by Edith DuBois
“So your sister is the great country and western singer Marina Andrews. What must that be like?” he asked, shaking his head and running his hand through the puppy’s fur.
“Mostly it’s like being tied to the back of a pickup and told to run along as it goes tearing down the highway.” She didn’t mean to sound quite so spiteful when she said it, but Dr. Ashley laughed. It was a warm laugh, unrestrained and honest. It sent little tingles through her blood, sent them trickling down into her pussy. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, trying to ignore the sensation. “Did that sound horrible?”
“No. It sounded honest.”
“I like that.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“‘Honest’ seems like a much nicer way of saying ‘bitchy.’ I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“No, I just meant…it was supposed to be…” He looked at her helplessly, and Michelle chuckled.
“I’m not offended,” she assured him. “Honestly.”
They met eyes for a moment, and then Michelle looked away, nervous.
“I am curious.”
“Yes?”
“Does she ever get tired of it?”
Michelle frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know.” She didn’t want to discuss her sister with Dr. Ashley, and the annoyance and the jealousy she felt springing up disconcerted her. Most of the time it didn’t bother her, the way people always roped her in with her sister. Like Michelle wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Marina.
When Marina had first started singing in the honky-tonks of Nashville, Michelle hadn’t even noticed the jealousy. They’d both been so overwhelmed with the thrill of Marina onstage, Marina in lights, Marina singing. Even now, after almost five years of managing her sister, Marina still dazzled her. Onstage, she was magical. There was never a moment when Marina sang and played her guitar in front of a crowd that Michelle wasn’t proud of her.
As Marina’s popularity grew, however, she began playing shows in Europe and Japan and Australia and at the Grand Ole Opry and at Madison Square Garden. Michelle felt herself being swirled up into this existence that revolved utterly and entirely around her sister, the famed country and western starlet, Marina Andrews.
But with this man, she realized she wanted to be Michelle. Michelle sans Marina.
Just Michelle.
“Here are the blood test results, Dr. Ashley.” Becky whooshed into the room, snapping Michelle out of her moroseness. The little puppy licked her hand, and she patted him on the head. While he talked over the puppy’s blood sample with Becky, she gave his features a quick but intense study.
As he spoke with his redheaded assistant, he twisted his wide lips up and to the side a little. His features, as a whole, were broad, generously spaced yet not overbearing. He had a strong, dark brow, but his hair, thick and slightly wavy, fell over his forehead in brown shades much lighter than the bold arcs above his eyes.
And what a pair of eyes they were. Those eyes were quite a sight to behold, and he watched his surroundings with such intensity. There seemed to be so much happening in those orbs. They were like black glass holding a wild and terrible sea. Whenever they caught hers in an accidental moment, something inside Michelle quivered in response. She tried to push it out of her mind, but it was there, waiting for her to pay attention.
Michelle was by no means a short woman at 5’6”, but Dr. Ashley looked tall enough for her head to fit comfortably against his chest while his chin rested perfectly atop her head. Suddenly, she itched to cuddle up next to him and try it out.
After they had agreed on which shots the puppy needed, Becky sashayed back out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” he said, running his hand through the hair that fell across his forehead. “I’m sure you get tired of people asking you questions about your sister all the time.”
His astuteness caught her off guard, but she couldn’t help smiling. “A little,” she admitted.
“Please forgive me, and also”—he offered her a lopsided grin—“try to remember that us ordinary folks in Savage Valley aren’t used to rubbing elbows with the likes of you two world travelers.”
He was a beautiful man, and he spoke in such a deep, well-humored voice that any residual churlishness she held on to dissipated beneath his disarming smile.
The puppy gave a yap and in a sudden burst of energy began jumping around on the table, his tiny paws slipping on its metallic surface. He stumbled close to the edge, and Michelle reached out to catch him. At the same moment, Dr. Ashley lurched forward, reaching for him as well, and his head thumped hard against hers.
“Ow!”
“Oh!”
Michelle took a step backward, rubbing her forehead, and looked up to see Dr. Ashley doing the same. They met eyes and started laughing.
The puppy yipped between them, still prancing.
“I got him,” Dr. Ashley said emphatically.
“Go ahead.” she said, waving her free hand for him to move in.
He grabbed the little pup gently by the scruff of the neck and scooted him backwards. Then he scratched him behind the ears. “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice. Michelle felt that flutter again, deep in her gut and inching ever closer to her pussy with each whispered word, and again she tamped it down. “You’re all right,” he said.
Michelle moved in, needing him to stop so she could think in a straight line. She stood next to him at the table, her arm barely brushing his, and stroked the puppy. His big hand stopped for a moment, and Michelle, without thinking, looked up at him. His eyes were locked on her. They were tight. They held everything back.
Michelle sucked in a breath. Instinctively she took a step back from his blazing black gaze.
“I…uh…” She bumped into a cabinet or the wall, something solid.
Dr. Ashley took a step toward her, leaving no escape, and she shrank against the wall. He stood so close, his face only inches from hers. He stood so close that all she could see were the depths of his dark eyes. He took her in.
Then his hand came up. He grasped a lock of her dark hair that had fallen against her cheek. With something akin to reverence, he tucked it back behind her ear. Then his eyes moved, taking in every inch of her face. Michelle felt everything in her body trembling, and she so wished to touch his face, but a cold fear gripped her. It held her as still as an oak tree. It was only the fine hairs across her skin that trembled like the leaves in a quiet wind. Franklin moved his hand to her cheek, his thumb and his fingertips moving across her face, feeling everything. He ran his fingers through her hair, across the bones of her cheek, down the bridge of her nose, tickling across her lips.
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. When Michelle peeked over the doctor’s shoulder, she saw a new woman, this one with silky dark-brown locks cut in a fashionable bob around chin level. She had a pert little nose and pouty lips.
Three assistants? She’d immediately noticed the woman’s scrubs. For such a small clinic? That’s a little gluttonous.
Dr. Ashley took a step away from her and turned to the new woman. “Yes, Veronica?”
“Johnny Greenwood just called. He says he’s got a beaver he needs you to come over and look at when you get the chance. He said he found it in a bush, and he thinks it may need to be inspected thoroughly and possibly even handled by you before it’s good and ready for reinsertion.”
As the woman spoke, Michelle noticed a bright-red hue seeping across a patch of skin visible on the back of Dr. Ashley’s neck. “Thank you, Veronica,” he said in a stiff voice.
Veronica’s eyes shot over to Michelle, still hunkering in the corner. They widened in surprise as if to say, “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” Then Veronica shrugged and turned, her bob swishing outward for a moment, and she marched out of sight.
Dr. Ashley faced Michelle again, his neck and jawline bright red.
“A beaver, huh? Needs to be thoroughly inspected?”
His cheeks flamed up. “That’s just…t
hat’s Johnny…he’s always…”
“And then reinserted?” Michelle listened to him stutter for a moment, but as he floundered to explain, she couldn’t hold back her teasing smile.
He paused in his stuttering to eye her skeptically for a moment. Then his features relaxed. “Sorry about that,” he offered sheepishly, shrugging. Then he patted the puppy, not meeting her eyes for a moment. “Would you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.
“Would I what?” she prompted.
He looked up at her again. “I was going to ask if you would be interested in having dinner with me. This Friday?”
Michelle gasped, but then like an idiot, her face split into a grin. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold it back, so she went with it. “I would love that,” she admitted.
Dr. Ashley’s face also split into a grin, so she didn’t feel as ridiculous. “Really?” he asked, and Michelle was surprised that he was surprised. He had three gorgeous assistants following him around—hell, maybe he had some more tucked away in the tiny clinic—and each of them so totally oblivious to everything outside the realm of Dr. Franklin Ashley.
“Yes, really,” she said.
“Oh, okay. That’s…” He was really grinning now, and the tips of his ears had gone bright red. “That’s just great.”
“But okay, I have to ask this.”
“What?”
“Not that I would change my mind or anything, but you must ask women out a lot, right?”
“No,” he said, laughing but with an odd hitch to his voice. “What makes you say that?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, searching his face, but he looked genuinely confused. “Becky? Veronica? The blonde receptionist?” she prompted.
“What about them?”
“Oh, come on. Not one date? Not one little kiss?”
Dr. Ashley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the checkup table, eyeing her with an amused but also incredulous expression.
“Honestly, I don’t care,” she continued. “And I’m not trying to be pesky or prying. But you can tell me. You don’t have to pretend. Because you know, I’m completely a modern woman about these kinds of things and everything.”
“Michelle,” he said softly, causing her to stop for a moment and take a breath. “I’ve never kissed or dated any of the women that work here. That would be unethical. I see them in a professional light only.”
He’d moved in closer as he spoke, and she felt her words spewing to the surface again. “Okay, but I haven’t been asked on a date in a long time, and I thought that you must do this kind of thing all the time, but I wanted to be sure, so that I would know. So that I would just know.”
Her last word was cut off as Franklin pressed his lips to hers. She gasped, her eyes wide with shock as he began to kiss her. His eyes were closed, and he smiled as he moved his mouth over hers, tasting and exploring. He didn’t reach out for her, only touched her with his lips. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, letting her thoughts dissolve and finding the rhythm of his mouth on hers.
The little puppy let out a happy yap, and Michelle jumped away, looking down at him. His little eyes were squinted, making him appear most pleased with himself. She backed away, stumbling slightly. “We do need a name for him,” she said, hoping to ease some of her confusion. She thought dog naming a safe enough topic to discuss.
“We’ll find a name for him,” Dr. Franklin said, brushing back some of her hair.
Michelle offered a tentative smile. They spent the rest of the appointment testing out different names on the puppy, and as Dr. Ashley continued his checkup, Michelle felt a tiny bubble floating around in her chest. It wasn’t large. It didn’t overwhelm her, but it was there. It was most certainly there.
And it was warm, and it was bright.
He’d asked her out on a date. Dr. Franklin Ashley had asked her out on a date.
She had something, and it was hers, and there was no Marina in sight.
Chapter Two
A small wood chip, a tender brown fleck, skipped off the tip of Bohagande’s knife and landed on Franklin’s denim-clad thigh as the older Indian whittled on a piece of pine wood. Franklin swiped it off. The Shoshone shaman sat on a hand-carved wooden stool on his porch while Franklin occupied the top step.
“So the Greenwoods set off early this morning?” Bo asked.
“Yep.” Franklin watched a pair of mockingbirds harping on a squirrel. The scared critter scampered and flitted through branches, trying to dodge and outmaneuver the sharp, relentless beaks.
“Even with the three of them,” Bo said, flicking away more chips, “I’d say it will probably be close to a month before they finish working around the Edge.”
“Guess it depends on what they find. Or what they don’t find,” he added as an afterthought.
“Nah. The bears are strong, the lions, too. The boundaries will be wide this year.” Franklin and his brothers had worked their way around the boundaries of the bear territory two years before. He didn’t envy the Greenwoods their arduous task. They would spend hours each day struggling against the Edge to see exactly how far the territory reached. Physically, it was painful.
Mentally and emotionally, it was torture.
Franklin remembered it feeling the way he imagined a broken heart to feel, only every footstep past the Edge reopened the wound and intensified the pain tenfold.
“Strong?” Franklin asked with a hint of disbelief, forcing himself away from the pointless memories. He respected Bo, thought the world of him, but sometimes the guy had some weird ideas. At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous around the shaman. Only a short while ago, at the most disastrous Honey Harvest Hoedown in Savage Valley history, Bo had stripped one of the bears—Carter Strong—of his ability to shift into bear form until he could straighten up his drunken, disorderly behavior. Before that night, none of the bear-shifters realized that Bo had that much power. Franklin wondered if even Bo had known until he used it. Either way, Franklin had noticed all of the shifters, the lions included, treating Bo with a little more respect.
If the boundaries were wider than usual, as Bo seemed to think they would be, then it could take the Greenwoods longer than a month. The bear-shifter families had gotten together before their annual boundary inspection to discuss recent events. Only a couple of weeks before, Savage Valley had been inundated with dead carcasses made to look like vicious animal attacks. Only the bear-shifters and lion-shifters knew that humans were behind the attacks. NormCorp most likely. Although there was no way to prove this theory as yet, the bears wanted to be extra cautious this year.
Technically, it was the Strongs’ year to perform the boundary inspection. However, as Noah was the only bear with the freedom to leave Savage Valley in case of an emergency, and his brother, Carter, was unable to perform his duties as a bear-shifter, the annual task had been relegated to the next family in line, which happened to be the Greenwoods.
“You want a beer?” Bo asked.
“Sure.”
“Great. You know where they are, right?”
Franklin opened his mouth to protest but then shook his head and got up from his perch.
“Grab me one, will ya?”
Franklin chuckled as he grabbed a couple bottles of the Yeatses’ brew from Bo’s old icebox. The Yeats twins were lion-shifters, which Franklin wasn’t too crazy about that, but he had to admit that they possessed an innate ability to brew just about any kind of alcoholic beverage known to mankind. When he had settled back onto his step, the sun tickled the tops of the Mukua Mountain Range. He popped off the top to his beer and took a deep, cooling swig.
“Guess you’d better go ahead and spit out what you came to spit out,” Bo said in a dry tone.
Franklin twisted around to eye the old man. His silver hair caught the evening sun, making it appear a fiery orange. “What makes you think I came here for anything other than a friendly chat and a beer with my longtime buddy?”
Bo almost choked on his beverage, and when he did get it swallowed, he pointed the neck of the bottle at Franklin. “Son, I been dealin’ with bear-shifters my whole life. Like my father before me and his father before him and so on. You know what my father’s advice to me was when I inherited my position as shaman?”
Franklin shook his head.
“My father said, ‘Bohagande, there’s only one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty about bear-shifters—they always want more honey.’”
Franklin frowned, not quite understanding the metaphor. True, he liked honey, but so what. He was a bear. It came with the territory.
Bo watched him for a moment and then rocked back on his stool, laughing and holding his knees. “Franklin, I know you’ve seen a bear foraging for honey.”
“Yeah.” He thought about it for a moment and then chuckled. He remembered once coming upon a black bear going for a hive at the top of tree. Only, the hive was situated on the uppermost branch sticking straight up from the rest of the tree. It was the skinniest, most precarious branch, but right at the top sat the most delectably perfect beehive. Its flat panels of wax shone bright against the clear blue sky, and the skimpy branch waved back and forth in a gentle breeze, beckoning in a most tempting manner to the bear. Of course, the bear couldn’t resist such a treat, and he scooted up the flimsy pole of a branch with determination, his paws swatting, trying to reach the hive.
After a couple swats and with a loud crack, the branch broke. The bear fell down to the foliage beneath him, bumping and scrabbling and tumbling through the tree. With one final grapple, he fell through to the ground, landing with a loud thud. A few moments later, a second thud followed. Rolling to his haunches, the bear used his front paws to pick up the hive that had fallen next to him. With a few murmurs of contentment, he buried his nose in it and happily gorged himself. After he finished, he tossed the hive aside and walked away, completely unconcerned with the mess he’d left behind.
Recalled back to the present by the thwack of Bo’s knife as he knocked off some wood chips, Franklin took a swig of beer. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Bo.”
