Fated for the Phoenix: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 5)

by Isadora Montrose

  Besides, Samantha started work on Monday. The job as Dr. Peterson’s nurse was waiting for her. Samantha had a feeling that Rafael was going to hit the roof when she told him. But she could sense a restlessness in him too. He needed occupation. Not that being a father to their daughter wasn’t pretty much a full-time job. But he needed something more. As she did. She hoped nursing would provide it.

  Rafael hadn’t noticed the change in her, for which she was grateful. He assumed that she could still read him telepathically. That they were attuned psychically. Not so much. Never again. That was the price a unicorn paid for breaking her horn. A price she had paid gladly and would pay again. This grief was just foolish, ungrateful self-indulgence. A unicorn accepts what cannot be cured.

  Since she had given him the tip of her horn, Rafael had had the occasional bad night, but no more waking nightmares. His spirits seldom dipped, and when they did, they never plunged as low as they had been when she feared for his life. He was almost 100 percent healed. Almost. She thought that in the fullness of time their relationship and living in Mystic Bay would cure him completely. Not to mention having her horn in his heart.

  She, on the other hand, had completely lost her gifts. But not her training nor her urge to heal. It was ironic that after four years of feeling too weak emotionally to deal with the mentally ill, she now wanted nothing more. This position at the clinic would have to suffice. It was nursing of a kind. And it was better to be a unicorn who could no longer heal, or share the thoughts of other unicorns, than to be a widow. Much better.

  Suck it up, Buttercup.

  The splashing in the bathtub increased. Carmody’s treble raised in a joyful bathtime song. Rafael’s deeper voice spun the tune into a lullaby. Soon he would wrap their little girl up in a towel and put her to bed. For the first time in her life, Carmody was going willingly to bed and to sleep. As if all she had ever needed was to be sung to by her dad.

  Samantha gathered up the few bits and pieces that Carmody had left on the carpet when she and her dad had sung the cleaning up song. She dumped them in the toy box and poked her head into Carmody’s bedroom. Her daughter was wearing her nightgown and sitting on her father’s lap listening to the story he was reading. Her pale curls were still damp. Her violet eyes drooped.

  Rafael greeted her with a smile. Carmody with a frown. “Not yet, Mommy, we hafta get to the good part.”

  “I’ll come back in a bit,” Samantha said. As she walked away, she tried not to feel a little jealous of how easily Carmody had transferred her allegiance.

  Her bedroom was neat as a pin even though she was sharing it with Rafael. They had both agreed that looking for a bigger house should wait until Carmody had completely adjusted to having two parents. Looked like they could start house hunting any minute now. She wiped at the tear rolling down her cheek.

  It was just not like her to be so overemotional. Had she lost her unicorn composure along with thought sharing and healing? Suck it up, Buttercup. Try for a little maturity.

  Rafael had left his little chamois bag on his night table next to his watch. She picked it up. To her surprise it wasn’t empty. She tipped out the Egg of Immortality. It was just a scrap of rock.

  It lay on her hand like a bit of reddish-black glass polished smooth by the ocean. Rafael had promised it would turn her into an immortal phoenix who would share a telepathic bond with her mate, but it was hard to believe.

  She sighed. He had offered it to her on Hawaii. But not here. Even though he pulled it out and played with it often. Especially when he felt a bit low. She could tell he treasured it. But apparently he no longer wished for a phoenix bride. He had changed his mind about transforming her, and who could blame him, after all he had been through and her own betrayal?

  In Carmody’s room, Rafael finished reading the story of The Runaway Bunny. Samantha pinned a smile to her face and rejoined them. Carmody snuggled into her dad and sighed as loudly as Samantha had done.

  “I’s not a bunny,” she murmured sleepily. “I’s a unicorn. Would you look for me if I runned away?”

  “Always.” Rafael kissed the top of her head. He stood up with Carmody in his arms and began to hum. “Do you want to kiss Mommy goodnight?”

  Carmody turned her face up for a kiss. “I love you,” she said.

  “And I love you,” Samantha said.

  Rafael made room in his arms for Samantha. He kissed them both. “Sleepy time,” he sang. He put Carmody down on her bed and held Samantha’s hand. “Good night, daughter.”

  Should she discuss the egg with him? Probably not. If she could still read him, she would know whether or not asking to be transformed would distress him. His arm came around her and led her out of Carmody’s room.

  “Do you think we should turn in early?” He leered at her.

  The doorbell rang.

  “We could pretend we’re not here,” he suggested. But he was already moving to open the door.

  It was her parents. Mom was wearing her severest expression. Dad’s purple eyes were twinkling from behind her. He was cool about whatever had brought them here. Mom was on the warpath. Samantha really, really didn’t want to deal with this tonight.

  “Is Carmody up?” Dad asked hopefully.

  “It’s way past a foal’s bedtime, and well you know it, Parsifal,” Mom said briskly.

  “Fast asleep, Dad,” Samantha whispered.

  Mom marched into the house and looked around critically. Samantha knew her house was a bit shabby. The beige paint was the landlord’s idea of neutral. The rugs had been well-worn before she was born. The couch was lumpy and its upholstery shot, just like both armchairs. She had furnished the rental with castoffs. But they had been free. And everything was clean.

  Rafael bent and kissed her mother on the cheek. Just as if her disapproval hadn’t registered. “I didn’t know you were coming over,” he remarked pleasantly as he offered a hand to Dad. “What a great surprise.”

  Dad chuckled. “I told you we should call first.”

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Samantha murmured.

  “Not for me,” Mom said firmly. “You know I wouldn’t sleep a wink.”

  “I’ll make herbal tea then.” Samantha whisked herself to the kitchen before she said something unpleasant. And before her dad could hug her and discover the truth. By the time she came back out with the teapot and cups she had herself under control.

  “I hope that doesn’t have valerian in it,” Mom said. “I don’t want your father drowsy on the road.”

  “It’s straight peppermint,” Samantha said through her teeth. She sat down beside Araminta and poured, keeping a couple of inches of space between them.

  “I was just saying to Rafael that this house was only intended to be temporary,” Mom said.

  Rafael grinned at her. “I kind of like it. It’s homey. And it has a great yard.”

  “Thank you,” Samantha managed.

  “What Araminta means, Rafael,” Parsifal cut in smoothly, “Is that Morley Parker was in the Crab Hut tonight running off at the mouth about the very generous allowance you have arranged for Samantha. Seems we are the last folks in Mystic Bay to find out your people are rich.”

  “We do okay,” Rafael said dismissively. “And a bank manager should not be blabbing his customers’ private financial information.”

  Morley owned and was president of the only bank in Mystic Bay. “They don’t call him Nosy Parker for nothing,” Samantha explained. “He can’t help himself. Even though he’s the bank president. He’s almost as big a gossip as Margery Starkman.” She named Mom’s best friend without a qualm or a single flash of guilt. It appeared there was an upside to losing her unicorn gifts.

  “I have not set up an allowance for Samantha,” Rafael objected. “I have shared my income with her. Big difference.”

  “Hmph. Well, I don’t appreciate being the last to know,” muttered Mom. “And this house will not do for the son of General George D’Angelo.”

  “Tha
t would be my uncle,” Rafael crossed one leg over his knee. “My father is only a Colonel.”

  “Still.” Mom gave the living room a squinty glare.

  The conversation went downhill after that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Rafael~

  He managed not to bang the door behind his in-laws, barely, but barely counted. Kudos for showing a little self-control, D’Angelo. He locked the door and for good measure drove home the heavy bolts at the top and bottom of the door. What they needed were strings of garlic to keep Araminta out of his happy home.

  At least it had been happy until she showed up. He wasn’t sure he had caught all the nuances of the situation. Some major mother-daughter conflict with himself dead center. He had been a bit preoccupied by the knowing look Parsifal had given him when they shook hands.

  Parsifal’s purple eyes had widened and narrowed. “We won’t say anything to Araminta yet,” he murmured softly. “She already has more than enough to upset her.”

  Rafael thought he understood what Parsifal meant. And it seemed obvious that if one hybrid grandchild distressed his mother-in-law, two might send her around the twist. But Parsifal might have acted a bit happier about Samantha’s pregnancy himself.

  “That went well,” Rafael muttered to Samantha as he checked the back door and slid the bolts in place.

  She was rinsing the teacups at the sink. She laughed bitterly. And then she was crying.

  “Hey, sweetheart. What is it?” He pulled her, rubber gloves and sponge and all, into his arms, ignoring the damp patch she created on his shirt. Tears? Or dishwater? He rocked her.

  “Hush. It’s all right,” he promised helplessly.

  She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. Tried to pull out of the circle of his arms. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what gotten into me.”

  He kept her close. Kissed her hair and breathed in her fragrance. Should he tell her he knew? Probably not. He had a suspicion that she would like to make an announcement in her own time. “It’s okay,” he said again.

  “Don’t mind Mom,” she said into his shirt front. “She has this thing about her standing in the community.”

  “I sort of gathered that a hunter son-in-law was about as déclassé as it gets around here. But I also got the impression tonight that my money makes up for it.”

  “Oh, yeah. Money talks.” She drew a shaky breath that ended on a sob.

  “You know,” he stroked her back, tried to make a joke. “I kinda thought that unicorns were above that sort of shallowness.”

  She hiccupped. “No one is above money.” Her voice was bitter.

  Oops. She was not ready to laugh. “Your dad doesn’t seem to care.”

  “You’re right.” She sighed. “Dad really only wants for me to be safe and happy. Carmody too.”

  “And you are. Right?”

  “Right. I better finish those dishes.” But she made no move to return to the sink. “Is it too much to ask that she love Carmody?” she demanded.

  “Nope. Your dad clearly adores her. Me too. There’s not much you can do about the one person who doesn’t feel it.” He squeezed her tightly.

  “She’s a good kid, isn’t she?”

  “The best. Smart too. I can’t wait for her to meet her cousins.”

  “Huh?”

  “My sister’s kids. We need to stage some sort of family-centered occasion so my family can meet you and Carmody. I was thinking we could have a wedding reception in the fall, but if you want we could do it sooner. Mom and Dad are threatening to fly out to meet you and Carmody, I’ve held them off, but...”

  She blinked at him. “You want to do a wedding reception here? In Mystic Bay?”

  “It is traditional. But you can choose.”

  “Give me a moment.”

  He rocked her gently. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

  “Where would they stay?” she asked. “There’s no room here.”

  Her little bungalow had only two bedrooms. Both small. “The Tidewater Inn?” he suggested. “I guess we’d have to set it up with Robin Fairchild. I understand she’s booked clear to Labor Day.”

  “She could probably find a cabin or a room for two people earlier than that,” Samantha told his shirt. “Why don’t you invite just your parents for now? When they are here, we could discuss a party.”

  She was being practical, but he wasn’t fooled. She wasn’t exactly reluctant, just forlorn. Araminta’s attitude had upset her. Well, it had upset him too. He rubbed her back. “Your mom will come around,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Samantha~

  She was tired and grouchy when she got out of her little hatchback. Rafael had been after her to upgrade, but although her car was a shade elderly, it had lots of life left in it and she was used to it. Carmody erupted from the front door and raced to the driveway as Samantha backed her car into the garage next to Rafael’s black behemoth.

  Rafael caught up to Carmody and held her hand tightly until Samantha turned the car off. He squeezed past the garden equipment hanging on the wall to open her door for her. Carmody did her dance of joy and squealed.

  “Mommy, Mommy, we made dinner,” she shouted.

  Samantha bent to receive her welcome-home kisses. She scooped Carmody up and hugged her.

  “Daddy, why is Mommy crying?”

  Rafael didn’t try to take Carmody from her, he just put his arm around Samantha and their daughter and guided them out of the tight space onto the driveway. “Mommy’s had a rough day, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “Let’s get her a cold drink and let her put her feet up.”

  Not to be left out, Carmody bellowed, “I hadded a rough day too.”

  “Did you?” Samantha said. She wanted to wipe her face, but her hands were full with her purse and Carmody. Her daughter’s voice was penetrating her eardrums like a drill, but she didn’t want to lose the comfort of her sturdy little body.

  Rafael let her walk halfway to the front door before he scooped Carmody out of her arms. “You sit down and take it easy,” he advised. “We’re about forty minutes from dinner.”

  As soon as he opened the door, she was met by a blast of food smells. She gagged and ran for the bathroom. Afterward she stripped off her scrubs and hit the shower. The smell was just as vile when she went back out.

  “What are you cooking?” She winced at the shrillness of her voice. That wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

  “Zanyah,” shrieked Carmody. “I helped Daddy!” She danced a jig while Rafael held her hand and smiled patiently.

  “Keep it down, honey,” he said calmly. “Mommy doesn’t feel well.” His puzzled eyes met Samantha’s. “Do you have a headache?”

  “You’re cooking meat in my house,” she said.

  “I like meat,” shouted Carmody.

  Rafael pushed Carmody toward the back door. “You go play in the sandbox until supper,” he said. “Stay in the backyard.”

  Carmody rushed through the open door like a rocket.

  “She’ll get filthy,” Samantha warned.

  “I know where the soap is. What’s wrong?” Rafael asked. “I thought you were cool with other people eating meat.”

  “Not today. What did you put in that thing?”

  His frown cleared. His face remained impassive but there was a distinct undercurrent of masculine amusement in the air. “I made you a salad. Why don’t you have a nap until suppertime? I’ll air out the house, and Carmody and I will eat our lasagna out in the yard.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Don’t.” Damn it. She was about to cry. She turned on her heel. “I’ll take that nap,” she threw over her shoulder.

  By the time she got to the bedroom she was weeping again. She flung herself on the bed and pushed her face into the pillow to muffle her noisy sobs. What on earth was wrong with her? Shouting at Rafael and Carmody? Of course,
they deserved it for being so loud and filling the house with the smell of dead things. She pulled the sides of the pillow over her ears and fell asleep on her stomach.

  The house was quiet when she woke. The window was dark. So was the room. What on earth had gotten into her to fall asleep for so long? And why hadn’t Rafael had enough sense to wake her? She was never going to get to sleep tonight. She groped awkwardly for the lamp switch in the dark. Realized she was on Rafael’s side of the bed and sat up to turn his lamp on.

  His watch and chamois bag were resting in the little square dish he used to keep his stuff neat. She opened the bag. The egg hadn’t changed. It was still a smooth irregular oval. And he still hadn’t offered it to her. Her hand closed over it. It had become plainer every day that he had married her only to get his hands on Carmody.

  That led to another round of tears. The last time she had cried this much was when she heard his chopper was missing. She cried harder. Rafael poked his head around the door. She wiped futilely at her tear-blubbed face. He sat beside her and hugged her against his side. Kissed her ear. Just as if she was Carmody. She put her face on his shoulder and cried harder.

  “Samantha, darling, what’s the matter?” He let her cry without answering him. “You should eat something. You’ll probably feel better if you have something inside you.”

  Must he treat her like a child? “I can decide for myself if I need to eat.”

  “Of course.” There was a chuckle in his voice, even if he had too much sense to laugh openly. “Would you like some salad? We ate outside and I aired the kitchen and sprayed that stuff that takes away smells.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the table. The salad was good. He sat and watched her eat. Kept refilling her water glass. And told her about his day.

  “Is that all you did?” she snapped. “Drank coffee and gossiped?”