“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Miri smiled quietly and continued the interview, which lasted for ten more minutes. But Angel had already made up her mind.
* * *
The two men were so different, and yet so similar. Tall, gorgeous, strong in a way that Angel had never known a human male to be.
She’d seen shifters all her life; they were everywhere. But it had always felt a little like a dream to walk by one. As though, strolling down the street, a supermodel had happened by, making her feel small, vulnerable, mousy.
And here were two such men, being interviewed for the opportunity to date her. It was surreal, to say the least.
Her phone rang a moment after Kai had left the frame on her computer, causing an inadvertent leap out of the fantasy into reality.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Angel, it’s Miri. I don’t want to pressure you but I do like to ask quickly—have you made a choice?”
“Yes.”
Chapter 4
“So, which will it be?” asked Miri.
The shifters were each fantastic. Sexy as hell, tasty as hell and desirable as hell. And a few years back, when Angel was just a little younger and less responsible, the choice would have been Kai, without any question. He was sizzling sex on a stick, that one; the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes flashed about the room. He was dark and mysterious, and just plain yummy.
But Slate—he was a man. A burly, strong grizzly shifter with muscles he didn’t even need. And he had a child, though of course that was a double-edged sword. A father knew how to be responsible, how to look after someone, as he’d said. But he also had a massive, immovable commitment in his life. He would hesitate to bring anyone into his world who wasn’t right for his daughter as well as for him, and Angel wasn’t exactly stepmother material; at least she didn’t think so.
Still, she wasn’t looking to get married, after all. Slate seemed like he could use some pleasure in life, and maybe a couple of dates would be just the thing for a man like him. Angel could get to know a shifter and Slate could end up with a smile on his face. Even if they went their separate ways after a little while, it wouldn’t matter; the result would be a net positive.
“Slate,” Angel said at least, replying to the matchmaker. “I’ve chosen the bear. So where do I go from here?”
“I’ll look after it. When do you want me to inform him?”
“Any time is fine.” The free spirit was taking over. “I’m pretty well open to anything.”
“Good—that openness will help when the time comes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Grizzly shifters—they’re special. You’ll see. They’re not like most men, or even most shifters.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
* * *
Slate’s breath huffed out in crisp white clouds as he lugged the enormous beam into position, single-handedly setting it on its supports. Most men would have requested help, but he preferred to work solo when he could, never trusting that anyone else could perform the task with his attention to detail. Easier simply to go it alone.
The building was to be a high-tech horse barn, the brainchild of some rich client of the boss’s. He wasn’t the only shifter on the job; several other grizzlies were working alongside him. But without a doubt, he was the hardest worker, and the most ambitious of them.
“How are things?” asked Martin, one of his co-workers who’d watched him with an impressed look pasted to his face as he’d wandered by.
“Good. The usual, really. Getting a workout at work.”
“Speaking of which—you still working towards your own construction business someday?”
Slate wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Yeah, in my dream world I am. If I could just sell my place, I could start out by building another house.”
“There’s always an if, isn’t there?” Martin nodded. He too was a grizzly shifter, another hard worker. Though he was in construction only temporarily, intending to take over his father’s accounting business in a few years. “You should just go for it. Put the house on the market, see what happens.”
“I can’t go for much these days. There’s Ruby to consider. Can’t take chances with a little girl around. Besides, Grayson City isn’t all that popular right now, what with the wolves pulling all their shit. It’s not easy to sell a house.”
“True. Of course,” said Martin, not wanting to confess that he’d forgotten Slate even had a child. “Well, best of luck. I’m going to finish up here and the boss is moving me onto a drywall job across town for a few days. I’m sure I’ll run into you soon.”
“All right. Later, Marty.”
“Later, Slate.”
As he watched the man go, Slate pondered the evening ahead. He’d swung by Miri’s the previous afternoon after his shift, which had ended early when the weather had turned for the worse. But now he tried not to think of the experience; something about being asked questions about himself had felt invasive. And he knew full well that going out on a date—if that were to happen—would constitute more of the same: a woman, interrogating him, assessing his value.
But the only part of him that he considered truly valuable had been at school all day, learning math and science, no doubt. Ruby was his world, his life, and everything he did was for her.
At five o’clock his shift ended, and it was only then that he pulled out his phone to take a peek. There, waiting for him, was the usual “Hi, Daddy,” text from Ruby, assuring him that the sitter had brought her home safely and that she wasn’t dead in a ditch—a fear that he commonly expressed, and which, for some reason, made the young bear shifter cub laugh. Not that he ever really worried about that particular possibility—one advantage to having a bear shifter for a child was that she could fight off almost any threat. And other grizzlies looked out for kids like her. She was well protected by a vast community of strangers, and hopefully she never felt alone.
But there was another message on his phone, this time from Miri.
Something in Slate’s chest bounced at the anticipation of seeing what she had to say. Had a rejection come in so soon?
He realized for the first time that he wasn’t expecting anything else. No woman—particularly human—in her right mind would look at a single father and cry out, “Yes! There’s my man! My lifelong dream is to help a widower raise his kid and forego any freedom that I’ve ever had.” So he braced himself for a “Sorry, Slate” note, jaw set, left hand fisted into a tight ball.
But he was wrong, as it turned out.
“Her name is Angel Ramsey,” said the text. “She’s picked you. If you’d like to contact her, here’s her number. If not, let me know.”
Angel. It was quite a name. Normally, if a person had the misfortune to have been given such a moniker, they did everything in the world to prove that they were nothing of the sort. Her parents may as well have named her Mischievous Imp or Devil in Disguise. But there was no sense in judging someone from a choice her parents had made for her—and probably when they were high on some illegal substance, at that.
“What’s she like?” he wrote back. The shock of being chosen was causing him to hesitate all of a sudden, and questions were sprinting into his mind at an alarming rate.
“Nice. You’ll like her. Send her a note.”
It was all that Miri said. Nothing about the woman’s physical appearance, which, as Slate’s heart rate calmed, he realized wasn’t a bad thing. Hell, he wasn’t hung up on looks, anyhow. The more pressing question was whether a woman that he might get involved with would be kind to his daughter. He could handle anyone. But he didn’t want just anyone around a motherless child; she needed to be a role model of some sort. So no drugs, no smoking. Preferably no copious amounts of swearing. And no dishonesty.
He heaved his large form into the pickup truck and, after tossing the cell phone onto the passenger seat, started it up, eager to get home to Ruby.
&nb
sp; A note to Angel would have to wait for a little, so hopefully she was the patient sort.
When he’d pulled into his driveway twenty minutes later, Slate watched from his seat as the house’s front door creaked open and Ruby’s tiny head poked out. Once he’d turned off the engine, she came sprinting towards him; she knew that she wasn’t ever to dash towards a vehicle that was running.
He opened the door and embraced her as she leapt into his arms. It was one of the few times that he let himself grin from ear to ear, this; when his daughter was wrapped up in one of his giant bear hugs.
“How was your day, Daddy?” she asked, preempting any interrogation on his part.
“Fine, fine,” he said, stroking her hair as he climbed out of the truck. “More importantly, how was yours?”
“Good.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“No.”
He took her hand and walked towards the front door as she skipped along beside him.
“You didn’t? Why am I sending you to that school, then?”
“Daddy, I ask myself that every day. Maybe I shouldn’t go anymore.”
He let out a brief chuckle. “Clever girl, I see what you did there. But you’re going to have to keep going until you learn something that you can teach me.”
“I did learn one thing today.”
“Oh? Surprise, surprise. What was it?”
“How to make a flower out of paper.”
“Well, it’s not the most manly project in the world, but maybe you can teach me how to do that later.”
“Maaaybe.” The word came as a condition. Maybe, if he scratched her back, she’d scratch his. “Maybe if you take me fishing?”
“No fishing at this time of year,” he said. “It’s too cold.”
“But the bear cub has fur.”
“The bear cub is still developing. She’s not yet all that big and strong, and probably shouldn’t be bouncing around in icy water,” said her father. He knew she’d be perfectly fine even in the coldest lake, of course. But damned if he was going to give her any ideas. “I’ll take you when the weather turns warm, how’s that?”
Ruby jutted out her lower lip in an anguished pout. “All right,” she said. The words came out more along the lines of “All white,” because of her penchant for mispronouncing her Rs. She was learning, but the truth was that Slate loved it about her, and didn’t want her to correct the slight impediment too soon.
He changed the subject, knowing that bringing her out of a grumpy state was easily accomplished. “Now tell me, what are you making me for dinner?”
Ruby looked up at him, her enormous brown eyes going wide. “Me, making dinner?”
“Yeah! I want stew. How about you make us some stew?”
“I don’t know how to make stew,” she sputtered as they crossed the threshold into the house.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll cook. Again,” he said, letting out a mock sigh.
“Hey, Mr. Conner,” said Christine as he entered the house. The university student looked after Ruby on weekday afternoons.
“Hi there,” he said, handing her an envelope. “Pay for this week. Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem. She’s always tons of fun.”
Don’t I know it, he thought. She gets it from her mother. Fun wasn’t bred into my genes.
When the sitter had left and Slate had put some leftovers on the stove to heat up, he sat down with his daughter to have a talk.
“Listen,” he said. “You know that I like to run things by you before I do them, especially ones that involve big decisions. So I have a question for you.”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“How would you feel if I went out on a date sometime?”
“Like, with a lady?”
“With a lady, yes.”
Ruby put an index finger on her lower lip and pretended to contemplate the question with great intensity before punching his arm. He faked a flinch, grabbing his bicep in mock pain.
“I’d like it, silly,” she blurted out with the wide-eyed enthusiasm that only a child could exhibit.
“Oh? Why’s that? You want your old dad out of the house so badly?”
“No. Because it might make you happy.” The words came out in a sing-song way, their pitches shooting up and down melodically as she expressed her utter joy at the prospect of a date. And for Slate it was all that he could do not to let his lower lip quiver. If ever a child could manage to utterly melt a grown man’s heart, she was the one.
“You’re the sweetest kid who ever lived, you know that?”
“Yup. I know.”
* * *
Angel was washing out paint brushes in turpentine when the text came in at 8:15 p.m. She wiped her hands on her old sweatshirt and reached for the phone, assuming that it would be Linda, preparing for her big day by spewing further sisterly commands:
Please wear a brown sack to the wedding; I don’t want you overshadowing me. Also, wear your hair up, preferably in a tight bun that makes you look like a sociopathic librarian. And don’t eat cheese for three days beforehand. And don’t breathe while the ceremony is taking place. In fact, maybe it would be best if you didn’t show up at all.
But to Angel’s pleasant surprise, it was something else entirely; something very welcome indeed.
Hi—Miri gave me this number. My name is Slate, and well, I think you know the rest. Send me a text sometime, ok?
Casual to the point of near indifference, she thought. That might not be such a bad thing—he wouldn’t be demanding, at least. But she wanted to set up a meeting soon—date, rather—to see if he was the type who’d want to come with her to the wedding. For a moment she sat back and pictured showing up with this hulk of a man, a suit jacket straining against his large shoulders. It would be splendid. And Linda would lose her mind (not that sending her sister into fits of insanity was the important aspect of all this. Of course it wasn’t. It was simply a massive, huge, enormous bonus).
She wanted to call Slate instead of texting, to gain the immediate gratification of an oral exchange. But then she recalled his daughter—would she be in bed already? If not, surely he was working her towards it, maybe reading her a story.
She compromised by typing a response:
Hi there, Slate. I hope this sometime isn’t too soon. I’m assuming that you’re not free tonight, and I’m currently covered in paint (and not in the sexy way), so maybe we could meet tomorrow?
A few minutes later, a response.
Sure, I’ll see if the sitter is free tomorrow. You do remember that I have a daughter, right?
Yes, I know—just let me know what works for you.
She set the phone down, hesitation setting in. Maybe she’d made the wrong choice. Between them there seemed to be no chemistry, at least not in text form. His child was a complication, not only for Angel but for him. It must be challenging, being a single father. Having that kind of obligation in his life. And Angel wasn’t historically the most responsible adult. Yes, she owned her place, but she lived life as she pleased, coming and going on her own terms, her own schedule. She’d never felt particularly obligated towards anyone but herself.
When she’d selected him, it had been as a sort of bastion of responsibility and manliness. He was the ultimate in masculinity: A grizzly shifter who looked after his young. But now that they’d exchanged a few words, it was all of a sudden real. He was no longer a symbol of anything or a surreal fantasy, but rather a man of flesh and bone.
Still, real or surreal, she wanted to meet him. The part of her that was altruistic and generous wanted to take him out and show him a good time. To bring out the dimples that had briefly shown themselves during his interview. This was a guy who needed to have some fun, and possibly to get laid, in a big way. And come to think of it, it had been too long on both counts for Angel, as well.
If they could make it to the two week mark, maybe they could even manage some sex and the wedding. It was just a matter of making it throu
gh the first date.
A half hour later she’d showered the paint off various exposed bits of skin and was wandering to her bedroom in a towel when the phone beeped again. She reached for it as she passed through the living room.
“Tomorrow’s good. Tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up. In my pickup, even.”
Angel smiled. A faint glimmer of humour from the bear.
“That’s the absolute most terrible pickup line I’ve ever heard,” she wrote in response.
“Damn. I should’ve used the one about falling from Heaven, what with you having the name Angel. Let me try: Did you fall from Heaven? Because that’s a hell of a name you’ve got there.”
“Okay. That’s even worse, if it’s possible. You and I are going to have to work on your woman-seducing skills. Anyhow, I live just outside the city on Stone Road. I’ll send you directions in a minute—is seven good?”
“Seven is perfect.”
“Good. I’ll be looking for you.”
Chapter 5
Saturday, six-thirty a.m.
As the early morning sun threatened to rise over the back field, Angel romped through the damp grass in her rubber boots, grinning to herself. The weather was warming up, considerably less frigid already than the previous day, and she was out in nothing more than yoga pants, a t-shirt and a wool cardigan.
At times like this she forgot the regular stresses of life, opting instead to appreciate the simplicity of a cool breeze, fresh air and thoughts of what potential the future held.
It wasn’t at all uncommon for her to be up early; that was when the most beautiful light hit her property and when she could enjoy it alongside twittering birds and the occasional deer who crossed her path. And as she turned to look back at the house, she wondered how a grizzly shifter might fare on her land—but stopped herself mid-thought.
Angel and Slate Page 3
