The Alpha's Daughter (29 page)

"Maybe you two should stay home tonight. I'm
sure the women will understand if they can't run again. The Alpha's
health…"

"Is as good as it gets for a man his age. You
won't keep him away today. We've got too much to celebrate and the
pack needs to see to the future instead of the past."

The celebration was the Naming of a new child
born into the pack. It was a tradition that her father and many
other Alpha's no longer followed, considering it outdated. Jazz,
therefore, was anxious to witness this Gilead event where everyone
looked forward to meeting the newborn pup.

Mark and Sandy Wardman climbed the first two
steps of Griz's front porch where the Alpha and his Mate sat
enthroned on the very rocking chairs Mark had made. Someone had
moved the chairs to a place above the top step where they were
above the heads of the crowd and everyone could see. Sandy held the
baby and Mark turned to call over the crowd.

"I, Mark Waldman, bring the gift of a son to
the Gilead Pack."

The crowd cheered loudly and Baby Waldman's
eyes popped open. His tiny mouth puckered and his face became a
ball of tiny baby wrinkles. Jazz thought the pup would cry, but he
already knew the whisper of his mother's voice and the sway of her
body and he settled back to sleep.

"Who bore this gift to the pack? Who suffered
the pain and labored to bring him forth?" the Alpha called. His
voice was low and raspy, weaker than the day before.

"My mate, Sandra, bore this gift to the
pack," Mark answered and it was the Alpha's turn again.

"Sandra, mother of this gift, will you allow
this pup to share his love with the pack and welcome the pack's
love for him in return? Will you allow the pack to share in the
raising of this pup, delighting in their praise and accepting their
rebukes so the pup will grow into a wolver of merit and an asset to
his pack?"

"I will."

The Mate held out her arms and Sandy passed
her the sleeping child."

"By what name shall the boy be called?"

"David Michael."

"Gilead Pack! Will you promise to love,
shelter and protect this pup and in the absence of the parent, will
you promise to teach him the ways of the pack and to honor its
Laws? Will you show him how to be as strong as his father, as wise
as his mother and as cunning as me?"

The crowd laughed.

"Well, will you?"

"We will," they cried as one.

The Alpha started to raise the pup over his
head, thought better of it and turned the job over to Mark who
proudly held the pup aloft.

"I give you David Michael, God's gift,
through his parents to this pack. Grow and be strong, wolver, and
make your pack proud," the Alpha called out.

Grow and be strong. Jazz felt a lump grow in
her throat as she looked over the crowd. The majority was elderly,
with a few strong families, a few young adults and very few cubs.
Griz was right. This pack was dying. Its Alpha was dying and the
only wolver willing to take his place would hasten Gilead's
demise.

She found herself reaching for her grizzly's
big paw, seeking the comfort and security she'd found in his hand
that very first night. He gave her hand a squeeze and smiled down
at her sadly as if sharing her thoughts.

The Alpha's formal acceptance of Jazz into
the pack as a new member was done almost as an afterthought and
Jazz thought that was as it should be. The short time she been here
had come to feel like her entire life.

"You'd better get that lazy ass out of bed
and get it moving, Papa Bear. We're already running late."

Griz didn't move from his position on the
bed. His hands were behind his head and his ankles were crossed; a
man of leisure who wasn't about to be disturbed by a little thing
like work. He settled his shoulders a little more comfortably below
the pillow and grinned at Jazz.

"The clinic opens when we get there and
closes when we leave. We can't be late. Besides, I'm doing
important research."

"Bull. You've been staring at me for the last
twenty minutes." Jazz slid the mascara wand back into its tube and
frowned at her image in the mirror. She fluffed her hair, sprayed
and fluffed again.

When she found the mirror among the boxes and
furniture in the bedroom across the hall, she'd been ecstatic. Now
she wasn't sure why. Life was easier when you had no clue as to
what you really looked like. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

Her hair was naturally a dark sable brown and
you'd think there wouldn't be a huge difference between it and the
black dye she used. Wrong. Her short hair was now striped with
brown and black and, thank God, almost-faded-away blue.

"Which do you prefer, long or short," she
asked, thinking about how Griz always gripped the back of her head
when he kissed her.

"Oh, definitely short, the shorter, the
better" Griz said seriously. "There's always a chance she'll drop a
quarter or you'll be behind her as she's going up the stairs. Hey!"
he laughed as he ducked the hairbrush that came flying across the
room. "Don't ask if you don't want to know."

"Hair, not skirts!" She poked at the bangs
again. "I can't decide if I want to let it grow out, in which case
I'll need to dye it to match my natural color, or get it cut which
would get rid of what's left of the blue and most of the black. I'm
asking for your opinion."

"Really? You want my opinion on your hair?"
Griz moved to sit at the end of the bed. He observed both her
reflection in the mirror and the back of her head. "Can I ask a
question?"

"Damn, Griz, It's not rocket science." She
watched him in the mirror and he looked so serious she almost
laughed. She rolled her head back and then dropped it forward until
her chin dropped to her chest with a long suffering sigh. "Fine.
Ask your question."

"Will the length of your hair have any effect
on the underwear you choose?" he asked innocently.

Jazz knew she'd been had again. "I think I
liked you better when you were growly and grumpy," she said while
she applied her lip gloss which wasn't easy when you were trying
not to laugh. "I asked a serious question."

So did I," he protested. "That purple number
you're wearing could melt the polar ice cap and if you stop wearing
it because it doesn't go with your hairstyle, I'm going to be
mightily disappointed. And while we're on the subject, you're not
wearing it to work."

"Why not?" She rose from the stool she was
using and grabbed a pair of low slung skinny jeans, one of the
pieces in the suitcase she decided to keep. "It's not like anyone's
going to see them," she said as she wiggled the jeans up over her
hips.

The sides of the thong rose up over the waist
band of the jeans, but the shirt she chose was long enough to
cover. Jazz smiled to herself. How times had changed. A month ago,
she would have changed the shirt.

"Maybe so, but I'll be seeing it in my head
all day," Griz complained.

"Poor Papa Bear," she laughed and kissed him,
scooting away before he could grab hold. "You're getting too
bristly. It's time for another shave."

It wasn't his parent's Saturday night ritual,
but shaving Griz had become their own special time.

Griz's face brightened. "Will you wear the
purple panties?"

"Uh, ye-ah," she laughed, "I'll be wearing it
all day."

"No, I mean just the purple panties." He
thought for a moment. "And maybe the red shoes."

Living in Gilead, Jazz had absolutely no use
for a pair of five inch heels, but Griz wouldn't let her give them
away. In fact, he'd insisted she keep most of the things she would
have given away saying she never knew when she might feel the need
to scandalize the neighbors and in the meantime she could model her
wardrobe for him.

"If you're a good boy and hurry up and get
dressed, I'll wear the purple thong and the red shoes," she
laughed, "Even though they clash."

"Heaven forbid you should clash," he said as
he zipped his jeans and grabbed a shirt from the pile that was now
stacked neatly in a drawer, "Why don't you forget the panties then.
You can just wear the shoes."

This easy banter was typical now of her days
with Griz. Jazz thanked God regularly for the sinner who'd stolen
her motorcycle, money and clothes. Even the knowledge that it was
probably Cho didn't alter her gratitude. The past six weeks in
Gilead had changed her life and the past month with Griz had given
her a taste of heaven.

The clinic was making money, not much, but
enough to replenish supplies with a little left over. That leftover
when combined with the money from the sale of the pigs gave Jazz
what she needed to bring electricity to the first floor of the
house with the help of an elderly pack member, a retired
electrician, who was delighted to supply the knowledge if Jazz
could find someone to replace his arthritic hands. Ellie's son Matt
provided the hands.

It was not as difficult or as expensive as
she thought it would be since the lines already ran to the office.
She knew the old wolver only charged her the cost of the supplies
and Matt had been told to take experience as his pay. Griz had
helped so many for so little, everyone she met was eager to return
the gesture.

Following Jazz's suggestion, Mark Wardman was
finding success selling his furniture at a large flea market
located closer to one of the more heavily populated tourist areas.
He was amazed at the prices he could command for some of his pieces
and his rocking chairs were selling as fast as he could make
them.

"How'd you think of that?" Griz asked when
she first proposed the idea. "I thought a flea market was where you
bought other people's junk and you don't strike me as a junk kind
of girl."

"Shows how much you know. One man's junk is
another girl's treasure," she joked. "I bought my first bike at a
flea market for fifty bucks I borrowed from Roscoe. I got it
running, shined it up a little and sold it for two fifty. I worked
flea markets for two years before my father put a stop to it.
Roscoe, the guy who does his books, thought I should learn the
business from the ground up."

"Your pack worked flea markets?" He didn't
sound surprised, just curious.

"No," Jazz laughed. "They laundered money
through flea markets. Not millions, but it's an easy way to cook
the books. You can, however, earn legitimate money with the right
product in the right market. Mark's got a quality product and
tourists always have money to burn."

"Who knew my partner would turn out to be the
economic redevelopment queen of Gilead," Griz laughed.

Jazz laughed with him, but she wondered what
he'd say about the idea she'd been turning over in her mind since
meeting Miz Ezzy and her boys.

After witnessing the strange creature
threaten her father with a loaded shotgun, Jazz had to know more.
She waited until laundry day to ask Ellie and Donna, who always
seemed to stop by when Jazz was there.

"Esmeralda is a little eccentric," Ellie
stated the obvious.

"Esmeralda Littleton is as crazy as a
bedbug," Donna corrected. "Probably keeps company with them,
too."

"Donna, don't be so mean," her kinder sister
admonished and tapped the side of her head with her finger. "You'd
be a little tetched, too, if you walked in her shoes."

"She was tetched long before Cy and Rainbow
got shot and you know it. Cy and Rainbow were tetched, too. You'd
have to be to court Ezzy."

"Wait!" Jazz interrupted before the sisters
started spitting nails. "Who the hell are Cy and Rainbow and how'd
they get shot?"

Donna huffed with exasperation and rolled her
eyes. "Cyrus and Rainbow Small were two brothers who came damn
close to running wild, as in turning wolf permanent. Seems they
took a liking to fresh chickens and eggs and one full moon they
went running off like they always did and got themselves shot
raiding some poor farmer's coop. Lucky for the rest of us, they
didn't die of their wounds until they were well away. Damn fools
could have doomed us all."

"They were brothers, but they were rivals for
Ezzy's, ah, attentions," Ellie added.

"What my mealy mouthed sister is trying to
say is that Ezzy was the only bitch in a thousand miles who would
let those Smalls in her pants."

"Donna!"

"Well it's true," Donna snapped. Then she
turned to Jazz. "All the Smalls were bat shit crazy. The line died
out thirty years ago with the death of those boys and we can all
thank our lucky stars it did. They were a danger to the pack and
that farmer only saved the Alpha from doing something it would
break his heart to do."

"Ezzy loved both those boys and she could
never decide which one she loved best," Ellie the soft hearted
explained. "It took two weeks before they found them and it tore
her heart out when they did. She took off and holed up in her
granddaddy's cabin and wouldn't open the door for none but the
Mate."

"Next thing you know," Donna continued,
"Ezzy's living up there raising her boys and walking the
woods."

"Her boys?" Jazz asked thoroughly confused.
If Ezzy didn't mate, she couldn't have pups. There was no such
thing as an illegitimate wolver.

"Ezzy raises worms. She calls them her boys,"
Ellie said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "She's
got boxes and boxes of them around the yard and in her barn and in
her cabin come winter. She collects leaves and stuff from the woods
to feed them and folks give her paper and food scraps.

"But don't ever give her meat scraps," Donna
warned. "Unless you want to have your windows pelted with them in
the middle of the night. Miz Ezzy's boys don't eat meat and neither
does Miz Ezzy. There's Gilead's claim to fame for you. We've got
the only vegetarian wolver in history."