McCallan's Blood

by Theodora Lane

“This is Ms. Shane, can I help you?”

  “This is Rebecca Miller, Ms. Shane, from Miller Catering. I was wondering where you were getting your cakes and pies.”

  “Well, we make them here, when we can.”

  “I’d like to supply your desserts. I make them from scratch.”

  “Well, I’m not sure we’d be interested.”

  “Just let me bring one by, Ms. Shane. I have one made fresh this morning. See for yourself if you’d like it.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You could even sample it.” She paused. “It’s a chocolate Doberge.”

  “Doberge? Like the ones from that famous bakery down in New Orleans?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “All right. Can you come now? We serve lunch at eleven. If I like it, I’ll buy it and see how it sells today. Then we can take it from there.”

  “That’s great! Thanks, Ms. Shane. I’ll be right over.”

  Rebecca hung up and then danced around the kitchen table. Hunting around in her supply closet, she found a cake box, folded it together, and slipped the cake inside.

  It might not be much, but at least it was money. There was no way she was going to ask her parents for money. She’d wait tables before she did that.

  And going to Jake was out of the question. She knew if she went to him, he’d help her no questions asked, but it smacked a little of the money she’d refused to accept the first time she met him. Besides, she’d always made it on her own before, and now would be no different.

  She rushed off to get Ben dressed. If she worked fast, she could be there in fifteen minutes, show Ms. Shane the cake, sample it, and be home before eleven. With her spirits soaring, Rebecca’s heart filled with renewed hope.

  Maybe, just maybe, she could salvage her business.

  * * * *

  Jake knocked on the door and waited for the buzzer to sound before entering. Looking through the glass door of the pawnshop, he lifted a hand to Tad Fell in greeting. The lock clicked and he pulled the door open and entered.

  Tad stood behind the counter wearing a pistol on his hip, and grinned at Jake. “Long time, no see, Jake. What brings you in?”

  Jake walked to the counter, looking around at the inventory. “I understand Trey was in here a few days ago.”

  Tad’s smile fell as if a curtain passed over his face. “I don’t remember.”

  “Well, I was going to get him a birthday present and was wondering if there was something in here he’d been looking at.” Jake shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral.

  Tad looked as if he was trying to decide what to tell him, then he walked to another glass case and looked down. “I think he already bought something.”

  “Really? Damn, I guess I’m too late. What did he get?” Jake strolled over to the counter. A selection of handguns laid spread out on two shelves. His heart sank.

  Tad looked nervous. “I think it was a Beretta.” He licked his lips.

  “9mm?” Jake looked into Tad’s eyes. Small beads of sweat broke out across the man’s upper lip and his eyes danced away from Jake’s. Tad couldn’t lie to save his soul.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Jake put his hands on his hips. “How’d he get the gun without the seven-day waiting period?”

  “Well…He bought it the week before and we were just waiting for the okay to come in before he picked it up.” Tad had all the right answers, but somehow, Jake didn’t believe it really went down like that. It’s easy to change the dates on paperwork if you wanted to go around the law, and Trey was very good at just that. So was Tad’s brother Bryan.

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, sometime last week, I think. Bryan would know, but he’s not here right now.”

  “That’s okay, I can catch him later. Well, I guess I’ll have to find another gift.”

  Jake left the shop and walked back to his truck and climbed in. Damn, Trey had bought a gun. Why hadn’t he just taken one of their own guns; they had their own arsenal in a gun safe in the game room, rifles, shotguns, and handguns, and Trey knew the combination to the safe.

  Both Jake and Trey could shoot and they had hunted with their father often. Hell, he thought, any male over the age of twelve in this parish could shoot; it was practically a way of life out here in the country.

  However, all of their weapons were registered and could be traced. Of course, he wasn’t sure Trey hadn’t taken a gun last time he was in town. With no one home, it would have been easy for him to come in, open the safe and take a weapon.

  Trey with a gun was not good news. The only good thing was that whoever had made the attempt on Rebecca’s life hadn’t used a gun. Whoever it was seemed to be taking advantage of opportunities. And so far, she’d escaped, but how long could that last?

  Had Trey, or whoever it was, gotten tired of missing and switched to a more accurate method?

  Jake decided to head home, check the safe, and then call Barker.

  * * * *

  Barker watched as Rebecca loaded the baby and a large box into her car and pulled out of the driveway. Damn her, she’d promised to stay put. Good thing he’d decided to keep his eye on her. After the last attack, without Jake’s help, he was the only one out here protecting her. He’d have to be on his toes and stay alert.

  He drove the truck around the corner and followed her down the street. She turned onto Main and headed west. After a few blocks, she slowed, and turned into the parking lot of The Garden Tea Room. He made a face. It was one of those lady lunch places where no self-respecting, red-blooded, all-American male would ever set foot.

  Rebecca parked and after retrieving the baby and the box from the back seat, she went inside. Barker parked on the street with a clear view of the front window. He could see her talking to someone, and then they disappeared into the back.

  Thirty minutes later, Rebecca reappeared, baby carrier in her hand and smiling. The box was gone. She got back in the car and backed out of the parking lot, waited for traffic, then pulled out, heading home.

  Barker heaved a sigh of relief when she drove into her driveway, parked and got out. She just about trotted up the steps with the baby and went inside. He waited another fifteen minutes, then drove off.

  He had to go home, get lunch and some sleep, then do his shift. More than anything, he wanted to tell Jake, but he’d made a promise, and until Rebecca changed her mind, he had to keep it.

  He prayed when Jake found out that Jake would forgive him.

  Chapter 10

  Jake opened the gun cabinet and checked the inventory. Three .12 gauge shotguns, two deer rifles, two Glocks, a 21 and a 19, and his dad’s old Colt 45. The ammo was all there, he was pretty sure. It had been a few years since he’d been in the case, and that was only to pull out one of the shotguns for a charity duck hunt. Afterwards, he’d cleaned all the guns. He made a note to clean them again when he got some time. Either he should take better care of them or get rid of them.

  Jake stared at the Glock 21. If Trey had a gun, maybe he should also. No, if it came down to killing each other, Jake didn’t think it would be with bullets. Brute strength, cunning, claws, and teeth would be their weapons of choice. The idea of mortal combat with his own brother made Jake’s stomach turn.

  Leaving the gun in its holster, he closed and locked the case, then headed to the kitchen. A quick sandwich and then back to the mill. He still had work to do.

  As Jake chewed the sandwich, he thought about Rebecca. She had to understand, had to accept the truth about Ben. There was no genetic cure for what they carried. Over his lifetime, he’d had so many physicals for sports he couldn’t keep them all straight. If there had been something, the doctors would have found it, wouldn’t they?

  But what if Rebecca was on to something? Jake put down his sandwich and took a long gulp of sweet iced tea. If there were a cure, would he take it? He’d never thought of their legacy as a defect, something to be cut out or repaired. The truth was Jake liked being a
werewolf. There was a pride in what the men of his family were that had been passed down through generations of McCallans.

  No, he shook his head. He wouldn’t do it; he wouldn’t give up his uniqueness. He wasn’t sure if he could survive not being the wolf, not running the wild woods. It was such an intrinsic part of him that he couldn’t imagine it gone. Now that would be madness.

  However, he could understand Rebecca’s point of view. She wasn’t raised to see being a werewolf as a normal part of life, or even a gift. To her it was a deformity, a cancer to be cut from her child’s body, something to be fixed deep down at the cellular level.

  If Rebecca truly felt this way and if there were no cure, how could she ever accept Ben and love him for what he was? How could she ever accept Jake? No, he had to keep believing she was his lifemate and would love and accept him and her son for what they both were, even come to embrace it and be proud of them both.

  And what of his and Rebecca’s own children? Jake put that quiet hope away for now.

  He stood, rinsed his plate and glass, and stacked them in the dishwasher. It’d been two days since he’d told Rebecca about Ben. Maybe, it was enough time to contact her again.

  No, he sighed. He was too impatient. She’d come to him when she was ready. At least, he hoped she would. He just prayed it wouldn’t be because of another attempt on her life.

  * * * *

  “Man, Bryan, you’ve really changed.” Trey sat on the worn couch and shook his head as Bryan Fells, one of his best friends from high school, prepared to pick up his four-year-old son from his ex-wife. “I never pictured you as Mr. Mom.” He laughed.

  “I’m not Mr. Mom, you jerk.” He lobbed a rolled up sock at Trey. “I’m a dad.”

  “Believe me, I understand how you fucked up and got Darlene pregnant, but why did you marry her? Did her father force you, or something?” Trey knew exactly the ways someone could screw up, but wasn’t telling his friend about Rebecca Miller.

  “We were in love, asswipe.”

  Trey just couldn’t picture his old drinking buddy in love, goofy-eyed, being lead around by some girl with her rope around his dick. No fucking way. Not Bryan.

  “Bullshit. Before I left for LSU, you were fucking both Bobbie Went and Trisha Hill, staying out late, partying with the guys. Next thing I hear, you’d married Darlene.”

  “I fell in love.” Bryan shrugged.

  “Getting a girl pregnant is not a good reason to get married.” Trey thought it was a damn good reason to make a run for it, and get as far away from that responsibility as possible.

  “I told you, we were in love.” At Trey’s look, he continued, “What else was there for me to do? I was taking over the pawn shop from Dad with Todd and my life wasn’t going anywhere, so I figured when she got pregnant, what the hell.”

  “It didn’t last long.” Trey looked around the room and his gaze came to a large picture on the wall of Bryan and Darlene on their wedding day. He had to admit, they looked happy.

  Bryan frowned and didn’t respond. He slipped his belt through the loops and buckled it. “I’ll be back later this afternoon. Make yourself at home. Beer’s in the fridge.”

  “Why are you getting all dressed up? Darlene going to be there?”

  “You’re such an idiot, McCallan. Yes, she’ll be there and I want to look good. I want her back.”

  “No shit?” Trey couldn’t believe Bryan wanted back in.

  “I want my son.” Bryan’s face grew serious. “I want my family. I was happy.”

  Trey shook his head. “Happy? Having someone harp on you, make sure you dress up, fly right, and go to church? Man, if that’s what floats your boat, you can have it.”

  “Well, what do you want, Trey? What do you have, big shot? You don’t want your family’s business; you say you hate your stinking degree; you don’t have a woman who loves you. You can’t tell me you’re happy.” Finally dressed, Bryan stared down at Trey.

  “I don’t need any of those things. I just want to be alone. On my own and not have to answer to anyone or anything. Be my own man.”

  “That was fine when we were kids, Trey. Grow up. There’s more to life than waking up alone in a jail cell with a hangover.”

  Trey laughed. “Yeah, those were good times.”

  “You’re an idiot, McCallan.” He shook his head and picked up the keys to his truck. “I have to go get my boy.” Bryan walked out the door of the small house.

  From his seat at the small kitchen table, Trey could see him pull out of the carport in his truck and head off.

  He stood and opened the fridge. Several six packs of long necks were chilling, but Trey reached for the juice instead. He’d quit drinking a few months ago, when the pains started. Pouring a glass, he wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess. He took a big gulp and walked around the room, looking at the photos on the walls.

  Bryan and Darlene on the shore of the lake. Yeah, she was cute, in a short, rounded kind of way, and yeah, Bryan sure had on a big goofy grin. But that hadn’t counted for much in the long run. Darlene holding a baby, all scrunched up and pink, mouth open in mid-holler. Bryan holding the same kid, this time the baby was asleep. Bryan looked like he was about to bust his buttons, he was so proud. Darlene, Bryan and the baby in one of those Wal-Mart photos, the happy family dressed in their Sunday church clothes.

  Trey snorted at the picture. Not him, no fucking way was that going to happen to him, not if he could help it. Tied down to some bitch with a screaming snotty-nosed brat in tow. No fucking way.

  He finished his juice and his eyes cut to the picture of Bryan and the sleeping baby. The room seemed to tilt. Blinking, he stared at the picture again. This time, it was him holding the baby, not Bryan.

  He didn’t even know what his kid looked like. Or what she’d named him.

  Trey doubled over as pain shot through his belly. He staggered over to the couch and sat.

  “Shit.” He rubbed his stomach. The pain was getting worse and more frequent. Now, every damn time he thought about Rebecca and the baby it hit him.

  Another cramp seized him and he cradled his belly. Tears strung his eyes and he blinked hard. He had to do something or this pain, this fucking guilt was going to kill him. He knew what he had to do to rid himself of it, and had known it ever since he’d gone into town and bought the gun.

  “You’re such a fuck-up.” He spit the words out. They sounded loud and harsh as they echoed off the walls. What the hell was he doing? His eyes shifted to the coffee table in front of the couch where he’d slept the last few nights. He’d folded his blanket and stacked it on the end of the sofa. The gun he’d bought lay on the table in its shoulder holster.

  Shit. He’d never shot anything but deer and rabbits. Now he was going to have to use a gun against a human being. It went against everything he’d ever been taught by his father, but he was an old pro at that. He wiped his mouth with his hand, rubbing against his busted lip, still swollen. His grimaced as the pain in his gut ebbed.

  Jake always did have a wicked backhand. Trey had been on the receiving end of it too many times when he was younger, whenever he’d gotten out of line. Jake had tried to take the place of Dad, always the big brother, making Trey toe the line, always the alpha, damn him, shoving it down Trey’s throat.

  Trey wasn’t sure who he was just like, certainly not Dad. Not Mom, either. He ran his hands through his hair and then cradled his face in them. He’d been the outsider for what felt like his entire life. Even his big sister had fit in better, and she wasn’t even a wolf.

  “Runt” was what Jake had called him when he was little. He was the baby and everyone had treated him like one, as if he didn’t know what he wanted, which school to go to, what to major in.

  Finance? He didn’t give a shit about finance. He’d wanted to be a graphic designer, not work at the damn mill his whole life. But Jake held the purse strings, and he’d pushed Trey into finance just like he’d pushed him into everything when
Trey was a kid. And he had let Jake do it, bowed to the alpha. It was built into him. In his genetic make-up.

  In high school, he’d been held up against Jake’s reputation and had been found lacking. Not big enough, fast enough, or smart enough, never as good as his big brother, and everyone knew it.

  Even his dad had died thinking he was nothing but a fuck-up. Before he’d left on the buying trip, he’d raked Trey over the coals about his grades. Like it was yesterday, Trey could feel the sting of his father’s hand on the side of his head and see the disappointment in his dad’s eyes. He’d told Trey to stop fucking around, then left.

  Six hours later, his dad was dead.

  Now he was in his last year of college, graduating with a degree he didn’t want. His dreams were in shreds and his life was going down the toilet fast.

  “God, how am I going to get out of this?” He’d done some stupid shit in his life, well, all his life, but he’d really fucked up this time, no doubt. First with Rebecca, and now by hiring the guy he’d met in the bar in Baton Rouge. After cashing in his airline ticket to France and pulling out another thousand from his account, he’d handed it over to a man he’d only met once, not really expecting him to come through.

  There was no one to run to this time. Neither Jake nor his mother would bail him out of this mess. Jake had made that perfectly clear. And there was no way he could face his mother and tell her what he’d done. Trey needed to take care of this himself, like Jake had said. Trey stood and went to the phone hanging on the wall. He dialed the number scribbled in pencil on the back of the worn business card.

  The phone rang and rang. Damn, the guy still wasn’t answering. He’d spent two days trying to reach him with no luck. Trey slammed the phone down, went to the couch, and fell onto it. He stared at the gun, then picked up the holster and shrugged it on. After seating it against his chest, he stood and threw on his jacket.

  It was time to take some action.

  Chapter 11

  “It’s been almost a week and nothing has happened. Barker makes the rounds when he’s on duty and so do the other cops. Really, Vicki, you don’t need to worry about me.” Rebecca sat in the glider and rocked Ben as she held the phone to her ear.