ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories)

by Hawke, Jessa

  He pulled into the long driveway of his new house, a two bedroom ranch style home nestled on an acre of land he was paying $100 a month to maintain for no real reason. It was a soft butter yellow, and it reminded him of his childhood home in Texas. That was partially why he bought it. After Janie left, he wanted anything that reminded him of his time before her, and not after.

  He was already moved in and mostly unpacked. His car was full of medical equipment he'd take with him to his new office the next Monday morning, a few things that the moving company wasn't insured to transport. He had a portable MRI machine among them, and he'd used it to look at his plumbing once or twice. Now he set it and the other boxes back in the trunk of his car. Everything had been moved when the beautiful young woman had changed his tire. He felt himself blush, remembering her curvy body pressed against him eagerly. It was just a thank-you kiss, he kept reminding himself. He knew he was handsome, with his cleft chin and broad shoulders, Hollywood-style stubble and deep blue eyes like the sea, but he was also thirty-five, and that young woman didn't look a day over 21. He could technically be her father.

  He looked at the pile of mail on his kitchen table. A letter from the electric company, a change of address confirmation, and an invitation to the local church. A man smiled grimly at him from the front of the flyer, a floating head with salt and pepper hair and empty brown eyes. Will had met the man at the diner, and he'd spoken curtly to him once Will let on he was not religious and had no intention of attending service regularly. He hadn't realized he was the only minister in town until much later, when a waitress laughed at the uneasy exchange between the two. That waitress had been pretty cute, and much closer to his age than the young woman who changed his tire. He sighed, trying to push her from his thoughts.

  All that night and the next morning, however, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, her face was there, or the graceful curve of her thighs as she bent over the car; he almost gave his new receptionist a case file instead of a welcome packet. Sheila, a plump woman with dark green eyes and curly red hair piled on top of her round head, was understanding.

  "I think the quiet kinda unsettles you city people, sometimes," She said kindly. "By now you'd have seen three patients already. Relax! You're so ahead, you could catch a nap and no one would notice."

  It was true. Will had pulled up at 7:15 AM to open at eight. It was now eleven, and only a couple of curious seniors out for a walk had poked their head in. They had a single call, and it had been a wrong number. Will polished the shiny plaque reading WILLIAM STILLMAN on his desk twenty times before he forced himself to sit still. Trying to quiet his mind just brought the blonde woman back to the front of his mind, though, and then he was in a different kind of hell. He probably needed a hobby, he realized.

  The phone on his desk buzzed then, and he jumped. "Hello!" He said eagerly as he punched the intercom button.

  Sheila's amusement was plain. "We have a walk-in, doctor. I've got her in the system, insurance checks out and she's ready to go. She's in exam room one." There were only three exam rooms. Later in the month, another nurse would join the staff.

  "Thank you," Will said quickly. He pulled on his glasses and headed out the door, walking down the short hall to the first exam room, where the patient's chart was sitting on the bare white door. He knocked briefly; a voice called "Come in!" and he pushed open the door.

  "Cassidy Fole? I'm Dr. William Stillman," he said, glancing at the chart as he entered the room. The woman was sitting on the examination table, a broad grin slowly taking over her heart shaped face.

  "Nice to make your acquaintance, Dr. William Stillman," The woman from the day before chirped. She held up her bandaged hand, showing that it was almost entirely darkened by blood. "Hope you don't mind if I ask for a touch up." She smiled, then blinked uncertainly as he stood there in silence. He had the distinct feeling of having been placed into a film. This just didn't happen in real life.

  Will realized his heart was racing and he hadn't said anything after her last statement. He closed the door behind him, trying to gather his thoughts.

  "I'm so sorry for that," he said hurriedly, pulling up a stool and. He started changing her bandage, feeling her eyes burn into him again as he spoke. "And I never got to thank you, Miss Fole. It's pretty embarrassed that some old doctor can't even change his own tire. You might have saved my life."

  "It's Cassidy. Someone else would have come along," came her melodic reply. "I'm sure someone would've wanted to help. You're so...nice looking."

  He looked up at her, and her gaze shone with warmth. Was she just trying to make him feel better?

  "This is gonna need a few stitches," he said. "I'm sorry. I should probably give you some anesthetic, and I'll stitch you up in no time. I was top in my class at suturing."

  "Don't worry, I trust you," Cassidy said. She cocked her head, studying him. "I didn't think it would need stitches. Would've bothered you for them earlier."

  Her voice was almost a drawl. It poured over him like molasses, and he was calmer now. "I should have known, but I was so flustered after the accident." He found the anesthetizing spray and she winced slightly as he coated her palm in it. "Let that sit a minute," he said.

  "Accident?" Cassidy repeated.

  "Oh! Yes." Will realized he hadn't told her. "I swerved to avoid a tractor, and I hit some trees. It's how my tire blew out."

  Cassidy looked angry then, and Will stepped back in surprise. She was smaller than he first thought---she was 5'4, though the sweater dress she wore made her legs look longer. He stopped himself before he started staring.

  "Why didn't he stop and help?" Cassidy asked. "He didn't even offer you a ride?"

  He shook his head, wondering why he hadn't reacted in anger yesterday, and why this stranger seemed so affronted. "I guess I didn't think about it then, but he just kept going. He was driving a John Deere, it had some stickers about dogs on it in the back. I assumed he wanted to get home before it started raining."

  "If he lives here the rain doesn't bother him none," Cassidy said angrily. Her cheeks were flushed, and she caught his eye. "Some folks around here are going to try to freeze you out. Don't pay them any attention, you hear? They're snobs, and they don't even realize how hypocritical they're being."

  Will watched her beautiful face as she ranted, then realized her blood pressure was rising. He took her hand. "I need you to calm down, your blood flow is increasing. I have to get this stitched up."

  She fell quiet but the glare stayed fixed on his face as he gave her three quick stitches. She rubbed his hand with her thumb absentmindedly as he swabbed her palm with a puff of cotton, making his heart beat in double time for a few moments.

  "Sorry," she grumbled. "I get really worked up sometimes. Some people in this town are still trying to hold on to this notion that they're better for being backwards, and that includes ignoring anyone who seems to be embracing change. Your car is a little, uh, eccentric," she said apologetically. He thought of the robin's egg blue coup. The fiat was even sort of egg shaped. A big man driving that car did look sort of odd among the station wagon and pick-up truck heavy town. His heavy black wayfarer prescription glasses didn't help. Damn California, he thought.

  "I'm sorry," she said again anxiously. He smiled to see her so worried about his feelings, when she didn't know anything about him.

  "It's fine, I definitely get what you mean." He tossed his gloves and the used items, turning to find his prescription pad. "I'll try to keep that in mind. I definitely want to avoid making even a ripple."

  Cassidy giggled.

  "Do you need anything for pain?" he asked, reaching for his prescription pad.

  "I'm a big girl," she said, crossing her legs. He looked at her legs, shapely and tucked into chocolate colored boots. She smiled slowly. "I know what you can do to thank me, though."

  His heart pounded. Was she seriously flirting with him?

  "What's that?" he asked, fiddling with his
glasses.

  "Invite me over to dinner," she said promptly. Her honey blonde hair floated around her face in waves. She looked impossibly beautiful.

  She is flirting with me, he realized, and his mind descended into a stew of complicated emotions. "Cassidy," he began. "I'm really flattered by your attention, but I'm a lot older than you."

  Cassidy laughed and shook her head. "Eleven years isn't that much."

  Will looked at her. "You're 24? I thought you were a few years younger." His brow furrowed, and he watched her face light up with laughter.

  "What's your next excuse?"

  "It's still a lot," he said. Cassidy hopped off the table, grasping the side to steady herself. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

  "I'm old enough to figure out what makes me uncomfortable," she answered, stepping close to him. "I also like wine. You got any of that?"

  "There's just...a significant gap in years and experience between us, Cassidy," he said, stepping back. "And baggage," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "You want to focus on someone with a clean slate. I'm...broken."

  He looked her straight in the eye, trying to communicate the pain and misery that lay beneath the surface. Cassidy met his gaze, letting him see the determination and heat in her own. He wanted desperately to kiss her again, but he couldn't. If she kissed him back, he didn't know if he'd be able to stop.

  Finally, she spoke. "Who said I was trying you on for marriage?" Her voice was light, but lurking beneath was a razor edge that he hadn't meant to bring forward. She probably wasn't used to such blunt resistance, and he hated to seem rude, but it was the only choice he had. "I'm just talking about feeding a gal a nice meal in exchange for saving your ass. Maybe breaking out a good merlot. Nothing untoward."

  The anger in her tone made him regret his words. "Of course, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think---"

  "You did," she cut in. He was unsettled by the quick change in her demeanor, and sought a way to put it right.

  "Listen, I'm just getting settled here. My mind is everywhere, and I just moved across the country. I promise I'm not usually this inconsiderate, but I'm also not used to beautiful women saving me from peril." He took out his business card and wrote down his cell phone number and address. "I'd love to have you over, and you can tell me about Davinia. I only know my receptionist, Sheila. She's coming over to make me dinner to welcome me to the neighborhood in a week or two, and I'd really appreciate a new friend." His voice was earnest and urgent. He smiled, hoping she would avoid the deliberate attempt to make sure they wouldn't be alone, and she studied his face coolly as he offered her his business card. "Text me later, we'll set it up."

  She took the card and pocketed it without looking. His stomach bunched in panic.

  "I'm sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't have assumed you wanted to...try me on." There was silence, and he watched her, wondering if he shouldn't have said anything. Then her face softened, and she smiled faintly.

  "Sheila's a peach, but she'll never shut up about her dogs. You'll need me there as a buffer." She stepped forward then, stopping inches away from his face and setting his heart racing again. He could smell cinnamon and honey, and wondered briefly what she had for breakfast. He ached to kiss her again.

  "And by the way," she said, her voice low and teasing. "I only said I didn't want to get married...not that I didn't want to try you on."

  He laughed, a startled burst of sound that trailed down the short hallway as she left him standing there in wonder.

  Will walked to the front office to find Sheila thumbing through a cooking magazine. "First patient, a success!" He said. He felt significantly better now that he had actually started his day. Sheila looked up, wearing round rimmed glasses that made her look very much like an owl.

  "I'd hope so," Sheila quipped. "Did you really invite her to dinner? You're a braver man than most. It's a good thing I'm coming, I'm in the choir."

  Will smiled blankly. "What do you mean?"

  Sheila's eyes widened, somehow, behind her spectacles. "Doctor! Her father is Minister Fole. That's the preacher's daughter."

  Will groaned. Of course. The first woman to make him feel this way in two years, and she turned out to be the offspring of the intimidatingly stoic minister he'd met a few weeks before. He doubted he'd be thrilled that his daughter was dining with a heathen. He was starting to think he'd stumbled on to a movie.

  "It's just friendly," Will said quickly, and Sheila smiled knowingly.

  "Yeah, yeah," she said playfully, and Will smiled. "I'm not a snitch. I think you're a catch, personally. If I were twenty years younger," she said, winking. "I'd be after you in a hot second!"

  Will winked back, feeling warm and happy despite this new complication. "You don't mind cooking for three, do you?" He asked anxiously. Sheila laughed hard, as if the question were a dumb one.

  "Try and stop me," she said finally.

  The next two weeks went by idly, and he could hardly believe it counted as work at all. Out of his ten new patients, six were diabetic, and that was a change from the hectic California practice where everyone had three different ailments. Sheila was funnier and much more supportive than he would have expected, given the behavior of the rest of the town's older people, and he was happy he'd invited her to cook. She gave him much needed advice, such as the best time to go grocery shopping, which stores were run by the most bigoted or racist people, and who was single and eligible. This last was the least touched on, and Will noticed it immediately. He wondered if Sheila knew how taken he was with Cassidy. He supposed it was obvious; he kept asking about her, and they had been texting nonstop. Sheila seemed to know everything.

  She was a software engineer, it turned out. She'd gone away for two years to finish her BS degree, then came promptly back home to care for her mother until she died of leukemia. She was wild, compared to her sister and how her father raised her; she drank, went to cities to dance, and definitely wasn't waiting for marriage. She played piano at the church, although she didn't stay for the full service, and only went on weekends. Despite this, her father tried desperately to retain some control over her, frequently running her boyfriend’s away, sometimes out of town. This last disturbed Will, but he reminded himself he wasn't going to pursue her. Still, as the days crawled forward and they got closer to Friday, he had to fight against his mind to keep his thoughts off of Cassidy. Everything about her entranced him, from their similar taste in movies and TV to her tendency to let her accent peek through when she was angry. She seemed just as taken with him as he was with her, texting late into the night and swapping stories about school and their childhood. He missed seeing her though, and luckily, she came in a week and a half later on Wednesday to get a check up. When he declared the redness normal, however, she asked him a surprising question.

  "Did my father talk to you?"

  Will stared at her. They were in the waiting room, which was empty except for Sheila, who was pretending not to listen. "What? No."

  Cassidy's eyes burned into his. "Don't lie to me, William." He started at having her use his name so formally.

  "I’m not!" He cried. "Why are you asking?"

  "He came to my place and asked me to stay away from you," she said angrily. She put her hands on her hips, and his heart skipped a beat as the light made her eyes shine fiercely. "Someone must have told him."

  William looked at Sheila, who was already shaking her head. "I did meet him a few weeks ago, and when he found out I didn't go to church, he seemed pretty unimpressed. Guess heathen doctors aren't his favorite people." He sounded bitter and hurt.

  "You're not a heathen," Cassidy said, putting both hands on his shoulders. He froze, holding his breath automatically. She reached up to kiss his cheek, pressing her lips against his jawline and lingering for longer than she perhaps should have. Sheila pointedly looked away, and Will struggled to keep his pulse under control. "Or, if you are, then I wanna be too. Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself."

  "S
o, you're here to cancel?" Will asked, trying and failing to keep his voice light.

  Cassidy scoffed. "Are you joking? My dad's not the boss of me. I'll be there with bells on. Now that he's made you forbidden fruit, maybe I’ll only have bells on."

  She winked at him and gave him a flirty wave, laughing at his red face as he she pushed the door open. Sheila was laughing too, having stopped pretending not to listen. His heart soared on the tide of Cassidy's melodic giggle, but it sank as soon as the door swung closed. Her father didn't seem like the type to leave this alone, and he certainly knew where he lived. He had a feeling he hadn't heard the end of it. If this really were some horrible generic film about a stuck up city dweller falling for the hick preacher's daughter, this was the part where the city slicker got a house call from the father, double barreled rifle optional.

  Thursday night, William's horrible premonition came true. He was reading and drinking wine by the fire, dangerously close to nodding off in the warm pocket of comfortable detachment the alcohol and heat lent him. A loud, curt knock on the door startled him, and he nearly upended the bottle of wine on the table. He hadn't heard a car ride up, and he felt his stomach clench in panic when he realized who it had to be. He shuffled to the door, running a hand through his untidy shock of black hair. "Shit," he murmured before he pulled the door open. He thought it would make him feel better. It didn't.

  Minister Fole was exactly his height, but a touch more broad. He had the look of an extremely active man gone somewhat to seed; his formal black shirt stretched over a slightly protruding belly, and his pants were a bit tight. He looked perfectly comfortable, however, and even the lines in his severe face seemed at home on Will's front porch. He smiled faintly.