Shifter Scrooge, page 2
What else did he have to do?
Chapter One
Bea looked out the window for the fifteenth time in a row. Flurries had started up again, and the sky had a distinct pink look to it. Dang it. Why hadn’t she accepted her mother’s invitation to fly down to Florida to spend the holidays with her and Dad?
She was practically climbing the walls just thinking about being cooped up in her tiny apartment during the most wonderful time of the year. This wasn’t right. The holidays were a time for families and celebrations. But with her parents in Florida and her aunt visiting for the season, there wasn’t anyone left for Bea to spend them with—wait a second, she forgot about Lena!
She grabbed her phone, shooting off a text to her mother, asking for Lena’s address. The buzzer rang, and Bea ran for the door.
“Who is it?”
“Hi dear! It’s Mrs. Myrtle, your neighbor,” the older woman sang out, and Bea rushed to open the door with a wide smile.
Her elderly neighbor was a hoot. Mrs. Myrtle had been married for fifty years before her husband passed, but she had quite the active life what with volunteering at the local zoo as a docent on weekends, and her many day trips organized through the local senior community center.
She was involved in a rather racy romance readers’ book club. Bea knew this after attending one meeting that had her cheeks burning for days following. Their frank discussion of the perks of monster peens was simply too much for Bea to take in front of all those white-haired women.
She did, however, keep up with their reading list, and my oh my, was it smutty good stuff! She’d been surprised by their penchant for paranormal romance, but Bea certainly appreciated it. She also loved the “unapologetic monster fucker” sticker she’d received as a present for attending the meeting and secretly wondered how her mother would react if she saw the thing smack dab right on the cover of her eReader.
Snort.
Mrs. Myrtle also ran a knitting group that met monthly. She also performed in the community theater. The woman made Bea look like a nun. But she’d adopted Bea as one of her own, and being an extrovert, she enjoyed the experience.
“Hello, Mrs. Myrtle! What are you doing here? I mean,” she corrected, blushing at how that might sound. “Why are you still home on the night before Christmas Eve? I thought you were going over to your son’s house,” Bea finished.
“I am, dear, I am,” Mrs. Myrtle told her, a knowing grin on her face. “But I have a little gift for you before I go. Don’t worry, my Paulie is waiting downstairs for me,” she said, pushing a brightly wrapped box at Beatrix.
“Awww, thank you, Mrs. Myrtle! Did you get the tea set I left for you yesterday?”
“Yes, dear, thank you, I loved it. Especially the cute little Werewolf cartoons painted all over it. Now, go on, open yours while I watch.”
Bea smiled broadly, tearing at the package like the kid at heart she truly was. Her mouth dropped open as she pulled out a fluffy Elf onesie. It was bright red from head to toe, with green pompoms and silver and gold sparkles everywhere.
She giggled, knowing full well she would love to wear the silly thing. But there was a matching hat inside the box. When Bea pulled that out, she noticed something else wrapped in tissue paper.
“Mrs. Myrtle! I love it,” she said, her laughter overflowing now.
“Yes, dear, but open the other thing now.”
Bea nodded, obeying the older woman’s instruction. Her smile was still in place as she unwrapped the gift. But it faltered when she opened the tissue. Gulp. Bea stared, jaw hitting the floor when she pulled out the miniscule red lace teddy with the crotchless bottom and cut out booby holes—what the heck?
“The pajamas are for you and the teddy is for whoever gets to unwrap you, dear. I think it’s high time you got yourself a date, young lady. Being nice is all well and good, but you need to be naughty sometimes, too.”
“Um, thank you, Mrs. Myrtle,” she replied, not sure what to say.
Her buzzer rang, and she answered it.
“Bea? Will you tell Ma to come down already?” Mrs. Myrtle’s married son, Paulie, shouted.
“Yeah, sure. Merry Christmas,” Bea replied.
“You too, Bea!” he replied.
“He can wait,” Mrs. Myrtle said, not finished with her speech. “Look, dear, I know it isn’t in vogue to say this, but you need someone in your life. Hell, you need a love life, period! Why, when I was your age, Mr. Myrtle and I used to have sex in every room of the apartment. Sometimes several times a day. Mr. Myrtle was so virile. You know, he was so good at cunnilingus, too. Oh, how I miss him,” she said, making Bea squirm uncomfortably.
“Um, okay, Mrs. Myrtle. Thank you, but uh, your son is waiting. I really, um, appreciate the advice,” she replied, trying, and failing, not to sound squeamish.
But really, the idea of Mrs. Myrtle getting it on was really too much for Bea to handle.
“I only say this cause I care, dear. You are so young, and time flies. You only get to live once, young lady, and what you’re doing isn’t living at all. Now go on. Put that on and I bet it makes you feel a world of difference. What have you got to lose?” Mrs. Myrtle finished with a pat on Bea’s flaming cheek.
What indeed?
Bea thought after the sweet, but pushy, old lady left. She closed the door, still holding the teddy, pjs, and hat in hand. Curiosity got the better of her, as it had several times in her life—which was why she was currently in this dry spell Mrs. Myrtle had been so kind as to point out.
She walked to her bedroom and began to undress in front of the tall, full-length mirror she had hanging on the far wall. Bea wasn’t shy about her body in the least. At five foot five inches, she was not the shortest woman in the Gallo gang. Though, with one hundred and eighty pounds of perfectly plump packaging, she was on the thicker side of the family tree.
Thicker, yep, but that didn’t mean Bea wasn’t cute as hell. In fact, she was often shocked at how many of her cute cousins told her she was so strong and brave for appearing to be happy with her body.
Like WTAF? Bea often got into hilarious debates about looks with the thinner Gallo set, and she had to say she didn’t like it one bit. It made her wonder how many women walked around, grossly unhappy with their appearance. Then it made her angry at all the societal pressures on women to stay thin and young forever. It was unrealistic and simply unfair.
Bea liked herself. She really did. Belly rolls, slightly smallish boobs, wide hips, thick thighs, dimpled ass cheeks and all, making her a freak amongst her family. But what could she say? She was a woman, and she was just fine being herself.
Her hair hung down to her shoulders in a riot of spiral curls, her own not from a bottle. Her ringlets were a dark, espresso brown and glossy—a result of her ritualistic conditioning habits. Taking care of the curly mane was one of her favorite things. Sometimes she wondered if her own children would inherit her mess of hair someday, and if they too would enjoy learning to care for it.
Thinking about children when she didn’t even have a boyfriend was a bit premature, but Bea was nothing if not a dreamer. She’d love a little boy or girl with glossy thick curls like hers. Heck, she’d love her child no matter what they looked like.
Her Italian heritage also afforded her creamy olive-toned skin, a long, straight nose, plump rose-colored lips, and big, hazel eyes with a swirl of emerald right around her dark irises. She wasn’t conceited, but she knew she was nice looking. Even if the majority of the men she’d dated suggested she lose a few pounds whenever things started to get a little bit serious.
That was right about the time Bea ended the relationship. Sigh. Oh well. She was better off without them. There had to be someone out there who’d appreciate her the way she was. And if there wasn’t, well, she could be happy alone. Right?
Ugh. How depressing. Bea didn’t want to think about her relationship problems, but every holiday it seemed she was alone. When would she get her happy ending? All she wanted was someone to call her own.
A man. A family. A home. A holiday season filled with laughter, joy, and, most of all, love.
She heaved another heavy sigh. She needed to get herself out of this funk. Bea tore the tags off the teddy and pjs, donning the first and giggling at the way her tilt-tipped breasts looked, hanging over the little scrap of lace.
What the heck?
And that was not the worst of it. Her unshaven hoo ha was sticking out, as were her ass cheeks, giving a sneak peek of the fairy tattoo she’d gotten on her left buttock after high school.
Bea snorted out loud. Good gracious, she’d scare someone silly if she wore that thing with any real intent. Still, Mrs. Myrtle, bless her heart, had given Bea a good laugh. She winked at herself, then tugged on the comfy as all get out pjs.
“Ohmygawd,” she murmured, still smiling like a loon. “I look ridiculous!”
She bent over at the waist, chuckling so hard she was crying. Even though the pajamas were supposed to be funny, they wound up being rather snug around her boobs, thighs, and butt, making her look like a scandalously naughty little Christmas Elf. Nothing she could do about that, she mused. She enjoyed being a curvy girl and was totally in love with her fluffy body and quirky outlook on life.
Which was part of the problem, according to her exes. The most recent of which was a trainer at the nearby gym she sometimes frequented. He had asked her out the first time he’d seen her, and she said yes. Why wouldn’t she?
Bea was no stranger to the dating game and Tom was drop-dead gorgeous. Even if he was a little too into appearances. That was the first red flag she’d ignored.
When they started dating in earnest, Bea did what she always did. Made excuses for his behavior. Pretended not to care when he missed important events. Like the time she invited him to Java House’s open mic night, where she sometimes read her poetry to the patrons. It had only been a couple of weeks since she stopped seeing Tom, and the man still called and texted her every evening like clockwork.
It was like he just couldn’t handle the fact she—a chubby little psychologist—had dumped him. Sure, he was a gym rat with a smokin’ hot bod. Unfortunately, that was all Tom had going for him. She’d even tried blocking his number, but he started using landlines and calling from unknown numbers.
They always popped up as local, and Bea always answered, worried about the teens she worked with. Tom knew this, and the jerk took advantage. She had initially wanted to be a social worker, but decided it wasn’t for her. Once she earned her master’s degree in psychology, Bea started working for the Macconwood-Nighthawk Teen Outreach Program.
After graduate school, everything sort of fell into place for her. She was extremely happy with her work life. Though, her boss, Cat Maccon, had insisted she take a couple of weeks off for the holidays since she’d never used up even one sick day. So, here she was.
Going slowly crazy.
Something about those kids just called to her. If she could reach even one of them on an emotional and intellectual level, Bea considered it a triumph. Tom was jealous of the time she spent at work. He just couldn’t understand that he was not the most important thing she had going on.
That and his inability to see she was happy with her body were simply the last straw. Thinking back on it, Bea refused to feel bad. There were a million other ways she and Tom failed to mesh—the least of all was NOT Tom’s unfortunate inability to last for more than a little heavy petting before he was prematurely ejaculating in his tighty-whities. Bea had told him they were finished in no uncertain terms.
So many youths came in and out of her office without real homes or folks who understood, it just broke Bea’s heart. She was amazed so many flocked to the smallish South Jersey town of Maccon City. She worked six days a week, and there were still some kids she never saw at all.
Those went to other psychologists at the center, but Bea wanted to do so much more. Working with troubled teens was more rewarding than she could have ever expected. It taught her to explore all sorts of avenues of healthy self-expression and Bea was always writing or crafting. She’d even started baking a few years ago.
Not to toot her own horn, or anything, but her cousin Lena raved about her goodies at the last family reunion a few years back. She’d even asked to buy her butter cookie recipe, but, of course, Bea had just sent it to her.
Lena ran a successful catering company with her husband, the very foxy Keeton Grey. They’d been married a few years now and had a little girl named Dorothy and a son named Matthew.
Now that she thought about her, Bea really missed her cousin. Her phone pinged, and she looked at the screen, cringing when a local unknown number popped up. It had to be Tom. But she was still reluctant to let it go to voice mail just in case it was one of her kids from the outreach center.
“Hello, this is Bea,” she said brightly.
Her smile turned into a frown the second she heard Tom’s voice. Ugh. Could the man get a clue?
“Yo Bea, how you doin’, baby? I was callin’ cause I know you love Christmas, and I was thinking tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, you and me,” he said.
“Are you seriously asking me out again, Tom? I thought we went over this. We’re just not good together—”
“Don’t be like that, babe. I am totally willing to help you get over your fear of the gym, besides you don’t wanna be alone for the holidays, do ya?”
Well, that really burned! How dare he expect her to be sitting home alone on Christmas Eve—even if it was exactly what she was going to do with everyone she cared about away for the holiday!
Gulp.
An idea started brewing in her head, and before she knew it, she was already telling the mini fib to Tom.
“Sorry, Tom. I won’t be home alone. I am going to see my cousin and her husband with my new boyfriend. So, thanks for thinking of me, but no, I am not free,” she growled, and clicked end, adding that number to the multitude of those she’d blocked after Tom had called.
What a creep! And since Bea wasn’t a total liar, she started packing a bag. One stop at the local food mart later, and she was on her way to the Panther Mountains to see Lena and her beautiful family. Her cousin would be so happy to see her, right? She knew Bea wasn’t much for planning things out, and she’d always been closest with her,
“Sure, Lena will be happy to see me,” Bea murmured to herself. “Spontaneity is the spice of life, right?”
She turned on a Christmas jingle and started on her way.
Next stop, the Panther Mountains!
Chapter Two
Striker read the note Keeton had written to him twice. It had been in an envelope on the counter, and told him all the usual things, where stuff was located, like the SAT phone and his cache of weapons in the outdoor shed. Of course, Keeton had disguised his language, stating the goodies and presents were tucked away tight.
He also told Striker to help himself to any of the staples they’d left in the cabin. That bit of thoughtfulness was touching, but unnecessary. Striker had brought his own rations but appreciated the gesture. Shifters ate a lot, and though he’d be fine with protein bars and shakes, it was nice to know there was actual food if he wanted it.
The cabin was a nice one, Striker mused. It had been added to over the years, but the additions were seamlessly combined with the original structure. The overall effect was a solid, sturdy, and heavily fortified abode.
From what Striker knew, the Mountain Lion Shifter and his family had two homes, one here, and one in Maccon City. Unbelievable, truth be told. There was a time when Keeton Grey wouldn’t be caught dead living in a suburb, but now that he was mated to the one woman the Fates had determined for him alone, well, suffice it to say, Keeton was a changed man.
Striker didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. All he knew was the man was concerned about leaving the cabin unattended. Despite his efforts to keep his land secure, poachers had been sighted hunting on Grey’s side of the mountain out of season. The man was worried they would grow brazen and invade his home while he was away, and Striker didn’t blame him.
No male Shifter could stand the idea of others trespassing on his land, especially if that male was mated and had cubs. Not that Striker had firsthand knowledge. He never would, either. But he could watch the place while Keeton and his family celebrated the holidays.
His Tiger was always down for a good old-fashioned hunt, and Striker had plans to do that very thing later that evening. He’d watch the cabin, the lands surrounding it, and he’d deal with any assholes who thought it was a good idea to trespass while he was there.
His beast understood hunting on a different level than his human side, but he was human enough to know there were rules, laws even, that needed to be obeyed. The cabin was clean, neat, and well put together. A patch of woods had been cleared in the back to make way for a yard. It was covered in snow now, but he could almost see the green grass that would cover it in the spring and hear the sounds of cubs playing. Striker’s Tiger was immediately intrigued, but he ignored the silly beast.
Striker was not meant for family. Never had been. He’d walked around the perimeter of the cabin before he’d headed inside, making note of the scents surrounding the place as well as memorizing the grounds. That was part of his specialty when he was operating. Striker was a master at reconnaissance.
He had a photographic memory, and his ability to recall topographical details was uncanny. Of course, that was what happened when you were trained from childhood to know where all the hidey holes and exits were located. Mom had shit taste in men.
But by the time he was thirteen, he’d towered over most of his mother’s boyfriends. There was no more trying to frighten or hit him after that. The last guy who thought of teaching him a lesson found out the hard way just how strong and fast Striker really was. His inner beast snarled at the memory.
