The Alpha's Daughter (23 page)

Against her will, Jazz's eyes sought out Griz
and found him directing the placement of the first wave of food on
the makeshift tables. Tom Dawson walked up and clapped him on the
back and growly Griz smiled and nodded when Tom laughed.

It looked like the doctor was finally making
an effort to participate in the social aspects of the pack. It had
always seemed strange to Jazz that he would give up a place in much
wealthier packs to be here, but never went out of his way to join
in.

He loved these wolvers and he showed it in
his care for them, but he kept himself apart. He accepted their
food, but never an invitation to supper. He delivered their
children and agonized over each loss, but never went to the Naming.
He didn't hunt, fish or play poker every other Wednesday evening.
He ate the occasional meal at the tavern, but never went there to
spend an hour with friends. Ellie said he was a sad and lonely man.
Jazz wondered what Ellie saw in her. She stood by the woman now,
watching the men at the fire.

"You'd think those coals couldn't burn
without them." Ellie's laughter was affectionately tolerant. "It's
a wonder they aren't arguing over who gets the charcoal lighter
next. They're like a bunch of cubs playing with matches, only now
they're too big for their Mamas to whup." She nudged Jazz with her
elbow. "Let's go get that big tub of Doc's and put it out here
under the tree. We can fill it with drinks, add ice and water and
we'll be set for the day."

Jazz followed Ellie into the house, smiled
politely while Ellie admired the work they had done, and froze in
the kitchen doorway when Ellie stopped abruptly and looked
around.

Ellie took in the water spattered floor, the
overturned chair and the table swept clear of napkins, salt and
pepper and sugar saucer with its paper packets, all of which were
still scattered on the floor. She sniffed audibly and laughed.

"Looks like someone got a good start on the
day."

Jazz smiled weakly and said nothing. Picking
up the scattered debris, she set the table to rights.

"You're good for him, you know," Ellie
continued on her way to the porch. "You make him laugh. You make
him angry. You make him feel things." She winked in the direction
of the kitchen. "He needs someone like you."

"He doesn't need me." Jazz muttered into the
tub as she took it from the wall. Griz needed someone called
Angelica. Shit, even the name was beautiful.

"He's good for you, too," Ellie went on,
"Kind of like a ground for your electricity."

They wrestled the tub through the door.

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch,
Ellie. Isn't that what you always tell your cubs? Things aren't
always what they seem." Jazz shook her head. "I'll be leaving soon
anyway."

"What do you mean leaving? I thought the
Alpha was going to take you into the pack. I thought you liked it
here, liked us."

"I do." That was the problem. She liked them
too damn much and the longer she stayed, the more attached she'd
become.

She'd never felt that way about her father's
pack. She missed Uncle Moose a little, her father not at all. The
others were just names and faces. She couldn't say she had friends
or missed them at all. She would miss Gilead and the wolvers she'd
met and wonder about those she never had a chance to get to
know.

"This was never supposed to be a permanent
home," she said. And yet it felt more like home than the place she
grew up in. "It's complicated."

The other woman rolled her eyes and sucked
her cheeks into deep dimples. She let them go with a loud smack.
"You know, everybody says that, but most things aren't. Talk it
out. Work it out. That's what you do when you love someone."

"I don't love him," Jazz said firmly. She
didn't even know what that meant.

"Oh." Ellie's startled eyes began to twinkle
with mischief and she shrugged. "In that case, screw his brains out
and enjoy it while it lasts."

"Ellie!" Jazz sputtered.

In spite of the way it began, Jazz enjoyed
the day. The sun was low behind the trees, but there was still
plenty of food and drink and music. She could feel the rising moon
tickling over her skin and was surprised at how much she was
anticipating this run. Going over the moon tonight would be a
statement of her freedom.

As if in celebration of her emancipation,
someone brought out a banjo which was soon joined by a guitar. Once
the fiddler arrived, the dancing began. Some of the couples were
very good, moving swiftly through complicated steps to the applause
and cheers of the gathering crowds. It was Country music, and while
Jazz had never considered herself a fan, she found her foot tapping
to the beat just the same.

Children ran everywhere. They seemed to
belong to no one and everyone. Jazz watched and smiled as a little
girl's scraped knee was washed and kissed and bandaged long before
her mother arrived on the scene. Sticky faces were washed, scolding
fingers were wagged and a few shouts of warning were issued, but
for the most part, the cubs were allowed to enjoy their day of
playing hooky from school, which was Donna's way of saying cutting
class.

"And look at them cubs over there actin'
wild." Donna nodded to a group of teenagers who'd congregated in
one corner of the field near the road. You couldn't hear their
music, but the boom of the bass was clear. "No good'll come of
that, I can tell you," she said as a girl fled from the group only
to be chased, captured and returned squealing, by one of the young
men.

Jazz couldn't see the harm in it. They were
loud, but with laughter. As far as she could see, the pushing and
shoving and the wrestling were playful, more showing off for the
girls than challenges. In her father's pack, a group like that
would have seethed with aggression and physical confrontations were
the norm. "Oh, come on Donna, you were young once."

The rumble of motorcycles drew everyone's
attention. Four young men, two with girls on the backs of their
bikes, pulled up beside the small party. Livvy Dawson broke away
from the group of girls she was talking to and ran to the
newcomers. When she rose up on tiptoe to give her young man a
welcoming kiss, Donna fumed.

"What did I tell you? Harvey! Harvey!" she
called to her mate across the field. "Someone needs to get the
Alpha," she said as an aside to Jazz.

"It's okay, Donna. Tom and Doc are on
it."

She pointed to the two men sauntering across
the field in the direction of the teenagers. They looked like they
were merely heading in the general direction with no purpose in
mind. They waved to the young wolvers and paused while
introductions were made, shook hands with the newcomers and pointed
to the tables where the food was laid out.

When the men nodded their good byes and
looked like they were headed in Jazz's direction, she started
moving away. She'd been doing it all day, inconspicuously moving in
the opposite direction every time Griz moved her way. She was saved
from finding another excuse to move on when the two changed course
to intercept Roger Wilson who was charging across the field like a
man on a mission.

"They didn't do anything," Donna complained
about the lack of action on the part of the men.

"They don't have to," Jazz said with a deep
breath of relief. "They've made it clear that they're around and
keeping an eye on things. If there's any trouble they'll be there.
If there's no trouble, then it's all good."

"All good? They're rogues," Donna hissed.

"They're wolvers first," Jazz said firmly.
"And they need a pack just like you do. Where do they have to go if
you run them off?"

"They're rogues." Donna repeated just as
firmly. "They belong to that… that gang across the ridge."

"They had no choice!" Jazz's patience was at
an end and she threw up her hands. "You don't get it, Donna. When
you're a pup, you live the way the wolvers around you live. You
live what you see. You were so lucky to grow up in a place like
Gilead."

She heard Donna's snort of derision and saw
her scanning the patched and faded canopies, the trucks with rusted
fenders and the tables cobbled together with sawhorses and boards.
Donna was thinking about the houses that needed paint and the folks
who needed jobs. She couldn't see what Jazz saw because she'd been
looking at it every day of her life.

Jazz punched Donna's shoulder.

"Ow!" Donna rubbed the sore spot. "I thought
we cured you of that. We still have a garden to plant. You want to
add hauling manure to that?"

Jazz laughed in spite of her frustration.
"I'm glad Gri… Doc broke us up, you know. If we'd gone another
round, you might have had me?"

"You think so?" Donna straightened her
shoulders and grinned.

"No, but it would have been something to
watch," Jazz smirked.

"Hmph. I'm almost twenty years older than
you. I think I did pretty damn good for an old bitch." She gave
Jazz a sharp nod, "So there." Then she waved at the field taking in
its occupants. "Tell me," she said, suddenly serious. "Tell me what
you see, 'cause I ain't seeing much that would be attractive to
them rogues. There's nothing worth stealing."

Jazz wanted to smack the woman upside her
head, but refrained. Donna was so hard-headed, she probably
wouldn't feel it.

"What you have can't be stolen." Jazz sighed.
"Do you really want to know what I see?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"I see you, a woman I tried to kick the shit
out of who became my friend. I see women of this pack who may talk
about Didi Haines now and again, but don't beat hell out of her and
run her off. And I know you could take Didi, hands down." Jazz
tried to laugh, but it was hard because her eyes were getting misty
and she was trying not to make a fool of herself.

"I see how Ellie is with her cubs and how
much Tom respects and loves her and how you all treat the twins
and…" The words poured out as Jazz described all the things she'd
seen and heard in the short time she'd been here.

Donna raised her eyebrows. "You sound like
you like it here."

"I do and some of them might like it, too."
Jazz nodded at the young rogues. "Those wolver cubs aren't cubs
anymore. They're young adults and they have a choice now that they
didn't before. Don't send them away, Donna. Show them what they
could have here in Gilead. You need new blood and strong wolvers.
They need a pack with a decent Alpha who can show them there's
something better, something good."

"Then why are you leaving us?" Donna asked
quietly. "And don't deny it. Ellie told me."

"I was never supposed to stay. They're
expecting me somewhere else. I don't belong here," Jazz repeated
everything she'd been telling herself.

"Bullshit." Donna gave her a look that was
harder than any punch. "You're a coward, Jasmine Phillips. You'll
knock an old bitch down for looking at you cross-eyed, but you
won't fight for what's important."

"You're not that old," Jazz muttered. She saw
Griz turn toward her as if he knew he was about to become the topic
of conversation. "And I'm no coward." She started back to the
house.

"Then why are you leaving?" Donna called
after her.

Jazz started to call back over her shoulder,
but Donna was already trotting to catch up. "Because there's no
future for me here, that's why," she said as the woman reached her
side.

"No future for you or no future for you with
Griz?" Donna asked with the same voice she'd use to ask if Jazz if
she thought it might rain.

"Don't call him that," Jazz snapped.

"Hmmm." Donna's pursed lips slid to the side
as if she was trying to suppress a smile. "Did he tell you
that?"

"Yes! No!" Jazz closed her eyes and shook her
head. "He didn't sit me down and hold my hand and come right out
and say he'd rather be with Angelica," Jazz said bleakly. "He just
said her name."

"Oh. My. God. He didn't," Donna said and at
the look on Jazz's face, "He did, the bastard." She dragged Jazz up
the stairs and into the house.

"Donna, leave it be," Jazz told her. "I don't
want to talk about it and I have to get changed. These clothes
won't hold up through the going over." She headed for the
stairs.

It was a good excuse to make herself scarce
and it was true. Natural fibers, most metals, and leather would
make it through the change to wolf and back intact. Synthetics were
another matter. Her capris and shirt, both rejects from the
teenaged Livvy's closet, were 'stretch' and therefore of mixed
materials. A cotton outfit of tee shirt and shorts was waiting at
the foot of the bed.

Donna wasn't falling for it. "Nonsense,
you've got plenty of time," she said as she grabbed Jazz's arm and
swung her toward the sitting area. She then proceeded to use the
same excuse to get people out of the house.

"Out! Out. Go get your gossip someplace else.
It's almost time to run anyway." she scolded the three women making
themselves at home in front of the hearth where someone had lit a
fire. Two of the women fled, flashing curious looks over their
shoulders. Donna turned to the third who was sitting in the rocker.
"Come on, move it… uh oh, sorry, Miz Mary."

Donna looked like she wanted to melt into the
floor.

"So you should be," Miz Mary told her, "This
ain't your house, Donna Mae Morrissey. You got no call to run
anybody off. Now what's this all about?"

Jazz groaned inwardly, but said as calmly as
she could, "Nothing."

"Don't tell me nothin'," the old woman said.
"You got half the women in this pack talkin' and I'm plum wore out
watchin' you run t'other way every time Doc moves in your
direction."

"It's no one's business and I wasn't
running."

Miz Mary snorted her disbelief. "You looked
like a rabbit with a fox on his tail, hoppin' every which way, all
over the place to avoid the snappin' of jaws. Now, what's got you
ducking and weaving?"