by Zoe Chant
Charity reached out, taking his hand in hers. “But you’ll be careful, won’t you?” Despite all the power of his lion, she felt apprehensive. He might have been the strongest man she had ever met, but the Reapers were all shifters too, and besides which, she didn’t even know how many of them there were.
Leaning over, Mason pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, pulling her into his body. “Of course I will,” he said, and Charity closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the warmth of his chest.
Chapter Seven
Mason
When Charity had called him to say that Jessup McLeod had turned up at her diner, Mason didn’t mind admitting that he’d sat in his car, imagining all the ways he’d tear out the man’s throat for so much as looking at her. He’d slowly managed to get a hold of himself as he drove, but his lion had still been growling for vengeance as he’d pulled up outside.
He threatened our mate. Our mate. He has to pay.
Mason knew that only the sight of Charity would calm the lion down once it was this riled – and it had worked. As soon as he’d come in and seen Charity waiting for him, the lion had backed down, if only a little, knowing that whatever needed to be done could wait for just a little while longer.
Now, as he drove away again, Mason let the lion’s wild side come forward once more. He’d need it, if he truly wanted to put the fear of God into Jessup and his men. While he could smell that Jessup was a shifter, he wasn’t yet sure what kind of shifter he was. He could be anything from a bear to a jackrabbit, or anything in between.
Regardless, Mason knew he’d put things right, one way or another. He’d give Jessup this one chance to clear out without him bringing the hammer down on him. If he wouldn’t take it, then Mason was more than happy to make the Reapers’ lives here more difficult than they could possibly imagine.
Turning down a dirt road, Mason pulled his lips tight. Really, he shouldn’t even be doing this much for them, he thought. No one who threatened his mate deserved even the slightest amount of consideration. But his wild animal desire to draw the blood of any man who didn't treat Charity with the respect she deserved had to be tempered with his human knowledge that he was walking a fine line here.
Despite the knock Jessup had given him, Mason wanted to get him on something that would see him catch some real jail time, not just a warning. At the moment, though, he had nothing that would justify a search warrant. And as much as he hated to admit it, Jessup had been right when he said that Mason needed to take shifter customs and society into consideration. He needed to be the one in the right, here.
Giving Jessup a chance to leave peacefully would make his position unimpeachable. No one could say he hadn’t given him fair warning.
He had already gone above and beyond by restraining himself after Jessup had punched him. But this would be his final chance. If Jessup refused it, Mason would rain seven kinds of Hell down on him, and every other Reaper he could find.
The road out here was all rough dirt and potholes, but his Coldstream County Sheriff’s Department SUV rolled over it as if it was nothing. It wasn’t long before he was pulling up outside an old ranch house, gleaming motorcycles parked all around it.
Mason had been able to smell where the Reapers had holed up – he’d made it his business before he’d been elected to go and sniff them out, though he’d made sure to keep a safe distance away, as there was no point in stirring up trouble at that stage.
But Jessup and his men had proved that sometimes, trouble was necessary.
Stopping the SUV, Mason put on his Stetson and got out of the car, swinging his legs down on the red dirt. Tufts of brown grass stuck up here and there, but these houses had been abandoned for a long time before the Reapers had arrived to make their home here – a temporary home, Mason now realized, while they looked around the county for something a bit more permanent.
Or so they thought, Mason thought grimly. Jessup was fooling himself if he thought he was getting anywhere near Charity’s diner – or anywhere else in Coldstream County, for that matter.
The bikers were clearly around here somewhere: their bikes were all parked outside, gleaming in the late sun. Mason glanced around. They would, as shifters, most certainly have heard him pull up outside the house, and if they had somehow missed that, they could definitely smell his presence here now. Bears and wolves had better senses of smell even than lions, and they’d know he was here.
“You gonna come out and face me like a man, Jessup, or do I have to come in there and find you?” Mason called out after a moment or two.
He waited, and was about to start heading toward the house when the door banged open, and Jessup appeared.
“Mighty impatient today, aren’t we, Sheriff?” Jessup drawled, as he made his way down the wooden steps of the porch. Two of his men, wearing leather and denim, followed him out. They’d obviously been chosen for their size: Mason knew he wasn’t exactly small, but these guys almost rivaled him for height, and Mason could tell that beneath the layers of fat, they were heavily muscled.
Jessup himself wasn’t a small man – a little shorter than Mason, but still broad, and with power in his arms.
Now, he crossed those arms over his chest, gazing at Mason with his small, blue eyes.
“So is there anything I can help you with, or did you just come all the way out here for a friendly little chat?” Jessup asked, his voice gravelly.
Mason rested his hands on his gun belt. Not anywhere near his holster, but he felt that Jessup could do with a timely reminder of just who he was, and what his position in the county meant.
“I think you can guess why I’m here, Jessup,” he said. “Cast your mind back, say, a couple of hours, and I think the reason will come to you.”
Jessup exhaled quickly though his teeth, in a parody of a laugh. “Nothing illegal about making an offer on a business you want to buy, Sheriff,” he said. “Nothing illegal at all. Just like there’s nothing illegal about our coming there to eat. We were just checking’ out our investment before we made a commitment.”
Mason could feel his temper rising. Maybe it was Jessup’s condescending tone, or maybe it was the fact that he was right, and so far, he hadn’t done anything here in Coldstream County that Mason could arrest him for – or at least, nothing he had any solid evidence for, for anything big enough that it would get Jessup and his men sent away for a good long time. And he was willing to bet that any evidence they might have done anything before he became sheriff had gone mysteriously missing under George Atwood.
“Maybe I’m not coming to you as a sheriff, then,” Mason said, his tone measured, keeping his eyes trained on Jessup’s. “Maybe I’m coming to you as a shifter of my uncle’s pride. I don’t take kindly to anyone who hassles my mate – not in any way. Charity’s told you you’re not welcome at her diner. She’s told you it’s not for sale. And that being the case, she better not ever see your face around there again, nor the faces of any of your men. Is that clear?”
Jessup returned his gaze as if sizing him up, before he chuckled. “Well shit, Sheriff. I didn’t realize that pretty girl was your mate. Now that puts a bit of a different light on the situation,” he said. “And here I was, thinking you were still dirty over the little tap I gave you the other night.”
Mason’s stare didn’t waver. “I don’t care what you think,” he said, “so long as you stay away. And you better believe that even if I’m here now as a shifter, I’ll be watching every step you take as sheriff. The first smell I get of anything – and I mean anything – you’ll be finding your ass in a cell faster than you can blink.”
Jessup’s expression had gotten steadily sourer as Mason had spoken. Now, he simply stared at him, all his false friendliness of earlier having completely disappeared from his face.
“So I’d just forget about setting up any kind of operations anywhere ’round here,” Mason said when it became clear he wasn’t going to get an answer. “George Atwood might have been prepared to keep o
ne eye shut, but I’m not. Shifter or not, I won’t have it in my county.”
Jessup only continued to stare at him for a long moment, before he narrowed his eyes. “And your alpha – what does he have to say about this?” he finally asked, his voice tight with anger.
Mason shook his head. “What my alpha has to say doesn't come into it,” he said. “I’ve kept the peace with you here as a shifter. I’ve told you to back off. I’ve told you to stay away from my mate. But cross the law, and I won’t be dealing with you as a shifter, but as sheriff. Do you understand me?”
For a long time, Jessup didn’t answer him. Finally, he nodded, eyes cold and cruel as he looked Mason up and down. “Yeah, Sheriff, you could say that. I understand you perfectly.”
“See that you do,” Mason said, his voice low.
Not waiting to see what Jessup might say next, he turned his back on him, walking back toward his SUV. Turning your back on a shifter was as close to an insult as anyone could get – and Mason knew this. Turning your back meant you didn’t view them as a threat, or that you didn’t believe they could do anything to harm you. No animal in the wild would ever dare turn its back on another animal it was even mildly afraid of. It would be just asking for an attack.
But Mason knew Jessup wouldn’t attack him. Not here, anyway. He hoped he’d made him mad enough, however, that he’d make a mistake, and give Mason an excuse to either arrest the Reapers or shut them down in some other way. He could tell that Jessup was a careful guy. He had to be, to have evaded the law for so long. But just one slip-up was all Mason needed.
He didn’t believe for a second that Jessup would be run out of town this easily, but as he got back into his car, eyes on where Jessup and his men still stood, he hoped he’d done enough to get Jessup’s dander up.
Glancing down at his dashboard clock as he started up the SUV’s engine and pulled back up along the dirt road, Mason groaned a little. It was still hours till his shift ended, and he hadn’t forgotten about his promise to see Charity as soon as he finished. He still had a mountain of Atwood’s neglected paperwork to get through, and if there was one thing that didn’t make the time fly by, it was paperwork.
Well, there’s no way out but through, Mason decided as he pushed the gas pedal down, speeding as fast as he could over the bumpy road, back toward the sheriff’s office.
Chapter Eight
Charity
After watching Mason’s SUV pull away, Charity had let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She hated that cliché, but in this case, it turned out to be true. Until Mason had shown up, she hadn’t really realized how shaken up she’d been by Jessup’s visit – and then, how nervous she was at the thought of Mason going to confront him over it.
She knew Mason could take care of himself, but still. The idea of Jessup laying so much as a finger on him – again – made her blood boil. She’d never felt anything like it before. Thinking about it, Charity decided it must have something to do with their mated bond: a connection she didn’t really understand yet, except to say that she knew it was true. Every second she was separated from Mason felt like an eternity. She shivered a little at the delicious promise he’d made her. Tonight. They’d be together again tonight.
Rubbing her hands over her bare lower arms, Charity felt her skin prickling up into goosebumps. It was getting cooler in the afternoons, now. She’d be grateful of Mason’s warm, solid body to snuggle up against later on.
Still, it didn’t quite take the sting out of it when Charity flipped the diner sign from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’.
It chafed her hide, but there was nothing to be done. As much as Charity didn’t want to do it, she couldn’t in good conscience have her staff in harm’s way, and she couldn’t run the diner herself. Keeping it open to prove a point to Jessup would just be irresponsible, though. Mason had told her they’d beat Jessup and the Reapers no matter what, and she believed him. But it still left a bitter taste in her mouth to have to do this. It seemed like an admission of defeat – however temporary.
And it meant she’d have to dip into her most emergency of emergency funds to get through the next few weeks.
Walking back across the diner, Charity squatted down behind the counter, before knocking the panel at the very bottom with the side of her fist. A small section sprang out, and Charity reached into the small hollow it covered. She kept a stack of emergency money in there, adding to it diligently every month, rain or shine. She’d never had to touch it. Not until now.
And she never counted it. She didn’t want to get any ideas into her head as to what other things she might’ve been able to do with the money.
Sighing, Charity sat down and began to count out the money with swift and practiced fingers, laying it down on the counter in piles of one hundred.
When she was finished, Charity was looking down at one thousand, eight hundred and seventy dollars.
Not bad, but not great either. It was a significant amount of money, but Charity had no illusions about how long it’d keep the diner afloat if things with Jessup took too long to be resolved. After that, she’d have no choice: either re-open and hope for the best, or consider her other options.
Including selling up. The thought was in her head before she could stop it, but Charity forcefully pushed it away. That won’t happen, she vowed. She wouldn’t let it.
In the meantime, there were other things to be done.
Charity turned to the cash register. She’d have whatever was in there, minus the wages of her staff, to help her too.
She set the register to spit out the week’s transactions. As it finished its business, she picked up the phone at the other end of the counter, balancing the handset between her shoulder and jaw. She thumbed her way through her father’s old, worn-down address book, looking for the number of the Baptist church about an hour away. She hadn’t been raised to be a regular church-goer, but her father had been friendly with the preacher there, and Charity knew he was still around – Reverend James occasionally came in for dinner on a Sunday with his wife and children. He still asked how her father was doing.
He picked up on the sixth ring, his voice formal. “Cedar Hill Baptist Church, Reverend James speaking.”
“Hello, Reverend,” Charity said. “Do you have time for a quick chat? My name is – ”
“Is that David Crawford’s little girl?” All the formality had left the reverend’s voice as it boomed down the phone. “When are we going to see you in church, young miss?”
Charity had to laugh. Aside from questions about her father, this was the one thing Reverend James never failed to ask her.
“One of these days, Reverend,” she said. “Maybe. You know how life is.”
“You’re never too busy for the health of your soul,” the reverend said, mock-sternly. “Now. What is it I can help you with?”
“I have a donation to make,” Charity said. “Seems like I’m going to have to close down the diner unexpectedly. It’s just for a few days – well, I hope – but there’s a lot of food that’ll spoil if it goes uneaten. Would your kitchen have a use for it?”
“We certainly would,” Reverend James said. “And that’s a very generous offer. Are you sure we couldn’t compensate you in some way?”
“I won’t hear of it,” Charity said firmly. She needed the money, but she’d never take money for an act of kindness. “It’s a donation. Pure and simple.”
The reverend chuckled. “Well, I suppose that’s probably enough to buy you out of at least a month of Sundays,” he said. “Would you like someone to come and pick it up?”
“I’ll drop it over later today,” Charity said. “I’ll get it all packed up into coolers for you. It’s no trouble.”
“Well, thank you again, Miss Crawford. You still remember where the place is?”
Charity smiled, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Reverend – honestly, it hasn’t been all that long. Would around five be okay?”
“It certainly would. And no
w –” there was a slight pause as Charity heard something in the background crashing to the floor, followed by a child’s wail “– I’m tremendously sorry, but I might have to end our conversation. The children have offered to help me get things ready for a baptism, and, well, as they say, the Lord’s work is never done.”
Despite everything, Charity couldn’t help but smile as she said her farewells and then hung up the phone. The food was an expense she couldn’t afford, but it wasn’t as if she was throwing it away – it was good, hearty food that would now go to people who might not have the luxury of regular meals. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel too badly about it, even if she didn’t want to add up exactly how much it’d cost her.
Going out to the kitchen, Charity organized the food into things she could freeze and things that wouldn’t keep, carefully wrapping the latter and placing them into coolers to take to the church. If she had to stay closed for longer than she hoped, she could always come back and get the rest from the freezers later, but she very much hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Sighing as she stacked the last cooler, Charity stretched her back. She wasn’t even close to finished with what she had to do yet.
Pushing open the kitchen doors, Charity went to the cash register. It had finished spitting out the week’s transactions, and she tore the paper off the roll before sitting down with pencil and paper, counting out the cash in the till.
Strangely enough, she’d always enjoyed this task, ever since she was a teenager and her dad had first started letting her do it – there was something calming about it, the addition of figures, the slow working toward the end of the long roll of paper. It might have been a bit sad, but it gave her a sense of accomplishment.