Chapter
Thirty
The sun was going down and Roderick Harrison’s
dinner was still being kept warm in a tinfoil cocoon in the oven.
Douglas was unconcerned. His father could be fixing fences on the
far side of the sprawling ranch. Could be tending a cow with a
problem, or searching for a calf. Could be in town having a beer or
two and losing a game of pool to Varley. The Alzheimer’s continued
to be in some sort of remission, and his father had simply resumed
his old life.
Must be fucking nice, Douglas thought
bitterly. Meanwhile his own life had been turned completely inside
out. And no amount of Jack Daniels could stop his father’s words
from replaying in his mind. She left us for one of
them. She left us to become one of
them.
His mother had loved a werewolf. He
didn’t doubt their existence, he couldn’t, not after what he’d seen
when he was fourteen. And he didn’t doubt that his father hated
werewolves, certainly wouldn’t declare that his own wife had been
with one unless it was true. Roderick had never uttered such a
thing even when the Alzheimer’s was particularly bad. Nor had he
ever once said Douglas wasn’t his son. Oh sure, he’d looked
straight at him and not recognized him, even mistook him for an
employee on several occasions. But there was a big difference
between that and saying he didn’t have a son at all.
So whose son was he? Did having a
werewolf father make him a werewolf too? Would he know? He stared
at the photo on the mantel, at the smiling woman with curly auburn
hair. His hair. He shared that feature with her, shared the amber
brown eyes and the shape of the face, even the damn freckles. What
had he inherited from his unknown father? A talent for howling at
the moon? Tearing out the throats of deer?
He ran a hand over his face, rubbed his
eyes as if trying to erase that particular vision. Knowing Roderick
Harrison, Douglas found it hard to blame his mother for having an
affair. But why the hell couldn’t she have chosen a human lover? At
least he’d only have to wonder who he was, not what he
was.
The coffee pot shook in his hand,
scattering droplets. Finally he set it down and gripped the edge of
the counter to steady himself. He yawned hugely, helplessly, until
he thought his head would split in two. In spite of all the
drinking he’d done recently, he’d slept poorly. Every time he
nodded off, he’d dreamed of wolves. Only he wasn’t being chased by
them.
He was running with them.
He jerked when the phone rang, swore as
he grabbed the receiver. Varley was on the other end.
“Your dad there, Dougie?”
“No.”
“You know where he is?”
“Not a clue.” Frankly he’d flat-out
avoided the old man since that little revelation in the living
room. Didn’t know if he simply never wanted to see his father again
or just not right now. Douglas had questions, lots of questions—but
would the answers be worse than not knowing? And could he trust an
answer from his father? His stepfather, he
amended quickly.
“Look, two of the rifles are missing
from my place. Your father’s favorites, the Browning and the
Remington. Some boxes of cartridges. He say anything to you about
hunting?”
Dad’s got a gun?
Douglas forced his voice to be calm. “Not really. Said he found
wolf tracks in the north section a few days ago but never mentioned
anything about going after them.”
“Shit.” Varley was silent for a long
moment until Douglas wondered if he’d hung up. “Shitfire. I know
Rod’s doing really well and all, but I just don’t like the idea of
him wandering around with a goddamn gun. Christ on crutches,
Dougie. We both know he could have a relapse at any time, but he
could also have an accident just because he’s old and he’s by
himself.”
“You’re right.” He said what he was
expected to say then, although he didn’t feel like it. “I’ll go
look for him.”
“Good man. I’m going to get a couple of
the guys to help me check the woods on the other side of the north
pasture. Keep me posted, okay?”
“You got it. Thanks for the call.”
Douglas put the phone down carefully, his pulse pounding in his
ears. “Thanks for the call, my ass!” Every instinct he possessed
told him that his worst nightmare had just come true. Roderick
Harrison wasn’t hunting wolves at all.
He was hunting werewolves.
The sound of the back door slamming
made him jump. He was even more surprised when his father came
through the kitchen door and laid a quarter of venison on the
counter with a flourish.
“Got a nice young buck, down along the
line of spruce in the south pasture. Thought it was about time we
had some game on the table. Varley around?”
“He’s out looking for you. North
section by the woods. He was . . . figuring you might need a hand
with whatever you got,” Douglas lied a little. He heard his
father’s words, saw the deer—but it didn’t feel right, something
was off. “You can call him on his cell.”
Rod was in a buoyant mood as he picked
up the phone. He arranged for Varley to swing by the house and pick
him up, called for another hand to set up the table and the meat
saw in the machine shed. Argued amiably over whether to do sausage
or hamburger after they cut off some steaks, whether to use plastic
wrap or butcher’s paper.
Within a few minutes, Douglas was left
standing alone in the kitchen staring at the bloody spot on the
counter. Rod had taken the quarter with him to trim down and
package.
All normal. All ordinary. Everything
just as it had always been. Except Douglas’s gut said it wasn’t. He
sighed and poured half a cup of coffee, topped it up with the Jack
Daniels he had stashed in the bottom cupboard. Considered drinking
it.
Then poured it down the
sink.
“It’s brilliant.” Connor spread out the
sketches on the table in the lunchroom. “The design isn’t just
great, it’s absolutely brilliant. Jillian drew these?”
“She did.” There was pride in James’s
voice. “This is her dream, and she’s been designing it for years in
her head. I just encouraged her to put it on paper.”
“She has an amazing grasp of how wild
animals think, what they need to feel secure. Look at how there are
no corners, no hard angles. It’s—what’s the word I’m looking
for?—organic, flowing. I’ve never seen anything like it. You didn’t
help?”
“A couple small tweaks, just
recommendations really. She did it all, created something
incredible.”
She’s done more than
that. She’s worked a miracle. Connor shielded his thoughts
as he looked at his brother. James was relaxed, easy in his own
skin. His human skin. And happy. Connor had to look back a lot of
years to remember his brother happy.
And as for Jillian, well, she seemed to
be floating on air. Glowing since he’d finally consented to let her
résumé work part-time. Officially at least. He knew full well she’d
been doing little things for Birkie and Caroline when he wasn’t
looking, everything from running lab tests to updating files. At
first Connor tried to talk Jillian into manning the reception area
for half days. She was so horrified by the prospect that he had
relented at once. What had he been thinking? Jillian was too good a
veterinarian to be tied to a desk. Instead, he relegated the small
animal surgeries to her. Besides, considering some of the customers
that came through the front door, surgery was probably a lot less
stressful for her.
Jillian appeared in the doorway just
then, still dressed in her greens. Connor watched as James swept
her under his arm and kissed the top of her head. Both of them
smiled and Connor’s eyes moistened unexpectedly. “Finished in
surgery already?” he managed.
“There were only a couple of spays
today. And I removed a lump from Poodle’s leg.”
“That old Siamese? Good God, he must
have used up eight and three-quarters of his nine lives by now.”
Connor shook his head.
“Poodle?” James looked
baffled.
“It’s his name,” explained Jillian.
“Kind of like the old Mr. Magoo cartoons. Remember his cat was
named Bowser?”
“I thought that was because he couldn’t
see it was a cat. Maybe Mrs. Malkinson has the same
problem.”
Birkie joined the conversation from the
hallway. “Enid Malkinson can identify a finch in a bush at a
hundred yards. She wanted a poodle for her birthday one year, but
her husband gave her a kitten instead.”
“And the rest is history,” said Connor.
“A lot of history actually. That was what, two husbands and three
decades ago? Poodle’s a genuine antique.”
“Speaking of antiques, bossman, I’ve
got a couple of overdue accounts I need you to look at.” Birkie
headed back to the front.
“I hate numbers,” Connor grumbled but
followed her.
Jillian could still hear the sound of
retreating footsteps when James began placing soft tender kisses on
her throat, her ear, along her jaw. He took her mouth slowly and
sweetly until she lost her breath and had to pull back, one hand
planted on his chest to keep him at bay. “You make me
dizzy.”
“I could make you more than that. Let’s
go back to your apartment.” He leaned in to kiss her again, but she
dodged and fled to the other side of the table, laughing. She
spotted the sketches.
“Hey, these are mine.”
“I was showing Connor the design for
the center. He thinks it’s great.”
“He’s okay with the location? What
about Zoey? Is it too close to their farm?”
“We own the farm together, and no, he
doesn’t think it’s too close and I’m sure Zoey will agree when she
sees the plans. We already owned the section of river valley that
borders the farm. But I bought this land adjacent to it not long
ago, thought it might come in handy.” He grinned then. “And see? It
already has.”
“You have great powers of
prediction.”
“I can predict more. I can predict that
you’re going to move in with me today.”
“You predicted that yesterday and it
didn’t happen.”
“But that was then and this is now.
Come home with me.”
She shook her head. “I want a little
more time. I’m thrilled to be working, even a little. I
need to be working. But my energy doesn’t
last, and I’m just as thrilled to be able to be home in bed in
thirty seconds flat. Plus I don’t have to cook a single thing. I
swear Bill and Jessie have doubled the amount of food they stock
this fridge with.”
“Feed a concussion, starve a fever?” He
circled the table and slid his arms around her, planting a tender
kiss on her forehead. “I admit, you look tired out, honey. Wish I
could kiss your concussion better for you.”
“It is getting
better. It just takes time.”
“I shouldn’t be so impatient. It’s just
that I want you with me, want to get started on that life
together.”
She sat in the chair he pulled out for
her, was silent for a long moment. “I think we’ve started
already.”
“Well, I spend the night
here.”
“No, more than that. I mean . . .
James, I’m pregnant.”
Stunned, he knelt awkwardly in front of
her and took her hands, his eyes searching her face.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, James, I
don’t know how it happened—well I know how
it happened—but I take the pill for God’s sake. I’ve never missed
taking it, never. Not once.” She put her hands to her head. “I
tested twice to be sure, yesterday and today, but it’s positive.
I’m just so sorry.”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Stop
right there. Stop saying you’re sorry; you’ve got nothing to be
sorry about. You didn’t do this. I should be apologizing to
you.”
“I guess we did
it, really. Both of us together.”
“Okay. When did we do it? I mean, how
long?”
“It has to have been the very first
time we were together. In the forest. I thought I was late because
of the accident, thought maybe the concussion had, you know, thrown
off my system or some darn thing, but . . . oh, I never expected
this.”
“Well, it’s a surprise, but as
surprises go, it’s a pretty great one.”
“What?”
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled
her down into his lap and kissed her hair, her brow, her cheeks.
“It’s great. Wonderful. Fantastic. Terrific. Um . . . I can’t even
think of enough words, but it’s definitely great.”
She grabbed his face then, made him
look at her. “You’re happy about
it?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?
Hell, yes, I’m happy about it.” He pulled back a little to look at
her. “What about you? Are you okay with this?”
“Well, like you said, it’s a surprise.
A big one. I . . . I don’t know how I feel yet. I need some time to
wrap my head around it, and I need to figure out how to fit it in
with being a veterinarian.”
He pointed a stern finger at her. “No
steer wrestling.”
“Definitely no steer wrestling. I’ll
have to modify a lot of my activities. And see, I just don’t know
how that’ll impact my job.”
“Jeez, you’re worried about your job?
You belong here. You’ve had a concussion for weeks and the clinic
didn’t fall down. Everyone pulled together, and you’re doing what
you can. You did, what, three surgeries this morning?”
“Yeah, but they were just little ones.
There’s an end to a concussion. I get better and people don’t have
to take up slack for me, everything’s back to normal. At least,
that’s what’s supposed to happen.”
“Pregnancy’s not a permanent condition,
honey.”
“No, but being a parent
is.”
“You wouldn’t be the first veterinarian
with a family.” James tucked her head under his chin, breathed in
the smell of her hair. “There’s going to be challenges, but we’ll
figure it out as we go. Why don’t we start by getting
married?”
“You don’t have to marry
me.”
“What the hell did you think I was
planning to do? Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said about building
a life together? Haven’t I pestered you every day for two weeks to
move in with me?”
“It’s not the same—”
“Jillian.” He lifted her chin with a
finger until her eyes met his. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear
enough. You shouldn’t have a single moment of concern as to my
feelings or my intentions. I love you. I’m not easy to love or to
live with, but I’m just selfish enough to want to marry you anyway.
I want to live with you in a home in the country and build a
wildlife center and fill it up with deer and wolves and foxes and
owls.”
“Moose, too. Sometimes we get
moose.”
“And especially
moose. Am I being clear enough now?”
“I think maybe I’m starting to get the
picture.”
He took her lips, softly, gently.
Kissed her until she moaned low in her throat. “Is that a
yes I hear?”
“Mmmmm—yes. Hey! Stop!”
He had scooped her up and was heading
down the hall. “First things first. You’re tired, you need to lie
down. I’ll bet you haven’t had breakfast either, and it’s already
time for lunch.”
“You’re going to be a real pain about
this, aren’t you?”
He paused in front of her door until
she reached down and opened it. Swung her inside. “You bet. I’m
going to make your life miserable, and I’m going to begin by making
you something to eat.” He set her carefully on the edge of the bed,
stood back and looked at her with concern. “I should have asked.
Are you feeling okay? Are you sick or anything?”
“I’m not throwing up in the mornings.
Although I have to wonder how much of the nausea I’ve had since the
accident was due to the concussion and how much was because I’m
pregnant.” She covered her lips with her fingers on that last word.
“God, I’m not used to saying that yet. It feels weird. Kind of
scary. Okay, a lot scary. This is really going to change my
life.”
“Our life,” he
corrected and sat beside her, gathered her under one arm. “But
we’ll be okay. It’s sooner than we might have planned, but what’s
that plaque on Birkie’s desk say? The one with the John Lennon
quote on it.”
“Life is what happens
to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
“See? This is unexpected, but that
doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing.” He kissed the top of her head.
“A wonderful thing. We’ll raise this child right in the midst of
all those animals we rescue. Not to mention we’ve already got three
ponies and a dozen dogs for him on the farm. That’s a pretty good
life for a kid, don’t you think?”
She hugged him tightly then, unable to
speak, and held on for a long time.