I was taken aback. I’d never thought of it that way. I mean, they made sure I had food and a roof over my head. I always had a couch to sleep on. People set aside their hand me down clothes for me. It was more like benign neglect; it was a lonely way to grow up, but I’d made it.
“My aunt Prudence would always call to check on me,” I said. “We keep in touch. It wasn’t so bad. I learned to take care of myself. I got used to being alone.”
He reached down and squeezed my knee. “You’re not alone now,” he said quietly.
That made me blink really hard so the tears that suddenly filled my eyes wouldn’t spill down my cheeks. He pretended not to notice.
This tender, protective side of him caught me completely off guard.
“You Timber Valley shifters aren’t what I expected,” I said.
“You can’t believe everything you hear.”
I realized we were pulling up in front of a diner called Flapjack Fannie’s. It was a long, low slung building, painted green, with a big gravel parking lot, a few miles away from the Timber Valley compound. There was a big sign over the building with a picture of a woman flipping pancakes. “Hey, aren’t we going back to the wedding suite?” Oh, I was shameless.
“I thought you’d be hungry,” he said. “Besides, I want to show you off.”
Business was hopping inside. All the round spinning seats at the counter were taken, and most of the booths were full, and there was a loud, happy buzz of conversation.
Most of the customers there were various species of shifters, but to my surprise, there was a family of humans sitting at a table by the window. A mom, a dad, four kids, cheerfully tucking into mountains of fluffy pancakes, topped with a big slab of butter. They had no idea that they were in a restaurant full of wolf, mountain lion, coyote, and bobcat shifters. I could tell just by scenting.
Maxwell led me over to a table on the opposite end of the restaurant.
“What are they doing here?” I whispered. There was no reason for them, or any human, to visit Timber Valley. Timber Valley, on any human map, was nothing but a small logging town with no tourist attractions, no hotel, no motel. It was several miles off the main road.
“They got lost,” the waitress, a fiftyish wolf shifter with a blond beehive and blue eyeshadow, said to us in a low voice. “They came in looking for directions and stayed for lunch. We couldn’t exactly say we were closed for business, with all these other customers here. It would seem weird if we turned them away.” She shrugged. “They’ll eat, we’ll steer them back to the main road, they’ll leave.”
We sat down at the table, and I ordered the Lumberjack’s delight.
“Give her extra sausages,” Max told the waitress. “They’re the specialty of the house,” he added to me. “And you’re going to need your strength.” He winked at me.
My God, a hot sexy Alpha who was great in bed, and who actually wanted me to eat hearty? Why did this marriage have to be fake?
Well, I told myself, I was stuck here for the next three weeks, so I might as well enjoy the masquerade. I’d be apparently forced to continue to eat delicious meals and bunk down with a muscular hottie with an insatiable sex drive. Poor, poor me.
A coyote walked in to the restaurant through the side door, took one look at me, and let out a long, approving howl, his snout lengthening and his face going hairy as he did. I froze where I sat. Max set down the cup of coffee that the waitress had just put in front of him. The coyote hadn’t spotted the humans yet.
He followed everyone’s gaze and looked at them, and instantly his face went back to human, but it was too late.
“Crap. Sorry,” he muttered, hanging his head.
The family stared at him, mouths hanging open, eyes huge with panic. All chatter died out. Everyone in the restaurant fell silent.
A gray-haired wolf shifter jumped up from his seat and rushed over to the human family’s table. He raised his hand and began talking to them, and I could see their eyes glaze over.
“Your shaman?” I asked.
“Yep,” Max nodded, glowering at the shifter who’d howled at me. “My uncle Cody. Thank God he’s a good one.”
Cody was hypnotizing them to forget the moron who’d howled. That was the unique ability of the shaman. Every pack had at least one. It was a genetic mutation. Among their powers was the ability to hypnotize humans, and make them forget anything suspicious that they’d seen. It was theorized that shifters had evolved this protective ability the same way that chameleons had developed the ability to change colors. That was why shifters had managed to stay hidden from humans all these years.