by Penny Alley
“Want help cutting your meat?” Gabe pulled his pocket knife when Scotty nodded. Dissecting the steak into bite-sized pieces, he was about to put it away again when Neoma appeared around the corner.
She was quiet; he’d give her that. Gabe had only a half second’s warning—the creak of an old floorboard—before he knew she was there. He glanced up just as she appeared in the open archway. Neoma took one look at the knife in his hand, then her wide-eyed gaze collided with his, and it was a toss-up after that whether she noticed the food at all.
It struck him again just how blue her eyes were, especially when the volka wolf in her lit them up. It was easy to see where Scotty got his somber, too-old face. Her expression closed so hard and so fast, he could hear it reverberating through his kitchen like a slamming door.
“I don’t poison people,” he said, trying not to let his irritation get the best of him. “I’m not a monster and I don’t stab children.” When he shoved his chair back, her throat tightened and her hands balled in tight against her thighs, but for the first time, she didn’t retreat from him. He could almost admire that.
Fetching the last steak from the cutting board, Gabe slapped it on a plate. It was the largest piece by far and he augmented it with the leftover pieces she’d cooked the night before. Crossing back to the table, he dropped it in front of the empty chair across from Scotty, along with an extra set of silverware. Even a steak knife. He brought her black coffee too. The mug made an angry-sounding clatter when he thumped it down next to the plate.
“Sit,” he told her, returning to his chair. “Eat.”
Her chest was rising and falling again, that fast, rapid breathing the only sign of fear she allowed herself.
“It’s pretty good, Mom,” Scotty said, his mouth stuffed with at least three of the pieces Gabe had cut for him.
“Slow down before you choke.” Stabbing a piece for himself, Gabe stuffed that first bite deep into his mouth to keep from saying any number of ungracious things. To say any of it, however, would have been to speak cruelty for cruelty’s sake alone. He wasn’t that kind of man, but swallowing back every unfit word that rose up in the back of his throat began to override the taste of the steak. The sear was perfect on the meat. Tender and juicy, with a caramelization that only enhanced the natural flavor of the beef. So why did each bite taste like bitter ash?
It took a long time before she, hands rubbing at her jeans, approached the table and her waiting plate. She looked at the seat arrangement for a long time before easing onto the chair. It was longer still before she picked up her fork.
Despite his assurances, she still checked those first few bites. She tried to keep it covert, stealing uneasy glances at him throughout and sniffing when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. For his part, Gabe pretended not to notice. This was only her second day with him. Once she got to know him, maybe she’d realize life here would be different, that he wasn’t out to hurt her for the sport of it, and then perhaps she’d relax. He’d been willing to give Maya all kinds of time, surely he could give Neoma the same.
He stabbed his next bite with his fork and tried not to let irritation get the best of him when Scotty began to copy her. He wasn’t as good as she was at hiding it. In fact, if he didn’t know better, Gabe almost would have thought Scotty was making a deliberate effort to goad a reaction from him. Fixating on his plate, Gabe ate his breakfast, drank his coffee and refused to be drawn into another challenge he was destined either to be an asshole over or lose. “How old is he?”
She sat frozen, her only movement being the turn of her fork in her fingers and the flick of her gaze as she glanced back and forth between his eyes, his knife, and her son. Gabe didn’t put the pocketknife away—after all, seeing him armed was a sight she’d have to get used to eventually—but he did set it down along the edge of his plate.
“Five,” she said, dropping her gaze to her plate and refusing to look his way again.
He really had lost a challenge to a kindergartner. Gabe almost laughed out loud, as determined not to make a habit out of that as the pup was to continue the trend. He sat beside Gabe, chewing slowly, staring hard, not blinking.
“Scotty,” Neoma reproached, the high points of her cheeks flushing pink.
“He’s fine,” Gabe said, with a wave of his fork. “It’s a tough thing to switch packs. He’ll find his way soon enough.” That she would too he left unsaid, though by the brightening of her blush, he knew she heard it anyway.
Neoma nodded and, if left up to her, the conversation probably would have died right there. Except that the idea of spending the rest of his life eating every meal in silence was unpleasant as, well, sleeping next to her every night.
Unbidden, that shadowy image of her lying curled in his bed, one hand tucked up by her cheek and all that golden hair spilling back over his pillow, crept into his mind. His gaze dropped to her chest, the twin mounds of her small breasts tenting the cotton of her shirt. Little more than a handful each. Barely enough there even to nibble.
Like he should be thinking about nibbling any part of her, much less her breasts. He fixed on his plate again. “So, how’d you sleep?”
The minute he said it, Gabe knew he should have picked another topic of conversation. Both Neoma and Scotty stopped eating to stare at him.
“The bed was very comfortable,” Neoma hedged, her tone and expression both guarded.
“Your bed smells,” Scotty added.
Neoma stiffened, flushing bright red. “Scotty!”
“It did!” Scotty protested.
Gabe held up a hand to stop her, turning in his seat to better face the boy. “Sorry about that, buddy. I promise I did wash the sheets.”
“It still smelled like you.” Wrinkling his nose, Scotty snorted out a sneeze, mortifying his mother even more.
“Scotty, stop! That’s rude!”
It sure was, and yet Gabe couldn’t help laughing a little at his nerve. “Guess I should have washed the blankets too.” He threw Neoma a wink. “Still, I can think of worse things than smelling like me. It just advertises who you belong to.”
He only meant to tease the boy, but he realized his mistake the instant that bright red flush flooded up into her stunned face. His gut twisted every bit as fast. She might be his Bride, but she didn’t belong to him. He didn’t want her to belong to him, but before he could correct his mistake, Neoma jumped up from the table.
“Wait, just—” Gabe rose as if to follow her, although his legs only volunteered a single step of pursuit.
Neoma didn’t wait, either. She fled from the kitchen and back down the hall. He heard the door shut, then lock, and the only reason Gabe kept his involuntary curse locked tight behind clenched teeth was because Scotty was still sitting at the table, chewing thoughtfully and gazing up at Gabe with bright, Scullamy-blue eyes.
“Are we still men of our word?” he asked, taking another bite.
“Yes,” Gabe said flatly, and yet, why did it feel like he’d just lost another challenge?
CHAPTER TEN
“Can I listen to your radio?” Scotty asked, jumping off the porch and running to the back of Gabe’s jeep.
“We’re taking the car.” Gabe waited at the door, holding it for Neoma like a gentleman on a date. She’d come out of the bedroom on her own, and he was glad for that. He knew some women who would have made him grovel apologies before deigning to re-emerge. All it had taken with Neoma was a quiet knock and his, “Hey, we’re leaving.”
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but when she opened the door, she came out with her eyes dry of tears, her head held high and no sign of a blush left on her cheeks. She didn’t look at him and would have slipped right past without a word except that he caught her arm.
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine.” She flashed him a faltering smile, even as she pulled from his grip. “Anyway, it’s true, isn’t it? Brides belong to the males who mate them. Everybody kno
ws that.”
Personally, Gabe had always thought males should also belong to their Brides. He’d have been Maya’s, fiercely, in every way that mattered. But as Neoma had crept past him, he found it hard to imagine trying to belong to a mouse, no matter what pack she came from.
“I don’t see a car,” Scotty said, pulling Gabe back into the here and now.
Breathing in, Gabe dragged his attention off Neoma long enough to lock the house. “Right this way, little man.”
When Gabe beckoned, Scotty followed him to the carport. Taking hold of the tan tarp, Gabe uncovered the cherry red two-door sports car that had been his first vehicle if not the first love of his life.
“Whoa,” Scotty said.
Which was pretty much what Gabe thought the first time he’d seen this car too. Automotive adoration knew no age limit.
A ding in the rear fender and a few scratches on the trunk were the only flaws in what was otherwise vehicular perfection, as far as Gabe was concerned, and both stemmed from the one time he’d let someone other than himself drive her. He couldn’t believe he was about to do that again, but since his intent had always been to give it to Maya anyway, it didn’t seem right not to let Neoma use it. No one could expect her to walk all over town or to haul groceries up and down this hill with a child in tow.
“1965 Ford Mustang convertible,” Gabe said, tossing the wadded tarp aside. “Candy apple red. Original red and white leather seats. Original white top.” He ran his hand along the edge above the door. “It is what we in the business like to call a serious cootie mobile.”
“That means girls,” Scotty said sagely. He thought a moment. “Tobby has one just like this.”
Gabe arched an eyebrow. “Your friend has a 1965 Mustang?”
“It’s a Matchbox,” Scotty confided with a nod. “And the top is red, not white. And it has racing stripes. And Tobby’s dad says it’s responsible for dropping more panties than any other muscle car, except I don’t think that’s right, ‘cause cars don’t have muscles.”
“The drivers tend to have one or two. Good observation, though.”
Reaching out to touch the shiny chrome of the door handle, Scotty let his fingertips wander over the red paint. “Can we listen to the radio?”
“You can listen to anything you want so long as it’s not Barney.” Popping open the heavy passenger door, Gabe folded back the seat. “Hop in.”
“Who’s Barney?” Scotty obediently climbed into the backseat.
“You’re kidding, right?” When Scotty only blinked, Gabe bent down to see him better. “Barney, you know. The giant, dancing, singing purple dinosaur? Buddy, you’ve got to be the only kid in existence who doesn’t know who I’m talking about. Scullamy kids don’t watch TV after school?”
“We sold our TV,” Neoma said, from just behind Gabe and her tone effectively killed that line of conversation.
Scotty shut his mouth. Running his hands along the leather stitching to either side of his legs, he stared at Gabe from the backseat of a car that had never been made to accommodate children.
To creating them, maybe…
“Buckle up.” Folding the seat back for Neoma, Gabe got out of her way. He headed around the car, dropping in to sit behind the steering wheel. The entire right side of his body tingled when Neoma slid in beside him. He would have preferred the sensation to be an unpleasant one, but it never quite felt that way. More, it was a prickling awareness, one that tickled at all his senses, filling his nostrils and raising the fine hairs along his arms, especially when she brushed against him as she fastened her seatbelt.
“I’d really rather not do this,” she said softly, hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead.
“Life is full of things we’d really rather not do,” Gabe replied, checking the rearview to make sure Scotty had pulled his lap belt tight. “May as well treat this like a band-aid. We’ll do it fast, get it over with and hopefully never have to do it again. Right, buddy?”
“Tape, too,” Scotty said, rubbing at his leg.
Her mouth tightened, her lips rolling under. Neoma turned her face to the window, and though Gabe never heard her make a sound, in the rearview mirror, Scotty looked at her and then at him, and that conversation came to an abrupt end as well.
“And tape, too,” Gabe said, out loud but more to himself than anyone else. It was a two minute drive back down the hill to town, and Gabe spent every second of it thinking up ways in which the uses of tape could warrant such secrecy. Not one of the scenarios he envisioned made him happy. Two involved abductions—either hers or Scotty’s—and by the time he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, every inch of him was primed to confront Neoma and demand to know what had happened with the tape. He drew a steady breath. Maybe someday they’d come to trust one another enough for him to re-open this discussion. In the meantime…
Gabe was beginning to think he might not be the steady rock of patience that two days ago he’d thought himself to be.
Finding a shady spot along a curtain of evergreens, Gabe parked the car. Scotty had his seatbelt off just as soon as he took the key from the ignition.
“Not this time, buddy,” Gabe told him. If it got ugly inside, the last thing he wanted was for Scotty to see it. Unfortunately, unless he wanted to make weekly trips to Grady, he had to let the shops know banning Neoma wasn’t an option. “I need you to stay and watch the car for me. Don’t let someone bump it with the carts.”
Scotty glanced out at the handful of other cars and made a face, but grudgingly put his seatbelt back on. “Bring back Hotpockets,” he said, frowning.
Gabe dropped down far enough to see him in the rearview mirror. “Any particular variety?”
Brightening, Scotty said, “All of them.”
“Pepperoni,” Neoma corrected. “Just one box.” She made no effort to take her seatbelt off. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap and her breathing had become short and shallow. She stared straight at the trees, refusing even to look at the store. Already twin spots of humiliation were darkening her cheeks. She didn’t want to go inside. He could understand that; he didn’t, either.
Giving Scotty both a smile and a nod, Gabe popped his door open and held it, waiting for her to do the same. When she didn’t, he said, “Just stay by me. It’ll be alright.”
“Why wouldn’t it be all right?” Scotty asked, his seat creaking as he sat up a little straighter.
“No reason,” Gabe assured him. “That’s why I said it would be.” He looked at Neoma again. “All right, I mean. One way or another, we have to make it fine.”
Her hands tightened in her lap. Otherwise, she didn’t move. “I’m not going in.”
“Yes, you are.” He got out of the car and headed around to open her door. “Out.”
She shook her head, clinging to the shoulder strap of her seatbelt and making no move to obey, until he squatted down beside her and very softly said, “You have to come in with me. If they don’t see us as a united bond, it won’t matter what I say, they will never accept you.”
Neoma slid him a sideways glance, not quite successful at hiding the flicker of irritation sparking in the blue depths of her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I do.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Gabe shrugged. “But I do know, if we don’t do something now, it’ll only make things worse. For you, me…and Scotty. Now, I know you don’t want that. Neither one of us does.”
A grimace pulling at her unsmiling mouth, Neoma looked back at her son over her shoulder. She rubbed at her fingers, very slightly shaking her head as if arguing over her options. Not that she had many good ones. Folding his hands together, he waited for her to come to the same conclusion he already had.
Taking her seatbelt off, she got out of the car.
“Thank you,” he said as he shut the door.
“I don’t like you very much,” she whispered back, her voice trembling as much as the rest of her.
“You don’t have to like me,” he said, biting back the c
hance to return the hurtful sentiment. “Just stay by me and follow my lead.”
They walked into the store. Ignoring the shopping carts, Gabe headed straight for the open checkout lanes. Jotham was manning his post at the customer service and cigarettes counter. His wife, Norma, was on register one with their only female employee, Katie Gooding, on register two. It was early in the morning, but already both lanes had lines two and three customers deep. Other patrons lingered in the produce and bakery area, and Gabe was pretty sure more could be found elsewhere in the store. He didn’t need much of an audience, but he made sure his voice carried all the way to the pet aisle when he turned to Neoma and demanded, “Who was it?”
Eyes averted, Neoma might never have answered him, but Norma locked such hate-filled eyes on her that Gabe didn’t need any other confirmation.
“Who do you think?” Lowering her head, the older woman’s form rippled as she fought an angry Shift. “It was me and I’d do it again. As many times as I have to!” Her voice climbed, her body trembled. Gabe could see it in her hands as she struggled to continue scanning items for her current customer, but when she dropped the same can of mixed vegetables twice, she abruptly gave up. “I’ll not have that Scullamy trash in my store, Gabe! I won’t!”
“Now hold on.” Jotham came out from behind the customer service counter, hands raised for calm, but Norma ignored him.
“No! Not after what they did!” Her husband grabbed her arm, preventing her from charging around the counter after Neoma, who immediately tried to leave except that Gabe caught her arm. He put himself between the women and held up a calming hand of his own, which Norma ignored. “Get out of my store!” she screamed over her husband’s shoulder. “Get out!”
Raw pain moved under the thin surface of Norma’s anger, making what Gabe had to do now one of the hardest of his life. “Neoma is my Bride,” he reminded her.
“Your bitch, you mean!” Tears filling her eyes, Norma bared her teeth. “You had to accept her; I don’t!”
Were Colton here, Gabe knew what he would say—something half-lecture, half-wise and all about patience, caution and understanding. That was why he was Alpha. Gabe didn’t have that kind of wisdom. He knew Norma’s anger. He understood it. He’d gone to high school with their son, Ben. But on that particular night, he’d been more preoccupied with getting Maya from the drive-in to the Overlook, where some first-base starwatching and handholding might (if he were lucky) progress past second-base petting to third-base making out and, who knew, maybe even take him all the way to a heart-pounding, earth-shattering homerun the likes of which he’d never in actuality received from her and would certainly never have forgotten. If not for Maya, he’d have gone to Scullamy with Ben and his reckless friends, busting mailboxes, raising hackles and hell, and probably be just as dead for it now.