ROMANCE: Time of the Werebears (Scottish Historical Time Travel Shifter Romance) (Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance)

by Sky Winters

  “Is this your father?” Austen asked.

  “Yes,” Daisy nodded.

  “This doesn’t concern you boy,” Blake hissed. “This is a family dispute. That there’s my daughter and she belongs to me.”

  Austen didn’t blink. “I’m afraid that’s no longer true.”

  “What?” Blake barked.

  “Daisy has the right to choose where she goes and whom she goes with.”

  “Oh?” Blake said sarcastically. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because,” Austen said calmly, “she is my wife.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are you alright?”

  Daisy nodded. “I just… never thought I would have to see him again.”

  “From this moment on you don’t,” Austen assured her.

  They had just dropped Blake off at the local sheriff’s office. Sitting in the kitchen with the horses grazing just outside, Daisy was suddenly grateful for all the beauty that surrounded her. She slipped her hand into Austen’s without feeling shy or awkward about it.

  “I’m going to sell the land,” Austen said suddenly.

  Daisy looked at him in surprise. “What changed your mind?”

  “You did,” Austen replied. “You were right- I was holding onto this land because I couldn’t hold on to Mary. But she’s gone now and I have to move forward with my life.”

  Daisy smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “I realized something else too,” Austen went on.

  “Yes?”

  “I want you in my life,” Austen said, his blue eyes burning. “And I knew that the moment I saw your father standing over you attempting to take you away from me.”

  Daisy felt her heartbeat race upwards.

  “Which leads me to ask you a very important question.”

  “Yes?” Daisy said holding her breath.

  “It’s all connected,” Austen said. “This land is connected to Mary, which is why I wanted to keep it. But I know now that I have to let her go. So I suppose my question is… will you stay my wife? And when I say wife, I mean in the real sense of the word, so that we can have a full and complete married life.”

  Daisy gave her answer without saying one word. She pulled him closer and pressed her lips against his.

  - The End –

  NATIVE BRIDE

  Chapter One

  With one small bag in her right hand, Christina walked up to the little ranch house in the distance. The cold mountain air felt motionless, which made the surrounding scenery seem so surreal. It reminded her of the hazy dream she had a few nights ago. The pine trees were practically bare, and the dirt beneath her boots crunched with each step she took.

  Christina forced herself to take deep breaths, but they did not soothe away her jittery nerves. Her left hand tightened around a worn and stained envelope, its contents of utmost value to her and to her future husband. She was so full of hope and fear it was making her light-headed—or perhaps it was the air here. Having lived in the chaotic, smoggy New York City most of her life, this place was immensely different to her. She wasn’t sure yet if it was better than her old home. She wasn’t sure if she had made a terrible mistake.

  She jolted when she came face-to-face with the house’s front door. Her lungs constricting, Christina glanced over herself. Her dress was covered in dust and dirt, and she was certain her hair was a frizzy mess. Embarrassment warmed her icy cheeks. Uselessly, she tried to fix her hair—wrapped up in a loose bun—before she let out a shuddering breath and knocked on the door.

  The seconds that went by were the longest of her life. Her heart and mind raced so fast it made her burn and ache. She couldn’t even breathe.

  When the door finally opened, Christina instinctively smiled at the man who had answered it.

  He did not return it. “Who the hell are you?”

  She flinched, her entire body tensing. Shakily, she handed him the envelope.

  The man—her future husband—glanced between her face and the envelope for several seconds. Then with clear disgust, he took the envelope and opened it.

  Christina instantly snapped her left hand to her bag. She wanted to hold on to something just to make herself feel secure, the world slowly starting to spin around her.

  The old gentleman at that New York office had assured her that all of these arranged marriages went well—that all of those men wanting brides would be able to care for her. Sure, it was his duty to make sure that the men asking for wives got a wife in a certain amount of time, but that didn’t make him any less credible. At least, Christina had hoped it didn’t.

  The man in front of her shook his head, his gaze narrowing at the letter he was reading. “No, no,” he said, glaring at her. “I did not agree to this.”

  Her stomach dropped, panic icing through her. “Are you not Adam Jane?”

  “I am, but I wanted a white woman, not no colored. I ain’t some fiendish pig.”

  Shocked, Christina could only gawk at him. She was not actually a “colored” woman, as he had put it. Her mother had been of the Mohawk tribe, and her father had been of English descent.

  Still, Adam was clearly upset, so she decided not to correct his labeling of her. Instead, she choked out, “I’m half-white.” The humiliation and hurt she felt made the words taste acidic, and she shivered.

  “Don’t do no mix breeds either,” Adam said. He dropped the letter, backed up, and then slammed the door in her face.

  She jumped. Denial sank heavy in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to move. She waited for a long moment in hopes that this had been some perverse joke or misunderstanding. When Adam didn’t return, Christina’s eyes watered and her throat closed up.

  Hesitantly, she turned around and decided to head for the nearest town. It was over four miles away.

  Chapter Two

  The little town on lower ground was really a lovely place. When Christina had walked through it earlier on her way to James’s secluded home, she had been pleased with the idea of visiting these local shops again. This place was so much more spacious than New York had ever been. As strange as the air felt in her lungs, it was something she was convinced she could adapt to—could even enjoy.

  Tear trails on her cheeks, Christina clutched her bag with both hands as she made her way through the town. With her wedding and living plans completely obliterated, she knew that a new plan would have to be formed. However, she couldn’t commit to one. Should she search for a new husband? Should she get a job? There were no wretched factories here for her to work in, and she was torn between feeling relieved and feeling devastated.

  Christina stopped, overwhelmed. People and carriages traveled by her—moved around her—making her feel like nothing. A new wave of grief crashed within her, forcing more tears from her eyes.

  She didn’t know how long she was like that, but eventually, she found the strength to observe her surroundings more closely. Her eyes widened a little when she realized she was standing in front of a general store. Back in New York City, the owners of the general stores seemed to know everything about their cities—from gossip to news reports.

  With an urban kind of instinct, Christina wandered her way inside this general store, this haven. Once there, the slightly warmer air shocked some sense back into her. She quickly wiped her cheeks dry and tried to make her dirty appearance more presentable.

  “May I help you?” a gentleman asked.

  She looked up. The gentleman was standing behind the front counter, a whole bunch of goodies and cheap tools resting on the shelves behind him. He was smiling at her, so she smiled back.

  “I’m new here,” she said, trembling. The fear of being in contact with another stranger was exhausting, but she forced herself to be strong. “I…I was wondering if you knew of anyone who was hiring for any kind of work.”

  The gentleman cocked his eyebrow. “Any kind of work?”

  Her face heated up. “Uh, no, no. Factory work?”

  He shook his head. “We don’
t have work like that, here. Some people need farmhands, though those positions are usually for men.”

  “Do you need any help with your store?”

  He shook his head again. “And if I were, again, I’d prefer to hire men. They’re better with these kinds of things, you know. Women are good at mothering and they are good at whoring. Not much else. Plus, native woman like you can’t be trusted.”

  Rage and humiliation twisted her insides and heated her blood, and for a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She never expected her looks were so native, or that she would receive so much hostility against them. She stared at the shopkeeper, who indifferently stared back at her. He didn’t seem as if he had been attempting to offend her, which made the whole experience all the worse.

  Choked by frustration and pain, Christina turned away and exited the store. Once outside, she let out a wretched sob. Her grip on her bag loosened as anguish coursed through her. She truly was nothing to these people, just like she had been at home.

  Desperately, she prayed. She was probably quite the sight—a native woman bowing her head and muttering to herself in public—but she was too frazzled to care.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  Christina jumped, her eyes snapping open as she turned. A tall and broad man had walked out of the general store and was walking up to her. His face was prickly with whiskers, his pale skin tanned and wrinkled by the sun. He wore a large hat that was tilted back to expose his bright, expressive eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, stopping when he was a few feet away from her, “but I heard you talking earlier, and I could use some help around my homestead. Man or woman—gender’s never mattered to me, so long as the work gets done.”

  Suspicion seized her. Clawing her nails into her bag, her gaze darted up and down this man’s form. She couldn’t bring herself to wipe away her latest tears, so just accepted that she looked pathetic when she stared him in the eye.

  “What kind of work?” she asked, sniffling.

  His face morphed into a tired, piteous expression. And while a part of Christina loathed such a look being directed her way, another part of her knew that if he was looking at her with pity, then it was less likely that he would perceive her as a whore. Or as a potential mother to his future children. Either way, a man’s pity meant she was safe.

  “Housekeeping,” he said. “And I have a garden of vegetables that needs to be cared for. And maybe, once in a while, when I come into town for meat and supplies, I could use some help carrying some of the stuff back to the house. If you agree to all of this, then your pay would be a roof over your head and meals in your belly.”

  Christina swallowed thickly and tried to hold on to her suspicion, even as eagerness and gratitude soared through her.

  The man tilted his head. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, the admission making her heart ache. “I…I have nowhere else to go.”

  Yet again, pity came over the man’s expression as he nodded.

  Christina withheld a sigh. “I would like to work for you. I can do all those things you said, but I may need some teaching on how to care for a garden.”

  He nodded again. “Alright, then. I need to get some supplies and some beef, and then we can head out. If you would like, you can wait by my wagon while I get these things.”

  “Alright,” she said. Anticipation and fear were making her tremble, and the thought of walking around town with a stranger was an exhausting thought in itself. She gave said stranger a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  He motioned her to follow him as he walked away, and she hurried after him.

  “It’s not far,” he said. He tilted his hat downward a little, perhaps wanting to shield his eyes from the blaring sun. “Just down the street, near the barber shop.”

  “Alright.”

  They continued on in silence for a long while after that. Clinging to her bag helped to comfort Christina through the awkwardness of the stranger’s presence, though it didn’t stop the panicked thoughts that raced through her mind. What had she just agreed to?

  It wasn’t until they reached his wagon—worn with age but still looking strong—that Christina realized she still didn’t know her new employer’s name. She didn’t even know where this stranger lived.

  “Get settled,” he said, pointing to the front seat of the carriage. “I shouldn’t take long.”

  “Wait,” she blurted, reaching out for him as he moved away.

  He stopped and furrowed his brow at her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. “If I may know it.”

  Surprise then amusement brightened his eyes and quirked his lips. “It’s Wyatt Swanson. And if I may know it, what do you call yourself?”

  She blushed, knowing he was teasing her. “Christina. Christina Odell. I…I am from New York.” She had no idea why she said that last part; it had just come out in an uncomfortable bout of anxiety.

  He grabbed the rim of his hat and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Odell, from New York.” Then, smiling, he turned and walked away.

  Christina bellowed out a breath, relief and calm washing through her. With no one paying her any attention to her anymore, she climbed onto the wagon and settled herself in its front seat. There, she waited and rested with her bag in her lap. The horses hooked up to the wagon had been too busy drinking water from a large, dirty trough to bother with her.

  Though it seemed to grow brighter—the sky losing the majority of its clouds—the thin air was dropping in temperature. By the time Wyatt had returned with packages of meat and tools, Christina could see her breath leave her nostrils in cloudy streams.

  After he had put his purchased goods in the wagon, and after he had moved the large trough to the side, he came up to the front of the wagon and asked, “Are you ready?” He hopped up to the front seat, sat beside her, and took the horses’ reins—all before she had even opened her mouth. Clearly, he did not need her to answer his question.

  “Yes,” she said anyway, wanting to be polite.

  He whipped the reins and urged his animals forward. They snorted and whinnied before doing as their master instructed, and galloped onward.

  The awkward silence between herself and Wyatt had returned once their journey officially started, and she couldn’t help but gnaw at her lower lip. The tumbling of the wagon as it moved was a decent distraction though. She let the abrupt little motions annoy her for a while. She nearly lost grip of her bag a few times, and she was clinging it against her stomach.

  Eventually, her curiosity made her braver than she normally was. She glanced over at Wyatt, whose eyes were glued forward, toward the distant pine trees they were approaching.

  “How long have you lived in this area?” she asked.

  She jumped when he snapped his attention to her. “What?” he said loudly, over the noises of the wagon.

  Christina cleared her throat and repeated herself, louder this time. “How long have you lived here?!”

  Wyatt shrugged and looked forward again.

  More silence followed.

  Christina sighed. The wagon jostled, making her bounce in her wooden seat a bit. She gasped and wrapped her body around her bag. If Wyatt was giving her a strange look, she decided that she didn’t notice it.

  Chapter Three

  It took several hours to reach his homestead, and Christina was grateful that it didn’t look anything like Adam Jane’s ranch; she didn’t want to be reminded of that man ever again. No, Wyatt’s blue house was large—two-stories with a grand porch, and with a balcony on the west side of the second story. Compared to the cramp little place she had lived in in New York, Wyatt’s home looked like a palace to Christina. Awed, she beamed at it as they approached.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, grateful that her voice was hidden amongst the loud sounds of the wagon.

  Wyatt drove the wagon past the house and to the stables behind it. Once there, he urged the
horses to the stop. They quickly followed his silent direction, though they panted heavily in response.

  “I’ll put the horses away, and then you can help me get everything inside,” he said, stretching his arms.

  Christina nodded, though he hadn’t even looked at her when he spoke. He turned and climbed down the wagon, his wedding ring gleaming in the sunlight for one blinding second.

  Christina’s eyebrows shot up, her nerves calming further. Surely a married man would be less dangerous than a single one. Though she had yet to get any threatening vibe from Wyatt, the fact that he was married was still reassuring to her. If he had a wife to…to be with, he was less likely to try to…be with her. And it would be nice to share a home with another woman. She hadn’t even had that back in New York, having been raised by her drunken single father.

  She listened and watched from the wagon as he guided each horse to its particular stall. She smiled when she heard Wyatt make sweet, clicking noises to each one of his animals.

  Sometime later, Wyatt returned to the wagon and motioned for Christina to get down. She did, albeit clumsily, and stumbled after him when he walked to the back of the wagon.

  “What did you buy?” she asked.

  “Beef, mostly,” he grunted, climbing into the wagon. “Some chickens, a new hammer, some paper and a pen—” The list went on and on.

  Christina smiled politely as her mind drifted off. Whenever he past her a box or a bag from his crouched position in the wagon, she would quickly reach in and take it from him. This had been easy enough until she was carrying three boxes and one bag.

  “You alright?” Wyatt asked. With several boxes in his own arms, he jumped from the wagon and landed on wobbling feet. “Not too much for you?” he gritted out.

  “No,” she lied, glancing him up and down. Though the boxes hid most of his torso and face, she managed to see his sweat on his brow. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, a hint of groan coating his words. “Let’s just get to the house.”

  Wyatt kicked down his own door, which apparently had been unlocked, and led the way to his kitchen. There, he dropped the boxes on his large table, and then she did the same. Blood rushed through her aching arms, full of relief. She took a few deep breaths and allowed herself to relax as she glanced around.