Читать книгу Ghost Wolf - Michele Hauf - Страница 9

Chapter 3

Beck’s shop was about ten miles out of city limits. The next town, Burnham, was four miles beyond his shop. Daisy knew the Darkwood was in the vicinity. Her brother Blade lived at the edge of the haunted forest that locals told tales about. Even the paranormal breeds avoided it for its fearsome reputation.

Though the road was hugged by tall birch trees interspersed with thick pines, Daisy found Beck’s shop easily and pulled in her Smart car before the shop’s opened garage doors. While most fix-it garages in the area featured random junkers parked here and there, tires stacked against walls and general disorder, this area was well-tended. The snow had been plowed and banked, and there was an orderly parking area with cars tagged on the license plates, likely for pickup.

Stepping out into the brisk air, Daisy’s breath fogged before her. She’d bundled up in cap, mittens and winter coat. Striding toward the opened doors, she scanned for signs of life inside and called out Beck’s name. Instead of a handsome werewolf popping his head up from behind the raised hood of a truck, the blond dreads of a very familiar familiar swung around the front quarter panel of a red F-150.

Sunday winked at Daisy. “Hey there, sweetie!”

“Sunday! Beck told me you worked here, but I didn’t expect to run into you.” Daisy looked about the neat shop that featured four car bays. Tools hung neatly along the walls, and tires were stacked in a corner. There were even red-and-white-checked curtains on the door window that must lead to the office. “Does Dean mind that you work here?”

The self-confessed grease monkey laid a wrench on the engine and wandered around the side of the vehicle. Grease smeared Sunday’s pale check. Daisy had known her since she’d been born because of the cat-shifting familiar’s friendship with her grandmother. She considered her an aunt, even. Of all the women in the family, she got along with Sunday best. Probably because they were a couple of tomboys.

“Why should Dean mind?” Sunday asked. “I don’t let my man tell me what to do. Unless it’s in bed.” She winked.

Daisy fought against rolling her eyes.

“So why are you here?” Sunday asked. “Shouldn’t you be more respectful of your father and his very obvious dislike for an unaligned wolf?”

“My dad doesn’t know I’m here. And you won’t say anything to him.”

Sunday quirked a brow, but her easy smile held the kind of knowing that all women shared when a man was the topic. “There’s nothing to tell. Beck’s a good guy. Just because he doesn’t feel comfortable joining a whole group of wolves after living in a small family his entire life shouldn’t make him a pariah.”

“Exactly,” Daisy said, relieved that Sunday had put into words what she should have said.

Behind the car bays, a big-screen TV flashed a news report that featured area gray wolves scampering across the screen.

Sunday noticed Daisy’s interest and turned up the volume with a remote she tugged out of her pocket. The report was on the local wolf hunt. It had only been a few years since the DNR had passed legislation to allow hunters free rein on the gray wolves that had been removed from the endangered species list.

Thing was, the mortals didn’t care what happened to the environment when they reduced the wolf population. Not to mention the devastation to the wolf packs. They were killing wolves that belonged to families. Fathers, mothers and pups. And the loss to the pack was no less heartfelt than a loss to a mortal family. Of course, the hunters never looked at it that way.

It made Daisy think of Beck’s loss again. Poor guy.

“So, having car trouble?” Sunday prompted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those clown cars. I can’t imagine it has traction on an icy road.”

“I try not to drive too much in the winter. But no trouble, as far as I know. I wish I was mechanically inclined like you. None of my brothers are, either.”

“Not like they need it,” Sunday said. “Those Saint-Pierre boys are too fine to get all greasy fixing engines.”

“Whatever. I’m just here to pick something up,” Daisy said, trying to ignore the news. Though she shouldn’t. This was her story. But she was distracted by the obvious. “I’m not here for, you know, a date or anything.”

“What’s that about this not being a date?” Beck rounded a yellow sports car (sans windshield) at the end of the shop. A large cardboard box was hoisted on top of his shoulder. “I thought we were going to the iceworks tonight?”

Sunday tilted another eyebrow quirk at Daisy, and it was accompanied by a knowing smile. So much said. Daisy’s neck flushed warmly.

“We hadn’t confirmed that. Are those the bicycle chains?” she asked, to change the subject.

Beck set the box on the floor before the pickup, and both Daisy and Sunday bent to inspect the contents. Dozens of chains slicked with grease snaked within the box.

“This is awesome,” Daisy said. “I can use these.”

“Best way to get the grease off is with Simple Green,” Sunday said.

“I know. I’ve done it before.”

“How’s your art stuff coming anyway?” the familiar asked.

“My work in progress is turning out a lot cooler than I’d hoped. I plan to donate the finished piece to the wolf sanctuary up in Ely.”

“Cool.”

“And now with these, I’ll be able to finish it sooner than expected. Thanks, Beck.”

Daisy swung around toward Beck, arms out as if to hug him—her family hugged a lot—then she paused, and dropped her arms. Right. Not ready for that kind of contact. At least, not in front of the familiar.

“Uh, how much do you want for them?”

“I’ve already stated my price.” Beck crossed his arms and peered down at her with his arctic-ice eyes.

He meant accompanying him to the fireworks tonight.

Daisy blew out a breath that fogged before her, even standing within the garage. Attending the midnight iceworks near the ice castle on the lake was a family tradition. And the only way to really enjoy it was to bundle up, snuggle next to another warm body and sip hot chocolate from a thermos. She could completely imagine doing that with Beck.

She glanced to Sunday, who put up her palms and strode around the front of the hood, disappearing from view. “Not listening,” the familiar called out. “But check out the news.”

Both swung their heads toward the TV, where the female newscaster was talking about the ghost wolf that had been scaring hunters witless. A pair of hunters had sworn off hunting for wolves and anything else, including deer.

“The thing was big and nasty,” one of the hunters said to the camera. He gestured widely with his red flannel-coated arms. “And white and filmy like a freakin’ ghost.”

Beck chuckled. “Ghost wolf. That’s a good one.”

Daisy wished she could have been the one to interview the hunters.

“But it was solid!” the other hunter chimed in on a shaky voice. “It slapped the shotgun right out of my hand. I ain’t never hunting again.”

Beck’s smile captured Daisy’s attention. He was proud of what the ghost wolf was doing. Either that or he was amused by the redneck hunters getting their justice and repenting. Both were good reasons to smile, in Daisy’s opinion.

“Whoever or whatever the ghost wolf is,” she said, “it’s doing all the wolves in the area a big favor by chasing away the hunters. I hope he keeps it up.”

“He?” Beck asked as he picked up the box and started toward her car. “You called it an it first. How do you know it’s a he?”

Daisy ran up to unlock the trunk. Surprisingly, the tiny car held a lot in the back end. “I don’t know if it’s a he, or an it, or a ghost. But this whole story has superhero undertones, don’t you think?”

“Superhero?” Beck winced. “I don’t know about that.”

“The underdogs, which are the wolves and us in this case,” Daisy explained, “need a defender to protect them. And suddenly from out of nowhere comes a hero on a quest to set things right. I love it!”

“Yeah, but I’m guessing the ghost wolf doesn’t have a cape.”

“You don’t need a cape to be a superhero. Just a focus and a desire to do good. That is my new angle.”

“Your angle?”

“I did tell you I’m trying to win an internship for the local paper.”

“You’re doing a story on the ghost wolf?” His expression changed so suddenly Daisy wondered what she’d said to offend him. “I renew my warning for you to be careful and stay out of the woods unless you bring someone along with you.”

“And I renew my assertion to being able to take care of myself. You are such a guy.”

Beck sighed and shook his head. He did appear genuinely concerned, but Daisy was trying to prove herself here, so she disregarded his anguish. She could do anything the boys could do. Oftentimes better.

“So can I pick you up later?” he asked.

“Um, I guess I could call my brother and cancel with him.”

“Really? So it’s a choice between your brother, whom you’ve gone to this event with before, or the lone wolf?” Beck winced. “You should probably go with the safer bet.”

“Yeah, but that’ll never get me the tangle I want.”

“The tangle?”

Oops. Where had that confession come from? Deep inside, where the yearning part of her ignored her armor of introversion and just wanted to get tangled, that was where. If she didn’t stop blurting her secrets out to Beck, she’d tell him about her shifting troubles, too. No way. That was mortifying.

Daisy nodded toward the trunk, indicating he set the box inside. “I gotta go. I have some research to do online before tonight.”

He settled the box into the trunk and stood back to look over the box. “I cannot believe that fit.”

“Thanks, Beck. I appreciate it.”

“Where do you live? I’ll pick you up around ten.”

The man would not take maybe as an answer. So she’d let it happen. Beck would make a much better date than Kelyn. She gave him her address, which he entered into his phone.

Walking around to the door, Daisy paused and turned to find Beck standing right before her. His breath fogged out. Ice eyes took her in. The moment felt as if he should kiss her. And then it did not. It wasn’t right. Sunday wasn’t far away, and even if she said she couldn’t hear anything, Daisy knew that cats had as excellent hearing as wolves did.

She held out her hand, and Beck stared at it awhile before conceding and shaking. “Later. Uh, will there be brothers at this event tonight?”

“Probably. You scared?”

“Should I be? What’s the one’s name? Trouble? I should probably keep a good distance from anyone with a name like that.”

“Trouble is all bark and no bite. Blade is the one you won’t see coming until it’s too late.”

Daisy slid inside the car and turned the key to fire up the engine. As she backed out, she smiled and waved. Sometimes brothers came in handy. Couldn’t let him think it was going to be easy courting her, could she?

But really? The guy was courting her. How cool was that?

* * *

Beck went over the brothers’ names in his head as he pulled up before Daisy’s building. Kelyn. Had she mentioned he was faery? Faeries were no problem. And Trouble was not the one he was supposed to worry about? But Blade was? There was another brother, as well. He didn’t know his name.

But he did know the father’s name. Malakai Saint-Pierre. The man’s name was as much a mouthful as he was a menace. The wolf was big, and he made swords for a living. Freakin’ swords. He’d asked Beck on two occasions to join the pack, once a few years ago, and then only a month ago when he’d seen him in town at the local hardware store. Both times Beck had felt disdain in the man’s growl.

He couldn’t do it. Severo had lived free and alone, but he had been the best wolf Beck had ever known. His father hadn’t needed the approval of a pack. He’d lived life on his own terms and had thrived, earned respect from his fellow breed and married the woman he loved and had a son—

With another child on the way.

Beck squeezed his fingers about the steering wheel. His father should have been here for the birth of his second child. The hunter needed to pay.

The stir of his werewolf twisted inside. It straightened his spine, prodding his skin to form goose bumps. Beck growled. Now was no time to shift, so he redirected his thoughts.

He shut off the engine and stretched out his legs. Focusing on the pull at his hamstrings diverted the werewolf’s urge to run free. He normally experienced a twinge of the werewolf when upset or angry. But lately? It was growing stronger. More insistent.

Concentrate on Daisy. Glancing over the brick building’s facade and arrowing his gaze up toward the third floor, Beck muttered, “What am I getting myself into?”

Did he need to mess around with Malakai Saint-Pierre’s daughter? He’d never let a pretty face distract him so easily. And then again, he’d always let a pretty face distract him. Anytime he went out into the world, whether walking through the grocery store or standing in line (even with a date) at the movie theater, he appreciated a pretty woman. If a guy didn’t notice the beauty walking around him, then there was something wrong with him.

But he hadn’t dated seriously in months. Not since his father’s death. The salad chick last week had been a fruitless attempt at jumping back into the social game.

He’d gone through the grief process rather quickly. Or so he felt. Lately, he was more concerned about his mother. Didn’t have time to worry about himself. He was fine. He missed Dad dearly. But he had to move on. For his mother’s sake.

So getting back into the groove with this date tonight felt right. Like he was moving forward.

As long as Daisy didn’t learn about the other thing he’d been involved with lately, then everything would be golden. Hell, he’d have a tough enough time acting accordingly if any of the brothers were wandering around the fireworks, so he didn’t have to worry about the other thing coming up.

Jumping out of the truck, he landed on the compacted snow. He wore his Arctic Cat overalls and a warm matching coat, plus gloves, pack boots and a knit ski cap. It was already bitter cold tonight. And he intended to test the whole touch not the princess theory. He looked forward to holding Daisy close to keep her warm.

Grabbing the flowers he’d worried over for a full five minutes at the grocery store, he headed inside and up the stairs to the top floor, just as she’d directed him to do. It was an old warehouse that was slowly being retrofitted for apartments, and so far Daisy and a few other residents were the only ones in the building.

“Nice,” he muttered as he topped the stairs and took in the open framework that exposed the original ironwork and ducts. Not what he’d expect a woman to choose.

Daisy was the opposite of the usual sexy, soft, slinky woman he preferred. She punched, too. Entirely unexpected, but she had warned him he’d get a black eye for calling her princess. And the pink hair? He liked it. It looked like cotton candy.

Unzipping his jacket because it was hot up here, Beck knocked on the door, then whipped the flowers around behind his back. He waited a few seconds, listening. All wolves could hear well, and if she had been in the shower, he’d hear the running water and start to imagine that water slicking over her skin—

“Those for me?”

He spun around to find a pink-haired pixy wolf standing behind him, a smudge of black across her cheek. She wiped her hands down an old gray T-shirt, imbuing it with more grease.

“Uh, yes?”

He held out the fluorescent blue daisies. The color was god-awful, but they had made him think of her. “For Daisy Blu, blue daisies.”

“That’s so...” She wrinkled her lips into a moue as she accepted the horrible bouquet. Sporting wilted leaves, with one of the flower heads chopped off, it had been the best of the bunch. A guy couldn’t find any better in the middle of January in a Midwestern Minnesota town.

“Thank you,” she breathed, in a more impressed tone than he had expected or deserved. “It’s sweet that you got them because of my name.”

“You don’t have to act all happy about it. They’re an ugly bunch, but—”

“No, I love them. Come inside.” She opened her door and he followed her in, but stayed on the rubber mat inside the doorway. “I’ll put them in water, then get ready,” she called as she disappeared around a corner.

The vast loft ceiling was two, maybe even three, stories high. He loved the wide-open space. Immediately before him lay the living area with couch, TV and armchairs. To his right must be the kitchen that he couldn’t see from his position. Off to the left and behind the living area, he saw something big covered with a sheet. Tools and a workbench stood nearby.

“I’m sorry.” Daisy appeared before him, twisting her hair about a finger. “I completely lost track of time. I was over at my neighbor’s. Her old stove is trying to kick the bucket, and she won’t invest in a new one. I had to pull out the heating coil and give it a good talking-to.”

“That works with appliances? A good talking-to?”

She shrugged. Such a pretty pink little pixy wolf. He could kiss her right now. Run his fingers through her hair, pull her close and taste her mouth until he forgot his name. But she probably read about that kind of stuff in her books all the time.

How to win over this particular woman, who was like no woman he had ever dated before? The flowers had been stupid. Should have gone for one of those paperback romances he’d noticed in the checkout line.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll go wash my face and change quick. You can sit on the couch.”

He lifted a foot. “Uh, I should stay here. My boots are wet.”

“Suit yourself. In that case, I’ll make it five.”

She scampered off to the back of the loft. A king-size bed sat against the wall, and near that an iron bar suspended from the high ceiling served as a clothes rack. She pulled a few items from it then disappeared into the bathroom, which appeared to be the only room that was actually walled and private.

Beck squatted down and took in the place. The window at the end of the bedroom was curved to a peak at the top, sort of cathedral-like. Cool. And probably romantic as hell to lay snuggled in bed together watching the moonlight.

He smiled and rubbed a hand over his grin, but realized he didn’t need to hide his reaction to the sexy thought.

Beyond the window, the rest of the place was clean and industrial. It was the ultimate bachelor’s pad. Big, spacious, minimal decoration. Nothing froufrou. And there was a welder’s torch on the bench over by what he assumed was the covered artwork.

He’d like to see how she was using the bicycle chains. Hell, he’d like to see anything she wanted to show him, so long as that meant they got to spend some time together.

“What about the brother?” he called when she stepped out of the bathroom five minutes later, pulling her hair back and twisting it into a ponytail.

“Brother? Oh, right. Kelyn is going to look for me there. He’s got a date tonight, too. So we’re on our own.” She scampered up before him, dressed in snug gray jeans and an oversize black sweater that looked softer than a kitten. “You okay with that?”

“With having you all to myself? I think I can deal.”

“Great.” She pulled on some snow pants, a coat and a black knit hat with the cat ears on the top and long strings that hung down over her coat and ended in big black pom-poms. “What’s wrong? You’re staring.”

“You’re just so cute,” Beck said.

Daisy punched him in the arm. Apparently this woman’s way of dealing with compliments was with violence.

Good, he thought. She’d keep him on his toes. If not leave a permanent bruise on his biceps.

Grabbing a tote bag from the kitchen chair, Daisy led him through the doorway. Toggling a cat ear on her hat, he closed the door. “This way, kitten.”

“Oh, do not kitten me,” she said as she locked the door behind them.

“You prefer pixy wolf?”

“Pixy wolf?”

“Yeah, you look like a pixy.”

“Apparently you have never seen an actual pixy. They’re no bigger than six or seven inches and have pointy ears and a nasty manner.”

“Then nix the pixy reference. How about faery wolf?”

“Why don’t you try Daisy?” she suggested, and shuffled down the stairs.

Beck nodded. Hell, he was nervous. He felt like he’d never been on a date and he was doing everything wrong.

Chill, man. Relax and get to know the girl.

What was it Beck had heard about faeries and their wings? Something about touching them being a sexual turn-on.

“Nice,” he muttered.