Snowy With A Chance 0f Mating (Move Over Fate Book 3)

by Michelle Ziegler

  Snowy with a Chance of Mating

  A Move Over Fate Novel

  Michelle Ziegler

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Coming soon from Michelle Ziegler

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Michelle Ziegler

  About the Author

  She can't deny her magic, and he can't deny her.

  Marci finds things, including a chicken she's suddenly adopted. Running her own magical PI business has never made her mother proud or her fiancé think her an equal, but at least it was hers. Led by magic that won't be ignored, she leaves everything behind to find out what the universe thinks is so important. Leaving an arranged marriage, a judge mental family, and a life she's never really fit into is a bonus. What she didn't count on was a ghost, an eerie forest, and a man that makes her blood boil.

  Caleb served in the special forces for the supernatural, only he's always been more comfortable with the humans rather than his own kind. The loss of his best friend had him running away to a sleepy mountain town, or was it something else that called him? He's always been a solitary kind of bear, until a woman falls into his life with a temperamental chicken.

  Can Marci get past this bear shifter's walls, or will Caleb let magic take her away?

  Copyright © 2019 Michelle Ziegler

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical method, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial users permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher addressed “Attention: Permission coordinator,” at the address below. michelle@michellezieglerauthor.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living, or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental

  To my fans that love chickens.

  1

  The problem with elegant events is there are never any sharp objects. Marci glared at the table cloth, picking at a wrinkle. She'd revel in its imperfection. Damn it if she didn't need something sharp to put her out of her misery though.

  "Just kill me now," she said, under her breath and letting out a long, slow, and slightly louder than necessary sigh.

  "Excuse me dear?" asked her mother.

  For crap's sake, if that woman didn't hear everything.

  "Nothing. Just enjoying this whole shindig." That's what she'd said. What she'd meant was this day is like an icepick to the eye. Her mom was too self-absorbed to pick up on sarcasm.

  A thin-lipped smile was all she earned as her mother stood to greet a prestigious warlock. Her mother's perfect hair didn't dare move as she bobbed her head and laughed at everything the man said. Husband number three coming right up.

  Raising her glass, Marci nodded and downed the champagne.

  The bone-thin fingers of her mother flew at Marci's face like daggers as her mother motioned to the table of her children - all of her married children, except Marci of course.

  Marci admired her mother's perfect posture, like a stick was wedged so far up her ass she'd never be able to relax.

  Glancing at the watch on her wrist, Marci chewed her lip. She still had a job and a life. Mostly the job though. Every time the doors opened and let light into the ballroom, she expected to see the person who was supposed to fill the empty chair next to her. She made an effort to use the magic her mother despised to feel out where the man she was supposed to marry might be. The magic went on and on, and without following it, the only thing she knew was, he wasn't anywhere near here.

  Her mother hated her daughter's talent. She'd never get her mother to understand that she'd chosen to help people and was damn good at it. She was good at helping people find something they'd lost, of course right now all her magic told her was that he wasn't coming for her. Uncrossing her legs and recrossing them she blew out an impatient breath.

  Her face heated as reality sank in. Stood up again. Maybe her mother might show some compassion - some day. Today was not going to be that day.

  The dark-haired warlock headed off to who the heck knew where and now she was stuck with the woman who'd birthed her. A glimmer of displeasure painted on her face.

  "Marci, dear. Where is that fiancé of yours? The presentation of our family is next."

  Marci shrugged. He had money, and that was all this woman saw.

  "Marci, you text that man right now. You did tell him about the FOM meeting? His family is starting to get on my last nerve. Young lady, this is the largest event all year. I'm speaking in a moment, and you better be up there with him. Do not embarrass me."

  She yawned. Even the ghosts lining the walls seemed bored. She waved to her great aunt floating near the ceiling.

  "Marci Adams, you stop that nonsense. No respectable witch talks to ghosts. Spirits fine. Ghosts? That's last century. Now, where is that man? You have got to show them you are a serious witch. You will never get a leadership role with an attitude like that. "

  "What attitude would that be, mother?" A flash of green sparkled through the air.

  "If you applied yourself more you could be at the academy right now. Instead, you aren't. Your casting skills won't be winning this family any honor. You could be so beautiful if you tried a little harder and all those sweets you eat are heading straight to those hips. I don't know what I did, but you're my curse."

  Marci grabbed another glass on the table, who cared whose it was, as long as there was more to drink. Nothing was good enough. Her powers were lackluster. Her casting wasn't anything to be noticed, and at her presentation party, she'd turned her mother's cat into a rat. It had worn off, but not soon enough. The embarrassment was there, forever. Her mother had made sure that anyone who was somebody had been at her coming of age party, probably to embarrass her.

  What she wouldn't have given to be a human sixteen-year-old at the time. Now, nearly ten years later and she still couldn't live it down.

  "Alle Adams and ..."

  Marci stopped listening and followed on autopilot, yanking at the bust line of the dress. The moon dust color the designer insisted on wasn't bad. The stupid beads chafing her under arms was something entirely different.

  Taffeta swished as she walked up to the podium, following behind her step-siblings and spouses. All were picture perfect. Marci was going to be lucky if she didn't trip up the stairs.

  Marci loathed tradition. The new president handed a gold plaque to her mother, her name magically engraving as it transferred hands. One of the highest honors in my mother's mind was being last year's president of the FOM, The Families of Magic Organization. Marci covered up a snort of laughter with a mock cough, earning a glare from the new president.

  She needed to find somewhere far far away from the politics of local covens and the FOM. She sucked in a breath as a zap of energy so strong it forced her
to stand straight. A shiver raced up her spine at the energy surge. A quick scan of the crowd and she realized that no one noticed, or maybe it was no one noticed her. An urge to run away hit her harder than it had over the last few days.

  She dug her fingers into her clutch. Her phone was in there and offered one step closer to freedom. Then again, what would she tell Jeff? It wasn't a good sign that he was an afterthought to everything she'd been planning. She needed to leave though. Absently her free hand rubbed her forearm.

  The roar of the loud claps brought her back to the moment as her mother's long train trailed behind her.

  Oh, right. I should follow.

  It took every bit of willpower to keep her eyes facing forward and not rolling to the back of her head.

  As they left the stage, she kept on walking. Her mother wouldn't notice; Marci had done her part until next year. As she stepped out into the early evening sun, her eyes fought to adjust from the dimly lit hall.

  Pulling her phone out, she tapped the screen. A message appeared. Marci always waited for a blip or flip or whatever you were supposed to do when you were in love. It never came. She couldn't find a reason to not be head over heels for Jeff. He was handsome, rich, eloquent, well respected, and yet, nothing. Moving her thumb over the screen, she read his message and did a double take.

  Hey baby. I'm alone, head over.

  Maybe he'd misunderstood meeting her at the hall? Her mother would be pissed.

  Did you forget something?

  She waited for a response for a few seconds and shrugged when one didn't come.

  "Fine. Let me just come to you again," she said to the air.

  She grabbed up the small train of her dress and headed to her car. Maybe she'd grab dinner. One glass of wine and hors-d'oeuvres did not add up to dinner, and he wasn't worth her starving to death.

  * * *

  She nearly missed the driveway of Jeff's building. Her magic was all over the place. Ignoring it never worked out, but she feared what it meant. She couldn't tell what was at the other end of the magical leash, just where it was leading her. Far, far, away from here.

  Glancing at her phone, she still didn't see a response from him. This was unlike him, everything in life was scheduled, and yet even this new spontaneous act wasn't eliciting anything, no blips, no racing heart. Nothing. Grabbing the food off the passenger seat and tossing her heels aside, she headed up to his penthouse.

  The elevators closed as she entered the lobby of his building and, even as the words of Jeff and her mother criticizing her echoed in her head over her less than perfect body, she remained numb. Habit forced her to head for the stairs anyway.

  By the time she hit the landing, her lungs hated her. She hated exercise almost as much as she hated getting dressed up.

  She propped herself against the wall and kept walking, shoulder dragging against the wall, train in one hand, and the bag of food in the other. Karma hated her or she'd be dating a guy on the first floor.

  Stumbling to a halt, she knocked.

  While she waited, her magic danced along her fingers. The itch too much to refuse, she put the bag down and dug in her purse for her phone. Someday she needed to get organized. Inside her bag was her tiny purse from the party, but she hadn't put the phone back in there. No, that was too easy. Before she could find it, the door opened.

  Her gaze traveled the length of the man standing in front of her.

  "Working out at this time of day?" She gestured toward his sweat-slicked torso. "You were supposed to meet me at the FOM banquet. My mother's going to have your balls."

  He stood in front of the door, keeping her from entering. She stared, wary at his reluctance to move.

  "You told me to come over. Don't look at me like you weren't expecting me. I figured the message was some twisted invitation to ditch my mother?"

  She grabbed the bag at her feet and stood up. "I brought salads. I didn't know what you wanted, but we'd talked about that health-nut place the other night."

  "I. I did what?"

  She rolled her eyes. "You what? The salad or telling me to come over? It was maybe thirty minutes ago, old age kicking in already?" He was sensitive about his age; she pretty much regretted that the second the words left her lips.

  "I am not old, and I did not text you."

  She tilted her head and quirked her brow. "You'd rather me think you stood me up? I have the proof, Jeff, you sent me a text."

  God help me to deal with him. She grabbed the phone from her jacket pocket and pressed her thumb to unlock the screen. She flashed it towards him.

  "See -" she stopped dead as a female voice echoed through the minimalist apartment.

  "Oh, Jeffrey, I'm getting cold. Bring the food to bed, who needs plates when you can eat it off of..."

  "What the hell?" Marci dropped the food as she took in two perky breasts and then the barely twenty-something they belonged to. Her brain fired, one thought after the other, finally placing her from the herb shop that Jeff liked for some of his potions.

  "Oh, hey. I didn't know you worked delivery. Second job?" The tall, lanky girl stood unaware or not caring that she had on less clothing than a stripper.

  Marci's jaw dropped. "I don't work delivery." Her tongue ran over her molars as she contemplated murder. The dilemma came to whether she murdered Jeff or the girl. No, screw that. She'd buy a curse. Marci ran through her client list and distinctly remembered working for a dark warlock a few months ago. He'd had a thing for her; maybe he'd be cool with a threesome of voodoo dolls.

  "Marci, what the hell are you doing here?"

  She pursed her lips and flicked her gaze back to the douche canoe just inside the door.

  "I have no idea. Not you. Here, have some delivery. Put some meat on that girl; poor thing looks like she's starving."

  She kicked the bag of food toward her now ex and spun on the heel of her barefoot as fast as she could without falling over. Reaching the parking lot and still fuming, she realized her phone remained clasped tightly in her fist.

  Walking in the middle of the pavement, she stopped and closed her eyes.

  One, two, three.

  Breathing seemed like a good idea. Finding the strength not to cry and not to run back and commit homicide, she unlocked her phone and went to email. Something beyond her power was telling her everything she was looking for wasn't here.

  Thumbing through a few useless spam emails for products guaranteed to enhance her sex life, a lottery she won in a country she couldn't point out on a map, and an ad for winter coats, finally she found it.

  Clicking on the email, the last message he'd sent popped up. Marci re-read it again.

  Dear Marci,

  Yes, the place is still available. The couple who owns the inn is looking for something of an innkeeper, general manager, someone who wants to pretty much take over the inn. They are no longer on site, but I'm helping in their absence. Please let me know if you are still interested. I am aware of what the ad says, but know this isn't really a turn-key situation.

  Best, Caleb McIntyre

  Marci clicked reply faster than she could blink, the magic in her jumping up and around her like a puppy looking for attention. Yes. Her fingers tingled as her magic pushed her along. This was the right choice. Like everything she found, she just knew she was on the right track.

  Hi Caleb,

  I am very interested. When can I start? I know you mentioned I could keep any revenue after operating costs, and as long as that is still the case, I'd like to come next week.

  Sincerely, Marci Adams

  After she hit send, she ran to her car, anything to get away from whatever it was that had just happened -- anything to get away from the covens, the politics, and the city.

  2

  The phone rang, a welcome break to the eternal silence residing in every corner of his store. He rubbed a hand down his face and uncrossed his ankles. Pushing away from the back counter he grabbed the receiver. He didn't need to ask who it was; she calle
d the same time nearly every day.

  "McIntyre Hardware."

  Caleb shook his head in amusement as the familiar voice of Mrs. Emerson wavered over the line. At least he'd get outside. Caleb questioned why he was out here again. His bear grumbled. They couldn't go live in a cave. They'd already figured out it wouldn't work for Caleb and yet his bear was bored to tears.

  "Yes, Mrs. Emerson. No, your toilet shouldn't be making that noise. You need to stop the cat from playing on the tank. I'll be over once I grab my tools."

  He flipped the sign over, not bothering to note the time he'd be back, and headed to the storeroom. He grabbed his tool bag and a new flapper off the shelf. Her cat had a habit of breaking the chain in the tank, a lot, or at least she said it was the cat.

  Caleb didn't bother locking the door. Evergreen Valley had passed the tourist season and save for a few local shops, most closed for the season. The last few months nothing but regret hit him. His bear reared up like a dog trying to stick his head out the window; the issue was he was trying to force Caleb to jump ship.

  Down. We'll go for a run soon.

  The bear grumbled. He didn't want to go for a run. He wanted a mate.

  That made him regret his choice to return to civilization. Six months wandering the mountains hadn't helped him forget his past any more than being an animal dulled the pain. In his bear form, he thought human emotions would cease. They hadn't.

  He could smell the steamy chocolate in the air as he stepped out into the alley. Mrs. Emerson baked a lot, that was her thing, and between her and the coffee shop down the street, the town smelled of mountain air and sweets.