by Chant, Zoe
"I probably shouldn't," Patricia confessed, smiling foolishly and denying nothing. "It's not exactly professional..."
Andrea snorted. "It's not like you're his teacher," she said dismissively. "And it's not like you were even chasing him like half the rest of this town, either."
Patricia found that she was hugging the teddy bear she had just picked up and put it back on the bench with the others before she could indulge in dancing around with it. "No, but..."
"No buts!" Andrea said, flinging another block across the room. This one missed and bounced onto the floor. "You deserve a little happiness," Andrea said emphatically.
"Well, keep quiet about it," Patricia said. "I'm sure it will be over with the semester, and the last thing I want to do is give those harpies more to gossip about."
"Too late for that," Andrea said with no sympathy. "Mrs. Harrison saw you leaving his place last week, and told her hairdresser, who told Sabrina, so now everyone knows. You should have seen the way Harriette was glaring at you when she left with Trevor."
"Uuuugggghhhh," Patricia moaned. "I was hoping not to get her attention."
"She's got to have some vent for her frustration. Sabrina says that her real estate deals are falling through like it's going out of fashion, and she's lost buckets of money because Gertie wouldn't sell. So what have you found out about Clara's mother?" Andrea dumped her dustpan into the trash and came to lean in towards Patricia conspiratorially.
If the idea of Harriette's jealousy had left Patricia feeling cold, the mention of Lee's dead wife left her chest aching. "She died when Clara was a baby, and she was sick. That's all I know." It was a lie of omission. She also knew Lee still loved her.
"You haven't found anything other than that out in nearly a month?" Andrea scoffed, clearly not impressed with her investigative skills.
"Lee doesn't really want to talk about her, and it's not an easy subject to bring up with him. Not that we're doing a lot of... talking."
Andrea giggled in appreciation for that, and then suggested, "What about Clara? Doesn't she know anything about her mother?"
"Are you really suggesting I pump a four-year-old for information?"
Andrea's green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Why else even be a preschool teacher? The little devils are ripe for providing the very best in high grade gossip. Wave a cookie in front of their nose, and they'll bring you all the skeletons from the closets."
Patricia clipped the lid onto the last toy bin and shoved it into place. "You're unbelievable, Andrea," she said with a reluctant laugh.
"Fine, fine," Andrea said, returning the broom to its corner and flipping the switch for the overhead lights. "I'll have to do my own investigation, then."
"Have fun, Sherlock," Patricia retorted. "But don't drag me into your sordid curiosity!"
She turned off the last lights and pulled the door shut behind her. She was curious, yes, but the ghost of Angela was too painful to face, knowing that Lee still loved her.
PATRICIA HAD ALL BUT forgotten Andrea's threat to investigate, so she was surprised when Andrea pressed two printouts into her hands during a lull in the preschool set up. At first, it made no sense to her. The first was a flyer for a prestigious ballet, a waifish figure in white standing on toe. The name, Angel Barrette, meant nothing to Patricia.
"What's this?"
"That's Clara's mother," Andrea said, something like smugness at the corners of her mouth.
Patricia blinked and looked again. Angel –– Angela – was the perfect ballerina, all swan-graceful and delicate strength, and she was headlining the flyer for a prestigious company show at an uptown stage that even country-girl Patricia had heard of. Patricia swallowed and found that her grip was beginning to crinkle the edge of the printout. She flipped to the next page, a tearful obituary for a beloved wife and mother, famous dancer, darling daughter, and, from Patricia's swift skim, well-named Angel.
"I found her on the Internet," Andrea said. "Took some digging, let me tell you. Different last name, most of her stories are about her gazillionaire daddy and his stock-topping companies. Which, by the way, when were you going to tell me that your boyfriend was a billionaire?"
"He's not my boyfriend," Patricia replied automatically. Her heart was sitting in the bottom of her stomach. She'd never thought that Lee was particularly serious about her, but she never thought he might be comparing her to this. Angela was perfect. The obituary made her sound like a saint. She volunteered for charitable events, and there were testimonies from her fellow dancers that she was dedicated and talented, never using her family connections for unfair advantage. A husband, Leland, and a baby, were bare mentions.
She thought about sliding around barefoot in Lee's empty dining room, teaching them both to dance, and felt like a fraud. A giant, clumsy, curvy, fraud.
How could he let her make a fool of herself that way? How could he sit there and let her gush on about dancing, when he knew that what she was doing was some backwoods country chicken dance compared to what he was used to?
"Patricia? Honey?" Andrea's voice was anxious, and seemed to be a hundred miles away.
Patricia very carefully put the papers down on her desk and stood up, grateful when the bell at the front door gave its cheerful jangle. "The students are coming," she said, shoving aside the turmoil in her belly. "Let's get to work."
Patricia had never been so glad for a busy day in her life. The children were fractious, and there were more messes and accidents to clean up than usual, giving her a good excuse to put her head down and work hard, ignoring Andrea's worried looks and her own heart for the scissors and glue of the classroom.
Chapter Fourteen
"NO, NO, I'M SURE," Lee said, glad that he was on the phone and not at the office in person. He knew he was smiling foolishly, and he couldn't seem to help himself, but the topic and the person at the other end of the line were anything but a smiling matter.
"This is a big deal, Lee," Dan told him, puzzlement clear in his voice even with the shaky cell connection they were on.
"You have no idea how big," Lee agreed. "But it means a lot to me, and you know I'll turn you a good favor down the road."
"I trust you," Dan finally said reluctantly. "But it means a lot of changes in our production schedule while we find another suitable property. They're going to want a good reason for this at headquarters."
"Tell them it was an Indian burial ground," Lee said flippantly. "Or that you struck quicksand."
There was a moment of silence. "Did you just make a joke?" Dan asked incredulously.
Lee wondered if Dan could hear the grin on his face. "No, I don't do that," he said, as seriously as he could muster. "Just tell them the real estate agent was wearing impractical shoes and you couldn't strike a deal."
"I think that little country town has gotten under your skin," Dan said, and he chuckled. "Every woman wears impractical shoes."
Lee thought about Patricia, sliding barefoot around in his dining room with her big, clunky snow boots by his door. "Not every woman," he said. When they hung up, he slipped the little box he'd been toying with out of his pocket. It was black velvet, and he flipped it open with one thumb to check the contents again. It wasn't a huge glittering diamond like the one he'd given Angela, but he couldn't picture anything like that on Patricia's practical hands. This was a simple band, in braided shades of gold, with chips of rubies and diamond flush with the surface; nothing that would snag on craft supplies or mittens.
He would ask her tonight–, tomorrow morning, over pancakes. He'd let Clara help him with the proposal, then that afternoon during her nap, he would come clean with Patricia about being a shape-shifter. Maybe the ring on her finger would help her accept it a little more easily if he explained how it came with the idea of a mate.
He snapped the box shut and put it back in his pocket, picking up his phone instead. There were more calls to be made, and then there was something else he was finally ready to do.
PATRICIA COULD NOT get the picture
of Angel out of her head. She toyed with the idea of canceling her evening with Lee, but couldn't find a good enough excuse. Besides, though her heart ached, the rest of her longed to be with him. She yearned for him in a way that she'd never desired another man. Every time they made love, she felt more connected and closer than she'd ever been to anyone, and it filled some hollow inside her that she'd never recognized was there.
She paused, with her hand raised to knock at the front door, in a moment of unexpected clarity. She loved him. It wasn't just that she wanted and lusted after him, she loved him, to the bottom of her heart, and she wasn't sure what to do with the overwhelming emotional backlash of that realization.
Clara opened the door before she could collect herself enough to knock or turn and flee, and Patricia forced herself out of her daze to smile down at the adorable girl.
"I saw you drive up!" Clara sang, bouncing forward to grab one of her hands, careless of her bare feet in the snow on the porch. "Papa said you would read me a story before bed!"
Patricia had just enough time to kick of her snow boots before Clara was pulling her up the stairs by one hand. "Alright, alright," Patricia had to laugh helplessly.
Lee was standing at the top of the stairs with small pink slippers, looking harried and handsome. "You aren't supposed to go outside barefoot," he told Clara, but his eyes were only on Patricia, and he smiled in a way that made her toes tingle.
'Don't fall for this man,' Patricia reminded herself, far too late, and then she was being swept down the hallway towards Clara's room.
To her surprise, framed photographs now lined one wall. Clara was pulling her along too fast to look closely at them; she only got glimpses of a stately ancient collection of grim-faced ancestors in furs and jewels, giving way to more modern tinted prints and finally color plates.
"This is my mother," Clara said with unexpected gravity, pausing only at the last pieces. There were several that Patricia recognized now as the dancer from Andrea's printout. One was a formal dance portrait, with a dramatically lit stage and a slight figure in classical tutu and pointe pose. The next photograph was a light-haired woman in a fur coat seated at the edge of a fountain holding a bundled baby. Lee, looking younger, was smiling over her shoulder. Golden sunlight sparkled in the water and made a halo around the woman's head. She really did look like an angel.
"She's beautiful," Patricia said, honestly, hoping her heartbreak wouldn't be heard in her voice. This was a woman no one could hope to compare to, especially not a country cow like herself. She steeled herself to stick to her plan. This night was a final goodbye. She had to get out before she lost too much of herself to a perfect dream she could never really be a part of.
Clara seemed to accept her statement as fact, and said cheerfully, "Let's go read Give a Mouse a Cookie!"
That, with the careful scrutiny of every page and all the hugs and blanket arrangements required, took all of Patricia's attention until the door latched behind them, and she and Lee were once again standing together in the hallway.
This time, however, she could feel the oblique attention of Angela's portrait, judging her from a swan-perfect pose.
If Lee had tried to kiss her there, she might have balked, but he only took her hand, tenderly, and led her further down the hallway, past the end of the portraits, to his room.
"Patricia," he started to say, but she couldn't handle words.
Instead, she reached up and put arms around his neck, kissing him with all the love and passion he had ignited in her. If she was going to say goodbye to him tonight, she was going to do it properly, and put this all behind her when she left in the morning.
Chapter Fifteen
LEE HAD CHANGED HIS mind again. He couldn't wait to ask Patricia to marry him, he would ask her tonight, so that he could get past the terrible looming reveal. And he couldn't ask her to marry him until she knew the full truth about him, so he had to... had to...
Any plans he had made unraveled and fell apart when she put insistent arms around his neck and kissed him like the world was ending.
The feeling of her body against him, strong and yielding and so perfectly rounded in all the right places left him unable to form words, even if her mouth had allowed it. He slipped arms around her, and kissed back.
They undressed each other slowly, not willing to break the kiss more than was required for pulling shirts off and maneuvering tricky zippers and belts. Lee didn't think he was imagining the different tenor to their dance–less laughter and enthusiasm and more desperation. Did she know, somehow, what he had planned? A trickle of doubt crept in–would she be able to handle the knowledge of his shifter side? What if she didn't want to marry him... then she was putting tender hands on either side of his face and murmuring as she rested her forehead against his. His bear, with none of his own inner doubts, knew what to do with his mate, so close, and so naked, and so did his body.
He lifted her onto the bed with another kiss, his hard member pressing at her lower mouth, but not demanding entrance, only reminding her of his presence.
His attention was for her lips and mouth, swollen already with his kisses, and her beautiful face–every freckle beloved. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but his mouth was busy, kissing the line of her jaw and the edge of her ear. He nibbled at her lobe, and she writhed below him, pressing upward at him with a low moan.
He held himself back and kissed down her neck, finding pale skin that rarely saw sunlight, and the fine blonde hairs that had escaped the braid she was wearing today. Her arching collarbones got his attention next, feathered with kisses and licks as he finally let himself explore down her chest to the breasts that were quivering below.
Patricia gave a musical breath of desire and pleasure, arching into his questing mouth. She was so woman, so full and waiting and wanting, and her breasts were big, beautiful handfuls and mouthfuls of joy. He nibbled and kissed and licked, and she gasped and groaned and tangled her hands in his hair.
Finally, when their desire was at a fever pitch Lee had not thought was possible, he let himself enter her, finding solace and relief and raw animal need at the sensation of being buried deep inside of her.
They finished together, almost musically, and lay entwined while their heartbeats slowly returned to normal.
Lee felt completed, as if his entire life had been a song waiting for its harmony, and now she sang with him.
"Patricia," he said, brushing her hair back from her face when he'd finally caught enough of his breath. "I have something I need to tell you."
Silence answered him, and a glance told him, unexpectedly, that she was asleep, long eyelashes splayed over her cheeks.
Lee found himself smiling and snuggled closer. He wasn't worried about what she would do anymore. Whatever happened, she was his mate, and he could be patient. He fell into the easiest sleep he could ever remember, and dreamed at once of wandering the woods with a golden bear at his side.
Chapter Sixteen
PATRICIA WOKE SLOWLY, comfortably sore and clinging to sleep as long as she could. She was warm and safe, curled up against something plush and large. She wiggled closer, not wanting to wake up and face the inevitable goodbye, and recognized through a fog that it didn't exactly feel plush, but coarser, and longer, and it was larger than a pillow or a person. She wrinkled her brow in confusion, the unexpected discovery waking her further. She was in bed with a fur coat? Even breaths raised the bulk beneath her out-flung arm, and she realized with alarm that it was too big to be Lee, even if he had, for some bizarre reason, gotten up in the middle of the night to put on a large buffalo coat.
She withdrew her arm cautiously, rolling away with care, and raised her head enough to see, in the early dawn light coming through the window, that there was a bear sprawled across the bed, enormous head on a pillow, sheets tangled in its back paws.
As collected as Patricia liked to consider herself, the shock drove a scream from her lips before she could remind herself that waking it was p
robably a bad idea.
The mountain of bear snorted and rumbled, and Patricia, naked, propelled herself back out of the bed and cast around helplessly for a weapon of some kind, any kind. Bereft of anything useful, she leapt for the curtain rod over the big window, and managed to pull it down with a crash as the bear woke and rose, blinking sleepy eyes at her from its vantage on the bed. Could she make a break past it for the door without it intercepting her? Patricia wondered. And where the hell was Lee?
Even as she summoned that thought, struggling to rip off the curtains that were weighing down the curtain rod she was trying to use as a makeshift weapon, the bear made a strangled noise of alarm and surprise.
That was it, Patricia realized. It was awake now for good, and she was armed with a crappy brass curtain rod and a few yards of white tapestry. She was going to be bear breakfast, and the curtains were going to be completely ruined from the blood. At least she wouldn't have to go through the ordeal of saying goodbye to Lee...
From down the hall, undoubtedly wakened by the racket they were making, Clara's shrill scream pierced the scene. The bear's head pivoted towards the door, and Patricia leapt for it without thinking. She was naked, and didn't think the curtain rod would survive one good blow from the bear's paws, but she wasn't about to let it go after Clara. Her only hope was to frighten it off, so she gave a blood-curdling warcry and jumped onto the bed with her curtain rod raised above her.
It was caught by a hand–a human hand–and somehow, through a blur that Patricia couldn't follow, it was Lee kneeling on the bed before her; the bear was nowhere to be seen.
"Patricia! Patricia, it's okay! It's me! I'm sorry, I've been wanting to tell you..."
Patricia's pulse hammered in her ears, adrenaline coursing through her like fire. "Tell me what?" she managed. "Bear. There was a bear..."