The Alpha's Daughter (18 page)

"What if he cries and I don't hear him? He's
such a tiny thing. He won't be very loud," she worried, obviously
having forgotten his ear piercing wail after Doc repaired his
lungs. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to him now."

"You sleep. I'll stay and keep watch," Jazz
promised. She brought in a kitchen chair and placed it beside the
bed at the foot of the bassinette.

"Is Doc still angry?" Sandy asked.

"Nah," Jazz waved her hand. "You just scared
the hell out of him and he gets pissy when he's scared. He got over
it."

Sandy smiled. "Mark gets that way, too. When
I first went into labor, he yelled at me to make it stop as if I
could do anything about it. Then he got all apologetic and pestered
me to death trying to make up for it."

"I don't think Doc is there yet, but I'll
work on it," Jazz laughed. "You close your eyes now and get some
sleep."

Sitting idle on the bedside chair, Jazz soon
found herself nodding off to the soft breathing sounds of the
mother. There was coffee in the kitchen and she decided she could
really use a cup. The sight of the two men sitting at the table
stopped her.

Mark Wardman's head was bowed and his fists
were clenched. His shoulders shook. The man was crying! Doc laid a
comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know what I'd do without her,"
Wardman sobbed. "I owe you, Doc, more than I can ever repay, but I
will pay. I promise. I should have listened to you."

Jazz held her breath and then let it out on a
sigh.

"I give you advice," her grizzly told him.
"It's up to you and your mate to decide what to do with it. Look
how well this all turned out. You raise that boy right and it's
payment enough."

"Hey guys, any of that coffee left?" Jazz
went to the counter to pour herself a mug and looked around the
kitchen mostly to avoid looking at the men. It was a pretty little
kitchen with bright yellow walls. "Where'd you get these cabinets?
They're beautiful," she said to fill the awkward silence her
entrance had caused. It was true, though. They were beautiful and
each door was carved with a woodland design at its center.

"I made them," Mark admitted proudly. "It's
kind of a hobby of mine. I built that hutch, too. It's not fancy,
but Sandy likes it."

"I can see why." Jazz said, the wheels of
commerce turning in her mind. "Do you ever make bookcases?"

"Jazz! Wherever you're going with this,
don't," her grizzly growled.

"Bookcases are easy. Been making them since I
was a kid," Mark said, looking interested. "You need some?"

"Doc does. If I get the wood, will you build
them?" She ignored Doc's dirty look.

"I've got wood. Listen, Doc, you just tell me
what you need."

"Why don't you stop in next time you're down
the road and I'll show you what he needs." Jazz cocked her head as
the baby issued a soft cry. "For now, go spend some time with your
family. They need you more than Doc needs bookcases."

When the bedroom door closed, Doc turned on
her. "Don't ever do that again," he threatened.

"What? The man wants to pay. Let him pay.
It's a matter of pride, Griz. You need bookcases. He can build
them. Let him. It sure beats another pig," she said, laughing.

Griz shook his head. "What am I going to do
with you, Hellcat?"

"I can think of a number of things," Jazz
said suggestively, "We can talk about it when we get home."

She was ready for some smartassed response,
but Griz only nodded soberly.

When they arrived back at Doc's house, a car was parked out
front, engine running. The minute they pulled up, the car door
opened and a woman got out, the bundled cub in her arms barking
painfully like a seal.

"Croup," Doc said resignedly, "As if I can do
more than they can do at home."

Jazz could smell the steaming herbs through
the door as she got ready for bed. She heard the cub's coughing
subside and the murmur of grateful voices as the office door
closed. It was the last thing she heard before Griz was shaking her
awake. He held out a steaming cup of coffee.

"Ellie and Donna will be here in fifteen
minutes," he said, "And believe me, Donna is never late."

"No!" Jazz sat up so quickly her head just
missed whacking his chin. "They can't! You were going… I was going…
We were going to… Oh, to hell with it. Kiss me quick." She looked
up at him, closed her eyes and puckered.

"Ten minutes, Hellcat."

Jazz opened her eyes. "I hate you, Griz."

He didn't laugh or hit her with a comeback.
"Hurry up if you want a cup of coffee before Donna gets here."

Jazz had time for a second cup because Donna
and Ellie had to fuss over Griz's new look.

"You look a good sight better than you did,"
Donna concluded. "Didi'll be crying sick in no time, just to give
her an excuse to come take a look see."

Harvey rescued him and Jazz didn't see him
for the rest of the day. It bothered her that he had been so quiet,
but then again, he'd had less sleep than she did.

Following Donna's plan, they started with the
largest bedroom upstairs, clearing out box after box filled with
books and a few pieces of furniture. They painted it a soft silvery
gray not by design, but because, of the dozen paint cans Harvey
loaded on the porch, this was the one color they had enough of to
paint a whole room. It was masculine enough that she thought Griz
would approve. Jazz loved it against the bright white woodwork and
said so.

"Admire it later. We need to get that bed up
here," was Donna's terse reply. The practical Donna would not be
distracted from her goal.

Donna mixed paint for the downstairs. Into a
five gallon bucket went several shades of off white, bright yellow,
brown and orange. Jazz was afraid they'd end up with mud colored
walls, but it turned out Ellie's sister had an eye for mixing color
and the result was a creamy gold that brightened the whole
area.

There were only two disagreements during the
day which was largely because both Jazz and Ellie stepped back and
let Donna take charge.

The first was over curtains. Donna had
brought several pairs she had stored in her attic and they were
very pretty - as long as they were in someone else's house. The
full, gathered tiebacks were much too girly for Jazz's taste and
she didn't think Griz would welcome them either. They were supposed
to be doing this for him, after all.

She said so and the argument was on. Ellie,
ever the peacemaker, settled it by agreeing that a man might find
them too frilly, but if Donna wouldn't mind, they would make a
lovely addition to Livvy's bedroom which was in need of a
makeover.

"She's not a little girl anymore. She's a
young woman and wants a young woman's life. She hates anything I
buy her and she's started watching the boys."

She was doing more than watching, Jazz knew.
It was Livvy she'd seen that first morning and every morning since
and she'd heard the distinctive heart-beat throb of the young man's
Harley going by after dark with its headlights off. It probably
wasn't dangerous. Wolvers saw too well in the dark, but it was a
sure sign of attempted secrecy. Jazz wasn't sure if Ellie knew and
if she did, would she want Donna to? She kept her mouth shut and
was glad she did when Donna threw in her two cents worth.

"You need to put your foot down on that girl.
She has no business looking at boys at her age."

Jazz had to turn away and smile at that.
Donna thought her son was too young to be looking at girls and he
was thirty-two.

The second disagreement came over the dining
room which both Donna and Ellie insisted should be turned back to
its original purpose and Jazz insisted should become Doc's
study.

"There's plenty of room upstairs," Donna said
as if the decision was final.

"He needs to be close to the office," Jazz
insisted. It was true, though she'd daydreamed a bit when they'd
moved the couch and revealed the fireplace. She saw herself curled
in a chair in front of the fire while her grizzly worked. She'd
never been much of a dreamer, but lately, she found herself doing
it more and more.

The living room was long and narrow with the
staircase rising against the end wall by the kitchen. There was no
reason they couldn't put a table and chairs at the far end by the
stairs and split the room in two.

The sisters argued. Jazz rebutted and finally
put her foot down. "It's his house."

"It's your house, too. You should have…"
Ellie stopped and looked surprised at her own thought. "I forgot.
It seems like you've been here forever, but this isn't your house,
is it?"

"Well maybe it should be," Donna said in her
emphatic way. "Here, help me move this couch back a bit more.
There's a rocking chair upstairs that'll work just fine next to the
fire."

In spite of being tired and filthy and dotted
with paint, Jazz was feeling better and better all the time.

When the women had gone, Jazz took one last
satisfied look around the downstairs rooms before going to the
kitchen to heat water for a bath. With fresh paint, clean blinds
and shining windows, the place was transformed.

The small dining table, once covered in
papers and clothing, was now cleared and surrounded by three
mismatched wooden chairs they'd found in the rooms above. The sofa
was still lumpy and its springs were still sprung, but it looked so
much better facing the fireplace and Donna was right, the painted
rocker was perfect beside it.

The dining/bedroom that was now a study had
boxes of books lining the walls, but once Mark Wardman built the
cases to hold them, they would look good surrounding the small
table under the windows that Griz could use as a desk. Jazz was
determined to ask Harvey about a competent electrician to wire the
house and how much it would cost. Griz needed a lamp and a laptop
for his work. The plumbing could wait.

Jazz wrestled the tub from its hook on the
wall and poured in the cool water. She was getting good at judging
just how much she needed to cool the boiling water enough to bathe.
She looked around and sniffed. Things smelled as they should, but
her sixth sense, her wolf sense, said something wasn't right. Her
eyes scanned the trees, but saw nothing. It wasn't until she looked
downward over the edge of the porch that she realized what was
missing. It wasn't smell or sight. It was sound. There was no sound
of rooting, snorting, squealing pigs.

That lovely, lovely man had listened to her
complaint and taken the pigs away. Where they went, she didn't
care. They were gone. That's all that mattered. The smell was still
there and the churned up yard, but that would subside in time,
particularly if it was planted with a garden. Donna swore by pig
shit as a fertilizer.

Jazz enjoyed her bath, happily singing about
country roads and a place where she belonged as she carefully
shaved her legs. She was widely off key and anyone listening would
think she was heavily into drugs or drinking, but she didn't care.
By the time she was in the kitchen drying off, she'd switched to a
rousing version of "Ding Dong, the pigs are gone, the dirty old
pigs, the stinky pigs. Ding dong the nasty old pigs are gone."

She heard her grizzly come in the front door
and called, "I'm in the kitchen. Steak and baked potatoes for
supper, okay? Make yourself comfortable in your new home while I
get it ready. You must be exhausted. I know I am."

"We need to go over some things," he called
back.

"We do," she said, "I have some ideas I want
to bounce off you, but it'll have to wait for the steaks. Don't
want them over cooked."

She came through the kitchen door with plates
and flatware and napkins. She didn't mind eating in the kitchen,
liked it in fact, but she wanted to celebrate the house's new look
and enjoy Griz's reaction to it. The door to the office was closing
as she came through.

How odd? He usually had something to say,
before he buried himself in there. She reminded herself of how
tired he must be while she'd gotten a second wind from her pig-free
bath. She set the table and went back to the kitchen, waiting until
the steak and potatoes were ready before knocking on his door. She
never entered the office and only knocked once having learned her
lesson that first day.

Griz came out and looked around again,
shaking his head. His eyes stopped at the table set with
supper.

"We need to talk," he said again.

"What about?" Jazz asked suspiciously. Her
good mood was gone, replaced by a knot in her stomach.

"Let's have supper," he said, "No sense
letting good food go to waste."

It went to waste anyway. The steak was tender
and juicy and rare, just the way she liked it, but it tasted like
sawdust in her mouth. Griz worked his way through the meat and half
the potato, but his actions were mechanical and he didn't look like
he was enjoying it any more than she was. Jazz finally laid her
knife and fork aside and pushed her plate away.

"You got rid of the pigs," she said because
the silence was stifling.

"I did," he said and he, too, laid his
utensils aside. "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you
about."

The way he said it made the knot in her
stomach grow into a ball.

"Just let me clear away these dishes…" she
started to say.

"No," he said, "Leave them." His hand reached
out and touched hers and then he withdrew it as if touching her was
painful.

Jazz, who'd half risen, sat back down and
folded her hands on the table in front of her. "I'm listening."

"I sold the pigs today to a meat processer in
town. Bobby McIntyre loaned me his trailer."

Was that what was upsetting him? She knew he
fed them in the morning and sometimes talked to them the way people
do, but he never seemed particularly attached.