There's Something About Werewolves: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 1

by Thalia Eames

Stan cut her off and changed the subject. “Mr. Westlake, as I understand it you and Ian Somers have a certain understanding.” He fixed Garrett with a raised eyebrow stare. “That right?”

  “I believe you know it is, Sheriff.” Garrett said. He allowed his body to appear relaxed but he tensed inside. Anything to do with Mr. Chuckles seemed to bring him trouble.

  “You weren’t coerced in any way?” The sheriff rested his hands on the paunch of his belly.

  “No, I wasn’t.” Garrett pointed to the chairs surrounding the coffee table carved from the trunk of a redwood. Stan nodded and took a seat on the couch running parallel to it. Lennox sat beside the sheriff. Curiosity clearly lit her face. Garrett took a place at the head, in one of the leather horseshoe chairs.

  “All right then.” Stan had a habit of looking you straight in the eye when he spoke. As a man, Garrett appreciated his directness, but as a wolf his hackles rose to meet the implied challenge. The sheriff should know better. Then again, a battle between an alpha wolf and a prime boar could go either way. Stan knew it as well as he did.

  “Lennox will tell you I don’t beat around bushes. No how.”

  The woman in question nodded. “Very true,” she said.

  Garrett waited silently, choosing to keep his gaze on the sheriff.

  “I’m pretty sure your son set that fire in Leni’s kitchen. You going to tell me that ain’t so?”

  “Of course it’s not,” Lennox said. “I was cooking and started a grease fire. That’s all. Nox had nothing to do with it.” The accelerated beat of her heart gave her away. Garrett winced, knowing the sheriff’s acute shifter hearing wouldn’t miss it. Lennox wasn’t used to lying. Hell, she never lied. Just like she never cried.

  “Lennox Anjali Averdeen,” Stan gruffed. “That’s the first I’ve ever heard you tell a lie. I’m real disappointed in you.”

  Lennox puffed up with feigned indignation. “Stanley Hewett, you don’t call me a liar to my face. What happened to your Southern manners?” The sheriff chewed the inside of his jaw. Lennox went on. “I told you I was cooking when that fire started. My word should end your worries.”

  His Elle put up a good front but her reaction pointed to her shame at disappointing the sheriff more than any real upset at being called out. Garrett patted her leg. “Let it go, Elle. Okay? I’ve got this.”

  She nodded and leaned back into the plush couch.

  Stan looked back and forth between the two of them before he went on. “Mr. Westlake, you know that doesn’t make sense. Now does it? According to Dr. Reardon, Leni had a concussion and a neck sprain. I don’t care how fast she heals. She wasn’t in that kitchen. Nox started that fire and I mean to get to the truth of it.”

  Sensing the man hadn’t finished, Garrett waited.

  “If y’all are bent on lying to me, then I’ll have to start an arson investigation and get to the bottom of things that way.” Stan fixed them with another stern glare.

  Lennox swallowed in an audible gulp. Garrett didn’t like the sound of an official investigation either. He leaned forward. “I’m guessing you’re ready to put a less litigious option on the table.”

  “I might be,” the sheriff said.

  “Why don’t you let this one go, Stan?” Lennox asked, her voice both convincing and warm. “Averdeen Manor was my house and Gran and I are okay.”

  “I’m concerned about you, Leni.” He took a turn to pat her knee. “Not only did your house burn down but you fell and hurt yourself the night before.”

  “So what? I had a clumsy moment. It happens.”

  “Leni, I’ve never seen you so much as lose your balance, let alone fall down and hurt yourself. On top of that you called me out at the crack of the sun’s butt to take care of a dog. And well…” He glanced at Garrett. “Something ain’t right. And knowing what I know—”

  Lennox huffed in frustration. “What do you know, Detective Converse?”

  “That’s Detective Inspector Reebok,” Stan shot back at her. “I know you need extra looking after. That boy doesn’t know his own strength. He’s going to Camp Big Bad or I’m starting an arson investigation and that’s the end of it.”

  “Camp Big Bad? With all the other kids from Ian’s crew?”

  Garrett didn’t wait for an answer to Lennox’s question. “Are you threatening me, Sheriff?” he asked with deceptive calm. Lennox shot him a look out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. She knew from the tone of his voice his temper had escalated to dangerous levels. Some connections, like the bond between them, never faded.

  The sheriff didn’t back down. His words came out slow and deliberate. “No, sir. I’m not threatening you. But you confirmed you and Ian came to an agreement. Well, consider this a part of it. He’ll be with kids like him at Camp Big Bad. I don’t have to tell you why that’s important. And don’t you forget Lennox is one of my people.” Stan rose and looked down at him. “I take care of my people.”

  Garrett unfurled out of the chair. His six-foot-five-inch frame dwarfed the shorter man. “This town is going to have to learn, I’ll take care of both Lennox and my son.” A white wall of anger rose, steaming over his vision.

  “Well, I have to tell you, sir,” the sheriff intoned. “I still ain’t sure whether or not Lennox would be safer without you and your son.”

  Garrett let loose a derisive laugh. Lennox touched his arm. Their eyes met and the white-hot steam encasing his mind dissipated—mostly because her own anger had begun to simmer beneath the fringe of her lashes. Her cheeks flushed with it.

  Stan spoke up. “Scoff if you want, Mr. Westlake. But that’s the way it is in LuPines. We look after one another.”

  “Garrett, Sheriff, I’m getting tired of being the subject of conversations I don’t understand. And if Ian were here, I’d tell him the same. You three act like I’m a bone in a den of hungry wolves.” She gestured to the couch and chair with both hands. “Sit. Both of you.” They didn’t argue. When they both sat she continued. “Why are you fighting over protecting me? I’m fine and Nox is no danger to me whatsoever.”

  Neither of them volunteered an answer. “Somebody better explain what the hell is going on or I’m going to start handing out beat downs.”

  Stan folded his arms and sniffed. “You wouldn’t assault an officer of the law.”

  “Well, Stan, that depends. Are your shins an officer of the law?”

  He jumped to his feet. “What?”

  It didn’t take a time machine to predict what came next. Garrett concealed a grin behind his knuckles as Lennox drew back and kicked the sheriff in the shins with everything in her.

  The sheriff yelped, bouncing on one leg and sputtered. It had to hurt, even for a shifter. Lennox had always been freakishly strong.

  Not nearly done, she shoved her wrists into the sheriff’s face. “C’mon, Stan. Cuff me.”

  And he did.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You didn’t think he’d arrest you. Did you?” The dryness of Ian’s statement carried an undertone of amusement. He held her favorite snack out to her while holding the glass door to the county jail open with his body.

  Lennox took the peach he offered and gave it a once-over. “Is this from my tree?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  Bless him. He always knew what she wanted, when she wanted it. She bit into the sweet fruit. The morning sun had warmed the juice. It tasted better than ambrosia—not that JELL-O and marshmallow monstrosity but the food of the gods.

  She and her personal Jailhouse Hunk trotted down the concrete steps, completely in sync.

  “I’ve known Stanley Hewett my entire life,” she said as Ian opened the passenger door to his 1967 Impala ragtop. She slid inside, no hesitation. “I knew good and well he’d arrest me and stop speaking to me for a week or two on top of it.”

  Ian chuckled as he swung into the
driver’s seat and started the Impala. Lennox watched him out of the corner of her eye. It felt good to be in his car again, driving down their streets together with the windows open. Unlike with Garrett, she never felt uncomfortable or out of place with Ian. Everything ran so smoothly. So why did it never feel quite right between them?

  “You were saying?” he asked.

  “Oh. Right. Me getting locked up worked out perfectly.”

  “Why?”

  She flipped the passenger-side sun visor down and checked her hair. Big mistake. Jules’ cat had coughed up more attractive fur balls. Disgusted, she slapped the visor up into place. “I needed a break from everyone.”

  He quirked a brow at her and turned down the road toward Pancake Dawg, their favorite breakfast spot outside of the Peach Pit.

  “You included.” She finished up with a pointed glare.

  “Me nothing. You’ve barely spoken to me since Wolfman Jack showed up.”

  Aha, Garrett’s arrival had miffed Ian something serious. She’d never inspired jealousy in men before. She’d probably enjoy the attention if the two of them didn’t scare her when they fought. Not to mention their apparent need to drag both her and Nox into the line of fire.

  Men.

  You couldn’t live with them. You couldn’t run them over with your car and still demand a foot rub afterward. Such a pity. She sighed. He gave her a questioning look in return.

  “You know what I did last night?” she asked. “I had a nice normal conversation with that hooker who works the bus station.” He side eyed her. Smart remark incoming. She waved him off before he started. “Then I went to sleep. The ceiling didn’t cave in. Nobody talked a bunch of nonsense I don’t understand. No one’s eyes flickered and I didn’t end up hurt in some way. That works for me.”

  Ian reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. “You talk a lot. And your voice is kind of shrill. Are my ears bleeding? I swear they must be bleeding.” He pressed his cheek to her nose and still managed to stay on the road.

  “Quit it.” She giggled.

  “You want breakfast or are you going to keep running off at the mouth?”

  She adopted her most innocent expression. “Both.”

  He reached between them, rummaged around, and stuck a second peach in her face. “Chew on that and stop talking my ears off.”

  “Some people love the sound of my voice.”

  “Yeah?” He eyed her again. “Well, they’re tone deaf and half stupid. It’s your lips they ought to lavish their love on.” He turned his full attention on her for a split second. “Now, your lips? They’re delicious.”

  She couldn’t help it. She licked her deliciousness. Big mistake. Huge.

  His voice dipped into a seductive rumble. “Is that an invitation?”

  Oh. My. Was it? It should be. Things would be so much easier with Ian. She could tell him anything, would go with him anywhere. Love with him would be simple and comfortable with bone-searing sex to go along with it. What sane woman would refuse?

  Clearly her sanity had gone M.I.A. She wasn’t ready yet. She had to get Garrett out of her system first. After that she’d be able to settle down with Ian. Right? Sure.

  “Sweetheart,” Ian said, the amused crinkles around his eyes softened as he stared at the road. “You do crazy things to me.”

  Everything inside her quivered, more than his words, the feeling behind them shook her soul. She wanted to touch him…but not the way a woman touches a man. Only Garrett sparked that need inside her. That was what kept her from giving herself to Ian. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them still. Part of her felt she didn’t deserve Ian. The other part of her longed for someone else, someone with cognac eyes and a bad attitude.

  “Ian. Why me?”

  He didn’t hesitate or look her way. “Bridges and cold water.”

  She laughed. “What? Bridges and cold water?”

  He turned into the parking lot at Pancake Dawg, pulled into a space, and turned off the car. Breathing out slowly he pivoted in his seat to face her. “You remember when my daddy started Camp Big Bad?”

  “Yeah, for all the rowdy kids in your crew—including you.”

  “True enough.” The corners of his eyes crinkled again. “The second summer we hired a camp counselor named Waylon Nelson.”

  “I remember him. He and his wife got married when they were seventeen, right?”

  He nodded. “You know how in movies there’s always a cool counselor who breaks the rules and makes the summer better?”

  “Of course, I’m a filmophile.”

  He paused for an uh-huh eye roll. “Waylon Nelson made those movie guys seem nerdy and unimaginative. He spent a lot of time with his campers and he taught us how to…be us.”

  Lennox pursed her lips, giving him a dubious expression. “He taught you how to be you?”

  “Basically. But he never ate lunch with us. The boys and me used to make up crazy reasons why ’cause Waylon never said. He’d just disappear between noon and 1 p.m. Because I’m me and I’m sneaky, I started following him.”

  She slapped his arm. “Why were you always following people around? You used to do that to me too. Creeper.”

  “What’s with this habit Averdeen women have of hitting people, huh? I…” he said, stressing the long vowel sound and tapping his chest, “…was honing my tracking skills. I’m guessing you and Gran are training to be MMA tag-team partners.”

  “I’ll mixed martial arts you if you don’t shut up. Get on with your story.” She punctuated her words with a few gentle pokes to his chest.

  “Ouch, you’re violent. Do you need a hug?” Ian grabbed her and tried to throw a leg over hers—a very awkward proposition in his Impala. She kept struggling free and laughing. He kept coming on.

  “Maybe some quality time with a therapist would help. Oh wait, my hugs are therapy.” Ian switched to a ridiculously thick Southern drawl. “Hold on, baby. I’ma fix you.”

  With a shove and more than a few giggles, she finally pushed him to his side of the car. “Get off me, you maniac. Tell the dang story.”

  “As I was saying, I followed him in a completely educational and non-stalker manner to Staunton Bridge every day. Where I would, in no creepy way whatsoever, watch him have lunch with his wife.”

  “That’s kind of sweet.”

  “Sweet guy. Especially since judging by the smell of the food and the look on his face her cooking tasted like baboon ass.”

  Lennox nodded as sagely as her need to burst out laughing would allow. “Mm,” she said, “a delicacy.”

  Ian curled his lip in disgust but something beyond the smell of the food must have sweetened the memory. His expression transformed and he smiled in that “far too pleasant to be a smirk” way of his. “Waylon looked his happiest standing on Staunton Bridge choking down his wife’s awful lunches. While I watched them, I’d think, ‘I want that.’”

  She propped her elbow on one knee and rested her check against her hand. “Hm, that does sound nice. Baboon-ass sandwiches, who could resist?”

  “Definitely.” The barest hint of his white teeth sparkled in the sunlight. “One day Waylon decided to show off his balance skills. I’m not sure why a man would need to impress his own wife that badly but he jumped up on the ledge, did the whole tightrope thing, and toppled into the drink.”

  “He fell in the water? While showing off?” Lennox shook her head. You couldn’t get any better than that. “Tragic!”

  Ian leaned into his seat and chuckled. “Right. You should have seen the shade of red he turned while flailing in all four feet of the river.”

  “Seriously. What did she do?”

  He rested both arms on the steering wheel and leaned in. After seeming to think on it for a while he turned to look at her, his cheek cradled against his folded arms. For a second or two Lennox thought the
soundtrack from one of those hyper-emotional teen movies started playing in the background—mostly because Ian looked like a teenage dream. There were violins and guitars and piano swells and everything. She sighed loudly.

  “That’s the best part,” he said. “Waylon’s wife didn’t hesitate. She threw herself over the railing and pulled him up. I thought she was going to fall in but that possibility didn’t seem to matter to her. Even though he could’ve walked to shore and back up on the bridge by himself she put her all into pulling him up.”

  “That’s amazing.” A feeling of warmth spread through Lennox’s chest.

  “After she yanked Waylon up they fell over together and he got her wet.” Ian lifted both brows.

  Lennox sighed again. Romantic stories brought out the starry-eyed girl in her. “Bridges and cold water.”

  “Yeah. I knew I wanted that too. To love somebody who threw their whole selves into it.”

  Loving and being loved that way sounded so good. “Wait,” Lennox said. “So when we were on that school trip and you fell into the fountain and I pulled you out…?”

  Ian sighed this time. She’d never heard a sigh sound so masculine. “Bridges and cold water,” he said.

  “Ah, I get it.”

  “Don’t forget you couldn’t cook for the first half of our lives. You really were my perfect Mrs. Waylon Nelson.”

  Their connection seemed to expand as she gazed at his storybook handsome face. She laid her head on the extension of his elbow. Their noses nearly touched. “Then I had to go and mess it up by letting Garrett teach me to cook.”

  Ian closed the minuscule distance between them. He rubbed the tip of his nose to hers. The rasp in his voice took hold of her heart. “Then you had to go and mess it up.”

  She and Ian had eaten halfway through their breakfast before Lennox asked the question she’d been pondering since Stan stopped by the night before.

  “Ian?”

  “Yeah,” he said, less focused on her and more on his six pancake dawgs—sausage dipped in pancake batter and fried like a corndog.

  “Why are you forcing Nox to go to Camp Big Bad?”