Angel and Slate

by Carina Wilder

  Not just a grizzly shifter. A grizzly shifter and his kid.

  What a crazy notion.

  They had nothing in common, after all. He was in construction; she was an artist. They couldn’t have been more different. But as her eyes caught the back of her house, she laughed at her overly analytical brain. Was this how it felt to become a responsible adult? Questioning things like compatibility, creating lists of reasons not to date a man before she’d even met him? What was happening to her love of adventure?

  “Well, at the very least I could use a construction worker around here,” she muttered. The house’s paint was peeling off, and some of the siding had come loose. The place had been around for decades, and by all accounts it hadn’t seen any serious work in some time, which was why she’d been able to afford it. Had she been more handy she would have attempted the renovations herself. But repairs were outside of her wheelhouse, to say the least. Even her painting was limited to canvas and easels; walls and wooden siding were too daunting and huge.

  She began to pad back through the tall grass just as a woman’s form came around the side of the house. Renée. Angel grinned, waving to her friend as she picked up her pace to a jog.

  “Always frolicking, you,” said Renée, who stood and waited. “Like a little kid.”

  “Mornings like this make me into one. Do you remember what it was like, having no responsibilities, not knowing what a utility bill was? That’s how I feel—felt, anyhow, for a minute or two. It’s my therapy.”

  “I know what you mean.” Renée let out a sigh. “Anyhow, I saw you out the window and of course no one at my place is awake yet, so I thought I’d come over and pester you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” said Angel, crossing her arms over her oversized cardigan. The slight chill in the air was reminding her that heading inside and brewing some coffee might be a good idea.

  She opened the creaky back screen door and both women ventured into the kitchen, the door bouncing a few times before settling into its frame.

  “I should get that fixed,” said Angel.

  “Why? It’s cottagey. A house isn’t a proper country home until it’s got a banging screen door.”

  “All right, I’ll give you that. Still, I feel like every time it slams the whole place will come crashing down on my head.”

  “So let it. It’ll give you an excuse to rebuild, after you heal from the massive trauma.”

  Angel let out a bitter laugh. “An excuse to live in a pile of rubble is more like it. I can’t really afford to build a place at the moment.” She filled the carafe with water and poured it into the coffee maker. “I need to sell some more paintings first.”

  “How’s your work going, anyhow?” Renée asked as she seated herself at the small kitchen table.

  “Slowly, but painfully. I’ve been a little stuck lately, somehow.”

  “Well, it sounds like you need some inspiration. Hey—speaking of which, did you ever call Miri?”

  “Oh yeah.” Angel flicked the switch on the coffee maker and took a seat across from her friend. “I forgot to tell you—it all happened so fast.”

  “So tell me. What exactly did happen?”

  “She hooked me up via webcam and I watched the two interviews.”

  A sly smile spread over Renée’s features. “And I’ll bet I know how that went.”

  “Yeah, it was essentially man porn. Those shifters are—”

  “Demi-gods. Don’t I know it.”

  “Wait a minute—you dated one once, didn’t you?” Angel recalled Renée’s stories of dating a lion shifter years earlier, who’d been a legend in bed and had taken some time to get over.

  “Yeah, and he was…well, he was something. But of course, he wasn’t into a human in the end. Still, while it lasted, it was sure a lot of fun. So tell me, did you pick one of the guys to inflict on your family?”

  “More like he’ll have the family inflicted on him. And yes, I did. A grizzly shifter. Completely the opposite of any man I’ve ever gone out with. He’s big, handsome, strong and builds things.”

  “Sounds pretty great. Why do I detect a downside?”

  “Because he sounds pretty great.”

  “Okay, now you’re just confusing me, Angel.”

  “I wanted to maybe find a few weeks of pleasure—good times—you know me, I’m hardly a commitment type of gal. I play and romp around with a guy for a little and then run away. I like my freedom. I like my morning walks.”

  “Does it ever occur to you that you might like walks even better if you took them with someone?”

  “No.” Rising to check on the coffee, Angel laughed. “I suppose it could be nice. I’m just not so sure. I’ve lived this way all my adult life.”

  “And now you’re afraid of turning into your sister.”

  Angel froze. It was true—the realization had never entirely struck her, but now as Renée said it, she knew that it was a simple fact. Linda was everything that she didn’t want to be. Mired in the traditional notion that a woman must find a husband. She must produce offspring. She must achieve financial success and her hair must be styled just so. She was the antithesis of how Angel wanted to live. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I suppose I am.”

  “Well, don’t be. You’ll never send out gold-lettered wedding invitations, for one thing. If it were you, they’d be written in finger paint and probably contain at least one f-bomb. ‘You are cordially fucking invited to the wedding of…’”

  The two women cracked up as Angel poured coffee into their respective cups. “Damn straight I would. And no white wedding dresses for me. I’d wear red, at the very least. Anyhow, yeah, I suppose there’s no risk of turning into her. Still, I haven’t told you the craziest thing about the bear shifter.”

  “Oh?”

  “He has a kid.”

  Renée’s jaw dropped open. This was news. “You’re going on a date with a father?”

  “A widowed father of a young daughter, yes. Is that stupid?”

  “It might be. People with kids are…”

  “They’re what? Psycho killers? They taste like halibut?”

  “They’re mature. They’re responsible. They’re…”

  “Totally not like me.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Look—you bought this house. You look after yourself. You’re very responsible. It’s just—you wouldn’t be his top priority. His daughter would.”

  “It’s true, I wouldn’t. But hey—this is just me looking for a date to a wedding, not a lifelong commitment.”

  “Well, be careful. The only thing worse than falling in love with a man is falling in love with his child. Remember that you’d be breaking up with both of them.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Angel. “The wedding’s in two weeks. We can have some fun then shake hands and go our separate ways. I’m not worried.”

  The last statement, of course, was a bold-faced lie.

  * * *

  She spent a productive afternoon alone in her studio, a brightly-lit sunroom with windows on three sides. Apparently, it had been built as an addition onto the original house, and it was Angel’s favourite space.

  Her morning romp had inspired a new painting: a landscape, its foreground a field dotted with wildflowers. Its sky would be an impossible blue, hopeful, rich and lovely.

  She seldom painted landscapes, though they sold well. They were somehow too easy, and she found herself rarely in the mood for easy, preferring to challenge herself with abstract canvases; many colours overlaid into swirling vortexes of rich reds, blues, oranges and violets. But of course, while many looked at them and praised them as lovely, interesting and even thought-provoking, few wanted them hung on their walls.

  As she pulled back from the landscape, she had to concede that it was good. Peaceful, tranquil. A soothing piece that didn’t coincide in the least with her stress over her sister’s forthcoming nuptials. Somehow with thoughts of her date tonight, she’d managed to forget about all that nonsense.r />
  Shit. The date.

  She looked at her watch. It was 5:18 p.m. and Slate would arrive at seven.

  Angel washed her brushes and made her way to her bathroom to clean herself up. Looking in the mirror, she assessed her face. What, she wondered, would a male grizzly shifter think of her? She was resoundingly human, after all. At least she felt it at times. All the vulnerabilities tied up with being limited to this body.

  She’d always envied shifters their ability to morph out of human skin, into something stronger, something with sharp teeth, fur and fangs. It must feel deeply satisfying.

  Her blond hair trickled in waves over her shoulders, and one lock had managed to get stuck together with a dab of blue paint. Angel laughed as she tried to peel it away. Great way to make a first impression, she thought.

  Slate was at a disadvantage here; she’d seen him and heard him speak, so she had a preconceived idea of the man. To him, she was a faceless, voiceless entity. But then, he was still a bit of an enigma himself. Only once during his interview had she seen a trace of playfulness—and once during their texting.

  I’ll make it my mission to bring him out of that shell, she decided. To get him dancing, laughing, and maybe loosening up in other, more intimate ways.

  She peeled her clothing off, turning on the taps in the bathtub in preparation for a shower. As she caught sight of herself once again in the mirror, she smiled. Her curves, which had always been a nuisance and a source of derision from her sister, might actually please a grizzly shifter. For years she’d tortured herself over her ass—even a free spirit had the right to dislike a particularly round one, after all—but now she found joy in peering at its reflection over her shoulder.

  But the smile came for another reason, as well. She realized that her goal for the evening was to make another person happy. It wasn’t about sex, or the shallowness of spending time with a handsome man. It was about the face that she’d seen in the interview, and finding a way to bring light to it.

  And she’d do it if it killed her.

  Chapter 6

  “I won’t be late,” Slate said as he kissed Ruby on the forehead, his enormous palm on her cheek. Her eyes gazed up at him, almond-shaped and enormous. Just like her mother, this one—except, of course, for her shifting ability.

  “It’s okay, Daddy—Christine will look after me.” The sitter’s name came out sounding more like Kwistine. Some part of Slate dreaded the day when his little girl would learn to articulate those Rs with precision and begin to sound like someone else. Someone grown up.

  “I know she will,” he said, his gaze turning to the other adult in the room. “I’ll call if I’m going to be home after midnight. You know where the food is, and you have my number in case of emergencies.”

  “All good,” she said. “Have fun.”

  He turned away and walked to his pickup, taking several steps before he realized that he’d been grinding his jaw. As he got in and started the engine, the truck growled as though to ask, “Are you quite sure about this?”

  “I hear ya, big guy,” mumbled Slate, waving a last good-bye to his daughter, whose small hand waved in turn. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent time with any female other than Ruby, but I’ve got to bite the bullet sometime.”

  The truck eased out of the driveway, surrendering to his command, and he was on his way.

  So, this woman Angel was a complete unknown. She might be short, bald, unibrowed, pure evil, even. But something about Miri had reassured him; somehow he got the impression that she wouldn’t set up her clients with women who were less than kind. As for her looks, he spent the bulk of the drive reminding himself that looks weren’t important.

  Now, attraction, on the other hand—that was significant. Chemistry and all that. And not only for him, but for Ruby. She’d have to enjoy Angel, too. But he was getting ahead of himself, the little voices digging far too deep into his mind. He’d have to see this Angel, to scent her, to speak to her properly, before coming to any conclusions about compatibility.

  He drove for about twenty minutes, listening to music and singing along in an attempt to rid his mind of the stresses of what was about to occur. It was hardly a manly trait to feel nervous like this, let alone a grizzly trait. And yet there was no helping the sentiment; he wanted to impress her. He wanted to come off as more than a big, burly bear of a man.

  Eventually he came to Stone Road and turned onto its rough surface, wondering still if he was making a mistake. Maybe he could turn back, run away, get out of this.

  Maybe he was better off in a state of eternal solitude.

  But he kept going, jaw set, mind determined. He was no coward; he’d raised a daughter alone for years. If he could do that, this should be easy.

  And as he turned into the driveway and saw the woman he was there to meet, he knew that the stress had been worthwhile. His headlights illuminated her, standing in front of the house, watchful eyes set first on his truck then on his face.

  Angel, indeed.

  The name suited her, as it turned out; sunlight filtering in a shallow halo of blond around her head, her eyes bright, light blue and large. Her brows were a shade or two darker than her hair, defined, playful and inquisitively raised as she watched the truck pull up.

  And her body? Well, it set things in motion in his that hadn’t creaked into gear in a long, long time. The inward hourglass of her waist—the roundness of those hips, those thighs, highlighted by the form-fitting jeans.

  No, he said quietly. Do not react to her before stepping out of the truck. Do not get out of your vehicle with a hard-on. Erections are not welcome.

  Yet.

  * * *

  Angel watched the red pickup truck pull into the driveway and immediately stepped out through the house’s front door, realizing too late that she had no idea where they were going. And so she’d dressed safely: jeans, ankle boots and a light sweater under a dark jacket. Her leather purse was hooked over her right shoulder.

  For a moment, she had the horrible thought that Slate could pull in and out again without stopping, if he didn’t like what he saw. That by stepping outside the house, she was giving him the opportunity to judge her right there, in that moment. But maybe that was good. He should know what he was in for; after all, she knew. It was only fair.

  But he didn’t drive away. Instead he turned off the truck’s engine and opened the door, climbing out.

  She’d seen him on camera, of course, hulking over Miri. So she knew that he was big. But it wasn’t until she walked up to him that his full mass struck her. He was a beast. A sexy beast with curious eyes and a shyness about him that made her want to kiss him on the spot, just to break the ice. Or hug him, though a full-on embrace from the likes of him might engulf her to the point where she disappeared from view of anyone around them, never to be heard from again.

  As she stepped forward, the so far silent man froze, his right hand atop the truck as his left reached for hers, presumably to shake it. But Angel was having none of that. She threw an arm around his neck, squeezing him until she felt a large forearm slip around her back.

  “Hi?” he said, the greeting coming as a question more than anything else.

  “Hi,” she laughed, pulling back to take him in and to give him a chance to assess her. “Sorry, I can’t deal with shaking your hand. It seems way too formal. I know we haven’t exactly talked for hours, but I’m not keen on being cold and distant.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just not used to…”

  “Having women throw themselves at you? I can’t believe that for a second.”

  “No, it’s true. Let’s just say that I don’t spend a lot of time around women. Ladies. Females. Whatever you people are.”

  Angel snorted. “Well then, here’s hoping I don’t wear you out with my womanness. Speaking of which, where are we going?”

  “I thought we could have some dinner,” he said. “There’s a new place downtown…”

  “Perfect.” Angel slipped ar
ound to the passenger door. “I love dinner.”

  Slate followed her, pulling the door open before she had a chance.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a gentleman, I see.”

  “Not so gentle. But I am a man.”

  “Yes, you certainly are.” When she’d slipped in, he closed the door and came around to his side, sliding in beside her.

  “So,” he said as he backed the truck out of the driveway.

  “So,” she replied, looking sideways at him.

  “So.”

  Nervous fingers drummed the steering wheel, and once again, Angel felt a need to shatter the ice. She turned to him, smiling. “So I feel like, generations from now, parents will still be explaining to their kids that if a first date starts with three or more utterances of ’so,’ they shouldn’t hold out hope that it’ll go far. Add to that your twitchy fingers, and we’re off to a magnificent start to this evening of ours.”

  Slate chuckled. The dimples formed in his five o’clock shadow, and Angel was already congratulating herself for the small triumph that a smile wrought.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked, twisting her torso to face him full on, pulling against the seat belt.

  “If I say yes, does it make me less of a man?”

  “Even if there were a third less of you, you’d still be more man than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Okay, then. Yes, I’m nervous. Of course I am.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t done this in a long time, for one thing. A date, I mean. Not for a decade. And I didn’t expect that my first date would be with…”

  His voice stopped abruptly, silence permeating the air around them. But Angel’s curiosity got the better of her.

  “With what?” she asked. “A blonde? A painter? A crazy person?”

  “A total hottie.”

  She burst into laughter. “Never before has anyone called me a ‘total hottie,’” she said when she could manage it.

  Slate turned her way for a moment, his eyes scanning her up and down. “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Yup,” she nodded. “Unless it was behind my back.”