yell some more.”
“I don’t think she’s going to hear anything over that opera racket.”
“Probably not.” He sat on the floor across from her. “Do you have your phone?”
“It’s in my purse, which is in your truck. You?”
“On the dashboard of the truck. Hey, I suppose they could see my truck out there and figure out what happened.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yep.”
“Otherwise, it won’t be long, will it? That cook’s got to come in here for something sooner or later, don’t you think?”
She shook her head. “She was making whipped cream. Dessert. The meal is over. The next time she comes into this walk-in will be to get that standing rib roast out for Christmas dinner.” Bridget squinted. “It’ll take a couple hours to bring that thing to room temperature, then several more to cook it. They probably eat around seven, maybe. I’d say the earliest she’ll come for that roast is noon.”
Sam let out a quiet curse. “The chief’s going to be ticked when he figures out the station’s unattended.”
Bridget smiled wryly. “He sent you with me. He has only himself to blame.” She pulled her jacket tighter. “Some Christmas Eve, huh?”
“You’re cold.”
“Aren’t you?” She gave him a look. “You have to be. It’s like thirty-seven degrees in here.”
“I’m okay.” He wanted to ask her to sit next to him. To get close and use his body heat. But he wasn’t sure how’d she’d react to that. He supposed when she got cold enough, she wouldn’t care.
He wasn’t willing to wait that long or let her suffer to that point. He stood up and started to shrug off his jacket.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you my coat.”
“Like hell you are. You’re going to need it. Keep it. I’m not taking it.”
“You’re a little stubborn, you know that?”
She snorted. “You just figuring that out?”
“No.” All the Merrows were like that. Like when he’d told the chief he’d find a cheap place to stay and the chief had insisted Sam stay at the firehouse until he got on his feet a little more.
“Is that what changed?”
“What do you mean?”
She looked away. “Never mind.”
“Tell me. You might as well. We’ve got nothing else to do.” He sat back down. If she didn’t want his jacket, she probably didn’t want to sit next to him either. If she got colder, that would most probably change. Hopefully.
She sighed. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”
Now he was really curious. “What conversation?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
He threw his hands up. “I’m completely lost.”
She stared at him. “Your having no idea what I’m talking about is exactly what I’m talking about. This is a very one-sided thing, and I don’t want to discuss it.”
His jaw dropped open and he blinked. He was genuinely in the dark. “I’ve got nothing here. Totally clueless. You want to explain, great. If not, okay. But if there’s something you actually want to talk about, let’s do it. Because sitting here freezing to death will be a lot less painful if we don’t have to do it in silence.”
She tilted her head back. “Why are men so dense?”
“Was that a rhetorical question?”
She made a face at him. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Emotions and feelings, those don’t even factor into
your day-to-day thought process, do they?”
He shrugged. “Again, I really don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Us.” She spat the word out like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He stared at her. “I didn’t know there was an us.”
“Exactly.” She swung her legs around to the other side of the box to face the door. Like that was the end of the conversation.
“Bridget, can you give me a hint as to what you mean?” Because if she thought they were a thing, he sure as hell wanted to talk about that.
She finally faced him. “You’re really going to pretend like before you left for the fire academy there wasn’t something going on between us? Some kind of chemistry happening? And that when you got back, it was just gone?”
Oh. That.
4
The look on Sam’s face told Bridget everything she needed to know. He understood exactly what she was talking about. “Well?”
He leaned back against the shelves and rested his forearms on his bent knees. “What’s there to talk about?”
“Are you kidding? Can you just turn it on and off like that? Or were you faking all that flirting? And don’t try to say you weren’t flirting because you almost kissed me at least three times.”
He blew out a breath. “I did not.”
She slanted her eyes at him. “Uh, yes, you did.”
He shook his head and looked away.
“What happened? You hook up with some badge bunny at the fire academy?”
“No.”
“Did the age difference finally sink in?”
“What age difference?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I’m three years older than you.”
“How do you know how old I am?”
“I asked your sister.”
So she’d talked to Ivy about him. That was interesting. “I had no idea.”
“Well, what then?”
“I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“You’re the one who told me how boring it would be to freeze to death in silence.”
“We’re not going to freeze to death.”
