The Mane Squeeze (5 page)

“You sit right down here,” she said, amusing Ric, who sat next to him. It fascinated him the way the older She-wolves pampered Lock like a giant teddy bear, while all the older males hated and feared him.

“You going to tell me what happened?” Ric asked, reaching for one of the berries from the massive bowl Adelle placed in front of Lock, but quickly snatching his hand back when she slapped it.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’ll feel better.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Did you end up on the wrong side of a buck again?”

“No. Wolves.” When Ric and Adelle passed glances, both wondering who in their Pack would be stupid enough to go up against any bear, much less Lock, he shook his head. “Not your Pack. Some other flea-bitten Pack.”

“Excuse me, but we haven’t had an outbreak of fleas in years. And what other Pack?”

“I don’t know.”

Adelle cleared her throat, her face concerned. “I know some of the Smiths are staying out at Shaw’s place this weekend. But I can’t imagine Bobby Ray would—”

“These weren’t Smiths. I’ve dealt with Smiths before, and met a few of the New York Pack at Jess’s wedding. It wasn’t them.”

“Okay. Then who do you think—”

“She’s going to think I deserted her,” Lock blurted out.

Her?
Lock didn’t have a “her” in his life. He’d had a few “you remember, what’s-her-names” over the past couple of years, but they’d come and gone quickly with little thought. The only females in his life that Ric knew Lock thought about on a regular basis were his mother and sister. Otherwise, Lock kept primarily to himself.

“And who would this
she
be exactly?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But I’m sure we can go to wherever
she
is and—”

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” Lock picked up his bowl of berries and walked out of the kitchen.

After they heard his bedroom door slam shut, Adelle asked, “Do you think his ‘she’ is a wolf?”

“He smelled like he’d been around a feline, but what kind, I’m not sure.”

“A feline? For my Lock?” Adelle scrunched up her nose. “I’m not sure some feline’s going to be good enough for him.”

If Lock really liked her, whoever she may be, Ric wouldn’t care. His friend had not had an easy life, so a little feline canoodling couldn’t hurt.

Ric slid off the stool. “Let me see what I can find out.”

“Good.”

“Did you say Brendon Shaw was in town?” he asked, always wanting to get information up front before he threw himself into things.

“Yes. Brought out a bunch of people, too, including Smitty’s Pack and Jess’s.”

Ahh. Sweet Jess. Ric had always liked her, and was not happy he couldn’t make her wedding. But he should have known that a sudden demand for an important business trip would rise up out of nowhere as soon as Ric’s father had found out he hadn’t been invited to the wedding but Ric had.

“I’ll let you know what I find out,” he promised, heading to the back door and pulling out his cell phone.

O
ne small kitchen fire later and Jess Ward-Smith was racing across territorial lines and right into Ulrich Van Holtz’s open arms.

Oh, and it was a small, controlled burn. Nothing to worry about. Simply a way to distract one overprotective hillbilly wolf and his hillbilly wolf kin while she illicitly met up with one of the coolest-named guys
ever
.

“I’m so glad to see you!” she said, hugging the wolf tight.

He hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek. “Me, too.” He placed her down and studied her carefully. “You look astoundingly beautiful,” he said easily. He had to be the only man she knew who made those kinds of compliments sound as if he was stating the obvious rather than merely trying to flatter her. “And very happy.”

Jess Ward-Smith knew she was blushing now, but she couldn’t help it. “Yeah, okay,” she admitted. “I am.”

Ric laughed and gave her another hug.

Like all the Van Holtz males, Ric was tall, well-built with a slightly overdeveloped diver’s body, and handsome. Yet handsome was only the first stop on the beauty train for Ric, who managed to head all the way into the station for The Land of Gorgeous. With his sculpted cheekbones, Grecian nose, square jaw, and that always freshly tousled dark blond hair, it still surprised her he’d never done any modeling.

“And pregnant, too,” he teased. “My, those Smith males move quite fast.”

“Don’t start.” Jess stepped away from him, but kept a grip on his hand.

Knowing she was short on time once Smitty realized she’d sneaked out—would she have to endure his Smith protective streak through
every
damn pregnancy?—Jess asked, “I got your text, handsome, what’s up?”

“Lachlan MacRyrie went out for salmon and a nap, but came back covered in bruises and in full boar-rage. Any idea why?”

Jess briefly covered her mouth with her hand, a small gasp escaping before she said, “Oh, my God! That was Lock?” When Bren had muttered something to Smitty about an “annoying, fat-ass, stubby-tailed bear,” she’d assumed it was one of the local bears. Not her Lock! And the last thing that man had was a fat ass, but that was a treacherous un-mate-like thought for another day. “Is he okay?”

“Physically he’s fine. But he’s rarely this pissed off. I’d love to know why, so I can avoid any maulings this evening.”

“Well, the men aren’t telling me anything, so I brought Blayne along to fill in the holes. She was there with Bren’s sister, Gwen. Right, Blayne?” Jess looked around, wondering where the wolfdog she’d dragged along with her had gone off to. “Blayne?”

Ric picked up a pair of shorts from off the ground. “She’s disappeared.”

No. She hadn’t. But she had found a squirrel. Jess and Ric watched as a shifted Blayne chased the squirrel, caught the squirrel, toyed with the squirrel, let the squirrel go, only to go chasing after it again. Until she was distracted by the crow that she tried to catch in her mouth.

“So…when are you due?”

Jess winced at Ric’s question as Blayne ran into a tree, backed up, and went after the bird again. “Mid-March.”

“And you’re having a—”

“Yes. Yes, I’m having a wolfdog.”

“Huh.”

Blayne was turning in circles now, trying to catch her tail.

“Blayne,” Jess called out.
“Blayne!”

The wolfdog immediately stopped and started to walk over to Jess and Ric. Too bad the dizziness got the best of her, though, because she stumbled sideways into another tree and slid down, panting.

Picking up Blayne’s clothes, Jess walked over to her. Blayne had an interesting look to her as wolfdog. Built like a wolf, with a heavy coat and muscular body, she still had the giant ears and tiny paws of the wild dog along with the coloring that included big splotches of white, brown, blond, black, and red all over her shaggy coat. Not surprisingly, Blayne dyed her human hair one solid color, like most wild dogs. They were the only shifters forced to do so if they hoped to fit in among full-humans.

“I don’t have all day,” Jess said, wondering how hard it would be to raise the one wolfdog she was currently pregnant with, much less the seven girls Smitty believed they were going to eventually have because his “prem’nitions” told him so.

“Sorry,” Blayne said after shifting. She stood and quickly pulled her clothes on. “Got distracted.”

Jess didn’t mention that Blayne seemed to get distracted often.

“Blayne, this is Ric. Ric, Blayne.”

They shook hands and then Ric asked, “So what happened?”

“Well—”

“Don’t ramble,” Jess said quickly, which got her a harsh glare. In answer, Jess tapped her wrist, where her favorite watch usually was, but it had been taken by Smitty and hidden for the weekend. “I’m on a tight schedule here, sweetie.”

“More like a tight leash with a hillbilly at the other end of it.”

Jess gasped in outrage and Ric quickly placed his hand on Jess’s shoulder. “So what happened?” he asked Blayne again.

“It was a hate crime.”

Jess looked at Ric and back at Blayne. “You mean they attacked you because you’re bl—”

“A hybrid. Exactly!”

“Oh.” Jess rubbed her forehead. “All right then.”

“You and your friend are both hybrids?” Ric carefully asked.

“Yup. I’m wolfdog, Gwenie’s tigon. They jumped me, Gwen jumped in, we took off running, Gwen woke up the bear, they went over the mountain. There. That quick enough for ya, Jess?”

Ric’s back snapped straight. “I’m sorry. Um…they went over…wait…what?”

“Not at first. At first, Lock was slapping those wolves around. Then they were going over the mountain.”

“
Over
the mountain?” Jess shook her head. “Do you mean they rolled down a hill?” She’d lived in Tennessee for two years, she was used to hills.

“Nope. Over the mountain, into the river, down the river.”

“You mean they fell into Macon River from one of the falls?” Ric demanded.

“It was more of a cliff than a fall, but…yeah. I met up with Bren and Ronnie about a mile away. Together we ran down to the mouth of the riverbed, and that’s where we caught up with Lock. He was trying to take Gwen to the medical center, but she was putting up a fight because of the organ thieves.”

Ric stepped back. “The what?”

Jess held her hand up to halt Ric, wanting Blayne to finish before she killed her. “Then what?”

“Then Bren fought the bear, I fought Gwen—”

“Why were you fighting Gwen? Because of the organ thieves?”
Wait. Did I just say that out loud?

“Because she wouldn’t tell Bren that the bear helped her and Bren thought the bear was attacking her when he wasn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell Brendon that?”

“Because she was torturing me.”

“All right then.” Jess was done. “This was fun but—”

“No, no, no.” Blayne clutched her hands together nervously or excitedly…to be honest, it was hard to tell. “There’s something else.”

“You know the Pack who did this?” Ric, so cute when he was trying to maneuver a wolfdog into a nice, logical,
straight
line.
Good luck with that one
.

“No,” Blayne said simply. “I have no idea who it was.”

“Then what?” Jess pushed.

“I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I’m planning some life changes.”

“Life changes?” What did this have to do with
anything?

“Yes. Huge ones, actually. And so lately I’ve been mostly focused on me, you know, kind of obsessing, worried about how I was going to do this and everything and then it hit me!” She grinned, showing all those perfect teeth that had to be the product of excellent dental care and childhood braces. “What a really cute couple Gwen and Lock are!”

Ric laughed as Jess shook her head, turning to walk away. “Oh, my God! You must be joking!”

Blayne jumped in front of her. “I’m serious! You have to see them together. They’re so freaking cute!”

“He’s bear, she’s feline. He lives in New York, she lives in Philly. The list is endless of why this is a bad idea.” Plus this was her Lock! Jess loved Lock. He was the sweetest, kindest, nicest bear ever. And all Jess knew about Gwen was that she threatened Brendon Shaw’s cranky sister with acid during the wedding. Not that Jess blamed her or anything, because Marissa Shaw could be a real bitch, but Lock deserved a lovely sow who loved him, pampered him, and understood his obsession with honey. Not some vicious-tongued cat who’d greeted Jess the last two mornings with, “Hey, Fido. How youse doin’?”

“I’m telling you—cute. Adorable!”

“Blayne, forget it.”

Blayne sighed. “Okay. You’re probably right.”

“Do you really think that pouty-face move is going to work on
me?
” Jess asked. “I perfected it.”

“What about two pouty faces?” Ric rested his chin on Blayne’s shoulder and blinked big brown eyes at Jess. “Will that work?”

“What are you doing?”

“I have no idea.” Ric grinned. “But I have to say that I’m completely in for the ride.”

“But this is my Lock,” Jess argued. “I mean…who is
she?
”

Now it was Blayne’s turn to gasp in outrage. “Are you implying my Gwenie isn’t good enough for your bear?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it. Out loud.”

“Breedist!”

“I am not!”

“Breed-
ist!
”

While the two females snarled viciously at each other, Ric grabbed a stick from the ground and waved it between Jess and Blayne. “Look! Look! A stick! Who wants it? Who wants it? Go get it!” He threw the stick and Jess and Blayne watched it flip across the forest floor. Once it landed, they looked back at Ric.

“Dude,” Jess told him, “that was just rude.”

Niles Van Holtz, Alpha of the Van Holtz Pack, briefly glanced up from the pan he was scrubbing. “Hold on.”

His assistant watched him for several long minutes until Van was satisfied the pan was perfectly clean. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was crud on his dishes and cookware.

“What is it?” he finally asked while carefully drying the pan with a clean cloth.

“There was a territorial breach on Van Holtz property. Another Pack.”

“Which property?”

“East Coast. Macon River Falls.”

“Uh-huh.”

He certainly hoped there was more to it than a simple territorial breach for his assistant to come in on his day off. Especially if it involved his cousin Alder’s New York-New Jersey territories. As it was, Van didn’t involve himself in the day-to-day operations of his cousins’ territories and sub-Packs. He made the assumption that those who’d fought their way to the top could manage. Besides, the only thing he liked to micromanage was his restaurants, his kitchen, and his delicious wife when they were in bed. Any other time, she wouldn’t tolerate it, and he couldn’t be bothered.

“There were injuries.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough we were given a heads-up by the medical staff. And there’s something else.”

He hoped so because right now it didn’t sound like anything his idiot cousin couldn’t handle.

Van hung the now-dry pan from the rack over his counter before he faced his assistant. “And what’s that?”

“The ones that were attacked were hybrids.”

Van sneered. No, his cousin couldn’t handle this. Or maybe Van should say that Alder
wouldn’t
handle this, his opinion on hybrids having been made quite clear over the years. Yet Van understood what his cousin didn’t when it came to hybrids—an attack was rarely just an attack when mixed breeds were involved. “Get my cousin on the phone.”

His assistant sighed. “Which cousin, sir? At last count, you had—”

“I know how many cousins I have.” And why did he allow his wife to hire his assistants? They were all like her in tone but without the added benefit of a great ass and genius-level IQ. “Get me Ulrich out of New York on his cell and put him through to my office.”

Cousin Alder wouldn’t like it, but it was time to see what Alder’s youngest boy, or as Alder liked to call him, the “useless, worthless, prissy boy” was truly made of.