by T. S. Joyce
But…
She was from Texas, and long distance didn’t work. More importantly, she was a shifter. A shifter. That was like dating a different species as far as popular opinion went. Shifters dated shifters, and humans dated humans.
But…it had been a long time since this old rickety heart of his had perked up around a woman. And a pounding heartbeat after feeling nothing for so long was something to pay attention to.
Okay, if she was dangerous, he would make a deal with himself. Dangerous shifter, and he would avoid her like the plague while she stayed here because he wasn’t trying to tear up his life and give Gran a heart attack. There. Now he had an excuse to type in the shifter registration website. And her name.
If she was a dangerous shifter, he would force himself to leave her alone.
Ava Dennis, Nine-Banded Armadillo Shifter.
Shit.
Chewing the side of his lip, Brock pulled the rolling chair closer and settled in for a little research. He clicked her name and read about her.
Age thirty-three, unmated, daughter of Barry and Laura Dennis, both Nine-banded armadillo shifters. Rare shifter. Only nine registered in existence. Graphic Designer working for Ava’s Design Studio. No arrests. Non-destructive nature. On time with registration fees…
What the hell? She had to pay fees to register as a shifter? That didn’t seem right. Honestly, he didn’t really agree they should have to register in the first place. This site was exposing too much about a private kind of person. She hadn’t even wanted to admit she was a shifter on the check-in information, but right here, anyone could type in her name and find out all about her. It even listed her current address and phone number.
“Oh, my God,” he murmured, leaning back in the chair and staring at the screen in disgust.
Guilt scratched at him, creating a prickling sensation in his chest. He checked the clock. It was 5:45 pm, and the smell of pot roast and seasoned potatoes and carrots filled the entire lodge. He checked to make sure her rental minivan was out front, hopeful she would show up for dinner. There it was, still leaned up against the broken sign. He didn’t know why, but it made him smile. She hadn’t even moved the car and tried to hide that she hit it. She was owning it.
Brock had plans so he couldn’t stay for dinner, but perhaps he could see her for a little while before he had to leave.
Roberto was rinsing glasses behind the small bar area in the dining room when Brock poked his head in.
“You off work, boss?” Roberto asked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna get dressed real fast and be right back. Can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything,” he said, drying off a wine glass with a dry rag.
“There’s a girl. I mean a woman. Her name is Ava. She’ll hopefully be dining here. Can you make sure she gets taken care of?”
Roberto’s smile was way too knowing, and much too annoying. “I always take care of our guests, boss.”
“Well…just…take extra care of her. Anything she wants. And put it on my tab, not hers.”
“Ooooookaaaay,” he sang, grinning even bigger.
“Shut it,” Brock called over his shoulder as he left.
“Your gran will be happy!” Roberto called.
“Happy about what?” came Gran’s voice from the kitchen, amid the clang of banging pots.
“Nothing,” Brock called and headed up the stairs to his apartment over the office. Gran lived in Lodge 1, her choice. But the entire second story of the main lodge was Brock’s private living space. It made it easier to cater to the guests’ needs if he lived on-site. And he loved it here. It had been home for five years and would hopefully be home for another twenty. He just had to keep the lodges filled and get out of this dip in room bookings.
Gran had owned a bed and breakfast when he was a kid, and he’d spent almost every weekend there with her. Because of her, he’d learned how to manage a place like this. And when Gran went to sell her bed and breakfast, he’d tracked down this place—a rundown lodge with some rickety cabins, and he’d dumped his life savings into rehabbing the entire property. It was a complete labor of love.
He should be getting dressed, but he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sat on the edge of his bed. His research wasn’t over, but this time, he wouldn’t invade her privacy. He would learn about her animal side. And as he read facts about Nine-banded armadillos, an idea came to him.
He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it at the tail end of a Colorado winter, but he had an idea for a present for her. An unromantic one. One that would mind the UnValentine’s Day rules, but one that would hopefully bring that pretty smile back to her lips.
The thought thawed out his frozen heart just a little more.
He could be a reason she smiled.
Perhaps he hadn’t lost the shifter-naming challenge after all.
Chapter Five
Kathy’s love-infested smoochy-mush heart-riddled Valentine’s Day cards were finally done!
Ava hit send on the final files to the printer and, with a sigh of relief, laid back on the bed of Lodge 10, where she’d been working. That was the last job she had sitting in the queue for the next couple of days. Vacation officially started now.
The alarm on her phone went off, and she gasped. Crap! It was ten minutes until dinner at the main building of the Woodpecker Inn, and she’d meant to get cute beforehand. Instead, she was in gray sweatpants she’d spilled a half-melted Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup on the thigh and stained an hour ago. Her bra-less look wasn’t going to work either.
She hopped up onto the bed, then jumped off, doing a horrid toe-touch she’d learned in cheerleading camp circa sixth grade, barely stuck the landing, and turned off the gas fireplace. Then she rushed to the bathroom to put some oomf behind her makeup and smoke up her eyes, then hairspray some volume into her short hair. Five minutes later, and she was yanking on her favorite ripped black jeggings, snow boots, a purple sweater that hung off one shoulder and some dangly earrings with little black sparkly beads on the ends.
She checked herself in the mirror by the door on her way out and froze. Her eyes were green. Why? She wasn’t scared or startled.
Just…excited a little.
But why?
Brock.
The wind sucked out of her sail, she dug her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them over her face, a mask she often put on in public. Some people were very kind when they figured out she was a shifter, but some people were very unkind, and she just wanted to be happy here.
She grabbed her jacket and locked up Lodge 10, made her way through the crunching snow past a gazebo with strands of outdoor lights turned on. It was pretty in the evening shadows with the snow lightly falling around her. Peaceful here. A paradise, and exactly what she needed.
She moved to open the back door, but a short man with dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and a megawatt smile opened it for her. He was wearing a plain black uniform with a white apron tied to his waist. “I was told to take especially good care of you tonight,” he told her as she thanked him and walked past him. “I’m Roberto. I work the bar here and help serve the food.”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Roberto. I’m Ava.” She offered her hand, and he shook it firmly.
“Good handshake,” he complimented her.
She giggled and told him, “My dad taught me how to shake hands before I went to kindergarten. He told me every woman needs to know how to look a person in the eyes and shake a hand right, so people know she isn’t to be messed with.”
“I think I would get along with your dad,” came a familiar voice from behind her.
She spun to find Brock, but he didn’t look like he had before. He was out of his nice sweater and jeans and was wearing a red and navy soccer uniform, complete with indoor soccer shoes and shin guards under navy socks. A duffle bag was thrown over his shoulder and his hair was all messy. She loved it. Obviously, since she just stood there staring.
“What can I get you to
drink tonight?” Roberto asked softly from beside her. “I’ll have it waiting at your place at the table.”
“Oh, uuuum…white wine?”
Brock grinned. “Not beer?”
“Not beer yet. Besides, from the looks of it, you wouldn’t be drinking it with me anyway, so I’ll stick to the stuff I like best.”
“Do you like sweeter whites? Or dry?” Roberto asked.
“Sweeter, but not as sweet as Moscato. I don’t know much about nice wine.”
Roberto placed his hands behind his back and nodded. “I know just the one. Not too sweet, not too fancy.”
“Perfect,” she said with a giggle.
Roberto bustled off, and Brock gestured for her to lead the way to the dining room. “Ladies first.”
“Do you play soccer?” she asked.
“Oh no, I just dress up every Wednesday for fun.”
She could tell by his smile that he was teasing, so she gifted him an eye roll.
“Yeah, I play for an indoor league. I kind of wish I could skip out tonight.” He paused at the entry to the dining room. “Wish I had time to eat here.”
“Do you want me to box you up some food?” she asked. “You’ll be hungry after.”
Shock drifted across his face. “You would do that?”
Ava shrugged. “Why not?”
“Well, you don’t know me. And that was…surprising. That kind of care.”
Ava grinned and angled her face, put on her most confident expression, which was mostly hidden behind her movie star sunglasses. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a very healthy dandelion weed. I’m a caregiver.”
The shock morphed to that handsome smile and that deep chuckle that warmed her from the inside out.
“Look…I know tomorrow is the UnValentine’s Day celebration, so I don’t want you thinking this is nice or romantic or anything,” he said, “but would you be up for eating in a hurry and then coming with me to the game? I could use a cheerleader.”
“What if I just boo you if you suck instead?”
“Hmm. Then it will encourage me not to suck.”
The game sounded like fun. A new adventure with someone nice, who knew what she was and didn’t give her grief. “Okay.” She looked down at herself. “Is this okay to wear?”
His eyes dragged down her slow, and the look in them gave her butterflies. He took his time and paused at her curves. “You look perfect.”
“Against the rules,” she whispered.
“You look unperfect,” he corrected himself.
“That’s better.”
“If you come to my game, I have one rule though,” he said softly, leaning against the door frame.
She was trapped in his blue-eyed gaze, frozen completely. “I don’t like too many rules, but I’ll take the bait. Name it.”
He hesitated for a second before he pulled the sunglasses from her face gently. “I know why you’re wearing these inside. You’re safe here, Ava. No hiding, okay?”
Ava didn’t know why, but her eyes burned a little with moisture. All she could do was nod. Safe? That sounded soooo nice.
He checked his phone. “I can skip a bit of warm-ups before the game so you can have a little more time to eat.”
“Will you get in trouble by your coach?” she asked.
Brock shrugged and pressed his fingertips on her lower back, guiding her into the dining room. “I’ll have to run some extra laps. It’ll be good for me.”
Huh. This human stranger was going to get in trouble with his team just so she had extra time to eat, so they could ride together to his game. That was caregiving, too. Okay, Brock. I’m paying a little more attention now.
The dining room consisted of two long tables under giant rustic chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling. The back wall was all windows, overlooking snowy woods. The walls were made of dark-stained wooden planks that looked like refurbished railroad ties, and there was a large stone hearth with a fire blazing inside, right beside a small bar where Roberto was pouring a trio of glasses of white wine. This was her new favorite room ever.
Two other diners sat at the first table across from each other, talking softly, but formally, as if they were strangers. They were asking where the other was from. One was a man, tall and lanky with glasses and short hair. He wore a green button-up shirt and gave Ava a polite smile as she took the seat next to the woman he was talking to.
“I’m Ava,” she introduced herself to the other diners.
“Bre,” the twenty-something said brightly from beside her.
“Davis,” the other said as Brock took the seat across the table from Ava, right beside Davis.
“Do you mind if I join you in my street clothes tonight?” Brock asked.
“You sure look different when you’re off work,” Bre pointed out. She was staring, and her smile was a little flirty.
If Ava was a weretiger, she would’ve growled. As it stood, though, all her animal did was curl up in a ball when she was scared and roll away from danger.
Roberto set a glass of wine in front of her first. “Water for you, boss?” he asked Brock across the table.
“Sounds good.”
“Who are you playing tonight?” Davis asked.
“Panthers. They’re on a three-game winning streak.”
“Time to bust ’em up,” Ava said.
He chuckled. “We’re sure gonna try.”
“Dinner’s on,” an older woman announced as she hustled in, oven mitts on, holding a massive iron pot of food.
Ava’s mouth watered as she stared into the pot. It was a slow-cooked roast that looked like it would fall apart if you touched it with a fork. There were potatoes and carrots all around it.
“You don’t mind if I serve Ava first, do you?” Brock asked. “I convinced her to come to my game tonight, and we have to speed-eat.”
“That’s a crying shame,” the older woman called from the kitchen she’d bustled back into. “It’s her first meal here, and you’re already rushing her, boy.”
Brock didn’t respond, just gave Ava a wink and stood over the pot, dishing food onto her offered plate. He was piling it on.
“Oh my gosh, how much do you think I can eat?” Ava asked.
“I have faith in you.”
“Well, have some faith in me, too,” Bre said, offering her plate next. Ew. She just expected Brock to serve her.
He handled it well, though, didn’t even hesitate, just served everyone, then himself last.
The older woman returned with Yorkshire pudding, brown gravy, fried okra, and a huge pot of buttery mashed potatoes.
Ava listened to the cheerful conversation around her, but she had a job to do, and that job was to eat fast so Brock didn’t have to do too many extra laps. One glass of wine and two servings of food later, she looked up to find the older woman sitting at the end of the table, a few chairs down from Ava, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Shifter.”
Ava gulped down the last bite of her mashed potatoes and wiped her lips with her napkin slowly. Her eyes had given her away again. Brock shouldn’t have taken her sunglasses off. “I’m Ava.” Shifter was part of her. It wasn’t all of her, though.
The woman shoved her glasses up her nose and studied her like an owl on a rat. “I’m Brock’s grandma. People call me Gran. You can call me Ethyl.”
“Gran,” Brock uttered low. “She’s nice. You be nice, too.” Warning flashed in his eyes at the woman, and then he mouthed the words I’m sorry to Ava.
Davis and Bre had gone silent. Not even the clink of forks against the fine plates sounded anymore.
“I’m not dangerous,” Ava said, clutching her napkin in her lap. How many times had she been through this same situation in her lifetime? Too many to count.
“I have a story,” Gran said.
“No time for stories, sorry,” Brock said, standing. “We have a game to get to.”
“It’s fine,” Ava murmured. This was his grandma. She couldn’t just
leave rudely. She was frozen in place, anyway.
Brock walked all the way around the table and came and sat beside her, right between Gran and Ava. He sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair. “Roberto, can you get Ava here another glass of wine?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Ava laughed nervously and cast Brock a thank-you look.
“Once upon a time,” Gran said, “there was a couple of weretigers who lied on their check-in application. They got into a lover’s quarrel in Lodge 8 and destroyed the entire thing. Changed right in there and gutted the cabin. Plumbing was spewing water, the kitchenette was destroyed, the bed, bedding, the television was shattered, pictures all ripped off the wall, the logs clawed up. Even the ceiling had huge holes in it.”
“They paid for the damage,” Brock said softly.
“That’s not the point,” Gran said. “They didn’t pay for our time, organizing the work crews to fix it for two months while we lost income because one of our rooms was unusable during our busiest season. All because of what they are. They had no control over their animals.”
“Ava isn’t like them.”
“Her eyes are bright green and practically glowing like a bug light. Are you telling me she isn’t a shifter?” Gran asked, her eagle eyes on her grandson.
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying she isn’t a risk to our lodge. She isn’t dangerous.”
“None of them look dangerous—”
“She’s an armadillo,” Brock said, cutting his Gran off.
Mid-drink of her wine, Ava froze in shock. She swallowed slowly and set her glass back down, trying to steady her feelings, which were swirling around and around in her chest right now. “You looked me up,” she gritted out.
“I wanted to know.”
“I told you I wasn’t one of the bad ones.”
Brock jerked his attention to her and frowned deeply. “That’s not why I looked you up. It had nothing to do with my inn.”