It was just a dance. A modern dance. They barely touched. But he matched her move for move – as if they had danced together a thousand times. He was still the coordinated athlete she remembered. For a big man he was light on his feet and he seemed to anticipate every flourish she initiated. She let herself float. The music and the moment were all that mattered.
When the song finished, half the dancers went back to their tables or over to the table that served as a bar. Mitchell grinned at her, as the musicians slid into a big band tune. “Shall we?” he held out his hand.
“I like that.” She let him lead her through the steps of the dance. They had both watched their parents and grandparents often enough that the steps came automatically.
He spun her so that the skirts of her dress floated out and fell. Then back the other way. She felt excitement hum in her veins, replacing the fear and tension that had been her companions since she had seen that blue line on the pregnancy test.
Determinedly she shut down those thoughts. Nothing she could do about Chad or the baby tonight. Tonight this big bear was guiding her expertly to her happy place. The vigorous movement, the spark of electricity where their hands met, the sheer joy of the music pulsing around her. That was what she should focus on.
How long they spun and clung and parted she didn’t know, but eventually the tune came to an end. Mitchell brought her hard against his chest. She felt the solid muscle under his shirt, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. He drew a deep breath. Let her see the sensual excitement in his eyes. And then he blanked it.
“Hey, Mitch, how’s it going?” Raymond Tobin was rocking on his feet and holding out his hand. Good old Ray was one drunk bear shifter.
Mitchell shook the other man’s hand. Put a chivalrous arm around Zoë’s waist and drew her closer as if making room for others to pass. “You remember Zoë Worth?” he asked Ray.
“Sure.” Ray didn’t offer to shake hands with her, she noticed. “I was sorry to hear Griff couldn’t make it tonight.” No mention that Capt. Cindy Worth was also absent, also deployed. Bears like Ray were why she had gone off to Olympia.
“He was sorry to miss Aunt Ursula’s party,” Zoë said tightly. “So was Cindy.”
Ray lost interest in her. He leaned forward confidentially. “I hear you’ve quit the Marines,” he said to Mitchell’s neck.
A subtle change came over Mitchell. He went from easygoing to alert. Just as he had with those two teens. But his voice remained casual. “I received my discharge last week.” He didn’t elaborate.
“So you’re looking around for something to do, am I right?” Ray was hearty.
Zoë remembered Ray was trying to raise the money to open a boat shop. Luck Harbor had several, including the huge outfit operated by the Reynoldses. Ray worked for a smaller shop. But she seemed to remember her father disapproved of Raymond Tobin.
Of course that had been before Daddy got so sick. Since he had died, she didn’t hear as much local gossip. Worth family business generally took precedence when she chatted with her relatives. She tried to remember what Daddy had told her about Ray.
“Nope,” Mitchell’s voice was as implacable as it had been when he ordered the boys to surrender their stash. “I have a bunch of family obligations and then I’m taking a long vacation.” He bent his head to Zoë’s ear. “Would you like a drink, honey? Or are you up for another dance?”
“I could use a soda,” she replied.
Raymond was crestfallen by his dismissal. But there was no triumph in Mitchell as he led her over to the bar. Unless you counted the unmistakable masculine pride of a man escorting a woman he desires. Because he did desire her. This attraction was entirely mutual.
Her hormones were making her strut too. Unfortunately, nothing could come of all this chemistry. She couldn’t involve anyone else in the sordid triangle going down in her life. But one thing was clear as day, if she could feel like this about any other man, she couldn’t marry Chad.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tidewater Inn,
Mystic Bay,
West Haven, Oregon
Robin~
Robin Fairchild jumped at the imperious thump on her door. Her hands flew to her breast to adjust the neckline of her cowled sweater. She glanced into her bedroom mirror for a final check on her appearance, before hurrying into the tiny lobby of her apartment. Really this skittishness had to stop. It was undignified for one thing. And for another, she was a fairy.
Fairies didn’t quiver with expectation when their lovers were due. Fairies didn’t need to make sure their hair, face and clothes were perfect. And yet, here she was peeking in mirrors and scampering to open the door, as if she were a fifteen-year-old mortal.
Gordon Sullivan stood on the landing radiating masculinity and triumph. He had discarded his battered, smelly fisher’s clothing and aspect in order to visit her. His gray hair was neatly barbered, his beard trim and pointed. His navy blazer fit his broad shoulders as if it had been tailored for him. As it had.
Her weather lord swept into her apartment as if he owned it and her. Ever since she had allowed him to put a ring on her finger, he had been swaggering. And she had responded to his masculine display with feminine delight.
Gordon’s kiss made her forget her concern about her atypical behavior. He kissed her as if he was home from the sea after a voyage of months, instead of a couple of hours. She responded as if he had faced grave peril and typhoons, instead of a sedate trip in excellent weather to see the orcas playing off shore.
“I’m starving,” he growled when he raised his head. He kissed her hand and admired the glittering opal he had put on it. As if reassuring himself that his magic had held. Gordon was a mighty weather worker and a powerful sorcerer. Head mage of Mystic Bay too. But he did not take her love for granted.
“For me?” Robin asked demurely. “I told the kitchen staff to bring up our dinner as soon as you arrived.” As owner of the Tidewater Inn, she could arrange catering to suit her lover’s erratic schedule.
“Always for you, my love.” He kissed her again. “But I could also eat a horse. It’s hungry work talking to tourists.”
Gordon had turned his fleet of fishing boats into whale-watching boats. He still captained the Nightingale himself. Part of the show he offered was the illusion that visitors to West Haven were being taken out to sea by a horny-handed son of the sea, complete with ancient and disreputable oilskins, and salty language.
A polite rapping signaled the server. “Let’s have supper,” she said. “I should monitor the dining room, anyway.” Her living quarters boasted a one-way mirror that when she activated it looked directly into the inn’s dining room. At the moment it was a soothing oil painting of a garden at sunset.
Gordon chuckled richly. “I guess you should at that. I’d like to see how the D’Angelos and the Belfasts are getting along. Could be having themselves a good old-fashioned brawl to kick off that unlikely marriage.”
“No,” she said decisively. “The two families are still feeling each other out, but they’re not fighting. Even if unicorns and phoenixes are not obvious bedmates.”
Robin pressed buttons on her remote and the dining room came into focus. Every white-draped table was full. Clusters of well-dressed people sat talking animatedly over the remains of dessert. The bridegroom’s father, phoenix shifter, Col. Nelson D’Angelo, was looking with interest at the phone elderly unicorn, Great-Aunt Meredith Belfast, was showing him.
A long table against a side wall had a line-up of youngsters talking persuasively to the white-clad server in charge of its sticky treasures. Samantha and Rafael’s three-year-old daughter, Carmody, was acting as hostess to a small bevy of newly-met female cousins.
“That kid has a self-possession far in advance of her years,” Robin said.
Gordon smiled. “Lloyd Furlong thinks Carmody is going to be a great healer, like her mom and dad. Greater.” Lloyd was a dragon and renowned for his good judgment.
“And it
looks like Felicity is in her element,” Gordon continued. The server behind the table was his great-niece. “Thank you, my dear.”
“Yes,” Robin agreed with her customary serenity. “Once I took Felicity off the Bear Claw lunch service, she resigned herself to being a seventeen-year-old with one more year of high school to go.”
Gordon chuckled. “You should have seen that werewolf’s face when I told him she was only seventeen*.”
“She looks much older,” Robin agreed. “Fresh and unspoiled, but older than she is. Moreover, she was actively deceiving Mr. Wolfmann.”
“Surely you mean, Deputy Wolfmann*?”
Robin smiled, “Walter seems very pleased with his new hire. But your niece is still a minx. That child should be grounded until she’s thirty.”
“Agreed. However, I told her parents what she was up to. And we decided not to mention my conversation with Drew Wolfmann, in case forbidden fruit seemed sweeter. Better to let her think Wolfmann’s interest naturally turned away.”
“I hope you’re correct,” Robin said. “Just look how happy she is dispensing treats to those little kids. Her aura is radiating pleasure. She is acting her age and it suits her.”
“And Rafael and Samantha are just luminous,” Gordon said around a mouthful of fish. “I have seldom seen a happier couple.”
“And this is just the rehearsal dinner,” Robin reminded him. “Their vow renewal and reception are tomorrow.”
“Room looks mighty full,” Gordon muttered.
“This is just their families. Tomorrow their friends will be present as well.”
Gordon broke off a piece of his roll and buttered it. “Whose idea was it to mix up the families?”
Robin looked at the seating arrangements. D’Angelos were sitting with Belfasts and swapping war stories, and comparing photos of their grandchildren, blending into a family before their eyes.
“It was Araminta’s,” she said. “It you can believe it. She and Barbara D’Angelo seem to be in a competition to be the most gracious. I foresee a wonderful synthesis of these two clans.”
Her lover raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Well, my dear, we are great matchmakers,” Gordon reminded her complacently. “But you must concede that getting unicorns and phoenixes on the same page is a major achievement**. I see your delicate hand at work in that room. You deserve the credit.”
“Perhaps,” Robin conceded. “Which reminds me, Gordon, have you had any luck persuading the town council that Rafael and Samantha should be allowed to buy some of the Belfast estate and build a house on it?”
The Belfasts had been Mystic Bay residents for generations. But the council was not sure that a unicorn who had married a phoenix was entitled to unicorn land. As mayor and deputy mayor, Robin and Gordon hoped to persuade the councilors to enter the twenty-first century.
“I have,” Gordon said. “I pointed out that if Rafael and Samantha had to go somewhere else in order to have a home for their growing family, that they would build their convalescent hospital elsewhere too. I think their application will be approved at the next session.”
“You needn’t act as if you are manipulating those ridiculous die-hards,” Robin said with just a touch of asperity. “It’s only the truth.”
“Indeed. Speaking of building, have you heard from Ursula Reynolds?”
Robin nodded. “She tells me that the papers transferring ownership of her land to her nephew are all but signed. She asked me to expedite the transfer and any repairs or renovations that her great-nephew Mitchell wants to make.”
“I don’t foresee a problem. Fact is, the council wants that land to stay in the family. And old as it is, that cabin could use some major upgrades.”
*Wedded to the Wolf
**Fated for the Phoenix
CHAPTER SIX
Luck Harbor
Mitchell~
As he had promised, Mitchell reported to the Luck Harbor Retirement Manor at exactly 0740 hours. Aunt Ursula had made coffee. They drank it outside on her tiny balcony overlooking the Luck Harbor marina.
She passed him banana muffins she had baked herself. There was only room for two chairs and a small table, but the chairs were bear-sized and comfortable. He settled back to enjoy his visit.
Which he did, right up until Ursula set her delicate china cup precisely in its saucer. Her “thank you for coming to see me,” signaled that breakfast and pleasantries were now over, and business was on the table.
He put his empty mug beside the fragile cup and saucer. “Anytime,” he said.
Great-Aunt Ursula Reynolds had never married, yet she was as close to a matriarch as the Luck Harbor clan had. Age had shrunk her Amazonian frame and wasted the heavy muscle that had made her a vigorous force of nature. Arthritis now made her rely on a cane or a walker. But her brown eyes were bright with interest in the world. They sparkled with energy.
Over the years she had gradually divested herself of her many clan responsibilities. She had retired as a sitting judge. She had placed control of the Reynolds Boatyard in the competent hands of two of her many nephews.
The boatyard was still a family-run operation, and she still received dividends. However, the day-to-day management and design of new boats were not her baby any more.
She had turned over her securities portfolio to a niece to manage. Rumor had it that Caroline rued the day she had taken on that job. Ursula had lost none of her strong opinions about the stock market. And she hadn’t stopped reading the financial news. Caroline had to make a case for every change.
Ursula’s house – the old Reynolds homestead facing the sea – had been the last to go. She had sold it at a bargain price to Mitchell’s brother, Jordan, when he left the Navy. He and his wife, Grace, were living there and raising a new crop of little Reynoldses. Jordan was the in-house designer at the Reynolds Boatyard.
Everything and everyone in the family had seemed fine at last night’s party. Mitchell hadn’t sensed any undercurrents. Of course if you wanted him to detect undercurrents, you should provide him with sonar and a map. He was an unimaginative, practical sort who did better with clear signposts.
What was Aunt Ursula worried about? Jordan could be a stubborn son of a bear. Maybe he and Robbie and young Bruce were butting heads at the boatyard over Jordan’s plans.
That recreational submersible idea of Jordan’s seemed like the longest of long shots to Mitchell. Not that he knew squat about subs. He was all about speedboats. Like the one he was having built for his new civilian life.
Or maybe it was something completely different.
Aunt Ursula might live in a tiny one-bedroom apartment with dangling alarm pulls, but she had her finger in all the family pies. She was his grandfather’s aunt and Grandpa and Grandma played bridge with her and a friend three times a week. Other relatives visited regularly. Ursula heard every scrap of news.
“It’s Bear Outlook,” she said. Her wrinkled face looked both resolute and worried.
She had promised that property on the island West Haven to him. He had been looking forward to living there. West Haven was a speck of rock in the Strait of San Juan de Fuca and something of a legend in the Luck Harbor clan.
It was rumored to be a paranormal sanctuary for people of talent, shifters included. When Aunt Ursula had told him that she wanted him to have Bear Outlook, he had been pleased. More than pleased. Thrilled.
But he had no strong attachment to a place he had never seen. If Aunt Ursula had changed her mind and decided to give it to someone else, he’d live. Lucky Reynolds, who had founded the town of Lucky’s Reach, which had in time become incorporated as Luck Harbor, Oregon, had left his gold rush fortune to his three sons.
Mitchell and Jordan had inherited their share of the fortune. Their offshoot of the Reynolds family had dwindled to a mere handful. Reynoldses were lucky at love and cards, they enjoyed financial security, but no one would call them prolific. With his share of the family trust Mitchell would be just fine – with or without U
rsula’s summer cottage.
“Are you listening to me, Mitchell Reynolds?” Ursula broke sharply into his woolgathering.
Mitchell sat up straighter and focused. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I think if I’m going to let you have the cottage,” she continued. “That you should be married.”
“Huh?”
“There aren’t a lot of Reynoldses left,” she said sadly. “I never married. All my brothers were killed in the war.” For Ursula the war was World War II. “Only Tom left a child. But that boy only had the one child before he was killed in Korea. Your Granddad. And I wouldn’t call young Phil prolific.”
Granddad would be delighted to know Ursula thought he was young.
“Yes, ma’am.” He knew this. Money had made it possible for the Reynoldses to pursue adventure instead of having to earn a living. But their preference for finding action in military service, and their tendency to volunteer for risky missions, meant that they used up their luck young.
Ursula continued shaking her neat gray head. “Your daddy is an only child. You and Jordan are all that’s left of me and my brothers. It’s time you had some kids, Mitchell.”
“Jordan has three,” he felt bound to point out.
She pounced. “Well, it’s time you did your share.”
“When I meet my fated mate,” he said lightly. “Is there any more coffee?”
Aunt Ursula stood up. She had shrunk since his last visit home. “I’ll get it. I’ve been sitting too long as it is. Doctor says I should stand up and move every twenty minutes.” She grabbed her cane and shuffled stiffly back indoors.
“I’ll carry the cups.” He trailed after her into the miniature kitchen.
“Last night, you seemed mighty friendly with Zoë Worth,” Ursula said as she refilled his mug.
“I’ve known her all my life.” He wasn’t ready to discuss Zoë with anyone. Nor her secret.
Although he had walked Zoë to her car, with a major effort of will, he had managed to resist the impulse to complicate his life by doing more than kiss her goodnight. He wasn’t ready to out Zoë if other noses hadn’t detected her pregnancy. It was no part of honor to bear tales. Ha.
Bedded by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 6) Page 3
