Fall in Love

by Anthology

  He found himself in the saloon, pulling up to a seat at the bar, not surprised to feel Jason Grey’s brooding gaze on him, as unfriendly as ever. But it was the other, younger man Chelsea had called Reese who slid him a shot of whiskey, and smiled slightly when Jasper looked at him.

  “Look like you need it,” was all he said.

  “I believe I do,” Jasper agreed, and knocked it back.

  He had no intention of letting her go. But he understood the value of a strategic retreat. He hadn’t been a major player in a cutthroat business by accident.

  “That look on your face says woman trouble,” the bartender said, polishing a glass and setting it down. “But I know that’s impossible.”

  Jasper only eyed him for a moment. Waiting.

  “Everyone around here likes Chelsea.” Reese nodded toward the other end of the bar, where Jason Grey stood, glowering. “Especially Jason, and he doesn’t like anybody.”

  “Luckily,” Jasper drawled, nodding when Reese moved to refill his glass, “I do, too.”

  The other man jerked his chin as if they’d solved a major problem, and then moved off down the bar toward a group of newcomers. It occurred to Jasper, belatedly, that he’d just been quizzed on his intentions. And he thought he understood, in a way he hadn’t before, what it meant to have the kind of roots Chelsea did. To be seen and supported by all of these people, because they’d known her all her life. Because they were all a part of that life. It was all part and parcel of something bigger.

  And that was why, the following morning, he drove up the mountain to Black Bart Road once he was sure school was in session, then took that winding drive up toward the house. He hadn’t seen it in daylight before, and it was even prettier than it looked in the dark. It was a Victorian masterpiece, all gables and bay windows, rambling all over the hilltop it commanded in rich, dark colors, a piece of fairytale whimsy surrounded by rugged Montana splendor on all sides.

  History wasn’t just her job, he understood now, standing before this house Chelsea’s ancestors had made with their hands. It made her who she was. It was who she was.

  So he walked up to the door and knocked, because he had plans for that history. And her future, too.

  Chapter Nine

  “Can I have your attention, please?”

  Chelsea froze at the sound of that voice—that deep drawl, entirely too delicious even broadcast over the speakers that projected him all the way down Main Street. She fought the urge to turn and stare at the makeshift stage where, until a second ago, the rowdy local band had been playing.

  Of course, that only meant that she saw the way every single person in her line of sight turned to look at her. Most of them with giant grins on their faces.

  She had no idea what Jasper was doing. She hadn’t seen him since that unpleasant final scene in the depot, and she certainly was not replaying that last kiss over and over and over in her head. Just as she absolutely hadn’t deliberately come to the street dance on Main Street—one of the kick off events of the rodeo, and also one of the events she’d helped put on—late enough to blend into the crowd.

  Chelsea had no idea how Jasper felt about dances, but she’d told herself that on the off chance he didn’t avoid this one altogether, she’d do better to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  “I’m Jasper Flint,” he was saying in that way of his, that snuck inside of her and turned everything bright and smooth. “As many of you know, I’m planning to turn the old railway depot into a microbrewery. We’re planning to open in the spring, should I survive my first Montana winter.”

  Everyone laughed, of course, because there were a lot of enthusiastic folks around in the fall who left, thin-lipped and beaten down, come the far-off spring. Montana wasn’t for everyone. Chelsea might have laughed herself, if it hadn’t been so extraordinarily painful to hear his voice. She shifted slightly so she could see him, and that was worse. Much worse.

  He was even more beautiful than usual tonight, dressed like a cowboy, in a hat and boots that felt like a little bit of sunshine on her country girl soul. This far away, she couldn’t see the gleam in his eyes, but she recognized that smile of his, crooked and perfect.

  It had been two days without him and it felt like years.

  She had, she thought then, perhaps overestimated her ability to handle seeing him, even in public.

  “But I don’t want my arrival in Marietta, which I plan to make my home for a long time to come, to be marked by what I know some might see as a disrespect for its long history.”

  There was all that warmth in his voice. That hint of laughter, and Chelsea was so busy concentrating on how much she didn’t want to react to him that it took her long moments to make sense of the figure who appeared up there next to him on stage. Because it didn’t make any sense.

  “It’s my great pleasure to announce that in addition to renovating the railway depot, I’ll be turning the historic Crawford House into a partial museum, which will help bring the story of this town and its people to a broader audience. I look forward to the challenge of living up to this town’s history.”

  Mama was right there next to him while Jasper said this, smiling broadly as she applauded, and Chelsea still couldn’t quite make sense of it. Of any of it. The people around her congratulated her, and more of the town seemed pleased by this announcement than Tod’s comments on the First Families might have led her to believe, but even so, she couldn’t seem to find her footing.

  “So without further ado, I’ll let y’all get back to this fine dance and this rodeo weekend,” he said, and nodded at the band, who launched into a new song. “I look forward to many more, right here in Marietta.”

  Chelsea took that as her cue to bolt, and turned away, heading for her car. For escape. For space and clarity, to think through what had just happened, what Jasper and her mother must have planned, together, behind her back—

  “Chelsea Crawford Collier.” Still on all those speakers. Loud and impossible to ignore, her name like a shout straight down the center of town. “Are you going to dance with me or not?”

  She would have chosen not.

  But all her friends and neighbors were laughing and clapping as if this was a happy scene out of some movie, and then they all stepped aside, opening up an aisle that led directly to her. And Jasper jumped down from the stage and prowled his way down it, that light in his eyes that made her pulse thump hard and then go wild.

  She wanted to run. But she couldn’t, not with everyone watching, because she didn’t know if she’d run away from him—or straight to him.

  And he knew it. She could see it in his swagger.

  “What if I don’t want to dance with you?” she asked when he was near.

  “You do.”

  He grinned at her, a crook of those perfect lips, and then he swept her into his arms without waiting for her to respond, and suddenly there was nothing but fire.

  All of that glorious fire.

  It arced from his hand to hers. It was there between them when he pulled her closer to his chest, pulling her hard against him, making her wonder what her subconscious had been up to when she’d dressed tonight, in a dress she never wore that showed more of her curves than usual and the bright red cowboy boots she only pulled out for the rodeo.

  Had she dressed for him, all the while telling herself she wasn’t doing anything of the kind?

  She felt his hand smooth down her back, heard his small, fervent sigh in her ear, and she knew she had.

  Of course she had.

  “Did you get all that?” He sounded amused, the way he almost always did, his mouth at her ear. “That’s two long term projects, one of which involves close contact with your mother. I’m sending you a message. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Jasper—”

  He stopped moving then, and angled away from her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. His face had gone very serious, and it made her breath catch and her heart hurt.

  “Of c
ourse it’s scary,” he said. “Do you think I’m not scared, too? But that’s the point. That’s what this is all about.”

  She didn’t pretend she didn’t understand him.

  “I just think it will hurt less now,” she said, with more determination than conviction.

  “How’s that working out?” he retorted, and there was something in his gaze then, kind and demanding at once, that made everything inside of her twist. Hard.

  Because the truth was, it wasn’t working out at all.

  “What if you change your mind?” she asked, her voice so much stronger than she felt. “What if tomorrow you wake up and decide you have to visit Mozambique, immediately? What will you do then?”

  His mouth crooked. “Ask you if you have a passport. Get you one if you don’t.”

  And Chelsea couldn’t help herself. She smiled.

  He moved closer, sliding his hands around her to rest on her waist, pulling her in closer than was strictly appropriate in the middle of all these people, but Chelsea couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “It’s crazy,” he said, “but this felt like forever the moment I met you.”

  Chelsea tipped her head back, dizzy from the lights strung above him and the wild, sweet light in his beautiful eyes. From the stars above and from him, and she stopped fighting. It was time to live. Like he said, that was the whole point, no matter what happened.

  “That sounds a little bit like I love you,” she pointed out.

  His eyes gleamed brighter, and she understood, at last, that it was possible to spin around in all the stars in the dark sky without ever losing touch with the earth beneath her feet.

  “It really does,” Jasper agreed. “But I think that kind of thing needs time. To grow. To be sure. Months and months of time, Triple C. Maybe even years.”

  She looped her arms around his neck, loving that look on his face, loving him. Loving whatever came next, as long as it came with him.

  “Let’s find out,” she said.

  But first, they danced.

  Around and around on Marietta’s pretty Main Street, surrounded by all of those smiling friends and neighbors who cared how it ended, with the fall night like a blessing dressed up in giddy music, and the promise of forever in both of their smiles.

  ~~~

  Read the next book in this series now!

  The Montana Millionaires Series

  Book 1: Tempt Me, Cowboy

  Book 2: The Tycoon’s Bride

  Book 3: Please Me, Cowboy

  Book 4: Come Home for Christmas, Cowboy

  The Copper Mountain Rodeo Series

  If you loved Tempt Me, Cowboy, you’ll love the Copper Mountain Rodeo novellas!

  Marry Me, Cowboy – Lilian Darcy

  Promise Me, Cowboy – C.J. Carmichael

  Take Me, Cowboy – Jane Porter

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Megan Crane writes women’s fiction, chick lit, work-for-hire YA, and a lot of Harlequin Presents as Caitlin Crews. She also teaches creative writing classes both online at mediabistro.com and at UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Program, where she finally utilizes the MA and PhD in English Literature she received from the University of York in York, England. She currently lives in California, with her animator/comic-book artist husband and their menagerie of ridiculous animals. For more info visit her at www.megancrane.com, www.caitlincrews.com, or sign up for her newsletter here!

  For the latest news, visit our website at TulePublishing.com and sign up for our newsletter here!

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  Tales of the Were

  Redstone Clan 1-3

  Grif

  by

  Bianca D’Arc

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  Prologue

  His people were hunted. The hunters didn’t always realize the intelligence behind the sparkling feline eyes, but they recognized the challenge. For that reason, his people had always been hunted along with their brethren of the animal kingdom.

  But his people were not animals.

  Nor were they completely human. They were somehow…both…and neither. They were a people out of legend.

  Griffon Redstone was proud of his power and his skill. Proud of his family and protective of his siblings. Growing up, he’d gone off on his own from time to time, as his kind often did, but he always returned to his family, the loving bond between them strong and sure.

  So when his family home in Nevada was violated by the stench of evil magic and violent death, something ripped loose in his soul, never to be righted. His beloved mother, the matriarch of their Clan, had been murdered in her own backyard.

  She’d not only been killed in the most violent fashion, but her body had been mutilated after death. When threatened, she’d shifted shape to her animal form and the killers had taken part of her pelt as some kind of sick prize.

  She’d been skinned. It was the crudest form of desecration in the shifter community.

  He would never forgive himself for not being there when the devil came to visit. For only pure evil could have committed such a brutal act. His baby sister, twelve-year-old Belinda, whimpered in one corner of the lush garden their mother had been so proud of. Poor Belinda had found their mother’s mutilated body and Grif feared she would carry that emotional scar for the rest of her life.

  It was up to him to take her away from the heartbreak, to help her heal as best he could. She was his responsibility now. Griffon Redstone was now the eldest of the Redstone Clan. He was the caretaker who had failed in his duty to protect his mother. He would not let little Belinda suffer alone.

  Chapter One

  The woman’s divine scent teased his senses, but she was all too human. Grif watched the pretty waitress traipse across the worn linoleum, alternately mothering and flirting with the somewhat questionable, mostly male clientele of Ed’s Diner. The men’s eyes followed her, but she treated all equally, her very elusiveness part of her charm. She had a great smile too, and killer legs, long and muscular beneath the rather blah uniform skirt.

  She was neat and tidy, and if the middle button of her cotton uniform seemed to strain from time to time as she leaned forward to place a plate before a customer, it had everything to do with the superior quality of her breasts and the inferior quality of the one-size-fits-most uniforms Ed’s waitresses were made to wear. Grif appreciated the view though, realizing she was pretty much unaware of the covetous looks aimed at her from all over the room.

  She appeared naturally outgoing and friendly to all, and he could scent no sexual interest coming off her as she talked with and sometimes teased the other male patrons who watched her with desire in their eyes. Grif had spotted the other werefolk in the diner as soon as he’d walked in. Mostly they were wolves from the local Pack. He’d seen some of them in one form or another as he ranged over his territory.

  The wolves had given him a wide berth, aside from their Alpha male coming to his cabin shortly after he moved in to welcome him to the neighborhood. The welcome consisted of a half-hour grilling about his intentions and a reading of the riot act about the rules this Pack adhered to, and expected any werecreature in their territory to live with as well.

  Grif had taken it all in stride, knowing that the dominant number of werewolves in the Wind River mountain range of Wyoming allowed them to call the shots, even if Grif ran one of the most influential Clans in the country. He was on vacation. Roaming with his little sister in tow. Seeking space to run and forget their shared troubles for a little while. A place to heal, away—for the most part—from humans.

  The Wind River wolf Pack’s rules were pretty straight forward. No hunting owned animals, no stalking humans for kicks, and that sort of thing. It was easy to just agree with the Alpha male and get him out of Grif’s cabin so he could enjoy his solitude. If enjoyment was something he could still feel.
<
br />   He spent most of his time now in his fur, letting the aggressive nature of his were side help him forget the tragedy in his life. He and his little sister roamed over their new territory for days on end, only stopping at the cabin once in a while. But they had to be human sometimes and as humans, they needed supplies from town every now and again. When he came to town, Grif stopped in Ed’s Diner more often than not, nodding to the other shapeshifters that would acknowledge him and enjoying human food he didn’t have to cook himself.

  This pretty waitress was new, or at least he had never seen her here before on one of his infrequent trips into town. He watched her deal efficiently with the last of the lunch crowd as he settled at the counter. She placed a cup and saucer before him with one hand while holding up a carafe of coffee with the other. A raised eyebrow and questioning expression asked if he wanted some of the caffeinated brew. When he nodded, she filled his cup without a word and sashayed down the narrow space behind the counter to the pickup window, filling another customer’s order as he perused the menu.

  He already knew what he wanted, but he took his time looking at the plastic covered menu, studying her covertly. What was it about the woman? She was undeniably human, which normally wasn’t a big turn-on for him. He’d never had a bed partner that wasn’t a shapeshifter of some kind, not for lack of opportunity, but for lack of desire on his part.

  But this woman was different. She moved fluidly and her scent called to him. She was strongly built, not some delicate hothouse flower. He liked that. And he found himself admiring her shapely, muscled calves and short-nailed fingers. She had working hands, but they weren’t rough. They looked pretty and capable, and he wondered what they’d feel like stroking over his skin. He wondered vividly what she would feel like under him.