by Sierra Brave
“Of course, we will.” Carol Hammond’s sweet, Appalachian twang sent a gust of reassurance blowing through him, allowing him to unclench his gut. She hugged him for what seemed like the one-hundredth time since he’d showed up on her doorstep the evening before. She’d cooked his favorite comfort foods, beef stew with lots of potatoes and carrots along with a side of cornbread. He hadn’t eaten anything so delicious since the last time he’d been to visit her nearly three years ago.
He walked past the sea of faces, some familiar and some not until he was standing in front of his father’s closed, mahogany casket. A spray of flowers decorating the top consisted of a variety of different types of blue and white floras arranged with a few yellow roses. He hadn’t chosen anything, not the flowers nor the silk-lined box his father would rot away in, or even the cemetery where the man would be laid to rest. He wasn’t even sure who had.
He took a step back and sat in the empty seat to the right of his great aunt, Dana. She offered him a solemn close-lipped nod. Malcolm doubted she’d made the arrangements either since his father often referred to her as a “nosey, old bitch.”
Just as Mama Carol and Dash sat down to his right, the regal-looking older woman seated to Aunt Dana’s left leaned over and placed her hand on Mal’s. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He didn’t recognize her, but he somehow had a feeling he should. He studied her kind eyes and thin face. She was impeccably dressed, her posture steel-bar straight, and her light gray hair was cut into a chin-length bob. He managed a smile. “Thank you for coming.”
She nodded. “Of course. The community will sorely miss his expertise.” He immediately understood by community she meant the Banks equine-shifter clan.
His eyes widened as he whispered, “Matriarch?”
The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly and she nodded.
She was correct. Not many doctors understood their unique physiology, but his father had literally written the book on it, at least one of them, though the lengthy tome would only be found in the private libraries of other shifter medical professionals. Mal never could reconcile the doctor, who worked tirelessly as a high-level member of a secret scientific-research association that studied and worked to cure diseases, afflictions, and deformities known only to shifters, from the father who hated him so much. He still didn’t understand how a man who cared so much about strangers could despise his own son.
He thanked Mrs. Banks again before the pastor began to say a prayer. As he sat with his hands clasped tightly together on his lap, Mal barely heard the reverend. He wanted this farce over with as soon as possible. He’d have to accept condolences from or at least nod at all the people who were lining up to tell him how much they’d loved his father or how he saved their life or the life of a loved one. Those people had no idea who the man really was but screaming about the fact now wouldn’t help anyone.
Mal glanced to his right as movement caught his eye. A short woman with long, dark hair slid into the seat on the very end of the front row reserved for family. Mal didn’t mind her taking a load off, God knows there was room, considering he and Aunt Dana were his father’s last two living relatives at least as far as he knew. Is it possible I have a second cousin I don’t know about or something? He considered the notion and dismissed it. Aunt Dana never married or had children, and his father’s only brother died when they were boys.
Once the onslaught of condolences began, Mal tried to be as gracious as possible even as his stomach turned and a sour taste filled his mouth. He accepted the well-meaning words, handshakes and embraces while struggling to hold down his latest meal. No matter what anyone said, his Swiss cheese memory kept dragging him to the past and all he could hear was the whoosh of his father’s belt, resisting the air over and over again. He nodded at a little, blonde girl of no more than six years of age as she handed him a small, stuffed pony.
“Is this yours?” He asked, staring down at her bright, cheery face, a welcome sight among all the dreariness of the day.
She shook her head. “His name is Melvin and he’s yours now. When I was three, your daddy gave him to me to keep me company when I was in the hospital. Your daddy saved my life.”
Mal squeezed the stuffed animal’s plush body as he fought to wrap his brain around the picture of his distant, vicious, alcoholic father—a man who’d left his back covered in bruises more than once before he’d even reached the little blonde girl’s age—comforting this child. He hid his true feelings behind a tight-lipped smile. “That’s very sweet, but I couldn’t keep him.” He extended his hand in an attempt to return the toy to her, but she shook her head before slipping away.”
He cut his eyes toward Dash before a woman who shared the same hair color and milky-white skin as the little girl, likely her mother, quickly offered her condolences before heading off after the child. For what seemed like an eternity, a brigade of people, humans and shifters alike, passed before him. They all spoke positively of his father, many with tears pouring down their faces. The weighty suffocation of their sorrow kept Malcolm slumped in his seat for most of the procession. As his gaze set on the last of them, he caught his breath and smiled at the familiar face of the short, red-headed human standing in front of him.
“Hey, Mrs. Becky.” He stood and hugged her.
“Hey, darling. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you’d be here, but just in case, I had to come and let you know I’ve been thinking about you, not just today, but every day since I flew off the handle and quit working for your dad.”
“Thank you for coming here for me.”
“I’m sorry, but when I found out he sold your horse and made you quit barrel racing…I couldn’t stand it.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I regret…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I appreciated how much you did for me when I was a kid. If it weren’t for you and Mama Carol, I…well, I don’t want to think about what my life would have been like.” Mal hadn’t remembered when or how Becky had quit working for her dad, but his earlier memories of her, from when he was still a child were intact. She’d been his father’s personal assistant before Jason Wormer took over, and she’d been very kind to him. She’d planned birthday parties for him using funds from his dad’s discretionary account and attended parent-teacher meetings in his father’s place.
He also vaguely remembered being a champion barrel racer, but only bits and pieces. He remembered riding a lot when he was younger, but he didn’t think he’d started competing until later. After the incident, he’d seen the trophies in his bedroom, but he no longer remembered winning them.
She nodded, brushing the tears from her face with her hand. “I love you, sweetie.”
He hugged her again. “Thanks. Are you still working at the Banks Family Ranch?”
“Yessiree.”
“They treatin’ you right?”
“It’s a great place to work.”
“Maybe I’ll get by there sometime to see you.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he probably wouldn’t come. He hadn’t stepped foot on a ranch since his father had forbidden him from horseback riding. Once he was finished with whatever business Jackson Pyke, his father’s lawyer, had with him, Malcolm planned to haul ass off the mountain squealing tires just as he had when he’d left to attend a small university. He had jumped at the chance to remove his life from his father’s clutches, and he hadn’t looked back. He didn’t see any reason to stick around and increase the chances of him remembering more of his past. Enough memories had remained to haunted him already.
“I’d like that.” As she turned to leave, she greeted the matriarch, which stuck Mal as odd, considering Becky was human, but then he remembered the gray-haired woman was a Banks.
Just as he made his move to leave, the brunette on the end of the row stood up, blocking his way. He halted and stiffened his shoulders as she turned toward him. “Hello, Mal. It’s good to see you again though I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances.”
>
A sweet heady aroma hit him out of the blue, making his head swim. As he regained his bearings, he shook her hand. The minute her silky-smooth skin touched his, a tingling sensation started in his palm and ran straight up his arm like an electrical current. His heart galloped and his mouth dried up so quickly he feared he might exhale sand. What the hell? No way am I having a freaking heart attack. I’m a physical trainer for fuck’s sake.
“Mal?” The pretty lady’s voice pulled him back to reality, and he realized he still had her hand.
“Sorry.” He released his grip. “I guess I’m a little out of it.”
“Perfectly understandable.” The corners of her luscious, cupid’s bow lips turned slightly upward into a reassuring smile. His gaze made a quick trip down her body and back to her face, noting the sexy curves packed onto her petite frame. She couldn’t have been an inch over five-foot-tall, but her form-fitting gray wrap-around dress showcased two breasts as big as cantaloupes along with wide hips, and a soft, sexy paunch.
Mal brought his gaze to her eyes, searching for any clue to who she was. He hoped his lack of recognition didn’t show on his face, but he didn’t think he’d ever met her. Surely, he’d have remembered a beauty with such a delicious aroma. She’d accented her diamond-shaped face by parting her shiny, jet-black hair on the side. Her skin tone was something like olive but warmer. Gorgeous...maybe Dash knows her.
“Thank you.” He almost reached out to take her hand again but realized what he was doing in time to slip his big mitt in his coat pocket where he’d shoved the stuffed animal. “Have you met Dash?”
“It’s been a long time.” She nodded at his friend. Mal glanced at Dash who made an expression he couldn’t quite understand before greeting her.
“Suki,” She spoke her name as she shook Dash’s hand. Her voice brought to mind warm maple syrup. She met his gaze. “Well, I’ll be going now.”
As she walked away, he couldn’t help watching her hips swinging with every step she took. Damn. His pants tightened, his rapidly stiffening cock pushing against the zipper as he looked at her plump ass. Nope, not the time or place. He looked away only to be caught off guard by Dash’s raised eyebrow and smirk.
“Ready to take a walk on the wild side?” He chuckled.
Mal squinted one eye, lifting the brow of the other. “What does that mean?”
He lifted his chin in the direction of the brunette beauty. “She’s not only a member of the Marks Clan, she’s a direct descendant of the main branch.”
Mal ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t tell me you believe that abomination bull crap.”
Dash snickered. “Nah, even if it were true, the supposed incident split the clans over a hundred years ago. Wouldn’t have anything to do with her.”
“Let’s just go. I can’t stand much more.”
“Al’ight. I’ll ride with you this time.”
As they attempted to make their getaway, Mr. Pyke caught up with them a few feet from his car.
“I need you to come by the office Monday. There are forms to be signed and some details I need to go over with you.”
Mal scoffed. “Can’t you just tell me I’ve been disinherited here?”
Ol’ Jackson must have been pretty damn good at poker because although he stared intently, his expression offered nary a hint of what he was thinking. “Mr. Patterson, your father left the majority of his cash assets to you and possibly more of his very sizable estate. We’ll need to discuss the details Monday.”
As his jaw dropped, Mal rubbed his temples and shook his head. He hadn’t expected or wanted anything, and he couldn’t imagine what type of humiliating specifications his father had listed for him to complete before he could touch a dime. To be sure, the old man would have concocted something to leave him in everlasting misery. Still, his curiosity prevented him from simply walking away. It’s not like I have to accept any of it. Do I? Could it be debt? Is he trying to saddle me with his outstanding bills for the rest of my life?
“Mr. Patterson?”
Realizing he must have looked like a deer standing in the middle of the road at night as a car careened toward it, he nodded. “Sure. Is nine a.m. okay?”
Mr. Pyke reached into the pocket of his tan overcoat and retrieved his phone, tapping on the screen for a bit before he answered. “I’ll be in court until one.”
Mal’s heart plummeted down into his guts. He didn’t want to wait around that long. It was bad enough he was going to have to spend the night, but he’d have to be there most of the next day as well. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shrugged. “Two then?”
“That works.” Mr. Pyke tapped on his screen some more, likely entering the appointment in his calendar. “See you then.”
Once he spoke with Mama Carol and agreed to come over for dinner that evening, he slid into the driver’s side of his vehicle. After Dash hopped in and buckled up, Mal drew in a deep breath and rested his head right against the middle of the steering wheel where the airbag would deploy during an accident.
Mal clung to the few seconds of silence, trying to hold onto the nothingness before Dash placed his palm on his back and asked, “You okay.”
He jerked back and sat upright. “Fffffuuuuck! Un-fucking-believable. The old buzzard is dead, and he’s still cooked up a diabolical plan to screw with me from beyond the grave.” Dash pursed his lips and looked down at his lap, his face turning a shade closer to red until a tiny snicker escaped, mostly through his nose. Mal furrowed his brow. “Don’t laugh.” Dash covered his mouth with his hand and buried his face in his arm as he choked down his mirth. “I’m not amused.”
“Man, you’re paranoid. Jus’ drive.”
Chapter Four
Suki Marks drove her old clunker, a late model Ford Focus to the gate of the home she’d been blessed to live in while she’d cared for the late Dr. Patterson. After she pressed the buttons to input the code on the keypad, she rolled up her window before moving along the driveway. The lush green grass, perfectly manicured hedges and gorgeous flower gardens had been kept immaculate by a lawn service crew who came by regularly. Towards the end, though still sharp of mind, the sweet, old guy couldn’t even lift a pen.
Suki assumed Jason Wormer, the executive secretary Dr. Patterson had still employed right up to his death, made sure the yard work and the maid service received prompt payment as he did with her, albeit begrudgingly. He always sneered at her, looking down his thin bridged nose. She was certain she read hatred in his beady eyes though she didn’t know why. She’d only ever been polite to him. I wonder if he’ll be at the will reading tomorrow.
The soles of her one-inch pumps clacked against the hardwood floors as she cut through the kitchen, making her way into the foyer. She climbed the right side of the imperial staircase to the second floor. She still used her first bedroom where she kept her things up there, though the last two months she’d been using the bedroom closest to the first-floor master suite just to sleep so she’d have quick access to Dr. Patterson if he needed her in the middle of the night. His last forty-eight hours had been pitiful to watch. He couldn’t speak or take any food even through a feeding tube. She’d stayed by his bedside holding his hand until the last moment when God answered her prayers to end his misery.
She wiped a tear from her cheek while slipping off her shoes. She tucked them into her closet before changing into a pair of jeggings and a Denver Broncos tee shirt. She resisted the urge to climb back into bed and curl up in a ball under the covers in lieu of cracking the books. She still had a Master’s Degree in Genetics to finish, not to mention the additional certification she’d been completing through the Transformative Biology Association or the TBA, the innocuous-sounding name given to a corporation owned by a centuries-old, secret shapeshifter society. The ruling Matriarchs of nearly every clan, regardless of species, paid dues to them to fund their on-going medical research. With Dr. Patterson’s help, she’d become a TBA research fellow.
After hunkering down at
her desk, Suki tried to concentrate, but the words seemed to run together and all she could wrap her brain around were the few fleeting moments with Malcolm. When she closed her eyes, she could still hear his sexy, red wine and dark chocolate voice. Obviously, he was a lot older than the last time she’d seen him, and the years had only made him better looking. Dr. Patterson didn’t have any photos more recent than Malcolm's senior portrait, but when he was still able to talk, the old guy had asked her to move the framed keepsake to his bedside table.
The doc had given up on reaching out to his son after every letter he had sent had been returned unopened and every phone message he left went unanswered. Malcolm had even blocked his father on social media. Suki had been shocked to learn the young man who’d been so sweet to her could be so cold to his father, and she couldn’t imagine Dr. Patterson doing anything to warrant such treatment. She’d always known him to be a good and just man who loved his son beyond measure, but shortly before he passed, during a tearful death-bed confession, the doc expressed his regret. He’d insisted he’d been a shitty father and hadn’t spared her the details.
She slammed her book closed and groaned. I’ve been in love with Malcolm since I was a damn kid, and he didn’t even recognize me today though I guess I understand why. If only he could have reconciled with the doc before he passed away. She sighed as she stood up to stretch.
Her lust overcame her will power and she stripped off her pants and underwear before retrieving a small, red pocket-sized vibrator from her nightstand drawer. She tossed back the covers and as her head hit the pillow, she closed her eyes so she could remember every detail of Malcolm's face.
When she was ten, he seemed like a giant and a superhero. He was still tall, but she’d managed to gain some ground, slightly closing the gap. His face was leaner now, more manly, and the bangs of his brown hair didn’t hang down over his forehead anymore, but he still had the same intense brown eyes, soulful and sweet like a pool of warm chocolate with a round coffee center.
