The Falcon Finds His Mate Page 5

  Jess flinched as he touched her arm. She cast furtive glances, hoping no one was watching them.

  "She was way off base," he said.

  If he thought she’d answer, he had a long wait. Her voice hitched, competing with trapped sobs she would not allow to escape. Shaking her head was all she could manage.

  "I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll straighten all this out," Ryan said, his voice glazed with regret.

  Still unable to speak in coherent sentences, Jess waved him away. Any bud between them that tried to bloom had yielded to Solange’s knife.

  Ryan’s words faded into the crowd as she made her way to the serving table where Zoey and Sierra were drinking syrupy fruit punch. A shame this party was alcohol-free. Jess could use a stiff drink.

  "He’s more adorable up close than on stage," Zoey said.

  "Who?" Jess asked.

  "Give me a break. Falcon guy," Zoey said.

  "He looked like he could eat you like a candy bar." Sierra scanned Jess’s hair. "Maybe he did."

  Jess tucked a curl behind her ear, realizing half her hair had fallen out of the chignon. And the silly flower was gone; probably squashed under Solange’s foot.

  Should she give Ryan a chance to explain? She peeked over her shoulder, but he was gone.

  "I knew him and his brother at Harmswood." Jess rewound her hair.

  "No wonder that’s all you talked about your whole freshman year," Zoey said.

  They had the brothers mixed up but why bother telling them. Her gut was still taut after Solange’s tirade. Though neither Ford meant anything to her, there was some satisfaction that both noticed her tonight. And had kissed her.

  "Conner seems like a real player," Sierra said.

  "I didn’t think that at all," Zoey said. "He’s hot if you ask me."

  Sierra sputtered her drink. "You’re kidding. He eye-groped every woman in the place, even after he landed on the floor."

  "Like you weren’t sizing up men," Zoey said.

  "Connor’s the one I had the crush on," Jess said, though the other women didn’t hear.

  For the short moment, when she caught Connor’s eye at Harmswood, there’d been rumblings that Solange planned to cause trouble.

  Two innocent dates and Solange had browbeaten Connor so that a third never happened. Nothing had changed. Solange still had her talons in her sons.

  For too long, Jess road a guilt pony. Not rich, cute, or smart enough. Crazy nonsense.

  "So what about falcon guy?" Sierra primped her hair. "Is he yours?"

  Protective jealousy pricked her. Why? Ryan was not ‘hers’.

  If Sierra, the cultured ambassador’s daughter who grew up in Europe, and thought Boston was unsophisticated, wanted to chase after a falcon-shifter from North Georgia, then by all means.

  Solange would be on that like a fly on a gooseberry pie. What fun to watch from a far distant galaxy.

  "Knock yourself out," Jess said.

  Sierra, the feminist pirate, slinked toward the courtyard; each step calculated like a cat after a robin. Except she was stalking the fastest predator bird on earth.

  "Well, the girl still has the moves," Zoey said.

  Jess spun the jade ring with a notion to slip it off and glimpse the scene ahead. She shouldn’t let this happen to a friend. Ryan, on the other hand, deserved it.

  "Let’s grab some water. I have a feeling we’ll be waiting," Zoey said.

  Water at last. "Don’t move a muscle."

  In the front courtyard, Zoey sipped her water as she wiggled the gold dress down. "This wasn’t the best costume. Next time, talk sense into me."

  Jess was the least qualified to talk sense into anyone after letting Ryan kiss her.

  Sierra rejoined them, Ryan’s tweed jacket slung over her shoulder like a souvenir. She grabbed Jess’s water and took a long drink. Amen and amen.

  "Take the rest," Jess said.

  "You didn’t stay long," Zoey said.

  “Nothing out there but crickets.” Sierra handed the jacket to Jess.

  A lot had happened in seven years. Moving away. College. Dream job. Losing dream job. Breaking off two almost serious relationships. Moving home.

  Being in Ryan Ford’s arms.

  Solange might be right.

  What had gotten into her?

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryan’s blood had reached boiling by the time he arrived home. His mother’s Jag was parked in the drive; the hood still warm.

  So, the holier-than-thou woman hadn’t flown to Connor’s bedside. His head pounded like a bass drum.

  If he didn’t get under control soon, he’d complete the change that started at Harmswood.

  Aligned just below the surface, feathers threatened to penetrate his skin like sharp bayonets.

  By sheer will, he reversed the emerging beak and talons. He would not give his mother the satisfaction of defeating him. He would not shift.

  It wasn’t his fault that his mother played the lonely widow game to the hilt and took it out on her sons.

  He, and Connor to some degree tried to cut her slack. But she’s not the only one who missed their father.

  He shook with resentment and contempt. Connor could slide in and out of falcon and felt nothing but a quick rush.

  Ryan felt everything.

  He had inherited his father’s gene to change in slow, painful stages during anger shifts that took hours to reverse, and left him exhausted and lethargic for the next day.

  This was no time to be incapacitated. But remembering how his mother had driven Jess away, control was impossible.

  If he thought about something pleasant, he could reverse the shift.

  He steered his attention to Jess Callahan. Beautiful, smart, and all woman. He’d been entranced. Her body snuggled against his. Her flowery perfume. How he had lost himself in her arms. Their comfortable, natural kiss.

  What would it be like to have her in his bed? Her hair floating over her shoulders; one graceful arm draped over his chest. Their bodies coiled after making love.

  Pain from the aborted shift finally subsided, leaving him aching to hold Jess again.

  After mommy dearest’s performance, Jess would be wise to run from any Ford that crossed her path.

  His rage fading, he walked through the carved walnut front door and straight to the living room.

  Bourbon-primed for another battle, Solange sat on a green velvet settee and tilted her crystal glass in his direction. "Join me?"

  He waved off the drink and took a seat in his father’s leather recliner.

  "I can forgive this one dalliance, but I never want to see you cavorting like that with her ever again," she said.

  "You make her sound like a cheap whore."

  "I asked you to keep her away from Connor. I didn’t mean for you to go to bed with her."

  "What the hell are you talking about? It was a kiss." How could she talk about Jess like she was dirt? He had to be careful. Control the anger.

  "And Melanie?"

  Figures she would throw that in his face. Time to take his brother’s advice.

  "There’s no more Melanie."

  Her smug sneer peeled from her face. "What are you talking about? She’s from a wonderful family."

  "No engagement. No wedding." Lead chains unlocked their hold around his chest.

  "After this blows over, I’m sure you’ll see Melanie is the right woman who’ll bear you fine offspring. Her family is well-connected."

  Pity replaced his anger as the woman simpered.

  "You should hear yourself. And nothing you can say will change things. It’s over.”

  Fighting the shift left his head woozy, and his body drained. Had she tried to force his change to prove her point? Even Solange wouldn’t stoop that low. Or would she?

  He left her for the solitude of his workshop. He kept the lights off so moonlight could shine on the stallion.

  If the F
areed invitation still held, he’d accept. Though it didn’t match the winged freedom of soaring above the trees, a private jet ride to Dubai was tempting.

  When, and if, he returned, he’d move the studio. He could go anywhere.

  But he sure the hell wasn’t staying in Nocturne Falls.

  *~*

  Echo brewed tea while Jess set out two cups. "You’ve been in this funk for three days. No wonder your friends went exploring on their own."

  "I’ve been a fool," Jess said.

  "Only if you take Solange seriously. Her nose has been in the air since I first met her."

  Solange’s words had stung for a while. It was Ryan that Jess couldn’t cut loose from her thoughts.

  "How can Ryan or Connor stand living with her. One thing’s certain, I realize how lucky I am to live with you, Nana. I’m not sure what I would have done."

  "Precious, you’re a strong woman who can stand on her own. It’s been delightful to have you back."

  The women drank their tea in peace, except for Crealde snoring at Echo’s feet. Jess inspected the tea leaves that had settled in her cup.

  She’d hedged for weeks on the tough conversation with her grandmother. Some reasons were legitimate. Repairs. Festival. Zoey and Sierra.

  Most were not.

  Her new job was around the corner. It could be in a week. Or a month. But Nana could no longer stay by herself. Upkeep. Maintenance. Running the shop.

  "Let those worries go." Echo twirled the pearl cuff on the table.

  Ice crystals formed in Jess’s veins. "How long has that been off?"

  Echo set her eyeglasses next to the bracelet. If the wisdom in her eyes could be bottled, they’d be rich. "I’ve made arrangements."

  Jess sprang from her chair. What arrangements? Was she hiding something? Was she sick?

  "Oh, sit down. I’m fit as a fiddle, but not blind to the fact that I’m getting older, or that you’re obsessed with my future. In due time this will all fall into place. You’ll see. Now then, another cup?"

  Echo’s answer to any problem was tea. "You know the answer already."

  In a convoluted way, Solange did her a service, though the woman’s bluster about class and status was bogus, and all in Solange’s head.

  At the least, she owed Ryan, and herself, a chance to part as friends. In a weak moment, neither had used good judgment, though he was a damn good kisser. But it meant swallowing pride and taking the first step.

  "Finish your tea and go talk to him. I’ll entertain Zoey and Sierra." Echo took the little wooden box from the drawer and shuffled the card deck.

  "You aren’t planning what I think?" Gypsum jacked up mercy. "You are, aren’t you?"

  Echo angled her head and teased a grin.

  Chapter Twelve

  Getting to the exclusive Wolf Creek shifters-only community was easy. Getting past the electronic gate? Not so much.

  Jess pulled her car to a stop a few feet from the entrance and waited. She could, and probably should call Ryan to let her in. Even if she had his phone number, he wouldn’t pick up if he saw her name on caller ID.

  If she got through the gate, there was no guarantee he was even home. Misgivings rained over her. How stupid to stalk the guy like a high school groupie.

  And how would she break the ice? ‘Hey, there. In the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and say hello.’ And when he threw her out on her butt?

  If he wasn’t home, she could say she tried to mend fences. Fences. Gates. Now or never.

  When the first vehicle pulled up, she counted the seconds it took for the gate to activate, swing open and shut once the car passed. If she picked the right one, she might be able to draft through. The gate barely closed without hitting the slow pokes.

  She needed to follow something small and fast. Something like the Harley she saw in the rearview mirror. If they were coming in here, that is. In case this was her break, she started the engine and put the car in gear.

  The woman slowed the motorcycle to a stop at the Wolf Creek entrance and tapped a button on their bike. Shazamobam!

  The gate glided open and the rider accelerated through the narrow space. Plenty room behind.

  She seized the moment and gunned the gas. Incredible luck. But they should do something about that potential security flaw. Some other day.

  Her GPS led her to the Ford address. Parked in front, she sat for a few minutes, rounding up courage. Like Crealde with a lizard, the chase was fun. What to do with the catch?

  After pumping up her nerve, she walked to the arch over the driveway entrance. Perched on the end columns, cameras glared like twin cyclops.

  She could imagine Solange sipping a drink, entertained by the security feed; her finger hovering over a switch that activated a larger-than-life bug zapper to destroy unwanted guests.

  Passing through the gate, Jess flipped the bird to the cameras. Zap this.

  Immaculate and manicured, the grounds were a vast difference from her grandmother’s jumbled herb and flower garden. Where Echo’s was eclectic and welcomed all, the Ford garden reeked of look-but-don’t-touch. And it was eerily quiet. Not a sound anywhere except her own disembodied footsteps.

  Jess halted where the driveway split. One way led to the front door. The other, to the garage where she’d heard Ryan had a workshop.

  Covered in doubt, Jess couldn’t take another step. What had she been thinking sneaking around like a thief? The brilliant shine on her peacemaking plan tarnished to a flat gray.

  Appearing from nowhere, a half dozen butterflies spun and fluttered around her, circling so close she felt a breeze from their wings. To her delight, two landed on her hand for an instant, then took flight toward the street.

  If she could believe the stories she’d heard as a child, butterflies meant angels were close. Good timing. Her stomach stood ready to launch.

  So far, the angelic protection worked. No one had loosed lethal, spike-collared dogs. No armed, camouflaged soldiers jumped out from the hedge.

  She scanned the house. No green-eyed monster peered from a second story window, though she sensed a foreboding vibe. Nonsense. How could a house have a vibe? Stress was anteing up its game.

  She squared her shoulders and saluted the sky. "Thanks, team. If you have a few minutes, would it be a problem to hang around a little longer?"

  *~*

  From his window, Ryan watched in disbelief. How had Jess Callahan gotten this far into the estate?

  In the sunlight, her hair shined like copper threads. Seeing her surrounded by butterflies nailed it. She was too pure for this dysfunctional family.

  The skinny little wallflower had grown into an incredibly attractive woman. His mother was right. Jess had no business being associated with the Fords, but not for Solange’s reasons.

  So, what brought her here? He wiped his hands on a rag. Was she here for another go at his mother?

  A sports car’s whirring engine grew louder as it came down the driveway. His brother’s timing never ceased to amaze.

  Connor leaned against his Porsche, talking to Jess, probably milking his injury for all it was worth.

  Keep going, Connor. Play the last sympathy card. Jess had too much class to kiss and tell. On the other hand, seeing Connor’s face when he found out about their kiss? Worth a million.

  Holy bloody Sunday.

  Connor had touched his lips to Jess’s wrist.

  Ryan’s neck arteries bounded as he threw the shop towel on the floor. He stormed out the door, then slowed to a saunter. What’s the rush?

  The woman had the right to talk with any man she wished. Nothing bound them as a couple. Their moonlight kiss had been an impulse.

  Ryan summoned his ‘hello friend’ voice. "Morning."

  The three exchanged greetings, though Connor’s eyes never strayed from Jess. Not a good omen.

  "A little far from town, aren’t you? I suppose you were just in the neighborhood?" Rya
n asked.

  Jess’s eyes darted between the brothers. "Something like that."

  "I invited her to tour Mother’s home. Not every day you see a house decorated like a sixties’ vampire movie set," Connor said.

  "And I told him I’d pass," she said.

  "Wise move. Would you like to see my studio?" He winced. What woman would buy that ‘come up and see my paintings’ line?

  "I’m sure she’ll love schlepping around in a wood pile," Connor scoffed.

  "Don’t start." Ryan’s hair bristled.

  "Bro, I just meant—"

  "Whoa, guys." Jess moved out of the way. "Perhaps I should let you two fight it out?"

  Once again, Connor had baited him. And like a fool, he’d bit the hook. Another Ford skirmish. There would be no full-scale battle today.

  He watched Jess take the arms-across-her-chest stance he remembered from the gym. The glance she sliced between him and Connor underlined her impatience.

  He cast his brother an iron warning.

  "What did I do?" Connor asked.

  No sense waiting for the apology that would never come from Connor’s mouth.

  "I came here to see your shop, Ryan. I hear you’re quite a wood crafter. You must have thought I was pretty stupid that day in the gym," Jess said.

  Stupid? Never. But it was hard to believe that she came here to see where he worked.

  Conner threw his key fob in the air and caught it.

  "Umm. Anybody know why Mother’s on a rampage? Nothing to do with that party, is it?"

  "Why do you say that?" A noticeable squeak strangled Jess’s voice.

  Connor rolled his eyes in pretended amazement. "Come on. Every supernatural at the party heard her. Our mother is unaccustomed to obeying inside voice rules. It’s all over town what happened. Too bad I missed the show."

  Ryan had played the semi-hermit since the Showcase. Either Connor knew something, or he was bluffing.

  "Knows what happened?" Jess’s peaches and cream complexion went tomato red.

  Connor raised his casted arm. "Hey, I was in the ER, remember?"

  Could Connor jack-hammer his last nerve any harder? "You have something to say, say it,” Ryan said.

  "Oh, my wounded arm. But if you insist. The story is you two found a cozy dance floor all to yourselves. And dear Mama caught you in a little lip lock. To have been a mouse under the table."