Witch's Moon - chapter 5, part 2

We took seats opposite of Lex at the long conference table and settled in to wait for our host to return. Mooney said nothing, just stretched his six foot plus body out in what was clearly a relaxed pose. He was letting Lex know that he felt not the least bit threatened, a silly thing since Lex could probably have taken the wolf in open combat. Lex may not be more than a few inched taller than my own five foot three, but he was an ancient Egyptian demi god. One didn't survive that pantheon for four thousand years without knowing how to defend oneself. I knew this first hand, having been subjected to the Egyptians for most of my life.


Besides, Lex kind of wrote Mooney's pay checks. My wolf needed to watch himself.

Lex, by contrast, seemed perfectly content to sit across from us lie the cat that he was, watching to see if we got nervous so that he could pounce. We didn't of course. It was a near thing for me. My relationship with Lex was more than a little screwed up. He was one part father figure, one part obnoxious uncle and one part teacher with a dash of big brother thrown in for good measure. While he had never made any moves towards me in a sexual sense, he had also not made any effort to protect me from the perverts of Ra's court.Had even encouraged me to use my feminine whiles on his behalf from time to time, including with Mooney. I did not get why he was showing this passive-aggressive resistance to me and Mooney snuggling and it was starting to piss me off royally.

Just as I was about to loose my cool, the door to the conference room opened and the smell of sizzling fajitas wafted in followed by none other than Gypsy Rose. She was wearing a barely-there black kimono robe that did nothing to hide the fact that she was still wearing her stage costume minus the snake, which meant she was pretty much nude.

"Put the try on the table, love," she murmured to the waiter in her husky southern drawl. "We'll serve ourselves." All eyes were on the sexy red wolf as the waiter slid the huge try of sizzling meat, peppers, onions, and tortillas onto the table. All eyes other than Mooney's, anyway. I couldn't help but feel pleased that the nearly naked she-wolf failed to draw his attention away from the food. Hell, I half way wanted to jump her and I didn't swing that way. That didn't mean he wanted me over Gypsy, of course, only that he wanted fajitas more than he wanted to ogle a beautiful woman, but I was taking what I could get. And then he dished me up a plate of meat and peppers.

"Moon-dog, witches don't eat meat," Gypsy said with a smirk. Mooney stopped scooping food onto the plate he'd put in front of me and looked down sheepishly. I smiled at him, then stared at her, and pulled the plate closer.

"Wow, this smells awesome. Can you pass me a tortilla, babe?" I smiled at Mooney coyly and I popped a slice of green pepper into my mouth. He smiled back, looking a little uncertain about this but he did hand me a tortilla.

"Do you, you know, eat meat?" he asked quietly. I didn't answer, preferring to show him by popping a slice of beef in my mouth. Wait. That was not beef. That was... I didn't want to know what that was. I focused on chewing it enough to safely swallow it.

"What's the matter, monkey-child?" Lex said with a smirk, not making any move toward to food. "Cat got your tongue?"

"What an... interesting texture," I said carefully around the last traces of meat-like stuff in my mouth. "Um, that's not beef, is it?"

"No," Gypsy said with a smirk. "It's road kill special."

"Road kill?" I looked down at the meat still on my plate and carefully swallowed what remained in my mouth.

"It's, ah, mountain lion," Mooney said, grabbing for my plate. I slapped his hand away. Wolves tended to use food as courtship and he'd given me this food with his own hands. I could work with this. While I wasn't enthusiastic about eating animal flesh, this was inarguably organic and all natural, which did fit in with my food preferences. And it wasn't anything too strange.

"Ah. Yes, I guess the cat did have my tongue," I said, trying to joke about it. Lex snorted.

"What did you think it was, monkey-child?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, when I heard 'road kill,' I admit I got a horrible premonition that I was being fed raccoon..."

Laughter filled the small room. Go me, I'd managed to amuse a room full of predators. I leaned over and gave Mooney a little peck on the chin--I couldn't reach his check while sitting down--and began filling a tortilla with peppers and onions and exactly one small piece of meat, all the while hoping Dante would come back so we could get on with this.

As if he'd been waiting for exactly that moment, the door opened and Dante stepped in. He had another wolf with him, one I didn't know. Mooney did, though. I saw him stiffen suddenly. Lex's snide grin turned malicious and Gypsy's amused smirk died. I put the food down and looked into a pair of very hostile, arctic blue wolf eyes.

"Nick," Mooney said, standing up and placing himself between me and the new comer. Ah, the big brother who had fired Mooney after his court appearance the other day. Mooney didn't talk about his brother much, but I had gotten the distinct impression that Nick didn't think very highly of Mooney. Judging by the looks I was receiving, Nick really didn't approve of his little brother trying to defend me from him. Oh, damn. Oh, holy hot damn, how was I going to get out of this? Without giving up Mooney, of course. I just ate freaking road kill for the big lunk; no way was I going to just walk away from him without a fight or even a taste of what being with the hunky wolf was like.

No one moved. No one even breathed for a long moment as the two brothers stared each other down. Nick the alpha who was expressing his displeasure. Mooney the beta who was expressing his independence. I began to realize that while Nick was not pleased to see me sitting there wearing Mooney's coat, because I still hadn't given it back, this was not about me at all and Mooney wasn't letting Nick make it about me. This was about a pack alpha who'd left one of his wolves hang out to dry. Mooney had left a lucrative career in San Diego to come back to Talbot's Peak and work at the pack's business at Nick's request. Yeah, Mooney had gotten himself into trouble, but Nick had turned his back on his little brother, too. Logic never holds much sway in family spats, after all.

Finally, Nick turned his back on Mooney and took a seat at the far end of the table, catty corner to Lex and right next to Gypsy Rose. Dante didn't take a seat, choosing to lean against the wall in a tough guy pose. Everyone started breathing again.

"Well, monkey-child," Lex began. "We are all here. What is it you found so very important?"



* * * * * * * * * *

Today's post is a little bit shorter than I'd originally planned. The last 2 pages or so of this chapter just didn't

feel right, if you know what I mean. This morning, I saw a rather silly post on FB that zinged. It's like it was saying, "this is what the characters want to do, not that boring stuff you already wrote for them." So, I am listening to the picture and reworking the last two pages. The picture to the right is the one that is talking to me, BTW. Have a great week!

~ Rebecca

Witch's Moon - Chapter 5, Part 1

Dante’s kitchen was a clown car. Literally. I had thought that when I saw all the barflies coming out of it earlier, but now I knew for a fact that all of them had actually come through the kitchen and not through some hallway or stairway just inside the kitchen door. It was kind of like seeing a six lane highway running through a factory district, with on and off ramps here and there, and one lane in each directing reserved for local traffic. I had no idea how they managed to get this to pass the health inspection.

I felt a tug against my waist and looked up into Mooney’s smirking face. I belatedly realized he had tucked my under his massive arm and was guiding me through the mayhem of The Pleasure Club’s upper kitchen like a momma duck ushering a distracted chick across a busy road. I flashed a bewildered grin at him before turning back to watch the show, trusting him to keep me safe while I ogled.

The walk through the kitchen couldn’t have been more than twenty paces, but there was so much to see that it felt much longer. The kitchen highway skirted to the left of the work area, with little more that storage along the right hand wall so that the chefs weren’t tripping over clubbers while executing their culinary ballet. And I do mean chefs, not cooks. As the owner/manager of a coffee shop that also served food, I know the difference. I was a cook. I heated partially prepared food out of cartons. These were chefs. They made delectable food from raw and sometimes odd ingredients. And they did it with style. I watch as one huge man flipped sizzling fajita meat and peppers in skillets over open flames without making a mess or catching himself on fire—not something I was capable of!

Mooney tugged on my waist again and I was whisked through a trapdoor in the floor, the culinary dance disappearing above my head as we descended. I blinked two or three times to clear my dazzled eyes of the magic of it all. The chefs were not magic users, but they were creating magic just the same. That’s the thing about magic. I didn’t simply exist, it was born of life just as oxygen was.

Plants breathed in carbon dioxide and exhaled oxygen, which animals then breathed in to create carbon dioxide. In that same way, the chefs took the largess of Mother Earth and created sustenance for Her Children, which transformed the potential of the raw ingredients into something more easily used by higher beings like people and shape shifters. A true artist didn’t just effect the change, though. They also created magic of their own. I didn’t make magic when I cooked. I simply made food. But on the other hand, I doubt those chefs could make magic by combining herbs and intent the way I could, either.

I pulled my attention back to the present. As fascinating as the insanity of Dante’s kitchen had been, I had actual work of my own to do still tonight. I’d sent a text to Lex as soon as I got back to Mooney’s truck earlier, so it was probably him that Dante was leading us to meet with down here in the belly of the club. I looked around owlishly. Maybe not the belly of the club. This long, dimly lit and scarcely populated hall was more like an arm than a belly. Bellies tended to be busy places.

After a good long walk, during which we passed a few smaller halls and a few shut doors, Dante stopped. He didn’t turn around, though he did speak to us over his shoulder.

“In here. Please wait until I get back to get down to business.”

Mooney nodded once. I was still tucked up under his arm so he might not have seem my own nod so I mumbled a quick “you got it,” and Dante nodded once himself. He continued walking down the hall and disappeared into the gloom almost immediately, not making a sound on the rough pine floors. I felt a little zap of nervous energy at the display of shape shifter otherness. You don’t see or hear them if they don’t want you to. Most people didn’t see this side of them because they made a point of blending in around humans. I was sure that little display was meant as a warning for me. Dante didn’t strike me as the kind of wolf who made careless mistakes and he hadn’t been all wolfy up to that point. It was an unneeded warning. I am not one of those magic using humans who feels the need to throw my weight around and offend my host. Besides, if Lex came here, that meant he wanted Dante to be in on the meeting. Getting down to business without him in the room would be counterproductive.

Mooney opened the door to our left—all the doors in the long hall had been on the left and all of the side corridors had been on the right—and ushered me through, not quite relinquishing his claim on me. I’m not quite sure why I didn’t object. Normally, being hovered over annoyed the crap out of me, but something about Mooney’s hovering made me feel… safe? Protected? I wasn’t sure. “Safe” wasn’t something I had much experience with and I had been protecting myself for as long as I could remember.

“Well, aren’t you two all cozy,” Lex said, his deep cultured voice dripping with condescension. I stiffed at the tone and what it implied. Mooney said nothing, just pulled me in tighter to his side. I looked at Lex, taking in his sneering half smile and insolent posture. You know what? Screw Lex and his judgmental attitude. I liked being tucked up close to this big, sexy wolf and I was going to stay here as long as Mooney wanted me here. Life was full of risks and just then, I was willing to risk a lot to keep this feeling of being safe and wanted, even if it was temporary and probably not real.

Witch's Moon, Chapter 4.2

Sorry about the late post. give me a three day weekend and I spend the next two weeks running a day behind! Here's the next chunk of the story. As always, if you want to read up on the rest of the story, the posts are linked in order on my page.

On a side note, this scene gave me great fits of giggles to write. It may or may not get tweaked a bit before the final release. We'll have to see. 

* * * * * * * *

I couldn’t blame people for getting out of his way. Mooney McMahon is a force of nature in his snug, low slung jeans and skin tight shirt. He had a beautiful body and every ripple of muscle showed as he stalked toward me. I tried to tamp down on the little quiver of lust starting up in my bully but it didn’t work. His body language was advertising just how good he’d be in bed and my inner goddess was listening loud and clear.

When it became clear that he was headed right for me—after I made it clear where I was—the whispering began. That scrawny little money is hooking up with a McMahon? What would a wolf like that see in a freak like her? I see the McMahon Beta is still acting the fool and running around with food. I ignored it as best as I could. I’ve always been an odd duck, so to speak. Tolerated for the most part but never quite accepted. My ego could handle a little more backlash. The side remarks also helped to cool my libido down, so that was good.

I started to slide over to make room for him since he wasn’t heading for the empty side and I had staked claim to one of the few booths that wasn’t horse shoe shaped, but Mooney apparently had other thoughts. He snagged my wrist and pulled me out of the booth before slipping into my spot and dragging me onto his lap. It all happened so fast that I barely even saw it happen despite being the person he had manhandled!

“Settle down, babe,” he murmured in my ear as he stretched one long leg out along the back of the bench and tucked me into the crock of his arm like I was a giant kewpie doll. “Folks gonna get curious if we sit across from each other and whisper through the performance. Nobody’s gonna say anything about us whispering if you’re sitting on my lap. Thanks for the brew, by the way,” he said as he snagged the bottle of MGD off the table. “How did you know this was my favorite.”

Score! I thought happily. I reminded myself not to get too comfy. This was all for show. I wasn’t really his girl, even if I wanted to be in a teeny little corner of my mind. I leaned over and grabbed my own drink before shrugging.

“I made an educated guess. You are a normal, All American kind of guy who drinks his coffee black, eats his steak rare, and loves football. I decided that meant you probably like domestic beer and most guys who like domestic, like either MGD or Coors.”

“Good guess, then, ‘cause I hate that Rocky Mountain horse piss.”

I choked on the swallow of hard sider I hadn’t yet swallowed. “Rocky Mountain horse piss?” I asked incredulously. He just grin at me and took another deep pull on his beer, almost emptying it. He raised his bottle and shook it at a passing waitress who ogled him, me, and then him and me, before shooting him a startled smile and scurrying off to get Mooney his next beer.

“Damn, that went down smooth!” he said as he finished draining the bottle and set it on the table. “So, were you able find anything of interest while I played tag with Ghan’s boys?”

“Yeppers,” I replied somewhat tensely. “Not the book, but something.”

“What kind of something?” he asked, sounding concerned. He smiled up at the waitress when she set two more bottles of MGD on the table in front of him. I was pleasantly surprised when she set a bottle of the hard cider I’d been drinking down in front of me. I smiled my thanks to her, making a mental note to leave a nice tip for her. Everyone else here, from the patrons to the staff, had been kind of stand-offish to me if not outright rude. I knew this turnabout was because I was now sitting with—or rather on—a wolf from a well-known pack, but still. She also didn’t try to make googly eyes at Mooney. Just then, some music started and the curtain draping the stage began undulating. I glanced up before answering and promptly forgot all about what we had been talking about.

For the next five minutes, I sat transfixed as Gypsy Rose danced almost nude with the biggest python I had ever seen. I say ‘danced’ because there really isn’t a word in the English language that could define the artistry of the performance. It seemed almost a crime to even try to label it. It was kind of like belly dancing in that both she and the snack undulated around the stage. But it was more. She was employing true magic as she moved. Every flutter of her abdomen, every sway of her hips cause energy to swirl around her like dust dancing on a barely-there breeze before drifting off to float amongst her enthralled audience. It was the most incredible thing I have ever seen.

And then the snake turned into Lamar, the Gossip Queen’s right hand snake.

And he had no dangly bits.

Wow, what a mood breaker. Oh, holy crap, that was something I really could have done without ever seeing. A deep, sarcastic chuckle broke me out of my reverie. I looked away to find none other than Dante Hancock himself standing in front of our booth. I glanced down at the very large alpha wolf almost reflexively. Yep, he had a bulge down there so I didn’t have to worry about Moon Dog looking like a Ken doll beneath the sheets. The sarcastic chuckle turned to dark mirth and I blushed, realizing too late that Dante had caught me scoping his package.

I glanced up at Mooney to get his take on this only to realize he had tightened the arm he had draped around my shoulders in a display of possessiveness. He wasn’t glaring at Dante, exactly but he didn’t look entirely friendly, either. Damn, I hadn’t meant to offend Mooney. To be strictly honest, Dante Hancock with all his sleek muscles and long dark hair didn’t really appeal to me. It had been honest curiosity brought on by the shock of seeing someone I knew but didn’t like in the nude, only to find out that he had not visible ‘he’ parts.

“If your lady is finished with the show, your presence has been requested in the main conference room,” Dante said with an evil smirk. Mooney took the time to finish the last of his current beer—the third one since he sat down—before answering.

“I’m sure she’d done looking around to see if everyone who works here is a swing dick,” he said with his patented smarmy smile. “’course, she already knows what kind or hardware I’m packing, so no harm, no foul.”

I cringe at the blatant insult but Dante let it slide right off. He did step back so that I didn’t have to come face to face with his, er, hardware when I scooted out of the booth. Mooney didn’t seem to rush to get out but he wasted no time drawing up beside me and draping his arm over my shoulder again, either. He picked up my untouched second drink and smiled.

“Lead on, Kimosabe.”

Quick-Fix Wedding, Chapter 2

Happy Wednesday! We continue with our story about Jock, the werewolf, and Amanda, the heiress, who found themselves getting married sight unseen. I'll be posting it chapter by chapter every Wednesday until I eighter get it all posted or until I get it self-published. I'll be offering it free once it's done, so don't worry, I'm not teasing you with a freebee just to hoook you into buying the rest of it later.

If you missed the beginning, you can read the first half of the first chapter here and the second half of it here. Today's post is the entirety of chapter two, and I'll be doing full chapters from this point forward. Enjiy!

~ Rebecca




Amanda was in love with her husband. Well, sort of. She had technically known the man for less time than they had been married, but still. If she had met him before he lifted her veil at their wedding, she would have fallen in love with him. Not just because he agree to marry her to save her inheritance sight unseen, either. Jock was genuine grade A prime beefcake. A very charming cowboy beefcake. Who came riding to her rescue.

Oh, no, she thought. There she went with the Gothic romance stuff again. She shrugged it off, figuring she was entitled to her hero worship for one night at least. Besides, he really was a hunky cowboy and he had a terrific sense of humor, to boot.

“Oh, my god!” Amelia squealed as she took Jock’s vacated chair at the head table. Her uncle had dragged him off to “meet his new family” almost as soon as they’d arrived at the combination wedding reception-Thanksgiving dinner, which translated into grilling him about his intentions toward her. Uncle Charles was a tad too late, in her opinion, since he’d been the one to marry them only an hour ago.

“Yeah,” Amanda agreed as she turned to her cousin. “So, at what point were you going to tell me that your cousin was a total babe?”

“Says you, now that you married the man!” Amelia shot back.

“Yeah,” she said again and then sighed at the sight of her new husband’s very nice backside. “I have to admit that I came out of that on top. Nothing against Pablo or anything. He would have made a great fake husband but the idea of trying to sleep with a gay man was not all that appealing, if you know what I mean.”

“And the idea of sleeping with Jock?” Amelia asked, her eyes dancing with wicked delight.

“Girl, you have eyes! I know he’s your cousin and all, but surely you realize that any female who bats for our team would let that man eat crackers in her bed!” They both split into peals of giggles.

“Seriously, though,” Amelia said. “Jock really is a great guy. I had a total crush on him when I was a kid. He’s just so very nice!”

“And hot,” Amanda agreed, her gaze drawn back to him as if by magnetism.

“And he’s a real, live cowboy,” Amelia added.

“He told me he grew up on a ranch on the way over here. I didn’t realize he still worked on one,” Amanda said, wondering how that was going to work. Winnemucca was something of a small town but her family wasn’t in agriculture. And with her inheriting the casino upon their wedding, she couldn’t follow him back to wherever he came from. “Where does he live, anyway?”

“Oh, my god!” Amelia said again. “I still can’t believe my cousin married my other cousin sight unseen! Ok, ok,” she said when Amanda shot her a dirty look. “Let me fill you in on your new stud muffin. His full name is Jacques Antione Hancock. His dad was a science buff and named him after Jacques Cousteau, but everyone just calls him Jock. His mom’s name is Natalie and she still lives in Talbot’s Peak, Montana. He lives and works on the family ranch just outside of town, so he still sees her a lot. His dad, Tom, and my dad were brothers and they both died in the same accident that killed my our grandfather hand his brother. I met him when I was eight and he was eleven at our fathers’ funeral and spent practically my whole early life half in love with him.”

Amanda nodded her head, remembering him now from Amelia’s girlhood ramblings. Amelia never had much to do with her father’s family before his death. The family patriarch, Damien Hancock, had made a point of being very unfriendly to her at the funeral and Jock had stuck up for her. His mother, a prominent business woman in town, had invited her to come visit every summer after that and Jock had made a point of being her personal guide whenever she was in town.

“Yeah, I remember him now,” Amanda said. “I always thought your crush on him was because he was so nice to you. Now I see there was maybe a little more to it than that.”

“You could say that,” Amelia agreed with a smirk. “I did eventually outgrow my crush on him, though, and I’m absolutely thrilled that you ended up marrying him. I bet you find yourself wanting to make this a real marriage in every sense!”

Amanda couldn’t disagree. He was a dream come true for a small town girl who had dated and discarded all the available local men. He was perfect. She just hoped he wasn’t fixed on this being a temporary arrangement. And she hoped he didn’t mind moving down here to be with her. Dang, she thought sullenly. What started out as a quick-fix to getting around her grandfather’s draconian changes to her father’s will would end up being this complicated?

If only Pablo hadn’t backed out. But no, she realized. She might not be wrestling with the unfortunate problem of falling in love at first sight with her “temporary” husband, but she much preferred this to a true sham marriage. The way she saw it, her and Jock had about as much going for them as any normal couple. She only hoped he saw it that way, too. Now all she had to do was figure out how a girl went about asking her brand new husband if he would maybe like to make their marriage real. That wasn’t exactly covered in any of Miss Manners’ etiquette columns!

“You know what?” she said to Amelia, who was still babbling on about what a great guy Jock was. “I think I’m going to go over there and rescue my husband from Uncle Charles.” She got up and started working her way around the table. The going was slow, due mostly to family members who wanted to wish her well and get in a little gossip about her new husband. Amanda was getting the feeling that most of her family was cautiously optimistic about how things had worked out, especially the male portion of her family.

Jock saw his new wife get up and start walking over toward him somewhat unsteadily. This shindig may have been one part Thanksgiving dinner and one part wedding reception, but that punch had been spiked with something considerably stronger than champagne. He’d had more than a little of it himself, but of course, werewolves don’t get drunk. A high metabolism sucked that way. He could eat just about anything in just about any quantity, too—except for chocolate. No booze no bon-bons. He suspected that was the real reason werewolves had such contentious home lives.

His train of thought was jerked sharply to another track when he was three guys who didn’t smell right converge on Amanda. He couldn’t quite identify what smelled off about them but it was something. He turned his back on “Uncle Charles”, as the man had identified himself, and began pushing through the crowd towards her. Just as he got close, something sharp jabbed him in the ribs.

“Now don’t go making a scene, pretty boy,” the voice said. Whoever it was smelled exactly like the three who were now hustling Amanda out of the room. “It’s just a little wedding tradition. You know, where we steal the bride?”

Steal the bride, may ass, Jock thought. If it was so harmless, why was there a knife shoved against his ribs? Amanda wasn’t struggling but maybe that was because she knew those who were abducting her. She was engaging in an angry but low pitched conversation with one of the guys. He couldn’t make out much more than the sound of hissing—a sure sign that what she was chewing the contrite looking ma out but she was also trying not to look angry.

He didn’t like this at all. His instincts were telling him that his new wife was in more danger than she realized. If she trusted one or more of them, and it looked like she did, then she was probably oblivious to that danger. Normally, that little pig sticker being pushed into his side would not have stopped Jock. It wasn’t silver plated or his side would already be itching even through his dress shirt, so it couldn’t hurt him enough to stop him. It could hurt pretty much everyone else in the gymnasium the reception was being held in, though.

Besides, he was by himself. A lone wolf never trumped the odds by charging right in. He had to be clever. They obviously didn’t know he was a supernatural creature at all and they really couldn’t know he was a werewolf or they would have taken him out right away rather than trying to detain him with a plain steel knife and one guy. They may be supernaturals of some sort themselves—his nose told him that much, even if he couldn’t identify what type—but they were dumb ones. They wouldn’t be guarding their tracks against someone who could follow their scent trail. He was better off playing along so that they’d leave this place, which was chock full of vanilla humans, and go someplace he could let his wolf loose.

He watched as Amanda was pulled all the way out the door. The guy who had been holding the knife to his ribs melted away into the crowd, not that it helped him any—Jock had his scent now and that was more important to a werewolf than facial recognition. Uncle Charles sidled up next to him, acting a bit jumpy.

“That’s not good, not good at all,” the little priest muttered.

“Why’s that?” Jock asked.

“The marriage has to be consummated tonight. You can’t do that if they keep her ‘til after midnight,” Uncle Charles muttered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jock said with an easy smile that didn’t reach his demand hard eyes. “Do you know who those yokels were?”

“Oh, yes,” Uncle Charles said with a sharp angry nodding of his jowly head. “One was that friend of hers, Pablo. The one that stood her up today, who was supposed to marry her. The other two and that one that’s sneaking off now are hired thugs Amanda’s grandfather sent to make sure his will was done.”

“Perfect,” Jock said with an evil grin. It was perfect, too. That meant he could do whatever he wanted to them for stealing what was his.

Quick-Fix Wedding, Chapter 1, part 2

This is a continuation from last week. If you missed that part, you can read it here.

“Mamma?” she asked nervously. “What does my groom look like?”

“Don’t worry about that, baby,” her mother whispered. “He’s only going to be a paper groom.”

“But Mamma, I have to sleep with him!” she hissed back.

“Think of it like a one night stand,” he mother whispered back as she dragged Amanda into place at the center of the nave. The organ started playing Pachelbel’s Cannon in G Major and everyone turned to look at her. This was it, she thought. Time to go meet my future groom/fuck buddy or whatever he was. Time to go thwart her grandfather’s will.

Amanda wished she could say her wedding had flown by in a blur but it hadn't. For a woman who had been raised to be strong and independent, these last few weeks since learning of her grandfather's change to her father’s will had been hell. She had almost come to terms with being forced to marry, and only because she loved Pablo like a brother, when Dearest Grandfather found out that Pablo was gay. All she could think of was that while Pablo had been fine with the idea of hood winking “the man”, he was not alright with the stipulation that he had to actually sleep with her. Publically. As in medieval bedding rituals.

This wedding looking more gothic than medieval, though. Medieval people considered weddings to be little more than business transactions that resulted in babies. The bride and groom usually knew each other, and certainly would have met each other, before the wedding. No, marrying a cousin’s cousin sight unseen was straight out of an Elizabethan Goth novel, complete with the evil bastard of a grandfather. Amanda sighed, wishing she had not spent quite so many hours devouring Ann Radcliff’s gothic novels as a teen. It had clearly put a few crazy ideas into her head. Next thing she knew, she’d be looking at her mysterious groom, trying to figure out what deep, dark secrets he was hiding from her!

She looked up at his very large form, blurred by the heavy lace of her veil, and squinted. Nope, nothing out of the ordinary so far as she could tell. Uncle Charles cleared his throat meaningfully. Amanda jumped, realizing she had missed her cue.

“Do you promise to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part?” he repeated.

“I do,” he choked out, ignoring the odd thrill that ran up her spine at “’til death do you part.” That was silly. This was still only a temporary marriage, even if it was to her cousin’s cousin rather than to her gay best friend. It was really more of a one night stand that would linger a bit.

“Do you have the ring?” Uncle Charles asked. Her groom fumbled a bit, finally pulling something small out of his pant pocket. At Uncle Charles’ urging, he slipped it onto her ring finger. Another thrill of something other ran down her spine as the thin gold ring, warm from his body heat, slid past her knuckle. She felt a little giddy when he lifted her hand and kissed it softly. She shivered when he folded her small hand into both of his much larger ones, a feeling of destiny settling heavy on her shoulders. She tried to ignore it, thinking it was a product of her earlier musing about gothic romance novels, but she couldn’t quite convince herself.

Finally, he lifted her veil and she got to see her groom for the first time. If she had to come up with one word to describe Jock Hancock, it would be “chiseled.” He hand a square rugged jaw, high sharp cheek bones, and piercing blue eyes. His brown hair was over-long and curling around his ear just a bit, clean but not overly well kempt, the type of man who didn’t care much for what was fashionable. His tall frame looked heavy with muscle from his huge shoulders to his trim, narrow waist, to his mile long legs. Then he bent down to give her the traditional kiss and any thoughts of what he looked like fled.

Jock looked down at his bride and gulped. Oh, Luna above, she was lovely! He reminded himself sternly that this was a quickie wedding of convenience. He didn’t get to keep her. Oh but her scent! It whispered to him of hearth and home and crisp, clean winter snows laying heavy on a pine forest. She was dainty, coming not quite to his shoulder, with a waist so narrow he could probably span it with his hands. When he lifted her veil and saw think black hair, a deep olive complexion and velvety chocolate almond-shaped eyes, he knew he was lost. This may only be a temporary thing for her, but his inner beast was howling for her. His one and only, his mate. ‘Til death would they part, indeed!

He smiled at her and dropped down for the traditional kiss to seal their vows, reminding himself that there was a whole church filled with people who were related to her and knew full well that he was a stranger who’d never set eyes on her before five minutes ago. He kept the kiss chaste and quick, though he did allow himself to breathe deeply of her enticing fragrance. He lifted his head back up and noticed how tense she seemed to be. Aw, no. He couldn’t let his precious if very new mate be uncomfortable around him! So he grinned, stepped back and theatrically bowed over her hand, which he was still holding on to for dear life.

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hancock. My name is Jock and I will be your husband for the duration of this marriage. If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to let me know.” The sound of bawdy laughter filled the small church, but he didn’t care. He saw her sweet, bow-shaped crimson lips quiver with repressed mirth. That was all that mattered to him, that Amanda was put at ease by his tomfoolery.

“Pleased to meet you, too, Jock,” she murmured shyly. He nodded his head back toward the crowded pews and winked.

“Shall we?” he asked. She nodded and blushed. Jock gave her his most encouraging good ol’ boy grin and turned, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. He was pleased to see that his new wife was as susceptible to good ol’ boy charm as most women. He spent most of his time working the back country on the Pack’s ranch so that was about the only kind of charm he could claim to have. That and wolfish charm, but that usually only worked on female wolves. As good as she smelled, he could tell that Amanda was plain vanilla human. That was just fine by him.

He was startled into laughing when he was what was waiting for them outside the church. He looked over at Amanda to find her chuckling, as well. Honestly, it was the only response most people would have come up with at the sight of a turkey-drawn buggy. Or rather, a horse drawn buggy with the horses decked out like turkeys.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “It was supposed to have been a joke for my friend Pablo, the guy I was actually supposed to have married.”

“No problem,” Jock said gamely. “You drivin’ or am I?”

“You... know how to drive a horse buggy?” she asked uncertainly. Jock laughed again.

“You could say that,” he replied. “I was born and raised on cattle ranches. The teams I usually drive pull hay wagons but I’m sure I can manage a little two-wheel buggy just fine.” He handed her up just as a pack of younger people his and Amanda’s age spilled out of the church at a dead run. Jock noticed that Amelia was in the group and that each person was holding a bag with one hand buried in them. He met Amelia’s eye and shook his head. “Catch us if you can!” he hollered back at them and jumped into the buggy.

“Shouldn’t you be going faster than this to outrun them?” Amanda asked, laughing and shaking flower petals out of her eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Besides, the horses were cooling their heels for a good long while. I don’t want to push them too hard.”

“Good point,” she replied.