A Very Alpha Christmas

by Anthology

  And what was with that last MacGregor guy? Like the others, he was handsome, maybe too handsome. The gray at his temples added the impression of wisdom. That same notion was reflected in his eyes. He had the face and body of a fantasy. The kilt didn’t hurt that image either. Unfortunately, with his wise gaze had come a bit of a condescending annoyance when she’d spoken to him. He’d just stared at her, acting like everything that came out of her mouth was idiotic.

  Well, to be fair, everything out her mouth had been idiotic.

  Had she really told him the story of dreaming she was a dog chewing on shoes? It wasn’t as if that was an anecdote she thought about often.

  “Hi, I’m Donna. It’s not like I have a furry fetish, but here’s a random get-to-know-me fact. I used to vividly dream I was a dog.” She sighed heavily as she grumbled to herself. “At least I didn’t tell him about the flying insect dreams. Or my imaginary friend teaching me how to stick fight, and subsequently being rushed to the hospital to be psychologically evaluated.”

  Though really, what had her aging parents expected? She was an only child living on a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. She’d been a surprise pregnancy to a couple in their forties. Now her mother would have been one to bring baked goods to the new neighbors. That woman knew how to cook. Unfortunately, Donna had been too much of a tomboy to pay attention.

  The jacket she wore wasn’t meant for such cold temperatures. Donna hugged her arms over her chest and tucked her head down to continue the trek home. What was happening to her? She could recall every instance of going to the grocery store, reading recipes on her phone, staying up all night baking, putting the food items into cute little baskets to take up the hill. She had been doing it sporadically since late October, but she couldn’t recall why she did it. Normally, when new people moved into town, she just sent a photography coupon out with the local welcome wagon lady and called it good.

  Glancing up, she found a pretty woman staring at her from across the street. Brownish blonde waist-length hair blew in the breeze. Donna blinked and jumped back from the splashing puddle as a car zoomed past. When she again looked, the woman was gone. She searched up and down the now empty street before continuing home.

  “Maybe my imaginary friend is all grown up and coming back to say hi. I should have her hit me over the head with the stick again, knock some sense into me.”

  Her house was small, nestled between the Johnstons and Mr. Reyer. It had a decent yard and a small porch. Her sidewalk was cleared of snow, which meant Mrs. Johnston had taken pity on her again and made Mr. Johnston get out his snow shovel.

  The yellow siding and white trim guarded the sanctuary inside. This was her life, the piece she’d carved out for herself. She wasn’t rich. She wasn’t famous. Donna simply was. She wanted nothing to do with the new town nobles living above them. So it made no sense why she’d try to make friends with them.

  Any farm-girl dreams she’d had of becoming spectacular had long faded. She’d found with adulthood that she really wasn’t suited for photographing the Amazon jungle, or trekking through the wilds to discover isolated tribes. Instead, she traveled in books and photographed children and weddings. She had no desire for fame and fortune. People like the MacGregors lived in the spotlight. The rich always did. Donna liked to live behind the camera flash. She liked quiet. She liked normal.

  So then why was she suddenly trying to be Suzie Homemaker for the new Scottish neighbors living as local celebrities in the mansion on the hill?

  Donna opened her front door. It wasn’t locked. Apparently, Baker Donna hadn’t felt the need for personal security.

  She closed the door and locked it before kicking off her wet shoes and dropping her gloves and hat on the floor. She then trudged toward her bedroom to get out of her wet clothes. At least her home was warm, even if it did smell of whatever painful concoction had come out of her oven.

  “Comhstach.”

  Donna gasped at the soft whisper. She turned, ready to confront the man standing in her home. “Who’s there?”

  She reached for her pocket. Fucking wonderful. Neighborly Donna didn’t believe in carrying her cell phone.

  She held still for a long moment, listening to the silence. Nervously, she made her way down the hall. She pushed open a creaky door and switched on the bathroom light. No one was there. Next, she tried the extra bedroom that had been turned into her office. The computer monitors were dormant on the wood desk, and her camera equipment sat untouched. Inching toward her living room, which doubled as a showroom, she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Large photographs of happy faces stared from oversized frames. Her front door remained closed.

  “Hello?” she called softly, going to check the kitchen. It was primarily used to store take-out containers but was now covered in discarded bakeware and a fine dusting of flour. One set of footprints in the flour led from where she’d baked toward the living room. The kitchen was empty, and yet she found herself going toward the counter.

  A handprint had been pressed into the flour mess. Donna glanced at her hands. They were still red from being outside with insufficient gloves. Slowly, she lowered her palm over the print. Her fingers were too long to fit inside the mark.

  “What is happening to me?” she whispered.

  3

  “What do ya think? Angus says lust would be good for me, but what do I know of courting these modern women?” Fergus took a deep breath. Part of him was very interested in the idea of slaking his lust with Donna. She’d been in his head since he’d first met her. The attraction he had for the woman was very strong, stirring in his body as nothing had in a very long time. “I don’t know why I’m even thinking about it. Ya know what I’m going to say, don’t ya? My Elspeth. I’ve never cheated on her.”

  The ache was real and always there. It would never go away.

  But perhaps the others were right. He’d failed to bring Elspeth back. Every day for over four hundred years, he had tried, and he had failed. There were no more spells to attempt. There hadn’t been for decades, centuries. Now he was just making things up, killing trees to fuel his magick so he could recite a new version of an old spell. He’d opened portals. He’d done shady deals with even shadier necromancers. He’d spilled blood and tears. He had nothing left.

  He lay on his stomach on the floor of his bedroom, his face a foot from the English bulldog’s wrinkled smile. Traitor stared into his eyes as if enthralled by his words, but Fergus knew the dog wouldn’t answer him.

  “I’ve managed to keep ya alive, haven’t I, friend? Years of trying has taught me much, but it has not taught me how to talk to a woman.”

  The dog wobbled forward on his stomach and licked Fergus’s face with his thick tongue.

  “Ya like her, don’t ya? Ate all those cookies she brought by.”

  Traitor burped and continued to breathe hard.

  Fergus grimaced and pushed up from his stomach. “Ya make a good point. I should return her basket. My nephews were not too kind to her. That’s no way to behave in a new town, and gifts should be reciprocated. We want to make a good impression.”

  Traitor snorted.

  “Ya don’t know what ya are talking about. I go for the clan, to make a good impression.”

  Traitor rolled onto his back and began twitching back and forth to scratch himself on the thick carpet.

  “Do not judge me.” Fergus glanced down over his slacks. Little white strands of fur stuck to them. With a magickal brush of his hand, he cleaned them off as he left the room to search out his niece. Malina would be able to help him with the gift basket. Fergus didn’t know much about hair ribbons, baubles, trinkets and the like. Any gift he put together would include a bottle of whiskey and golf balls. Did most women like a good whiskey?

  “Malina,” Fergus called loudly as he came down the stairs. “I need ya to get me girl products.”

  Malina stood in the front hall with Euann and Rory. All three turned in unison to look at him.

&nb
sp; Euann had a packed duffle bag on the floor beside him, clearly getting ready to leave for New York. “I warned ya if ya didn’t use it your manhood would fall off.”

  “I don’t think tampons are going to help ya, Uncle Fergus,” Rory teased. “Unless another of your spells went incredibly wrong.”

  “I don’t understand ya, laddies. Why would I need to tampion something?” Fergus frowned. He had no reason to stuff a rag into a hole. “Can’t ya magickally stuff something into—”

  Rory and Euann began to laugh harder.

  Fergus didn’t understand why they thought plugging was so funny. “I was asking for help making a present to give Donna to thank her for her generosity in welcoming our family. Unless ya think she’d like a bottle of my favorite whiskey?”

  “Ignore Euann,” Malina said, her English accent a contrast to her brother. “I will help you.”

  “Aye, ignore me,” Euann stated. “We’ll all help ya put together the perfect gift. Trust us, we know what women like.”

  “Aye,” Rory agreed. “The perfect gift. Ya are right, Fergus. We need to be more neighborly.”

  “Good.” He nodded. That was more like the mature attitude he expected from them.

  4

  “Comhstach.”

  “I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you,” Donna repeated to herself, ignoring the man’s whisper. No one was there, only a voice. Sometimes she understood the half sentences. Mostly, the words were in some Celtic language she didn’t speak. She guessed Scottish Gaelic, but she really had no way of knowing. Each time they made her tremble, part with dread, part with curiosity, always with anticipation.

  Donna took a deep breath and set down her camera as it synced Misty Wallace’s senior pictures onto the computer. Without much thought, she walked toward the front door and opened it.

  A MacGregor man stood, his hand lifted as if to knock. She frowned, recognizing him as the one who’d accepted her cookies and then given her short, grumpy answers. How could she have thought he was nice? The more she’d played the scene in her head, the more she felt like a simpering idiot, and the more she became convinced this particular MacGregor lacked all charm and was a jerk. To see him at her front door, hand suspended in mid-air and a smile on his face, was bizarre to say the least.

  “What do you want?” Donna didn’t intend the question to come out as harshly as it sounded, but having him on her front porch caused a small shiver to wash over her. He was much more handsome than she’d remembered. The expression in his dark eyes reminded her of lost moments—an innocent searching she hadn’t felt since she was nine years old, a strong cup of coffee on a cold early morning, the angst of being a teen, the smell of her grandmother’s baking on a childhood afternoon, the sorrow of losing a pet, the happiness of capturing the perfect instant on film. The depths of his gaze mesmerized her, and she felt lightheaded. The impressions from the past became vivid, a waking dream full of sound and scents in no chronological order. He blinked and looked away. The rush of feelings inside her subsided as if they’d never been, leaving her feeling emptier than before.

  His expression fell, and he dropped his hand. “Ya do not sound the same as before.”

  The resonance of his voice brought her fully back into the moment. Donna arched a brow. So she didn’t sound like a bubbly airhead? He didn’t exactly sound like the arrogant asshole. “Neither do you.”

  “I wanted to thank ya for your welcome.” He held up her cookie basket. “My family put this together for ya.”

  “Comhstach,” the Scottish voice whispered in hushed determination, so soft it could have been her mind playing tricks on her.

  Donna didn’t readily take the gift. She was afraid to reach toward him. Her hands shook. There was something all too familiar about this situation. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Donna.”

  “Aye, Donna Montgomery, so ya said.” Like the rest of the MacGregors she had encountered, he had dark hair and sensual eyes and a natural sex appeal, but there was something special about him that set him apart from the others. She couldn’t place it. The idea was more of a feeling than a logical fact.

  “And you’ve never said.” She couldn’t help her small smile. “Do you have a name?”

  “Oh, Fergus MacGregor,” he answered. “Sorry, I’m not used to talking.”

  “Silent type, eh, Gus?” Donna chuckled. She held out her hand, finally willing to accept the basket. It was a lot heavier than when she’d delivered it. A chilly breeze whipped over her shoulder as if originating from inside the warm house. She looked behind her to find the source of the strange draft and said, “It’s cold. Please, come in.”

  Donna stepped aside and let Fergus pass. He paused in the entryway and looked around at her giant photo displays. “Ya must really like your family.”

  Donna laughed. “They’re my customers.”

  “Ya must really like your customers.”

  “Some of them,” Donna answered, thinking of Misty Wallace’s photo shoot processing onto her computer. The girl was as snooty as her mother and lacked all natural ability to smile…or say anything nice. “Others not so much, but I do love my job.” Noticing the boxes on her floor, she quickly slid them aside with her foot and added, “Sorry, let me just get those out of your way. I’m photographing the Annual Winter Skate and my display setups seem to overtake everything if I’m not careful.”

  “Winter Skate?”

  “Town tradition for the holidays. There’s a festival, and everyone skates the creek through the woods.”

  “Which woods?”

  “Oh.” Donna frowned. “I guess that would be through your woods now.”

  “The townsfolk plan to trespass on our land?”

  Donna pretended to study her hand. There was the arrogant tone she remembered from their first meeting. He apparently wasn’t too keen on the idea of the common people on his noble estate. She sighed, biting down the urge to say her sarcastic thoughts aloud. “Is this the first you’re hearing of it? I hope it’s not a problem. The town does it every year, and no one has lived in the mansion, so it has never been an issue, but I suppose… You should talk to the city council. I’m sure they’ll know all the permits and details and whatnot.”

  “We will do that.”

  Donna hoped they didn’t cancel the celebration. The yearly gig really was an excellent source of holiday income. Not to mention, it was a nice tradition.

  He didn’t speak, merely stared at her as if he wanted her to continue talking.

  “Comhstach,” the Scottish voice in her mind stated louder, tickling her thoughts as if she was supposed to be remembering something critically important. It was probably something from a television show, some stupid line that she couldn’t get out of her head.

  “Comhsta…” she repeated softly to herself as if saying the word might help produce the meaning.

  Fergus colored slightly. “I’m sorry, did ya just call me a…?”

  She blinked, realizing she’d started paying attention to the voice in her head instead of the man in front of her. “What? Oh, no, sorry, it’s just this thing that I’ve been trying to remember. It has been driving me crazy.”

  “It sounds like you’re attempting to say comhstach.”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Donna asked in surprise.

  “Aye. It means whore.”

  “Oh.” Donna bit her lip. So apparently the voices in her head were calling her a whore? They must be able to see the very unladylike thoughts playing in her mind about Mr. Fergus MacGregor. “Never mind. That can’t be what I’m trying to recall. Anyway…”

  She glanced uncomfortably around the room and then remembered the present. Glad to have a distraction, she pulled at the cloth covering the basket to open her gift. Setting it down on the couch, she reached inside to retrieve a stack of books. Donna read the titles aloud, “How to Cook 101. Does Everything You Make Stink? Cooking for Chronic Burners. Stop Poisoning Your Friends and Family in Ten Easy Steps.” Under the b
ooks was a stack of takeout gift cards. “Fast food cards? Is this a joke?”

  “We wanted to…” Fergus coughed nervously. “My family…gift…neighbor…should go.”

  Fergus turned to leave. Donna dropped the books onto the couch and followed him outside. She didn’t wear a coat and the winter wind whipped over her. She had tried to be polite, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, but this was too insulting.

  “I get it. I’m a bad cook. I wouldn’t blame you if you quietly threw away everything I brought up to you. But that gift you gave me? And getting upset about a winter festival? And that rude way you greeted me when I came to your door? You are kind of a jerk, Mr. MacGregor. Do you think because you’re rich you can breeze into town and do whatever you want? Treat people like this? I mean, sure I shouldn’t have brought you food. I don’t even know why I tried. But it wasn’t done with malice. I didn’t deserve your family running away from me and slamming the door in my face. Yeah, I gave Euann the benefit of the doubt and pretended that wasn’t what happened, but I think it’s pretty obvious now. And I surely don’t deserve such a spiteful gift.”

  Fergus didn’t speak.

  Donna’s chest tightened. The MacGregor insult stung. They didn’t know her. The gift was just mean. She felt tears burning the back of her eyes. “You know what, never mind. I’m sorry I even bothered.” She pointed at a white sheepdog sitting on the sidewalk watching them. “Welcome to Green Vallis. That dog appears to be waiting for you. You should take him and go home. Don’t worry, you won’t see me at your doorstep again, and I won’t try to talk to you.”

  * * *

  Fergus didn’t know what to say or do. What did he know about women? He’d never been suave. The fates had taken pity on him when they’d sent him Elspeth.

  He should have looked in the basket before handing it to her. It wasn’t a surprise that his family had done something stupid. They’d think it was a funny prank. Donna wasn’t laughing.