Broken Lynx (Green Valley Shifters Book 5)

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Broken Lynx (Green Valley Shifters Book 5) Page 1

by Zoe Chant




  Broken Lynx

  Zoe Chant

  Copyright © 2020 by Zoe Chant

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Green Valley Shifters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  A Thank You from Zoe

  Shifting Sands Resort

  The Dragon Prince of Alaska

  Fae Shifter Knights

  Shape Shifters: Vol 1

  Sneak Preview of The Dragon Prince of Alaska…

  Green Valley Shifters

  Green Valley Shifters is a series of gentle, funny, found-family standalone short shifter novels with single dads, spinsters, and sweet second chances. They can be read independently, but you may enjoy them most in this order:

  Dancing Bearfoot (Book 1)

  The Tiger Next Door (Book 2)

  Dandelion Season (Book 3)

  Bearly Together (Book 4)

  Broken Lynx (Book 5)

  1

  “There is no jam,” Devon said in deep frustration, closing the side of the printer too hard. “Nothing is jammed. Why do you insist that there is a jam?”

  He reminded himself that the printer could not hear him, and that destroying it with his bare hands wasn’t going to give him more than a moment or two of satisfaction. Also, Gran would probably fire him, and he needed the job at her little cafe more than he wanted to admit.

  The door chime sounded, and Devon yanked the power cable from the back of the printer. “Have you tried turning it off and back off again?” he mocked himself.

  He heard a party enter the front of the cafe, just as Old George growled, “Customers.”

  “Be right out!” he called, plugging the cable back in after a swift count of ten.

  Then he grabbed menus and went out to greet the new customers. Turner was sliding into a bench seat, opposite from someone Devon didn’t recognize from the back. “Welcome to Gran’s Grits,” he said, dropping a menu in front of each of them. “I’m Devon, I’ll be your waitress tonight,” he joked.

  Then he made the mistake of looking down at the young woman sitting across from Turner and everything he’d planned to say about drinks and dinner specials vanished from his head.

  Blue eyes in a tanned face framed by a halo of short, mousy blond hair smiled up at him, sparkling and confident, crinkled in humor.

  Yes! his lynx said in triumph. We have amused her! Be more funny!

  But Devon was absolutely lost, drowning in those eyes, drinking in the beauty of her face, and the graceful lines of her neck, and the pale skin that the scoop of her shirt revealed.

  “I’m…ah…it’s…”

  Her smile slipped slightly in the face of his utter inanity, and Devon realized he was staring. “Drinks!” he sputtered. “Start you with drinks! Dinner special!” For a moment his head was completely blank, like his code was missing an end-tag and his compiler had no idea what to do with the input. Then he remembered, “The special tonight is the fried chicken basket with coleslaw. It’s good slow. Slaw. It’s good slaw. Coleslaw.”

  Funny, his lynx said, vexed. Not stupid.

  It helped if he looked at Turner instead of the stranger, but not by much.

  Turner was looking at him quizzically, probably wondering if he’d just witnessed Devon having a stroke. “Just water for me,” he said.

  “You have Coke?” The young woman asked, and her velvety voice was every bit as unsettling as her eyes.

  “P-P-Pepsi,” Devon managed, making the mistake of looking back at her.

  “Not equivalent,” she said with a shake of her head. “Root beer?”

  “On top,” Devon said. Then, swiftly: “Tap. On tap.”

  Laughter danced at her mouth as she said, “Yes, please.”

  For a moment, Devon’s brain really did seem to stroke out, wondering what it was that she had agreed to. Was he imagining the interest in her eyes? Was it just pity because it must seem like he had some kind of brain injury?

  “This is Jamie,” Turner said, clearly trying to save him. “She’s just back in town from fighting wildfires this summer in Alaska. Going to take Dean’s place on the volunteer squad.”

  “For a little while,” Jamie cautioned him. “I’m not committing to anything long term. I hate this town, and I’m only here as a favor to you.”

  Devon felt like he was witnessing an old conflict, but neither Jamie nor Turner seemed to be taking it very seriously.

  “Welcome to Green Valley,” Devon cleared his throat and said. “Let me get you those drinks.”

  The printer was still complaining about an imaginary paper jam when he passed it.

  The root beer tap spat foam and Devon groaned and went to hook up the fresh keg.

  “Order up,” Old George told him, and for a moment, Devon could only stare, because he honestly had not remembered that there was anyone in the cafe but her. His world had reduced to Jamie. Jamie from Alaska. Jamie the firefighter. Jamie, with her brilliant blue eyes and her expressive mouth.

  Our mate.

  Devon nearly dropped the keg he was carrying as he felt his lynx’s words settle into his soul.

  “I don’t have time for that,” he said ferociously, putting the keg down too hard. He almost broke the connections as he took the old one off the system, and made himself slow down and be careful.

  He didn’t have time, and he didn’t have room in his life for a mate, he resolved. It didn’t matter what his lynx thought. He had Abby to look out for. He had two jobs and a languishing freelance business to manage.

  By the time he’d finished hooking up the new root beer keg and pouring Turner’s water and serving food to the local gray-haired gossip, Marta, he had convinced himself that he had simply over-reacted, and that he had enough control over himself again that he would be able to face down the woman without making a fool out of himself again.

  He was wrong.

  Even just a glimpse of the edge of her face as he came out of the kitchen set his heart racing and his lynx cavorting in his head.

  Don’t try conversation, he told himself. Don’t attempt jokes. Just take the order and go.

  “Turner tells me you might be able to fix my phone,” she greeted him, and Devon was so startled he nearly dropped the root beer in her lap.

  Once it was safely down in front of her, Devon swallowed. “Maybe? What’s it doing?”

  “It just won’t hold a charge,” Jamie said, pulling out the phone and holding it out.

  It was a standard model, one that had a reputation for chewing through batteries. “Oh, yeah, you probably just need a new battery,” he said confidently. “Don’t take it to the store, they’ll charge you an arm and a leg for five minutes of work and a twenty dollar replacement part. I could do that for you. I might even have one at my house.”

  He was pretty pleased with the steady way he’d said it, then he made the mistake of taking the phone and her fingers brushed his.

  If her eyes had been dangerous, her touch was much worse. It was like fire through his veins.

  He was staring again, and he made himself speak. “If I don’t have the battery, I’l
l have to go to Madison for it. Might take a day or two. Have you backed this up? I could take it now. If you wanted. I mean, it’s your phone.” Obviously.

  “Everything’s on the cloud,” Jamie said, with a slight smile. “You can take it. I’ve got a loaner from the fire station while I get this one sorted. It’s sort of important to be on call, and mine’s too unreliable.”

  “Yeah,” Devon said. “Okay.”

  There was something else he needed to do, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. “I’ll call you when it’s done,” he said, and he started to walk away.

  Then he was back, saying sheepishly, “And your order. I need to take your order. For food. To eat.”

  2

  It was everything Jamie could do not to stare at Devon as he left with their order. He was the cutest thing she had seen, and nothing like she had expected.

  When Turner told her that a guy named Devon who waited tables at Gran’s could probably fix her phone, she had immediately assumed he’d be a geek. And sure, geeks could be cute, but Devon wasn’t geek cute. He was bodybuilder cute. He was movie star gratuitously removing his t-shirt cute. His arms were ropy with muscle, and his shoulders strained the seams of his cafe logo shirt. His golden-green eyes weren’t behind the thick-rimmed glasses that Jamie had imagined. They were under perfect arched brows and above cheekbones like a chiseled statue. His jaw would have made Clark Kent cry with jealousy.

  If Jamie knew a thing about people, which occasionally she did, he was absolutely bowled over by her.

  And that was even more unexpected than his appearance.

  Unfortunately, Turner was no more unaware of Devon’s stuttering awe than she was.

  “No overnight visitors at the station,” he said, archly.

  Jamie was temporarily staying at the station itself, in the tiny efficiency above the garage. It was basically a bed in a tiny room; she used the utility shower downstairs, and a glorified coffee counter in the common area served as her kitchen.

  She ignored Turner. “This place hasn’t changed,” she said casually. The decor was all dreadfully dated, but not cohesive enough to be a specific era. It was equal parts plastic bench seats and little tables with quaint white chairs. Gran’s elderly-looking cat was sleeping in the front window on a pile of soft, folded fabric. There were a few other customers having quiet, casual conversations and Marta was reading by herself at the window. It was just like a million other times Jamie had come here since she was a kid.

  “It’s Green Valley,” Turner pointed out. “It pretty much stays the same.”

  “I hear you’re up a few new millionaires,” Jamie said. “Haven’t a rash of them swept in and snapped up some of our eligible singles?”

  “I don’t think that Tawny would have called herself eligible,” Turner chuckled. “But yes, the Powells have done a good job of finding…partners in town.” Jamie wondered if she imagined the pause before partners. Like he was using it as a substitute for another word. “They’ve also done a good job of not changing things with their money. Not in big ways that will unsettle the locals. Just small, subtle ways. Things are better, but not a lot different.”

  Devon returned with plates of food much faster than she had expected, and Jamie wondered if he didn’t put hers down a little further from her than strictly necessary. Like he didn’t want any chance of accidentally touching her again.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he offered, looking only at Turner.

  “I think we’re good,” Turner said, and Devon fled without meeting Jamie’s eyes.

  Jamie looked back to find Turner watching her again. He looked smug.

  “What are you looking at?” she demanded.

  “I’ve just…got a suspicion,” Turner said with a shrug.

  “Spit it out,” Jamie said.

  “Not mine to share,” Turner said. “But I can tell you a little about Devon, if you want.”

  Jamie desperately wanted, but she didn’t want to admit that. “Whatever. You got Tabasco over there?”

  Turner passed her the Tabasco sauce, and she slathered her eggs.

  “Devon’s new in town,” Turner told her, voice quiet. “Moved here in the spring with his kid sister from Twin Cities. He was renting out in the Jefferson neighborhood, but just moved into Tawny’s old house next to the James place.”

  Jamie gave him a suspicious look as she put a mouthful of eggs. “Okay,” she said, not wanting to encourage him, as much as she wanted to know more.

  “Word is, their parents died when his little sister was just a kid. He was seventeen, and he got guardianship, so he’s been raising her by himself. I guess she was having a hard time with school in the city, and he wanted to bring her someplace smaller, make a new start.”

  “Tough gig,” Jamie said thoughtfully. Devon was refilling drinks across the room, and her gaze kept drifting towards him, no matter where he was, or how good her potatoes were.

  “He’s a good fit for Green Valley,” Turner said, with a rare note of approval. “Works hard, doesn’t complain, trying to do right for his family.”

  “Geez, Turner, you’re half in love with him already,” Jamie teased with easy camaraderie. “Are you sure you’re trying to set me up with him?”

  Turner gave a great guffaw of laughter. “Saw through that, did you?”

  “You’re about as subtle as your fire boots,” Jamie said, rolling her eyes. She was keenly aware of Devon’s reluctant approach with the water pitcher.

  He splashed water into Turner’s glass. “Refill your root beer?” he asked a spot on the table between them.

  “I’d like that,” Jamie said, trying and failing to catch his gaze.

  He managed to snag the glass before she could hand it to him, and vanished back into the kitchen.

  “He’s kind of a rube,” Jamie observed. A really cute rube.

  “He’s as naive as they come,” Turner agreed. “So be nice to him.”

  “Have I ever been anything but nice?” Jamie protested.

  “You locked Minnie Carter in a locker once,” Turner reminded her. “I suspended you for a week.” Turner was the vice principal at the Green Valley high school and taught history. She had been a senior the year he started and there were times that Jamie thought he was like the dad she’d never had.

  “Yeah, about that…”

  “No pranks at the station,” Turner warned her, suddenly serious.

  Jamie chased her last potato cube around her plate and sighed. “No pranks at the station,” she agreed slyly. “I’ll cancel my order for itching powder.”

  Devon returned with her root beer and the bill, hesitated as if he was going to say something, then fled.

  Jamie watched him go thoughtfully as she sipped her root beer refill. She hadn’t come back to Green Valley looking for a boyfriend, and the idea of something serious with this gorgeous, grave man gave her an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t deny that he appealed to her at an animal level, but she doubted he was the type for a quick fling and she wasn’t sure she wanted to commit to anything more.

  She wasn’t sure she could commit to anything more. Most of her life had been footloose and free, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to be anything else.

  “I’ve got some paperwork for you at the office,” Turner was saying, and Jamie wasn’t sure how much of the conversation she’d missed.

  She put cash down for her meal on the table and grabbed her coat. “Oh goodie. Paperwork is my favorite.”

  3

  She was gone.

  The table that his mate had shared with Turner was empty, and Devon’s heart dropped to his toes. What if I can’t find her again? he wondered in a cold panic, utterly forgetting his earlier resolution that he didn’t have time for her anyway. He was tearing off his apron in a hot moment, scrambling out the door absolutely prepared to chase her down by scent and instinct if that’s what it took—and he nearly plowed into Turner and Jamie still standing on the
porch as they buttoned their coats against the cold wind.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, just catching himself before he managed to crash into them. “I just…” didn’t think through this. “I don’t have your number.”

  “That’s because you have my phone,” Jamie pointed out. “I’m at the fire station.”

  “Right. The fire station.” Because she was a firefighter. Every time that Devon felt like he couldn’t feel stupider, he managed to make more of an idiot out of himself. “I should have this fixed tomorrow if I have the battery in stock. A couple of days if I have to drive to Madison for it.” He’d already told her all of that, he remembered.

  “Oh, look at the time,” Turner said, not even bothering to look at his wrist. “Really must be back at the office. See you later, Jamie. A lot later.”

  “See ya,” Jamie replied, rolling her eyes after him. Then they were alone on the porch and she looked at Devon, almost shyly, and Devon suddenly remembered that he couldn’t do this.

  He couldn’t do any of this. He was way out of his depth.

  “So, do you want to grab a coffee?” Jamie asked, after he’d let the silence get weird between them.

  “Coffee?”

  “It’s a drink brewed from roasted beans,” Jamie explained. “They serve it here, actually.”

  “I like coffee,” Devon said stupidly.

  “I think you could use some,” Jamie suggested kindly. “When do you get off?”

  Now is good, his lynx hissed suggestively.

  That is not what she meant, Devon protested. Stop helping. He looked at his wrist and realized he wasn’t wearing a watch. “Three,” he said. Then his brain caught up with him. “But I have to meet Abby after school. She’s my sister. And then we make dinner. And…it’s not a good night.”

 

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