You know that's just wishful thinking.
In the weeks and months after Ryan's death, how often had she dreamed that there had been some awful mistake, and that her mate wasn't really dead? In her dreams, Ryan or one of his commanding officers called, or wrote, or emailed her with the news that Ryan hadn't died, after all. There had been a horrible mix-up, but it was all sorted out now, and Ryan would be coming home in a few days.
Margaret sighed. Maybe I should just turn on the TV. Even if there's nothing on, it will keep me from thinking about that stupid dream.
Then she heard the sound of a car engine growing rapidly louder, followed by the crunch of gravel under tires.
She glanced up at the clock. 8:15 p.m.
Some of the ranch's guests returning late from dinner in town?
Or had the Markley family changed their minds about staying in West Yellowstone? It could be difficult to find a suite of hotel rooms there even in mid-September, after most schools had started and the crowds visiting the park dwindled. Linda had told Margaret that her two sons were being homeschooled, and this road trip was part of their education.
Margaret heard the car stop in front of her house, followed by the sounds of car doors opening and shutting.
A fleeting image from last night's dream rose to haunt her, of Ryan and Patrick together in a car, driving. She shook her head ruefully.
What's happening to me? Why was this anniversary so much harder than the one last year? Or the year before?
Two sets of footsteps sounded on the wide stone walkway that led from the road up to her porch.
Margaret put aside her book and rose from her armchair. She peered out of one of the sets of bay windows at the front of her living room and spotted an unfamiliar dark-colored Jeep parked in front of the house.
Not the Markleys, then. They'd been driving a big red Ford Explorer.
Margaret began heading for the front door. She was halfway there when a firm knock sounded on her unlocked front door.
She opened the door and felt a dizzying shock when she saw the man and the boy from her dream standing on her porch, although they didn't resemble Ryan and Patrick in the least. Looking at them, she couldn't think why she'd gotten them confused in her dream.
The boy had sun-streaked light brown hair and clear green eyes like a cat. He looked to be maybe ten or eleven years old, all knees and elbows and skinny limbs.
The man was tall and well-built, but lean and rangy rather than the bulky like a male bear shifter. He had short spiky silver hair, and the same green eyes as the boy. Thick red and silver stubble covered his cheeks and jaw. He was handsome, with a long straight nose, firm mouth, and sharp-boned features. His tanned, freckled skin was carved with deep laugh lines around his mouth and crow's feet radiating from the corners of his eyes.
One of his muscled arms was bandaged and supported in what looked like a homemade sling. He also had a large square of gauze taped to his forehead, and she wondered whether he'd been in a car accident.
His uninjured arm was covered with a striking full-sleeve tattoo. She caught a glimpse of a cactus and a rattlesnake woven into an intricate black-and-white design that covered his skin from his wrist up to past his bicep, where it vanished under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. She wondered if the design continued up to his shoulders and chest.
Margaret found herself leaning forward a fraction, drawing a deep breath to inhale his scent. The cold night air was tinged with the faint odor of antiseptic overlaying a cat's musky perfume radiating from both of her visitors.
The scent was familiar. Are they cougar shifters?
"Hello," she said, automatically. "Welcome to the Grizzly Creek Ranch."
As she met the man's gaze, she was struck with the oddest feeling that he was a friend she'd known for years...even though she knew for a fact that she had never seen him before.
"Good evening, ma'am," said the man in a deep voice flavored with a soft southern drawl.
It thrilled through her and started an odd flutter deep inside her chest.
"Are you Ms. Margaret Swanson, by any chance? We met a lady named Steffi a ways back there—" He tilted his head in the direction of the road. "—and she thought that you might have a room for me and my nephew to stay the night."
Margaret stared at them in shock as the previous night's dream rushed back in full force.
Can this really be a coincidence?
She swallowed, her throat gone suddenly dry. "Yes, I'm Margaret. And I do have a couple of rooms available for tonight."
Chapter Six – Gimme Shelter
Daniel's first impression of Margaret Swanson was that an angel had answered the door of the charming Victorian house. Warm golden light from the interior of the home poured around her head and shoulders and pooled on the white-painted boards of the wide porch.
She was a tall, statuesque bear shifter woman with long straight chestnut-brown hair heavily frosted with bright silver. Her face was bare of any makeup, and she wore a long-sleeved t-shirt that flattered her full figure, along with a pair of comfortable-looking sweatpants. A welcoming smile stretched her generous mouth, enhanced by the friendly crinkle at the outside corners of her warm brown eyes.
Daniel felt a jolt run through him as he met her gaze, like he'd just brushed against a live wire. His cat surged up inside him, making his skin prickle sharply.
He fought to control what felt like an impending shift. Dammit, I must be more tired than I thought. I haven't lost control like this since I was a kid.
"You're lucky," she said in a low contralto voice that seemed to caress Daniel's tired brain. "We were completely booked up, but had a last-minute cancellation this afternoon."
Oh, thank God. She's not going to send us away.
"I've always considered myself a pretty lucky man," Daniel said. All those curves and a phone sex voice, too? Hot damn, woman!
Margaret Swanson looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his bandages, and her smile turned wry. "You have a funny definition of 'lucky.'"
Daniel shook his head. "I'm not dead, ma'am, just a little beat up. I consider that pretty lucky."
She smells really good, his cat informed him. And she looks very soft and cuddly.
Daniel fought to keep himself from getting too distracted. He didn't want her first impression of him to be that he was some kind of pervert.
"Please come in, and for goodness sake, please call me Margaret. 'Ma'am' makes me feel older than I already am." Her smile took the sting out of her words as she stepped aside and waved them into the house's entrance hall.
Daniel picked up his duffel bag, and saw Chris echo the movement with his own smaller duffel. Not knowing when it would be safe to return to his house, Daniel had taken a few minutes to pack some additional clothes and Chris's most treasured belongings. He was glad he'd remembered to include a sweatshirt and a coat for his nephew.
Mid-September in Idaho was definitely chillier than Albuquerque, where air conditioners were still running during the daylight hours.
"I'm Daniel and this is my nephew Chris."
"Hi," added Chris, sounding shy.
Daniel braced himself for a follow-up question about his last name, but Margaret just nodded. "Let me show you up to the rooms. We include a full home-cooked ranch-style breakfast with all of our bookings, and for a small additional charge, I could pack you both a picnic lunch if you're planning on spending the day hiking or fishing tomorrow."
She led the way towards a large staircase located at the rear of the foyer.
Is she really that trusting around strangers? That seemed unlikely, to say the least.
On the other hand, bear shifters had a reputation for being some of the toughest shifters out there. And their clans were matriarchal. If Margaret Swanson seemed strangely confident about admitting a strange male shifter to her home, maybe it was because she knew that if push came to shove, she could defend herself against nearly anyone, Ordinary or shifter.
They w
alked past a wide doorway on the left side of the foyer that led to a formal living room with beautiful hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling bay windows. It was furnished with comfortable-looking antique armchairs and sofas.
Beyond the living room, Daniel caught a glimpse of an equally-formal dining room with a crystal chandelier and dark green wallpaper with a Victorian pattern of leaves and vines in gold leaf, with a big oval table draped in a crisply-ironed white linen tablecloth. Ahead of them was a grand staircase flanked by a short hallway that led to a large cased opening and what looked like a family room with a TV at the back of the house.
"The bedrooms are all upstairs," Margaret said, as she began to climb the staircase. "You're welcome to use the living room if you want to read or catch up with your email—let me know if you need the Wi-Fi password."
"Yes, please," Chris said, and promptly whipped out his phone.
As Margaret reeled off the password, and Chris typed it in, Daniel found himself admiring the sway of her rounded hips as he followed her up the stairs. He had a brief, vivid flash of what those soft-looking curves would feel like spooned against him in bed, and felt his cock stir despite his leaden fatigue.
Down, boy, he thought with weary amusement. We're already in enough trouble without adding you to the mix.
But his unexpected reaction reminded him of long it had been since his last girlfriend had broken up with him.
All you ever do is work, Carrie had told him angrily. You're at the restaurant all day and all night, and you never have time for me! You barely have time for Chris!
Her words had hit home. Just not in the way that she'd hoped. He'd stopped dating after she broke it off, and focused on his job and making sure that he didn't neglect Chris.
His nephew trailed behind them, busily tapping on his phone.
"What time would you and Chris like breakfast?" asked Margaret when she reached the landing at the top of the stairs.
"Uh—" Daniel knew his body would need extra sleep to begin healing. "Not too early?"
Then his stomach growled loudly and he found himself suddenly ravenous despite the big steak dinner he'd eaten a few hours ago.
From past experience, he knew that healing injuries required calories. Lots of them. I should have picked up some food to go while we were having dinner.
Margaret chuckled. "Have you two had dinner yet?"
"Yeah," Chris piped up. "But that was hours ago."
"Well, I have plenty of food, if you don't mind leftovers," she assured them. "How do you feel about lasagna?"
She's going to feed us! Daniel wanted to marry her on the spot.
"I love lasagna," he assured her.
It was true. Lasagna, po'boy sandwiches, and crawfish etouffee had been the comfort foods of his childhood. That had been before his mother moved them all to Albuquerque, where she suddenly found herself much too busy to cook.
"Good," said Margaret. "I'll fix you two a bedtime snack when we go back downstairs."
She walked over to one of the doors that led from the second-floor landing, and opened it. It was a hexagonal-shaped room in the house's turret, just large enough for a queen-sized brass-railed bed and a pair of nightstands. The bed looked heavenly, made up with lots of pillows and a thick quilt.
"You can put your bags in here," she said. She pointed at a door painted a dark green. "That's the closet." Her finger moved to point to a brick-red door next to it. "And that door leads to a shared bathroom, with another bedroom on the other side. I thought maybe you'd each want your own room tonight."
"This looks great," Daniel said fervently, and Chris chimed in, "That's a cool room! Can I call dibs on it?"
Margaret smiled, and it felt like warm sunlight against Daniel's skin. "My kids always loved that room, too, when they were growing up. They called it the Tower Room."
Daniel was surprised at the mention of children. Is she married and mated, after all? The house held the scents of many different people, but Margaret herself didn't smell as if she were mated. And once mated, shifters rarely if ever divorced.
Not that it's any of my business. If Justin Long doesn't offer us sanctuary, then I'll probably never see this woman again.
He didn't know why that possibility bothered him so much.
She continued, "Now, let's feed you. You both look dead on your feet."
She turned and went down the stairs. Daniel hastily dumped his duffel on the floor just inside the second bedroom's door, and Chris put his bag down in the Tower Room.
"Do you need a credit card or something from me?" asked Daniel, when they were all downstairs again.
To his relief she waved him off. "We can take care of business tomorrow morning. I usually don't ask my guests to pay until check-out. Most folks are honest and I've never had to track anyone down yet."
She tapped her nose with a sly smile, and Daniel remembered hearing that bears had a better sense of smell than even bloodhounds.
He followed Margaret through the dining room to a large, recently-renovated kitchen at the back of the house.
Even exhausted and injured as he was, Daniel stopped to admire the kitchen layout. It had clearly been designed by someone who loved to cook, and everything was arranged to aid the workflow of prepping and cooking meals. And then there was the high-end refrigerator, the gas cooktop, the double ovens, the impeccably-clean white quartz counters, and the huge apron sink. Not to mention lots of cabinets, and what looked like a walk-in pantry located next to the fridge.
If Daniel could ever find the time to design a kitchen for his own home, it would look exactly like this.
Margaret headed for the huge fridge, and waved them to the breakfast nook tucked into a large bay window just beyond the huge kitchen island.
"Have a seat," she said, cheerfully, as she bent to pull a large foil-covered casserole pan from the fridge. "I'll just heat up some of this, and then I'll join you. What would you like to drink? Beer? Milk for Chris?"
In short order, Daniel and Chris found themselves sitting on a padded bench set into another bay window, generous portions of steaming homemade lasagna in front of them.
"I hope you don't mind, but the Italian sausage is made from venison," Margaret said, as she placed a large plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies in the center of the table, and handed Chris a tall glass of milk.
"I love venison," Daniel assured her, picking up his fork.
Not that he got to eat it very often in Albuquerque. And when he did, it was rarely cooked because he had hunted it down while in cat shape, and his beast's need to immediately satisfy its hunger would not be denied.
Margaret sat herself at the table across from them and raised her bottle of local microbrew ale in Daniel's direction. "Bon Appetit."
Daniel smiled at her and returned the gesture, raised his own bottle of ale, beaded with condensation, and gently clinked in against his hostess's drink. "Thank you so much for feeding us. And for taking us in on short notice."
His interest was caught by the blush that rose from her throat to stain her cheeks. He couldn't help leaning forward over the table, trying to catch her scent to figure out whether she was mated or not. But the savory perfume of the lasagna drowned out everything else, and set his mouth to watering.
"This tastes great!" Chris said, his words muffled around a mouthful of lasagna.
Daniel's automatic reaction to tell his nephew for the thousandth time not to talk with his mouth full died when Margaret gave a delighted-sounding chuckle.
"And thanks for the cookies," added Chris.
He was shoveling lasagna into his mouth, but his attention was fixed on the plate of treats placed temptingly close.
"I'm glad someone's here to eat them besides me," Margaret said. "I baked them this afternoon for the family that was supposed to stay here tonight."
Then Daniel turned his attention to his food. It was delicious and hearty, the very definition of comfort food, and the ale warmed him.
The rage and fear
that had gripped him since receiving Lizbeth's phone call this morning slowly began to melt away as he sat in this warm, cozy space, filling his stomach with a home-cooked meal in the presence of a calm, beautiful woman.
A tight knot of tension deep in his gut began to loosen. Maybe Justin will say yes, and Junior can stay here. Messerzahn wouldn't dare follow us here, not after what happened to Philippe and Pete.
As he ate, he tried not to stare at Margaret, but it was difficult, since she was sitting across from him. It was even more difficult not to think about what it would feel like to kiss her.
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