Beauty And The BBQ (The Feminine Mesquite Book 2)

by Sable Sylvan

  Abby started to put her books back when she noticed something in the window. Was that another car coming down the drive?

  Abby looked out the window.

  There was a European car, glossy and waxed, coming down the drive. It was blaring heavy metal music in another language. It had to be one of Herb’s friends, but why would they come all the way to frikkin’ Fallowedirt to make a social visit? Abby shook her head. There was no telling with shifters. They were odd folk, and the Scovilles the oddest among them, in her expert opinion.

  Abby went back to unpacking her suitcase. Alice had taken the gals shopping so that they would have changes of clothes at home, so they didn’t need to pack a suitcase each time they came home (the math worked out in favor of Alice’s plan), and Abby had picked a selection of nice looking but practical clothes. Many still hadn’t been worn. It made Abby more aware of how grimy she felt from traveling, so Abby went to take a quick shower.

  Each of the bedrooms had a small private bathroom, well, ‘small’ by Scoville standards. To be fair, the Scovilles were all tall, muscular shifters, so they needed bigger bathrooms. For Abby, the bathroom was just the right size, bigger than the bathroom the gals had shared upstairs at the last house. Alice had taken them to some fancy stores to get things like French milled soaps and French terry towels (a lot of French stuff, the French knew how to set up a bathroom), and the staff had washed the towels that Abby had used last time. There were stacks of fresh white towels for her face and for bathing, which were heated through some miracle of engineering.

  Abby took her bath and got changed into a pair of soft opaque leggings, a large, soft short-sleeved tunic top that was gray and heathered, and a chunky, warm oatmeal-colored hoodie, cable knit. As she slipped on her shearling slippers, there came a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” said Abby.

  “Abby, you won’t believe who just arrived,” said Alice, opening the door.

  “Well, it’s nearly the twenty-fourth, so…Santa?” asked Abby.

  “No, it’s Clove. You know, Herb’s brother?” said Alice. “Come down and say hi!”

  Clove. There was no frikkin’ way that Alice had just said that name. Abby pinched herself, but unfortunately, she didn’t wake up from a dream.

  “I thought that none of the brothers were coming for winter break,” said Abby.

  “That’s what makes this so special,” said Alice. “Come on down. We’re going to have tea.”

  “Tea?” asked Abby. “Really? You know this is Texas, not the Lakes District, right?”

  “Haha, real funny,” said Alice. “And you’re reading your Wordsworth, I see. Well, come on down and have a little bite. We have those jammy cookies you like.”

  “Fine, fine,” said Abby. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve still got a lot of unpacking to do.”

  * * *

  “What do you mean she is here?” asked Clove angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me she’d be here?”

  “Well, until five minutes ago, I had no clue that you would be here,” said Herb. “I didn’t think it worth mentioning…but if I had known you’d be so upset, well, I would’ve said something, naturally.”

  “There’s a hotel in town, right?” asked Clove.

  “Yes, but…” said Herb.

  “There’s always a ‘but,’ isn’t there?” asked Clove with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

  “But, the Fallowedirt Hotel is under construction,” said Herb. “They get the most business during summer and fall, so winter is the time of year when they’d perform constructions. It’s truly quite fascinating.”

  “Fascinating? Do you hear yourself? What happened to the brother I had that was always on the hunt?” asked Clove.

  “He caught what he was hunting,” said Herb with a smile.

  Clove shook his brother by the arms. Clove was strong, but Herb was sturdy as a rock and didn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong with you? A year ago, you would’ve had me on the ground for a comment like that,” said Clove. “We’d have been in our shifts by now.”

  “A lot can change in a year,” said Herb. “Or in half a year, as the case may be. Anyway, you won’t be staying elsewhere. I won’t hear of it. You did come to visit me, didn’t you?”

  “Not exactly,” admitted Clove. “My thesis is due at the end of the next semester.”

  “Naturally,” said Herb.

  “Well, I can’t concentrate at uni because there are too many people around, too much going on. In Oslo, well, you’ve lived at the Scoville Mansion. You know there’s never a dull moment, and I’d be expected to make…appearances,” said Clove, tactfully.

  “So you decided to come here to get away from everything happening in Europe, to focus on your studies,” said Herb. “And I suppose Grandpa Morten is okay with this?”

  “If he wasn’t, would I be here?” asked Clove. “And who do you think paid for the private plane…or the car out front?”

  “Let me guess, he bought it and you’re going to be leaving behind a designer car when you fly back to the UK?” asked Herb. “Some things never change.”

  “You’re not mad I’m here to work on the papers?” asked Clove.

  “Not at all,” said Herb. “Listen. Your studies come first. You’re doing the responsible thing, coming here to study. Don’t worry about working this winter break. You need to graduate, and with flying colors. You’re a Scoville. Grandpa won’t be pleased if you missed out on working for his company and then got anything less than summa cum laude. You just let us know if you need anything. Unpack after we have tea. Sit and rest a while. I know the drive from Dallas is a mess.”

  “Alice has really changed you,” said Clove. “No offense, obviously. You’re just…you’re really different, you know that?”

  “Yeah, isn’t it great?” teased Herb. “You’re going to have a wonderful break, get your papers done, and finish up strong. You’re a Scoville. Now, let’s get something in that stomach of yours. I could hear it growling over that stuff you call ‘music.’”

  “Whether you like it or not, heavy metal is the music of our people,” said Clove. This banter they had made things feel a little more normal.

  Clove followed Herb into the parlor. It was just as he remembered it. It was ornate, at least, by American standards. The help that Clove recognized from back in Norway were all smiles, and they were serving tea and biscuits.

  Clove took his seat across from Herb and was poured what he assumed was a cup of Earl Grey, the Scoville family blend, by one of the staff. He sipped at it.

  “The tea is different,” said Clove, frowning. This wasn’t the Earl Grey he was used to, not in the least.

  “Mint green tea,” said Herb. “We’re offering it at the store in a large plastic serving keg. It’s what the Americans use instead of metal samovars. It’s very cooling, so it’s a good beverage for those that can’t handle the heat.”

  Clove heard footsteps coming down the hall. Instinctively, he rose, and Herb followed suit. Old habits die hard. Clove listened. There were two people walking down the hallway. One was in nice shoes. The other was in slippers. He could scent something familiar, something forbidden, but it had to be something else. His polar roared. Of course, it wasn’t anything else, but Clove shut the bear up. It wasn’t time for the shift to take over. He’d take it on a run later. Sometimes, having a shift was like owning a big dog, a dog who thought they owned you just as much as you owned them.

  The first figure came into view. It was Alice, wearing a tea dress that was modest but didn’t hide her curves. She had on a pair of designer flats, European. Of course, they must’ve been selected for her by Herb, who, for all his faults, did have good taste.

  But the second figure was the one who took his breath away.

  She was the woman wearing slippers. She was wearing a pair of opaque leggings that were nearly the same color as her skin tone and made him think of what he knew was hidden underneath those thin scraps of fabric, which he could tear
off her as easily as his shift could take down a seal. She was wearing a long loose tunic top, gray but the solid color couldn’t hide her curves. A cream-colored hoodie was zipped up, only halfway, leaving her ample bust exposed. She flipped her hair over her shoulders, and the sweet scent of her pheromones was released like pollen by a flower, and once it hit his nose, the polar roared even more loudly. It was obvious what she wanted, and it was the same thing Clove and his shift wanted. It was the one thing he couldn’t admit that he wanted to have all to himself. It was her.

  Clove reached for his cup and sipped his tea. It was rude, but he couldn’t help it. All of a sudden, he was parched, burning from the inside. He was going to need this minty cold tea to help him cool down. He might’ve been polar, but the one woman who could make him feel like he was going to burst into flames had just entered the room.

  Chapter Two

  “My love,” said Alice, coming up to Herb, and reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss her fiancé on the cheek.

  “My mate,” said Herb, kissing Alice on the forehead, before pulling her chair out for her

  Great. His brother had just set a precedent.

  Clove looked at Abigail. It was her, after all these weeks. It had only been a matter of weeks, barely a couple of months, but it felt like it had been years, and he felt like any lover who hadn’t seen a lover in years would feel.

  “Abigail,” said Clove coldly but civilly.

  “Clove, isn’t it?” said Abigail calmly, looking at him as if she didn’t recognize him.

  Clove’s blood boiled. Was she pretending not to remember him, to remember what had happened?

  Clove pulled out the chair for Abigail.

  Abigail sat down, turned, and looked at Clove.

  “Thanks,” said Abigail, before turning back to the table. She took a hair tie off her wrist and lifted her hair up into a quick, messy ponytail that looked like sex hair. In doing so, she released yet another torturous wave of her scent into the air.

  Clove sipped at his tea again as the trio made small talk. He looked at the cookies and picked a jam biscuit. He nibbled at it. The berries were odd, purple, unlike the bjørnebær of his native land, the ‘bear berry’ the Anglophones called a ‘blackberry.’ This was much sweeter and tannic. The flavor was rich, not overwhelmed by any added sugar.

  “Do you like them?” asked Alice.

  “What, the biscuit?” said Clove.

  “Biscuit? You mean cookie, right?” asked Abigail.

  “Biscuit, bis-kay, cookie, cook-ay,” said Alice. “Same difference.”

  “Yes, they’re quite delicious,” said Clove, ignoring Abigail, or at least trying to…and failing. “What kind of jam is in the cookies?”

  “They’re made with måriønbær, Marionberries,” explained Herb. “They’re from the Pacific Northwest region of this country.”

  “They’re good,” admitted Clove. “So you import them?”

  “For now, but we’re working on growing some in a greenhouse,” said Alice. “You know, indoor gardening and whatnot have been so popular everywhere as of late! I wonder why.”

  “We’re going to have Marionberries?” asked Abigail. “They’re my favorite.”

  “That’s part of why we’ll have them,” said Herb. “I was serious. This house is for all ten of us…or, for the next two weeks, all four of us. Have you two given any thought as to what you’ll do with your shared room?”

  “I’m using it to study,” said Clove, as if there was no room for discussion.

  “Don’t you have a desk in your room?” asked Abigail, arms crossed.

  “Yes, but I require more room for studying,” said Clove. “I can’t study in the same room I sleep in. It’s silly, but…”

  “…But Abby’s the same way!” said Alice. “How fun, you two can study together. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I guess,” said Clove.

  “Just let us know what furniture you need,” said Alice. “We can even go shopping. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “I have lots of work to do,” said Clove.

  “Shopping sounds like tons of fun,” said Abigail. “And we’ll be able to get stuff that same day, no need to wait. After all, we want to start working on our papers as quickly as possible, right, Clove?”

  She’d addressed him for the first time, but why did it sound like she was making a threat?

  “Yes, the sooner we start them, the sooner we finish them,” said Clove.

  “I’m thinking bright pink and gold, very girly,” said Abigail. “Sequins, glitter, fake fur everywhere. Oh, and of course, we’ll need some leopard print and fake tiger print, in cotton candy colors, pink and blue. After all, we need something cheery for the winter.”

  Was this chick serious? Well, if Clove was going to be imprisoned, he might as well pick the decor for his cell.

  “We’ll see,” said Clove. “Alice, a shopping trip sounds lovely. I’d love to see more of America and accompany you and Miss Abigail if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Well, the more, the merrier!” said Alice. “Herb can come too so we can use his truck for big stuff like flat-packs.”

  “Wonderful,” said Clove, sipping his tea again. He caught a look at Abigail. She wasn’t good at hiding her emotions. It was obvious that Clove wasn’t the only one who needed the minty tea to cool down.

  * * *

  Three Days Later

  The quad had gone shopping for furniture at the local chains and a few boutiques and some thrift stores. While Abby had picked a few girl things, she hadn’t gone for the loud colors and designs she had mentioned earlier. She’d picked out some nice jewel-toned pieces and some pieces made of hardwood, finding the bulk of her items at a local thrift store as a family had moved out of town and dumped a bunch of traditional looking furniture. Clove had selected most of his items at a store specializing in cheap flat-packed furniture. Abby had picked a desk from the flat-pack store, too. When they got home, both arranged their rooms quietly.

  Abigail and Clove had been civil to each other over the past few days. They’d had their meals together, but after that, they went to their respective rooms to study. Of course, their siblings were right. They couldn’t study well in their bedrooms, so Abigail and Clove went around the house with their laptops to study in the different areas, but they kept on running into each other. It was hard to avoid one another as they weren’t talking. It was like a game of cat and mouse, except the question was, who was the cat and who was the mouse?

  However, after they got their furniture, they were stuck in the same room together, setting things up. Clove had been Shanghaied into carrying furniture up the stairs with Herb. Abby and Allie carried the lighter stuff into the house with the help of the staff. Abby and Clove had both chosen to set the room up without any help. Abby had moved her existing desk chair into the room to look at her pile of goods and figure out how to set them up and in what order, ever so often getting up to move something, leaving the goods that needed to be assembled for last.

  Clove had chosen just to start assembling stuff, so he put on music. It was the same loud music he had been blaring when he drove up the driveway. It made it hard for Abby to think about what she was doing. She was already trying to ignore Clove, but the only thing harder than ignoring a man who was admittedly super sexy and on his knees, working on putting together furniture, was the fact that man was playing loud music she did not personally care for.

  Abby sighed and rubbed her temples, and looked at her stuff. She moved the desk a little bit. She rearranged where she had put her armchair, and where the shelf for her thesis books was going to go. Clove couldn’t be more frustrated. She had pretty much all her furniture made. The least she could do is just put the things where they obviously belonged. Was she trying to psych him out? Was this a frikkin’ mind game for her? If it was, it was working.

  Abby sighed again.

  That was it. Clove had to get up.

  “Here,” said Clove, moving her desk to th
e place it obviously belonged. He moved her bookshelves, too.

  “Hey, stop,” said Abby, going up to Clove and pulling his arm away. That was her first mistake. She felt his firm, warm muscles through his shirt.

  Clove looked down. Was Abby really frikkin’ touching him? He looked at her.

  “You know where the stuff goes, so just put it in the right places,” said Clove before readjusting her desk. “Huh.”

  “Huh what?” asked Abby, taking her hand off his arm and putting it on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your desk isn’t sturdy,” said Clove. “It was sturdier in store. Did you put it together yourself?”

  “Yeah,” said Abby. “But it’s fine.”

  “It isn’t,” said Clove. “And I don’t want to be the one responsible for picking it up off of you when it falls. Move your chair.”

  Abby went to her office chair and rolled it away from the center of her side of the room.

  Clove carried the desk with two hands and put it down on the carpeted floor carefully.

  “There’s your problem. The screws aren’t tight enough,” said Clove, pulling an Allen wrench out of his pocket and tightening the bolts before putting the desk back up. “See?” Clove took Abby’s hand and placed it on the desk, and moved her hand around. It didn’t jiggle anymore.

  Clove’s hands were rougher than Abby remembered, and as he pulled his hands away, she saw the undersides of his palms. They were his marks, his shifter marks. Every shifter had two kinds of marks. One kind marked the species, the other, who their fated mate would be. The latter was called a mate mark. Abby had only ever seen a few before, and she’d never seen any of the Scoville mate marks. After all, bear shifter marks were on chests. This was true of all bears, from grizzlies to pandas, and polars were no exception.

  Clove put the desk back where it belonged.