by Tamar Sloan
Noah reaches across me. “Thoughtful woman, that Aunt Mavis,” he announces as he scoops the meat onto his plate. I roll my eyes; I know it won’t go to waste with his endless capacity to eat.
We look over to see Tara and Mitch talking to Mr. and Mrs. Channon. Tara is beaming her I’m-with-Mitch-beam, hanging on his arm. Mitch’s face is serious as he talks to Mr. Channon. Lara stands quietly, nodding and smiling occasionally.
“Have you met Mr. Channon?”
“Yes.”
Noah’s gaze returns to me, holding that assessing look I’m getting to know well. But I don’t want to talk about Kurt’s welcome. I don’t want to ruin a wonderful night. Where, despite being more different than I’ve ever been, I’ve felt the most wonderful sense of acceptance.
“Noah, Mitch.” Adam’s voice carries through the crowd and music like low-lying thunder. We head over to where Adam stands on the back porch, two large garbage bags at his feet.
“Can you guys take these to the trash cans? I’ve moved them over by Grandfather Douglas.”
“Sure.” Noah turns to me. “Coming?”
“Sure. Grandfather Douglas?”
“Yeah. He’s pretty old.”
Noah and Mitch each pick up a bag. Bottles and cans rearrange themselves within, clanging and pinging. With his free hand, Noah grasps mine and we head around the house, toward a towering spire outlined against the evening sky. My neck cranes back in an effort to see the tree’s crown. The Douglas-fir is certainly ancient, his mammoth trunk wider than my arms. The lower branches have been pruned, creating a natural shelter beneath. I imagine this ancient tree has stood solidly through generations of Phelans. I can just picture a swing hanging from its powerful branches.
I turn to see Noah watching me, blue eyes glowing in the dusky air, lips parted. My breath catches in my throat as warmth trickles from behind my ear, across my cheeks and down my spine. Just as Noah kicks a trash can, the loud clang rupturing the silence.
“Weren’t watching where you were going, big bro?” Mitch drops his bag on top of Noah’s, the bottles clashing loudly, breaching the heated spell.
“Dad’s right, you do need a Precepts refresher,” Noah mutters.
Mitch laughs, teeth flashing in the dim light. He replaces the lid on the bin, dusting his hands on his slacks.
We’ve only taken a few steps back when Tara skips up next to me, dragging Mitch with her. “Don’t you just love this time of the night, Eden?”
“Twilight is lovely.”
“It just makes me want to…” I slow my pace as I wait for her to finish. “race!”
And Noah rolls his eyes besides me. “You haven’t won against Mitch and me since you were seven.”
“And you tied our shoelaces together,” Mitch adds.
“This one will be much more even.” Tara’s eyes are wide with excitement, a look I’m getting to know means an idea’s just popped into her crazy, impulsive head. “A piggy back race.”
A piggy back race! Mitch looks to Noah, a challenge in the way his gaze holds Noah’s for long seconds, in his cocky grin. Noah narrows his eyes at him. Surely he’s not entertaining the idea.
Mitch squats down, and Tara springs on his back. He catches her, his hands just above the back of her knees. They whoop and holler as Mitch runs circles around Noah and me, goading us to race. I look over at Noah skeptically. With the size difference between Tara and me, this race is not even at all.
“I’m no fairy, y’know.”
Noah arches a brow at me, and turns his back, a silent challenge. I glance over at Tara and Mitch, both grinning and Mitch stomping his feet. Images of Noah, a paraplegic in a wheelchair for the remainder of his years, flash before my eyes. Noah stands there, hands on hips, waiting for me to pick up the gauntlet. Can I be that reckless?
A giggle escapes my lips as I step forward. Noah doesn’t need to crouch; I’m not much shorter than him.
“Ready?”
Noah makes a show of bracing his legs in a wide stance. “Locked and waiting to be loaded.”
I huff in indignation and leap onto his back, and Noah pretends to stagger under my weight. He rights himself, and flashing his signature grin over his shoulder, lines up next to Mitch.
Tara calls out, “First one to the veranda. On your marks, get set, go!”
Noah and Mitch leap forward. Despite his earlier posturing, Noah is as agile as if he was solo. He sprints forward, but Mitch keeps pace. Tara’s discovered her cowgirl alter ego, and is calling out ‘giddy up’ and ‘yee ha!’ at the top of her lungs. As we near our destination, Noah starts to make headway. Seeing the possibility of losing, Mitch suddenly swerves toward us. Tara and I squeal and shriek as we crash, bodies slamming and limbs tangling. Noah shoulders his brother back, and Mitch stumbles to the side. Laughing loudly, Noah dips his head and, with a quick burst of power, vaults onto the veranda.
As we do a victory lap, we’re both laughing so hard my cheeks hurt. Tara slides off Mitch’s back, laughing breathlessly, demanding a rematch.
Noah slows and, as the rush of adrenaline fades, I realize that I’m wrapped around his back like a limpet. The laughter fades from my lips as my hands flex on firm shoulders, registering the dip and rise of ridged muscles beneath heated skin, feeling my legs wrapped around his lean waist. Suddenly hyperaware that everything in between is pressed intimately against his back.
That heat is building at an alarming rate.
My breath hitches as Noah’s hands tighten on my legs. Oh my.
I feel his chest expand as he takes a deep breath. I clear my throat, and Noah releases my legs. I slide down his back, and flames of heat explode as our bodies graze. My hands remain on his shoulders; I just can’t bring myself to remove them.
Noah turns slowly. I feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing harder now than a few moments ago. My lips part on my own rapid breathing. Tingling awareness pulses across my body. I want to step closer.
Instead, I take a small step back, my hands falling to my sides. I smile a shaky smile. “We won.”
Noah’s smile is just as crooked. “Yeah. We won.”
He holds his hand out and, without a second thought, I grasp it. The pulsing heat of before still lingers in the air. Tara and Mitch come up next to us and we all head back toward the party.
The moment we round the veranda, Adam signals to Noah and Mitch. He and Beth are standing at the apex of the semicircle of tables. Noah and Mitch look at each other quizzically and head over. Something tells me to hang back, and Tara chooses to stay under the protective cover of the veranda too. Although, a short moment later, she rushes off after one of her younger sisters.
Once Noah and Mitch have joined Adam, he steps forward, clapping his hands. The sound is not loud, but it has every head turning his way. Friends, family, loved ones all go silent as they wait to see what their Alpha has to say.
“Thank you all for coming. The Phelan family barbecue is a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with our heritage, our pack.” He clears his throat. “But this get-together is particularly special. As you all know, things have been…difficult for us.” The crowd shuffles, murmurs of assent rolling amongst them.
Adam’s blond head drops a little as he focuses on the ground ahead of him. “When things don’t go the way we expect them to, the way they always have, you’re left wondering why. All that sustains you is faith. And hope.”
His head lifts, and a smile has lit up his face. “And then prayers are answered, hopes become reality.” His smile turns a little wry. “Admittedly, sometimes in the most unexpected and unorthodox of ways.”
Quiet chuckles reverberate through the crowd as I step farther back into the shadows.
Adam reaches behind him, and Beth steps up to take his hand. “And things can return to their rightful place.”
Under the shadowy canopy, I still.
His tone carrying across the lawn, reverberating with pride, Adam looks to Noah. “I wish to announce that Noah will t
ake his place as my heir, as the next Phelan Alpha.”
Roars and shouts erupt from the crowd, and people rush to pump hands enthusiastically, to slap Adam and Noah on the back with fervent force. I look to Mitch, the one who this will affect the most. He’s there, slapping the hardest and clapping the loudest.
Beth is a still island amongst the melee, a smiling, proud figure. A tear leaves a wet trail down her cheek. She looks up to see me watching her, her light brown eyes brimming.
Across the grassy distance she mouths two words.
Thank you.
I stand in stunned silence. What do you do with an unsolicited gift? One that seems much too expensive, far too extravagant? When its thoughtfulness touches you somewhere deep inside? Well, I just found out.
You stand there, at a loss for words.
Then Aunt Mavis is hugging Beth, rocking her from side to side. The two women laugh and cry. I take a step back. I don’t feel like an outsider, but this is a family rejoicing. And I’m not family.
I take a few steps along the veranda, then notice Mr. Channon standing at the edge of the crowd. He’s quite still, except for his barrel chest moving with slow breaths. No one sees young Kurt pulling down, trying to extricate his little hand from his father’s frozen grip. His face cramps with the effort before a final tug finally frees him and he falls backwards. He scrambles toward the crowd. Kurt hasn’t moved a muscle, except for that regulated chest moving in and out. In and out.
I quickly pull into the shadows, not wanting this disapproving man to catch me staring. In a few short steps, I’m on the grass, and I make a quick beeline for the trees. There, at the shadowy edge where the colorful lights can’t quite reach, I sit down, my back against a solid pine. I watch the joy apparent in light dancing steps, in tender hands that cup faces, in arms that throw out wide before clasping anyone within reach. Where Noah is center of this blossom.
It’s not long before I’ve lost sight of him in the moving masses, so I sit back, enjoying the sounds of laughter and celebration. I’m not in the least bit surprised when, half an hour later, I hear footsteps approaching. I had a feeling the other times Noah found me weren’t coincidences. Without a word, he sits beside me against the tree, our shoulders touching. Like two magnets, our hands come together.
“Your mom and dad are so proud of you.”
“They want to say ‘thank you’. We wouldn’t be here without you.”
I continue as if he hasn’t spoken. “They should be.”
Noah’s sigh reaches me in the dark. His gaze tracks his parents across the lawn. “Where’s your father?”
Whoa, topic change. I suppose I asked for it with my blatant deflecting. I sigh myself, my outbreath leaving my shoulders a little lower than before. I pick up a pine needle, twirling in between my fingers. “No idea. He disappeared before I was born.”
“What’s your Mom told you about him?”
“Absolutely nothing. The topic is taboo.”
Noah’s brows pull down. “He must have really hurt her.”
The pine needle snaps in my fingers. “Maybe. Could have been a one-night stand, for all I know.”
Noah turns his head toward me. “What’s it like? Growing up with a single mom?”
I wonder how much to tell him, how much to let him in. “Well, she’s very successful, so I’ve never lacked for anything.”
“I can see that. And?”
“It means she can work long hours.”
In the dim light, I see a single brow quirk. “And?”
“Tenacious, aren’t you?”
Noah grins, and says nothing.
I sigh again. “It means we’ve never been very close.”
Noah nods, rubbing his finger across his bottom lip in that distracting way of his. Why do I get the feeling he’s reading between the lines?
It’s time for my own topic change. “Kurt is very different to your father.”
“He’s very…traditional.”
And it’s my turn to read between the lines. “Old school?”
“Yeah, old school.”
“How come there’s only two of you, and hundreds of them?”
Noah chuckles. “Mom had a difficult birth, so she couldn’t have any more kids.” He looks down at our intertwined hands. “And Kurt wanted a son.”
So he kept going until he got one. I think of the little blue bundle Lara was holding. “And he just kept going until he got one?”
“Yeah.” Noah sighs.
“That’s a little…medieval.”
Noah puffs out his chest, thumping it with his fist. “Alphas are serious business, young lady.”
I sigh, unsure of where I fit in this complicated jigsaw, and rest my head on Noah’s shoulder. It’s only when Noah stiffens that I realize what I’ve done. I hold my weight, unsure.
“No, leave it there. I was just surprised.” That I was the one to touch. “I like it.”
Very quietly, I whisper. “I like it too.”
We sit there and watch the Phelan crowd from our shadowy cocoon. Slowly, they begin to disperse, but unlike the usual family barbeque, they don’t head for their cars. Some in pairs, the odd trio, and several solitary figures all dissolve into the woods. When the first howl breaches through the trees, I know it’s time for me to leave.
As if reading my mind, Noah stands and dusts off the pine needles clinging to his pants. He holds out a hand, and I place mine in his. He pulls me up with little effort. My eyes get a fast track view up his dark slacks, across his pressed shirt, past the open top button showing that little dent between his collarbones, across his firm chin, to stall at his lips.
My eyes trace the sharp outline of red against stubbly tan. The sculpted upper lip resting on its full bottom counterpart. Wishing I could do the same with my fingers. I realize I’m staring when they part on a sharp inhale. As if he feels it too. My eyes fly up to see heated blue pools watching me. My breath skips in my throat as my eyes return to his collarbone, heat riding high on my cheeks.
“One day, Eden. You’ll let yourself go, follow your instinct.”
“I hope so.” The words squeeze out of lungs devoid of oxygen.
Noah’s chin lifts, like he’s smiling. “Luckily the journey is half the fun.” He glances over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
Hands twined, we cross the lit area of the yard. Halfway down the tables, Adam is clearing them of paper plates and empty cups, a garbage bin beside him. He straightens when he sees us approach.
“Off home, Eden?”
“Yes, Mr.—” I’m cut off by a finger in the air, a wide smile behind it. “Adam. Thank you for having me. I had a lovely time.”
“You’re always welcome in our house, Eden.” Adam’s blue gaze holds mine for meaningful seconds.
I hope he can’t see my blush in the muted light.
“I’ll be back in a sec to give you a hand, Dad.” Noah tows me across the yard, saving me from trying to formulate a response.
We’ve only traversed part of the way when Beth’s voice calls out. We turn to see her beelining toward us, her skirt billowing in her haste, holding the cleaned salad bowl.
She reaches us, holding it out. Once again, meaningful eyes hold mine. “Thank you.”
I know this time my blush can’t be missed. “My pleasure.”
“I’m just taking Eden to her car, Mom, and I’ll be back.”
“No problem, honey.” She breezes over to Adam, her hand patting my arm as she passes. A completely unconscious gesture. But one that imprints itself on me like a brand.
Noah’s shoulder brushes mine as we begin walking again. “Told you.”
“The thanks really aren’t necessary.”
“Well, they originally wanted to buy you something.”
“Oh no, I hope you told them not to.”
“Of course I did.”
Relief whooshes from my lungs. “Thank goodness.”
Noah’s lips twitch. “I told them that’
s my job.”
We’ve reached my car, so I spin around to face him, my hands falling to my side. “Noah, I don’t want you buying things for me. You don’t owe me anything.”
“No need to worry.”
Thank goodness. I don’t know how I’d react to a gift. I don’t know what to do with all he has given me so far.
Noah takes a small step forward. “When I buy you a gift, it won’t be to say ‘thank you’.” All of a sudden I notice we’re enveloped in darkness, cloaked in intimacy. “What I feel is far more than gratitude.”
Oh.
And in a split second my world narrows, my senses converge. My sight fills with cerulean pools and angled planes and sculpted lips. I breathe in intoxicating sandalwood. I hear the deep, deep breath he pulls in. And I want to touch, to get a taste of Noah up close.
My hands flex by my side, caution and desire warring along their fingertips. Wanting to know the feel of his skin. Yearning to explore his heat.
But I don’t. The feeling of vulnerability, of restraint keeps my hand by my sides. For lengthy seconds we stand there. Time grows and swells along with the pulsing connection surrounding us.
My hand twitches, coming up a fraction.
“Noah. Mitch.” Adam’s booming voice crashes into the darkness.
With a last exhaled breath, Noah steps back, a rueful smile on his lips. I realize the battle is forfeited; I missed my chance. My hand falls slack at the loss.
Noah takes another step back. “Next garbage run. It won’t be the same without you.”
I take a deep steadying breath; sandalwood still lingers in the air. Noah turns and starts walking toward the lit yard. I watch the pale light outline those broad shoulders.
A few paces away he turns, that beautiful grin of his back. “You free next weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want to show you something.”
18
Noah
“Mom, have you seen Dad?”
My mother pokes her head around the kitchen doorway. “Out on the thinking chair, love.”
I should have guessed. I head out to the bench with the glorified name. It was one of Mitch’s first creations, put together with three planks and a handful of crooked nails. Dad had been so impressed and proud he’d promptly christened it his thinking chair and placed it in the backyard facing the giant pines.
