How to Run with a Naked Werewol(42)

"You tell Nick that if he tells anybody about his ice cream run, I will find a way to erase all of his interview recordings," I told her.                       
       
           



       

"I like you." She knew exactly what sort of terror the threat to Nick's recordings would inspire in her folklorist husband. "You're kind of high-maintenance and sneaky, but I like you."

"Come to the clinic, and we'll get you checked out. And I'll give you some prenatal vitamins that might help with your coffee issues."

"I might forgive you."

"I missed you, too, Mags."

"Don't push it."


Stepping out into the snowy street, I noticed a dozen or so pack members oh-so-casually milling around the sidewalk in front of the community center. I stopped in my tracks, waiting for pitchforks or torches to come out. But the expressions on the various aunts' and uncles' faces were more curious than angry. My face flushed warm. How was I going to explain my absence? What had Caleb already told them?

With more mercy than I expected from her, Maggie called out, "Nothing to see here, people. Move along."

The response was instantaneous. All of the loiterers turned their backs and walked off, as if they suddenly remembered urgent business at least twenty yards away.

Clearly, the way to reconcile with Maggie was icecream bribery. I looked over my shoulder, toward the pregnant alpha, who was waving me away with one hand while dialing her cell phone with the other.

Caleb lived in a house on the edge of the village, a low-slung, tidy structure with blue siding and white shutters that had belonged to his father before him. I'd never given it much consideration before, but now it seemed that I might be living here. Would there be room for me? Would Caleb and I be happy here?

I dropped my bag in the snow and stared at the front door. The windows were dark. What if the door was locked? What if Caleb had changed his mind and decided he didn't want me there? The "rabbit" in me wanted to yell for Leonard to come back and get me.

This elusive instinct only ramped up as I heard the muffled thumping of wolf paws hitting packed snow. I turned to see several large wolves cantering into the town limits, nudging and nipping at one another playfully. This was the afternoon patrol, running the boundaries of the valley to check for intruders or hunters straying too far from the nearby nature preserve. I searched the thundering herd for any sign of a large gray male, but before I could spot him, a blur of dark fur and gold light came flying at me. A very naked Caleb landed on his feet just in front of me, scooping me up and crushing me against him. The other wolves made a huff-whicker sound, which translated to "Whipped!" among Caleb's werewolf brethren.

I threw my legs around his waist, nearly bowling him over as I covered his face in kisses. Caleb's warm mouth pressed to mine, and he murmured apologies and endearments against my lips.

Several of the loitering uncles whooped and whistled at the spectacle we were making of ourselves. "You owe me five bucks, Donnie!" Uncle Doug yelled. "I told you his truck smelled like the doc!"

I pulled back from Caleb's kisses, so I was sure to be understood. "Just one thing," I told him as I cocked my foot back and kicked him in the shin so hard I may have splintered a metatarsal.

He winced, but he didn't drop me.

"If you ever keep a secret of this magnitude from me again-"

"You'll take away my shins. I understand," he said.

"No, but I will ensure that you are so itchy, nauseated, and pustulated that bruised shins will be the least of your problems. Don't doubt that I have the skills necessary to do it."

"Pustulated?"

"Don't make me get the medical textbooks. The illustrations will make you cry."

He shuddered. "I'll take your word for it. I'm so glad you're here," he breathed into my neck. "I was so scared you wouldn't come back."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

He shrugged, jostling me a little as my feet barely scraped against the snow. "I can't blame you. I can't imagine how it must have felt to see that stupid e-mail. I'm sorry I wasn't up-front with you."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you, but I was afraid you wouldn't answer."

"I'm sorry I left you. I should have stayed and worked things out."

"I'm sorry I called you all those horrible names."

"You didn't call me that many names."

"In my head, I did," I admitted. "A lot. Really bad ones."

"So we've established that you're both sorry," Maggie said, shaking her head as she crossed the street with Samson, her unofficial second-in-command.

"What is it about human women that turns the men of this family into complete idiots?" Samson asked. "Idiots who will phase in broad daylight in the middle of the street, where any human visitor could spot them, just so they can hug their mate?"

Caleb gave Maggie a sheepish look. Or at least, as sheepish as a werewolf can pull off.

"So, back for good?" Maggie asked Caleb, although I wasn't sure which of us she meant.

"We both are," Caleb agreed, then turned his attention to me. "Though there are going to be a few things you're going to need to do for us to make this work."

"Like dirty, sexy things?" I offered hopefully.

"Like filing a restraining order and reopening your divorce case."

"That is neither dirty nor sexy."

"I plan on marrying you, Dr. Campbell. And I don't plan on getting arrested for bigamy. Besides, you can't let him chase you for the rest of your days. You have to make a stand sometime."

"He'll take one look at the information on the paperwork, and he'll be able to find me," I said.

"There are steps that we can take, legal and not so legal, to prevent him from finding you. And even if he does, I'll be right here with you. Not to mention a pack of giant werewolves who are pretty darn fond of you." When I frowned, he added, "He won't be able to hurt you, Rabbit. I promise you. You're not alone anymore."

I looked up into his big brown eyes. And I knew that he meant it. I cast a glance over his shoulder to Maggie, who nodded. "OK. I'll do it. I'll file the papers."

"Thank God. Now, would you two please calm your dramatic asses down and go inside? People are starting to stare."

"Maggie likes me," I told him. "I've really grown on her."

"Have not!" Maggie called over her shoulder as she and Samson headed back to the community center.

The other wolves nudged us as they passed, pausing to press their cold, wet noses to my hand in greeting. They trotted off to their homes, careful to phase only after someone let them inside.

Caleb grinned at me. "Let's get you into the house. You have bags to unpack."

He hitched me over his shoulder, and I nearly came face-to-cheek with his bare butt. I yelped, bracing myself against his back to avoid impact. He picked up my bags with his other hand and carried me up the steps. I had only one question left to ask. "How are you not cold right now?"


Our routine changed.

I'd wondered before what life would be like if we stayed in one place. It turned out that life was bizarrely, shockingly normal. We ate together in our kitchen, without waitstaff-or, tragically, people to cook or do the dishes. (Learning to split chores was an interesting, relationship-defining experience. I loved the man, but I drew the line at exclusive bathroom-cleaning duties.) We made up for lack of car time together by logging lots of hours on his couch watching movies. Caleb was a shameless fan of the professional-wrestler-turned-action-star oeuvre, while I stuck with John Hughes. We slept, wound together in a comfortable bed. We learned how to make love leisurely, without worrying about someone in the next room hearing us.                       
       
           



       

Now that Caleb had decided to stick closer to the valley, I went online for information about opening a licensed, legitimate private-investigation service. When spring came, he would have to travel a little bit, but a good portion of his caseload could be handled over the Internet. Maggie was more than willing to offer Caleb the sheriff's position.

For the moment, Caleb was officially off-duty, so he devoted his energies to getting his dad's house back in order and ready for winter. Normally, this was something he should have started months ago, but the others in the pack were willing to help check the stability of the roof, reseal the windows, and stack cords of wood.

I went back to work at the clinic. The old men and mothers in the village forgave me instantly, flooding my office with arthritis complaints and kids in need of checkups. The pack aunties were slower to warm. I didn't get the cold shoulder, by any means, but the candor and connection I'd once shared with the older ladies of the village had evaporated. I figured that could be reestablished in time. And while they weren't exactly smothering me with affection, they expressed their fondness for Caleb by filling our kitchen with casseroles, beef roasts, and a plethora of pies. I wasn't totally taken off-guard. I'd received plenty of drop-by casseroles from my neighbors and patients. What did surprise me was the recipes, accompanied by comments such as "Caleb has always favored my fried apples" or "Caleb doesn't like his meat too well done, so you're going to need to cut the roasting time by about forty-five minutes." Apparently, I was expected to feed him.