Terry Spear’s Wolf Bundle

by Terry Spear

  “Nope,” Silva said. “It goes a little deeper.”

  Mitchell glanced over the seat at Lelandi. She was sure her face was crimson as hot as it felt.

  “Whoa, I take it the boss will officially announce this soon?” He shook his head and watched the road again. “Going to be some pissed-off bitches. Although we knew where this was headed.”

  Yeah, and Lelandi was ready to deal with every one of them to keep her dream lover at her beck and call.

  When they drove into town, Lelandi stared at the transformation. Colorful banners hung from every covered porch, and arts and crafts and food booths crowded all the wooden walkways down the main street. Even the shabby building across from the tavern was decorated in silver and red banners, proclaiming it to be the first hotel in Silver Town, haunted since its inception. Souvenirs of Indian arrowheads and other old western artifacts were on display. The aroma of sausages and turkey legs grilling filled the air, and Victorian music wafted in the chilly breeze. But the costumes of the townspeople garnered Lelandi’s attention most. Dressed in Victorian era clothing, they wore sunshiny smiles and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Lelandi took a deep breath. “I remember wearing the cage when I was a young girl. I can’t imagine dressing like that again.” And the awful corsets, too.

  “Sure. It’s part of our heritage, our history. Even before we started the fair, we had a Victorian Era Day to celebrate the beginning of our town. A train ride winds up through the mountains, too, and anyone dressed in period costume gets on half price. Looks like a lot of the tourists came prepared this year. Hosstene, Darien’s accountant at the factory,” Silva said, pointing at a stall, “is renting costumes for the day for those who don’t have one and want to fit in.” Silva patted Lelandi’s arm. “But, you don’t need to rent one. I’ve got just the dress for you.”

  “Good, because I wouldn’t pay any money to that woman,” Lelandi said, recalling their confrontation in the tavern’s restroom.

  Mitchell snorted. “There’s already a welcoming crowd waiting for their free drinks at the tavern. Give anything away free and it’s a madhouse. Waste of money, I say.”

  “Like when you spay and neuter cats and dogs for free once a month to avoid unwanted pets, right, Mitchell?” Sam asked, humor coating his words. “Got a ton of business last year by offering a few free sodas. Before we knew it, everyone was ordering the harder stuff and we made a bundle.” He turned to Lelandi. “Just a warning, this is the one day of the year that humans are allowed to enter. Otherwise, it’s a private club.”

  “But you let me in that one day.”

  Sam smiled. “Private as in only lupus garous are allowed. I didn’t know you were Larissa’s sister at first, but I recognized you were one of us.”

  His brow furrowed, Deputy Trevor waved at them from the tavern as they pulled into a parking space.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mitchell grumbled.

  “Darien’s orders to ensure we get the little lady into the tavern safe and sound,” Sam said.

  The crowd parted to make way for Sam to unlock the door, but he relocked it after he, Silva, Lelandi, and Mitchell entered the establishment.

  A shudder ran down Lelandi’s entire body, remembering her apprehension when she’d first visited the tavern, and what transpired after she left.

  Silva squeezed her hand and led her to a room off the bar. “Here’s where we store our costumes. We celebrate Blow Me Timber Pirate Day, Viking Day for those of us who were from the Norselands, and Celtic Day for the Scots-Irish among us. German Fest is filled with German foods, song, and drink. We never advertise the events, but the word is spreading and we’re getting more tourists every year. The guys will change in another room.”

  Shelves filled the large room and two doors led into a walk-in closet where costumes hung on poles. Silva pulled out a drawer in a chest at one end of the closet. “Time to return to an earlier era when men wore the pants in the family.”

  Lelandi shook her head. “They think they still do.” She slipped out of her sweater and unfastened her bra. She’d never thought she’d wear a corset again after she’d ditched hers in the Victorian Age.

  Lelandi fingered the gowns and pulled out a brilliant blue satin one.

  Silva dangled a pair of garters. “Remember these?”

  “Nobody will know what I wear under the gown.”

  Silva smiled. “Darien will.”

  “I bet he doesn’t dress up for these occasions.”

  “Ha!” Silva said. “He’s the one who insisted on it. And he was the one who started Pirate’s Day. I swear he was an ancient Viking, but he isn’t old enough. Here are your drawers.”

  “Crotchless. Those were the days.” Lelandi laughed.

  Silva slipped a sleeveless, knee-length cotton chemise over Lelandi’s head. She lifted a robin’s egg blue satin corset, heavily boned with whalebone out of the drawer.

  Lelandi folded her arms. “Not the corset.”

  “Got to have something to hold you up. You know what they say about women who don’t wear their corsets.”

  “They’re loose women, but…”

  Silva laced up the ties, but not too tightly. Then she pulled the crinoline cage out and opened it up. “Better than the five or six petticoats we used to wear to give our skirts shape.” She slipped a camisole over Lelandi’s head.

  “I remember how long it took us to dress.”

  Silva fitted a simple petticoat over the frame. “And how we needed help getting into all this. For most, it didn’t matter, but for us, trying to shed our clothes when the moon first made its appearance…” She shook her head. “What a chore. I ripped more petticoats trying to ditch them.” She layered an intricately embroidered petticoat over the plain one. “Now for the finale.” She helped Lelandi on with the gown.

  The neckline dipped low, the mere strap of a sleeve rested off the shoulders, and Lelandi felt more exposed than usual. “Do you have anything that’s cut a little higher?”

  “Nope,” Silva said with a knowing smirk. “Besides, for serving in the tavern, it seems appropriate.”

  “Ha! They’re Victorian ballroom gowns.” Lelandi fingered a peach one. “Not what the serving wenches would have worn.”

  Silva pulled the peach gown out. “High-classed tavern in the New World.”

  Lelandi helped Silva dress and they pinned their hair up, then fastened hats covered in feathers to each other’s hair. “We’ll skip the gloves,” Silva said. “I tried them last year, but spilled a tray of customers’ drinks, and Sam said enough with the authenticity of the period.”

  Behind the counter, Sam was pouring drinks, wearing a swallowtail coat and black satin knee breeches tight over high boots.

  “Wow, Sam, you sure look dashing.” He gave Lelandi a broad smile. Doc Mitchell was wearing a dinner coat without tails and a satin vest. He tipped his head in greeting. Lelandi smiled back at him. “You, too, Doc. I feel like I’ve definitely traveled back in time.” Especially since the place still seemed part of the Victorian Age.

  “Ladies.” Sam kissed each of their hands in succession. “You look divine. But if Darien knew how striking Lelandi looked in that blue gown, he’d send her home.”

  “Here’s hoping no one will spill the beans.” Silva motioned to the glasses stacked underneath the bar. “Bring them out and I’ll fill them.”

  Sam motioned to Mitchell to open the door. The crowd surged forward and within minutes, the place was filled with humans and lupus garous. Laughter and conversation quickly filled the silence.

  Dressed in a tweed suit, Joe Kelly, the miner who’d paid for her bottled water the first time she’d been here, walked up to the bar with a smile. This time he was clean, not a speck of grime on his baby-round face. His gaze focused on her low-cut bodice, which sent a prickle of anxiety sparking across her skin. No matter how many times she’d tried to pull the bodice higher when she crouched to get glasses from beneath the bar, the darned thing wouldn’t
budge. And Sam had caught her in the act every time.

  “Can I have a beer?” Joe asked.

  “Sure.” Lelandi filled a glass.

  “You look a lot like your sister.”

  Triplets often did, she wanted to say. “You were her friend?”

  His eyes darkened and his mouth curved down.

  He didn’t like being thought of as Larissa’s friend? Maybe he’d stalked her and she’d turned him down. Maybe he’d hired the killer or did the job himself.

  He lifted his gaze slowly. “Will you…leave with me? I…I don’t want you to get hurt, too.”

  She assumed he’d cared for Larissa. A gut instinct. “Do you know what happened to my sister?”

  Sam moved closer to Lelandi. He didn’t look at her, just continued pouring drinks, but he had no reason to close in on her, except to hear what was being said. For her protection? Or was there more at stake?

  Joe slid Lelandi a piece of paper. She considered stuffing it in her bodice, but when Trevor showed interest in the note, she opened it. Joe bowed his head and took his beer back to his table.

  The paper was blank. Trevor seized it and Joe gave her a satisfied smile. The deputy shot Joe a blistering look. Joe lifted a shoulder.

  Trevor asked Lelandi, “What did he say to you?”

  “Why don’t you ask Sam? He’s been eavesdropping.”

  Sam gave her a reserved smile.

  Trevor’s expression darkened. “Because I’m asking you.”

  Having dealt with his kind before in her pack, she shrugged off his attempt at intimidation. Given a little power, it would go straight to their heads.

  “He wanted a beer. I gave him one. He worried for my safety. Considering what happened the last time I left this tavern, his concern probably is justified. Oh, and he said I look like my sister. No real revelation there.” She raised a brow, waiting for Trevor’s response.

  He glanced at Sam who nodded, confirming she’d spoken the truth. The deputy crumpled the note and tossed it on the bar, then walked off. Before Lelandi could grab the note, Sam did. Why? Did he think there was some secret communiqué written on the paper in invisible ink?

  Sam shoved the note in his pocket. She hoped if Joe had written anything to her in secret, he wouldn’t get in trouble for it. Unless he had a hand in her sister’s death. As much as she thought he was okay, she couldn’t rule out anyone yet.

  The stocky bitch who’d pulled Lelandi’s hair in the restroom the night she was shot sidled up to the bar. Silva was carrying a tray of drinks to a table, Sam was filling more glasses, and Lelandi set more drinks on another tray, trying to ignore Angelina.

  “Got you tending bar, I see. Earning your keep?” Angelina snarled. “Three bullets weren’t enough to keep you away, were they? What will it take?”

  Chapter 15

  LELANDI WANTED TO SHUT ANGELINA’S MOUTH FOR HER AS she leaned haughtily against the bar. In mixed company, lupus garous were careful about what they revealed. But this woman was too angry to care.

  “Three bullet wounds?” a blonde human female asked, her blue eyes round. She wore jeans, snow boots, and a tight-fitting ski sweater that showed off her ample breasts while she sat on a heavy-duty parka—not into the Victorian-era festivities it appeared. “She’s not the one everyone is talking about, is she? The one people said looked like death had claimed her?”

  “Superficial wounds.” Lelandi gave the lupus garou bitch a warning look.

  “You should have died.” Angelina grabbed a glass of Coke off the counter, and took a seat with Ritka and Hosstene. Guess Hosstene had found someone else to man her costume rental booth for the day.

  “Angelina’s a pain in the ass.” Silva left the empty tray on the counter and grabbed another full one. “It’s rumored she fears tackling you again.” She carried the tray to a table.

  “My name’s Carol Wood.” The blonde stuck her hand out.

  Lelandi’s parents had taught her not to make friends with humans. Close human involvement could cause a world of trouble—period. In all these years, she had heeded their advice and was thankful for it. The woman reminded her of a reporter, eager for a headline that would propel her into an overnight news sensation. Lelandi wiped off her hands on a dish towel and shook the woman’s hand.

  “I love your costume. I didn’t realize people were dressing up. Next year, I’ll get something. But an early snow’s coming so I was dressed for that.”

  The weatherman had said nothing about an early snow, although Lelandi and her kind could smell it coming. She wondered how this woman knew.

  Carol took a seat at the bar. “Chablis, please. So you’re…Larissa, right? The sister of Darien’s deceased wife?”

  “Yes, but I’m Lelandi. My sister was Larissa.”

  Lelandi moved away from the woman, but caught the eye of a dark-haired guy sipping a soda, watching every move she made. He wasn’t wearing a costume either, just a sweater and turtleneck and a pair of denims. But it was the intrigued way he observed her that gave her pause. She took a deep breath and breathed in his scent. A gray. And he’d been listening to her conversation with Carol.

  His expression remained serious, and he finally set his glass down and leaned against the bar closer to her. Joe raised up out of his chair, but one of his companions seized his arm and shook his head. His face scowling, Joe retook his seat.

  “Nothing is as it seems, miss. Just watch your step.” The man’s voice was friendly, but dark.

  Trevor came up behind him and growled low, “Move along.”

  The man’s lips rose in a coy way, then he bowed his head to Lelandi, and took his glass and headed to one of the tables.

  “Who is that?” Lelandi asked Sam in a hushed voice.

  He glanced at the table where the gray sat. “Chester McKinley. He’s checking out our town so he can make recommendations to his mayor of Green Valley. Why? Was he bothering you?”

  “No.”

  Chester still observed her with a cool, appraising expression. As much as she tried to ignore him, even when she went back to filling another tray of drinks for Silva, Lelandi noticed he was still studying her.

  Trevor had moved to a position near the restrooms and watched the tavern’s patrons. Mitchell stood near the front door doing the same thing as if he and Trevor were bouncers who usually served on duty. At any rate, she felt safe.

  “So is this your regular job?” Carol moved a barstool closer to where Lelandi worked.

  What was she doing here? She was supposed to find her sister’s murderer. Now she’d joined with her sister’s widowed mate and the word would soon spread throughout the pack. She’d intended to find her brother next. But at least Bruin was out of the picture. Or she assumed he was. She knew he’d retaliate against her and her parents when Larissa ran off. But she didn’t think he’d try to take Darien on for mating her.

  “I guess you were paying your condolences. I’m so sorry about your sister. I had one who suffered from severe depression. Hers was an organic thing. She finally slit her wrists and well, no more depression.” Carol offered a weak smile, but tears filled her eyes. She stared at her empty wineglass, then frowned. “Sorry. That didn’t sound very nice the way I said it. I loved my sister, but my parents doted on her, trying to ‘fix’ her, trying to placate her. Me, I was upbeat no matter the hardships that came my way so my parents acted like I never needed a support system whenever anything horrible happened in my life. My sister had nothing to complain about. Always ticked me off that she was so jealous of everyone when she had everything. But…I guess I’m still angry with her for ending her own life.” Carol handed Lelandi her empty glass. “Another Chablis?”

  “I’m sorry about your sister.” Lelandi poured another glass of wine.

  “We were really close when we were little. Then…” Carol hurriedly wiped tears away. “So…what do you normally do when you’re not filling in?”

  “Taking care of my father.”

  That left a bitternes
s in Lelandi’s mouth. She hadn’t really considered what she would do beyond looking for her sister’s murderer and finding her brother. If her mother hadn’t worked and needed Lelandi home to take care of their father, she would have worked as a…well, maybe a psychologist. Everyone used her as a sounding board for their troubles. Maybe she would be good at that. Yet, becoming Darien’s mate left her unsure of her next move.

  “Oh. Is your father sick?”

  Lelandi looked away. “He’s dead.”

  She wondered who could be so cruel to send her flowers, saying they were from her parents. Yet a crumb of hope nagged at her. What if they were truly safe? But how?

  “Oh. I’m sorry. What are you going to do now that you have no father to look after?”

  “I’ll figure it out later,” Lelandi said, not willing to reveal anything else about herself, particularly to a human. “So, what do you do?”

  “Ohmigosh, let me tell you.” Carol leaned forward and whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”

  Right, as if this woman had anything to tell her that would be worth her time. “Sure,” Lelandi said, doing her faux bartending psychology work and leaned over the counter. “What?”

  “I’m psychic, sometimes. It comes and goes,” Carol said, her voice still hushed, then she straightened and grinned.

  Lelandi stared at the woman. She didn’t believe in that stuff. Just like she figured the haunted hotel across the street was part of a big hoax, and soul mates didn’t exist. Except after making love with Darien, she was reevaluating her stance on that.

  “I don’t know why I mentioned it to you, but you seemed the sort that wouldn’t tell the world. And, well, maybe because we both lost a sister to severe depression. Means we have a connection, sort of. Plus,” Carol said, shrugged, and added, “you’re probably not planning on sticking around. Kind of like telling a stranger on an airline flight about your wildest sexual fantasies, and you’ll never see that person again.”

  Lelandi’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve done that?”