PackRescue (3 page)

Commented [AL7]: As he’s not actually bald, maybe “mostly
bald” or “balding”?

Fina lifted her chin up. “My name is Fina Whitesage.” She
didn’t know if he’d remember her. He held out his hand and it shook only
slightly in hers. For reasons Fina hadn’t been made privy to, her father had
found it necessary some years back to tell his lawyer that he, his family and
his employees were werewolves. Whatever the reasons, Reg Whitesage had bought
Kevin Dust’s silence with money and a healthy dose of fear. That fear had
diminished over the years as Kevin Dust and his family had been invited to pack
get-togethers like communal picnics and softball games. “My family is dead,”
she said flatly and this time it was her hand that shook as she pulled out the
copy of her father’s will from her handbag.

Kevin Dust just nodded. “I know. You keep that. I have a
copy. And I’m…I’m sorry for your loss.”

Fina looked out the window, over the parking lot and the
roadways in the distance, trying hard not to cry. She turned back to him. “I
don’t know if you know what happened, Mr. Dust, but my pack was killed by rogue
werewolves. They’re dangerous and operate outside of normal pack laws but the
fact of it is they now have control of my pack’s land. There’s nothing that can
be done about that.” Fina inhaled sharply. “But that doesn’t entitle them to my
pack’s assets.” She pulled out the investment statements and bank account
information she’d taken from her father’s safe. “They won’t get their hands on
them if I have anything to say about it. The terms of my father’s will put
every cent of my pack’s money in my hands…now that I’m the only surviving
member.” It was true that Ryan Upton was still alive but he was a minor and
Fina’s instincts told her to keep the child hidden and safe at all costs. “I
need to have my father’s will probated as soon as possible so I can start
hiding the money where they can’t touch it.”

Kevin Dust exhaled slowly and laced his short, chunky
fingers together. “It’s usual to wait until after the funeral, Miss Whitesage.”

“I don’t think there’ll be much to bury…if anything,” Fina
whispered and shuddered before forcing her head back on track. “How much time
do you need?” she asked bluntly, cutting to the chase.

“Two days,” he answered after a moment’s thought.

Fina stood. “I’ll be back then.”

“Higher, Fina!” Ryan yelled out as he pumped his legs
forward and forced the swing to move faster.

“Here it comes,” Fina warned him with a laugh and pushed the
swing harder. She laughed again when Ryan shrieked with joy. There were some
moments like this—when Ryan’s exuberance surfaced and Fina’s rose to meet his.
There were some moments when they emerged from their pain, anger, loneliness
and vapidness. Some but not many.

They’d been on the road over two weeks now, moving in random
patterns and sometimes circling back for a day or two but always, gradually,
moving farther and farther west. Something about that direction still pulled at
Fina and she’d stopped wondering why.

“Let’s find a motel early today, Fina,” Ryan begged after he’d
tired of the swing. It was just before noon and they’d pulled in to a rustic
roadside café to eat. It had a big parking lot—even though it was on a road
made almost redundant by a nearby interstate—shaded picnic tables and a large
children’s play area. Ryan wove his hands into Fina’s, held on tight and let
her lift him and flip him in a complete circle until he landed back on his feet
with his arms stretched taut behind him. He leaned forward and squealed
happily, trusting his weight to Fina’s slender arms before hopping, letting go
and standing up.

He ran toward the café entrance and the promise of lunch.
Fina raced after him, grabbed him, swung him into the air and, when his striped
t-shirt lifted up, blew a raspberry kiss into his exposed belly. Ryan giggled
wildly and pushed her head away. By now they were both sweating a little and
they ran into the restaurant’s air-conditioned foyer.

“Let’s find one with a pool again and can we stay two
nights, can we please, please, Fina?” Ryan pleaded.

Grinning, Fina opened her mouth to say yes then stood up
very straight. The air in the café was full of the delicious smells of fried
chicken and baking but beneath that was the unmistakable smell of wolf. Her
hand shot out, reaching for Ryan, and she started backing up toward the door.
They’d traveled through a few communities with werewolf populations. It would
have been almost impossible not to. They hadn’t stopped in any of them and she
always made sure the gas tank never got below half-f so they wouldn’t be
forced to stop anywhere she wasn’t comfortable. During the past two weeks, Fina’s
ability to think rationally had improved from the near catatonia she’d
experienced immediately following the death of her pack. She’d rationalized
that, as a female about to enter her prime breeding years, she wasn’t likely to
be chased off by another pack. Maybe she’d even be invited to join. She couldn’t
be absolutely certain of Ryan’s welcome. Even though he was a child, he was
male. Packs usually didn’t accept outside males.

The door behind her swung open and a man walked in. He was
big—huge—stood at least six-two and had a chest wide enough to qualify for two
zip codes with shoulders to match. The flat stomach and lean hips that sat
above and below his thick gunbelt told Fina every impressive inch of him was
solid muscle, not flab. He looked to be in his late twenties, wore a dark
police uniform and scented like a werewolf with a streak of badass that went
bone-deep.

Fina caught a whiff of urine and one look told her Ryan was
staring up at the man in terror and pushing flat against the wall like he was
trying to back right through it to get outside. A dark stain spread across the
front of his shorts and a thin stream of urine was sliding down his leg and
puddling around his sneaker.

“Oh poor poppet.”

Fina’s head spun around to a fifty-something woman walking
into the foyer from the café. She was dressed in an unflattering and rather
silly-looking alpine-style dress with an apron tied around her generous waist.
She clucked her tongue gently, looked down at Ryan with gentle eyes and held
out a slightly wrinkled, pudgy hand to him.

“Don’t worry about a thing, little honey,” the woman cooed
gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Fina’s wolf jumped to the fore when the woman stepped between
her and Ryan. The wolf in her shoved the woman back and made a grab for Ryan,
ready to bowl right through the big cop if she had to get the child outside and
safe.

Sheriff Cutler Powell stared at the slender, auburn-headed
madwoman standing in the foyer of the best—and only—café on his pack’s land.
She was small, maybe five-four, and had satiny skin turned a pale gold from the
sun. The spray of freckles across her pert little nose made his cock twitch…she
was just that pretty. The scent coming off her made him harden instantly. It
was like breathing in pure lust and there was nothing pure about his reaction
to it. The wolf inside him raised its head and in a low, satisfied rumble,
spoke one word.

Mine.

Only little miss pure lust was currently assaulting a
senior, respected, female member of his pack. With a smooth, controlled
movement, he stepped forward, laid his hands on the most enthralling woman he’d
ever come across and lifted her. The kid came up with her, hauled upward by her
hold on his arm. She let go and the kid dropped back down onto his feet and
started shaking all over. Holding her beneath her arms, Sheriff Powell pinned
her back against the wall with her nose level with his. He had to bite down on
his tongue before he did something stupid like shove it into her mouth then ask
if she had any plans for the rest of her life.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Cutler was pretty sure the flailing banshee in his hands
wasn’t the kid’s mother. She probably wasn’t even related to him. But their
scents told him they were from the same pack and he could see from the way she’d
reacted to Dorothea stepping between her and the child that she cared for him
as if he were her own pup.

“No one in my pack would ever harm a child.” Cutler spoke
quietly and clearly. The woman stopped slamming her fists into his chest. She
hung between his hands, the fire and rage draining out of her blue eyes. She
looked at him warily. She was young, although her eyes looked older than her
face, and she couldn’t have been more than twenty. He breathed in her scent
again, wanting a full picture of her health, strength and status. The
information he picked up was all contradictory. She was strong yet she wasn’t.
She smelled of youth yet there was a smell to her that was either age, pain or
fear. She was unmated yet there was no innocence left in her. But by then,
Cutler was sporting a raging hard-on and decided the prudent thing to do would
be to put her down before the wolf inside him took over and dragged her out
back for a quick fuck, then another—and probably one more after that.

Cutler noticed Dorothea Pike adjusting her waitressing
uniform. She cleared her throat quietly.

“The washrooms are back here,” Dorothea said. “I’ll give you
a hand with some washcloths if you’d like.” She made the offer politely despite
her obviously jangled nerves.

Cutler saw Dorothea’s hand flex and figured she was
resisting the urge to rub the middle of her chest where the much younger, much
stronger woman had straight-armed her after she’d made the mistake of stepping
between a mother and her frightened pup. If their positions were reversed and
Dorothea had found herself in the middle of a strange pack, she’d probably have
done the same thing. Sheriff Powell gave the spitfire his best friendly guy
smile. She and the boy were werewolves. Natural born too from the smell of
them, probably from somewhere back east. His instincts told him the minute he
let her walk out the door she’d simply drive off and never come back. He just
couldn’t let something that smelled like forever get away. Even if her scent
did confuse the hell out of him.

“Do you have a change of clothes for him?” Dorothea asked
quietly, easing the tension between the younger weres.

Despite Ryan’s instinctive terror and her own blind maternal
rage, Fina believed the big policeman. Maybe it was the uniform? When he
stepped back and set her on her feet Ryan rushed forward, wrapped his slight
body around her leg and trembled. As hard as the cop’s eyes were at the moment,
they were also a brilliant, shimmering aqua—startlingly beautiful and
completely at odds with his blatantly male, chiseled features. His eyes were
framed by ridiculously long, dark lashes that matched the shiny, short
chestnut-brown hair on his head.

Fina looked at the pudgy gray-haired waitress with the
gentle blue eyes. She’d never felt so guilty in her life but she also knew she
didn’t dare apologize. In werewolf packs the strong ruled so she held back the
ingrained and heartfelt apology sitting on her tongue. It was far better to
appear arrogant than weak…especially when she and Ryan were alone and
defenseless.

“Yes,” Fina replied evenly. She fished her keys out of her
pocket with one hand and reached for Ryan’s hand with the other. “I’ll go get
them.”

The huge cop had tugged the keys out of her hand even before
she realized he was pulling on them. “Allow me, Miss…?”

“Whitesage,” Fina replied without thinking. She was in for
it now. But they were in Wyoming. News of a murder-suicide in a tiny community
in Eastfield, Tennessee and the ensuing emotional distress that had sent seven
local families off on extended vacations hadn’t made it farther west than the
Central Plains. At least the police officer didn’t react when he heard her
name. His smile just widened and he touched the brim of his big straw hat.

“Miss Whitesage,” he murmured politely and turned back to
the door.

“It’s the—”

“One with the out-of-state plates? Just a hunch,” he added
with a grin when her brow furrowed. “If it isn’t an intrusion, I’d be honored
to buy you and your young man lunch.”

It was phrased as a request but Fina knew it wasn’t. She and
Ryan would be joining him for lunch whether she wanted to or not. Nodding
resignedly, Fina picked up Ryan and followed the waitress into the café.

“So what brings a beautiful woman from Tennessee all the way
out here?” Cutler asked conversationally. He speared a forkful of fried chicken
into his mouth. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the woman—Fina Whitesage—was
pushing her food around her plate but not actually eating much of it. The boy
on the other hand seemed to have a good appetite.

“Fina’s my sister,” Ryan said and Cutler could tell right
away from the cadence of the kid’s speech the story was memorized and
rehearsed. “We’re going west for our cousin’s wedding. I’m the r-ring bearer.”

“Is that so.” Cutler nodded slowly. He took a sip of his
iced tea and watched the two of them. A quick search of the woman’s vehicle
hadn’t told him much. There were two new suitcases inside. One was black, plain
and clearly belonged to an adult. The other was a garish blue, smaller and
turned out to be the kid’s. A map, a laptop case and a cooler with juice, water
and some fruit were the only other things he’d found. On the surface nothing
seemed amiss but he didn’t get to be sheriff—or get to be his pack’s Alpha—by
accepting everything at face value.

By then Ryan had cleaned off his plate, drunk his milk and
pulled out an electronic toy from his backpack. Cutler caught the eye of one of
his pack members seated nearby, one who had a child about Ryan’s age. At his
parents’ prompting, the boy left his table, walked up to theirs and stood
beside Ryan’s chair.

“Um, hi,” the new boy said, watching Ryan’s game with rapt
interest. “I’m Koby. You wanna play?” He jerked his head toward a play area at
the back of the café.

Ryan looked up at Fina. She brushed his hair back from his
eyes. The place made entertaining children a priority. There was an indoor play
area as well as an outside one. The indoor one wasn’t as big—just a slide, some
hanging ropes and a ball pit—but it was colorful and clean.

“Go play if you want,” she said and her smile looked like it
was for the pup’s benefit. “Stay where I can see you.”

“Sure,” Ryan replied absently. He tucked his game into his
backpack and trotted off with the other boy.

It struck Cutler the woman couldn’t help reminding the boy,
even though it seemed an unnecessary effort. Ryan never let her get out of his
line of sight.

“So what level can you get up to?” Koby asked as they headed
off together. “I’ve got the connector for that. We can play against each other…”

As their voices trailed away, Fina looked across the
checkered tablecloth and Cutler saw himself through her eyes. Bigger than most
and the most powerful were in the place, he’d never been able to pull off the
aw-shucks, Ma’am, good old boy routine. By now her sense of smell had told her
everyone else in the café was a wolf and they’d been stealing glances at her
and Ryan as they ate—discreetly of course. She put down her fork, giving up her
pretense of eating.

“Thank you, Sheriff. It was very nice of you to buy us
lunch. We have to get going.” Fina was halfway out of her chair when his hand
slid around her forearm.

“There’s no cousin getting married, is there?”

His eyes were on hers and she looked like she was pinned
under a microscope. She sat back down. His thumb moved over her forearm, his
touch lazy and sensuous in a way he’d never been aware of before. Trembling,
Fina pulled back from the contact.

Cutler Powell leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, not
letting go, wondering why the woman’s fear had jumped when he’d touched her. He
wanted her…and he wanted answers.

“I’m guessing something happened to your pack. You could be
rogue but you don’t scent like it,” he said with slow deliberation. Her blue
eyes widened with a fear she wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. She looked so
damn small and vulnerable sitting there. “Who are you? Who are you really? And
where are you from?”

He saw her hand tighten on her bag. Training and the tension
in her body told him her every instinct and rational thought was telling her to
grab Ryan, run the hell out and just keep on running. Every instinct, that was,
except the wolf inside her. He imagined it leaning out toward him and breathing
in more of his smell. He gave himself a moment to fantasize it licking his face
and nuzzling his jaw.