“Tuesdays?” Confusion clouded Lincoln’s gaze.
“About midmorning.” Angeline slid off the bar stool. “Trust me. It’s the best time to go grocery shopping at Anne’s Market.”
“Appreciate the tip.” From his neutral expression, Angeline couldn’t discern if he truthfully did, or if he merely humored her.
“I should go.”
Lincoln met her at the door. “Here.” He tugged off his sweatshirt.
“Thanks.” She kept focused on the faint scar below his eye rather than the short, dark hairs spread across the broad, chiseled expanse of his chest. “But I don’t need it.”
He slipped the sweatshirt over her head and onto her shoulders anyway. His clean, crisp, masculine scent immediately invaded her senses, and she obediently slid her arms into the sleeves.
The fabric still held his warmth, and she remained nice and toasty all the way to her apartment.
Standing watch from his doorway, bare-chested and unflinching against the icy wind winding through the corridor, Lincoln presented a striking image of a proud warrior. He reeked of confidence, but not the arrogance she had imagined to have infected all Dogmen.
Once inside, Angeline sighed against the locked door. Hugging Lincoln’s sweatshirt to her body, she held the collar over her nose, breathing his scent and absorbing his warmth like a she-wolf showing more than a casual interest in a male—
Like cold water to the face, the realization shocked her senses and she couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough.
This was all Tristan’s fault!
Leaving the sweatshirt in a puddle on the floor, she stomped to the kitchen bar, snatched open her purse, whipped out her cell phone and began furiously typing.
Chapter 3
“Dammit!” Angeline swiped the pick down the guitar strings, abruptly halting the sappy tune she’d been composing for the last hour.
Sitting in the middle of her unmade bed, she stared into her open closet at the numerous prestigious awards her love songs had won. Hidden away from all eyes but hers because no strong, self-respecting she-wolf would ever pine over a man who didn’t want her. Neither would she write songs about the devastating experience. Especially not a she-wolf raised by Patrick O’Brien. He’d be appalled to learn that his daughter had been reduced to inconsolable tears by the man who’d broken her young heart.
However, Angeline had turned the heartbreak from Tanner’s rejection and the heartache from his death into writing love-lost songs that country and pop recording artists fought over to record.
Of course, she had long moved past the actual events. But to write the music and lyrics people wanted, she had to tap into those old feelings, putting herself back into the maelstrom of all that pain. Lately, though, she had grown weary of the process.
Again, she blamed Tristan. His migration from her staunchest bachelor friend to happily mated had left her feeling off-kilter. A feeling magnified by her unusual reaction to Lincoln. Also, Tristan’s fault. If he hadn’t left Lincoln the wrong key, she wouldn’t have his scent imprinted in her nose and lingering in the living room.
Obviously, she found the wolfan sexually appealing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with chiseled abs and sculpted pecs, and muscled limbs that proclaimed his strength without being ridiculously pretentious. The way he moved and carried himself proved he’d earned those muscles on the job rather than in the gym. But she was accustomed to physically fit wolfan males. Generally, they didn’t stay on her mind.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about Lincoln, whose commanding presence had not been diminished by the loss of his leg. The injury appeared to be fairly recent, considering the freshness of the scars on his stump and on the left side of his body.
However, it was the lost and lonely look in Lincoln’s eyes that had haunted her all night and greatly interfered with her creativity today.
Sympathy infected her heart, causing it to ache for the Dogman. It shouldn’t. Her heart should be cold and unfeeling toward them. They’d made their choices and should live with them. Why should anyone be sympathetic? Especially those they’d abandoned to pursue glory.
Growling, Angeline strummed the strings in frustration and set aside the guitar. She slipped off the bed, stretched and then padded out of the bedroom. The pounding at her front door halted her trip to the kitchen.
She opened the door to Tristan’s famous grin.
“Hey there, Sassy.”
“Hey there, Slick. Bite me.”
Before she could close the door, Tristan thrust his arm through the opening, gripping a white paper bag. The scent of apples and cinnamon and sugar caused her nose to twitch. He nudged the door open a little wider and showed her the large coffee in his other hand. “I come bearing gifts,” he said lightheartedly.
“Once upon a time that didn’t work out so well for the Trojans.” Regardless, Angeline lifted the coffee cup and bag of pastries from Tristan’s hands. Ignoring him as he entered the apartment, she sat cross-legged on the couch and fished a bear claw with an apple filling from the bag.
Tristan closed the door and made himself at home in the overstuffed chair. “I’m not exactly sure what this means.” He showed her the angry, emoji-filled text message she’d sent last night.
“Just delete it.” Angeline wiped away the sugar sticking to her lips. “We’re good now.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a heads-up about Lincoln.” Tristan paused and suddenly the exhaustion he’d been hiding surfaced. “Nel and I were at the hospital most of the night.”
“Is Nel all right? Did she have the baby?”
“False alarm. She’s had Braxton Hicks pain on and off, but last night she got so uncomfortable, I took her in to be checked.” Running his hand through his tousled blond hair, Tristan yawned.
Angeline did, too. Seemed they’d both had a long night.
“Lincoln called right as the nurse took Nel to an exam room. I meant to text you—”
“Forget it.” She waved off Tristan’s worry and he began to relax. “You’re dealing with a lot. Seems to be your calling.”
“I’m hoping to build a team to shoulder that burden.” Everyone’s problem solver, Tristan—a former sheriff deputy, had recently been named the Walker’s Run Co-op’s chief of security. A huge undertaking considering the pack now had its own police force.
“Don’t look at me. I like my life the way it is.” In defiance of Tristan’s pointed, disbelieving look, she shoved another pastry into her mouth.
“I’m talking about Lincoln,” Tristan said. “Brice wants him to remain in Walker’s Run.”
Not surprisingly, the Alpha’s son had a habit of keeping his friends close. “Good luck to him. Lincoln doesn’t seem the type to walk away from the Program, even if he could.”
“Apparently, he’s being forced into a medical retirement.”
“Whoa.” The only utterable word able to form on Angeline’s lips. A Dogman losing his career, much like a wolfan losing a mate, hurt to the soul.
She would not sympathize with Lincoln, though. Not about that.
“I have a favor to ask,” Tristan said quietly.
Over the rim of her coffee cup, Angeline watched him squirm in his seat. The hot liquid heated her mouth and the warmth traveled all the way to her starting-to-clench stomach. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“I need you to keep an eye on him.”
“No.” Angeline cut her eyes at her oldest, dearest friend. He should know better than to ask such a thing. “I’m not spying on a Dogman.”
“Just be neighborly.” Tristan leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees with his fingers laced. “Brice trusts him, but I don’t know this guy. Dogmen are just this side of feral. I need to know sooner than later if he’s on the verge of crossing the line. The pack has been through enough violence.”
“Why me and not Shane? He’s only a few doors down.” And a legitimate pack sentinel.
“Shane doesn’t have your assets,” Tristan said good-naturedly. “Lincoln isn’t likely to let his guard down around a male. But you?” Tristan’s expression turned serious. “You could make a wolf lie down at your feet, roll over and purr, if you wanted him to.”
“You know why I can’t do this.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee but the kinks in her stomach tightened rather than relaxed.
“Lincoln isn’t Tanner. Don’t judge him for Tanner’s mistake.” Tristan stood. “If Lincoln is the man Brice believes, when the realty of his medical retirement sets in, he’s going to need help coping. It can be you or someone else, but I strongly feel you’re the best person he could have in his corner because you know how it feels to lose the life you thought you were meant to have.”
Quietly, Tristan closed the door as he left.
“Dammit!” Angeline slung a throw pillow after him. Harmlessly, it glanced off the door. She snatched it up and punched it. “Damn you, too, Tanner.” She smacked the pillow again, then hugged it to her chest and schlepped to the couch, knowing she’d do just what Tristan had asked. Because she did know exactly how it felt to watch the future crumble. No one, not even a Dogman, deserved to face it alone.
* * *
Bracing against the cold, Lincoln knocked on the door to Brice Walker’s residence, two miles up the mountain from the family-owned Walker’s Run Resort. Used to the heat in Somalia, the lower temperatures in Northeast Georgia would be a welcomed change if his stump didn’t ache.
The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a petite, human redhead. A smile warmed the porcelain tone of her skin and her cinnamon eyes shimmered.
“Hello, Cassie.” Though they had never met, he knew her from the late-night chats he’d had with her mate during a mission in Romania several years ago.
“Lincoln! Please come in.” She stepped aside, welcoming him into her home.
Gratefully, he shook off the cold.
“Thank you for keeping Brice safe so he could come back to me,” she said, closing the door. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you get it.”
“I appreciate your kindness.” But what he wanted she couldn’t give. Her husband, however, could be the Ace that Lincoln needed. After all, he had saved Brice’s life. “I was just doing my job.”
“You went beyond your job. You were a friend when Brice needed one the most.”
Uh-oh.
Reading her body language and seeing the intent on her face, Lincoln leaned down so that her arms reached his neck in the full-on hug rather than banding around his middle, which would’ve appeared quite odd and a bit too personal to her mate. Lincoln didn’t have a visual on Brice Walker yet, but his ears honed in on the slight thump of the man’s limping gait inside the house.
A tawny-headed wolfan, not quite midtwenties, stepped into the hallway. On his shoulders sat a toddler.
“Shane—” Cassie grinned at the young man “—this is Lincoln Adams, Brice’s friend from his time in Romania.”
Lincoln hid his smile. Humans often identified a personal connection when introducing people. Wolfans pointed out their rank or benefit to the pack.
“Lincoln, this is Shane MacQuarrie. He’s a close friend of ours.”
Neither he nor Shane made an effort to observe the human custom of shaking hands. Instead, they greeted each other with a curt nod.
“I hear we’re neighbors at the Chatuge View Apartments.” Shane’s wintry gaze didn’t warm. Close to the age Lincoln had been when recruited for the Dogman program, the young wolf reeked of confidence, piss and vinegar. Lincoln liked him immediately.
“Good to know.”
“And this is my daughter, Brenna,” Cassie said.
The little girl’s bright blue eyes targeted him with the same intensity Lincoln had seen in her father’s gaze years ago. And although her hair wasn’t red like her mother’s curls, the blond ringlets held a tinge of fire.
Cassie held up her hands and Brenna practically launched into her mother’s arms. “More monkey than wolf, I think.”
Although the little girl’s mother was human, her father was Wahya and wolfan genes were dominant. All Wahyan offspring were born with wolf-shifting abilities.
“Just brave and confident.” Lincoln extended his hand in a nonthreatening greeting. “Nice to meet you, Brenna.”
“Mmm...five!” Grinning, she smacked her palm against his open hand.
“That’s not how we greet guests.” Despite Cassie’s frown, no true reprimand sharpened her voice. She turned to Lincoln. “Come. The others are in the family room.”
Others?
Brice hadn’t mentioned others when he’d invited Lincoln to Sunday supper.
Shane took a step back, allowing Lincoln to follow Cassie, but remained close enough to respond to any threat, should Lincoln become one.
“Lincoln!” Brice stepped forward as they entered the family room. “Good to see you, man.”
Fairly equal in height, Lincoln didn’t need to crouch for Brice’s brotherly embrace and friendly pat on the back.
“Thanks for the invite.”
“My parents.” Brice waved his hand toward the more than middle-aged couple sitting in the love seat near the fireplace. “Gavin and Abby Walker.”
The Alpha and Alphena of Walker’s Run. Lincoln had expected to meet them eventually. Just not on his first venture out.
After a handshake from Gavin and a hug from Abby, Cassie hustled them into the dining room. Brenna insisted Lincoln sit next to her and he complied, despite Shane’s obvious annoyance.
Throughout the delicious meal, Lincoln politely answered questions and listened to their security concerns. Although what they’d experienced over the last few years alarmed the quiet Appalachian pack, it couldn’t compare to the violence Lincoln dealt with daily on deployment.
When finished with supper, everyone returned to the family room. Lincoln sat in an overstuffed rocking chair, leaving the couch and love seat to the mated pairs while Shane claimed the recliner. Conversation shifted to planning a spring gathering for the pack. For fifteen years, Lincoln had been isolated from first-world normalcy and he found the sudden reentrance jarring.
Brenna climbed into his lap with a book. Glad for the distraction, he read and reread the story until she fell asleep. Only then did he notice all the adults in the room silently watching him.
Thank you, Cassie mouthed, easing the child from his arms.
“I wouldn’t have expected a Dogman to know how to handle children.” In spite of Gavin’s stony expression, his sharp blue eyes twinkled.
“Wherever I’m deployed, I see children impacted by the conflict around them. I do what I can to help them retain their childhood, in spite of the circumstance.” The ache in Lincoln’s heart grew stronger. Dayax had no one but him, and Lincoln was thousands of miles away. Safe, warm and well-fed. The lost little wolfling likely was none of those things.
“Sounds like you will be a great father one day,” Abby said.
“Dogmen can’t take mates,” Lincoln replied gently. “We aren’t meant to be fathers.” Or mothers, or sons, daughters, brothers or sisters. The Program required absolute devotion. All ties with family and friends were severed upon joining.
“Aren’t you ready to retire?” Shane’s gaze dropped to Lincoln’s left leg.
“Not anytime soon.” Lincoln shifted his attention to Brice, who stood.
“I’ve got something to show you.” Brice motioned for Lincoln to follow.
After closing the French doors to the home office, Brice sat behind a messy wooden desk, pulled a photo from the drawer and handed it to Lincoln.
He fingered the snapshot of them sitting by a campfire, laughing.
“Remember that ni
ght?” With one blue eye and one green, Brice’s direct gaze could intimidate lesser men.
“Hard to forget.” Especially since Lincoln still bore the scar from the bullet he’d caught protecting Brice less than an hour after the picture had been taken.
“When I talked to you a couple of weeks ago, I thought you were on board with the medical retirement.”
“I only said that so the doctors would stop harping about adjustment issues. Yeah, I lost a leg, but I have more important things to worry about, which is why I need your help with something.”
“Name it.” Brice planted his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.
“I want to go back to Somalia.”
To his credit, Brice didn’t balk, blink or bat an eyelash.
“I was looking for a wolfling in an abandoned building when an explosion blasted me out of a two-story window.” Lincoln fished out his wallet, removed a photo of him and Dayax and tossed it on the desk in front of Brice. “Insurgents took him. I want him back.”
“I’m not a soldier, Lincoln. How do you think I can help?”
“Ask your friends at the Woelfesenat to grant me clearance to go back in.” As the secretive international wolf council, the Woelfesenat not only had ruling authority over the packs but had executive power over the Dogman Program.
“I’m Dayax’s only hope, Brice. I have to find him or die trying.” Invisible fingers fisted around Lincoln’s heart. His mission to rescue Dayax would be over before it began if Brice declined to help.
Brice glanced at the framed picture of his daughter on his desk. “I’ll do what I can.”
Lincoln managed to breathe again. “Thank you.” Though grateful, he didn’t allow himself even the smallest celebration. More than two months had passed since Dayax’s disappearance. Finding him would take a miracle.
Chapter 4
“Have you met him yet?” Madelyn O’Brien, sister-in-law number one, nudged Angeline.
Tamed by the She-Wolf Page 3
