“All right. But I’ll be patrolling this morning, so I won’t be able to watch the teens or the woman all that much.”
“Alert the ski patrol to watch the boys and let you know if they do anything that’s unsafe. The others can be your eyes and ears. When our bachelor males see that the woman’s with you—so to speak—the word will spread and hopefully no one will hassle her. Learn when she’s leaving the area and work yourself into her schedule. If she doesn’t leave the slopes until later this afternoon when you’re free, you can be her ski buddy.”
Tom raised a brow.
“You know what I mean. Make sure you’re with her until she leaves. I don’t mean you have to stay with her overnight.”
“Not happening.” Although one-night stands with humans were acceptable for wolf shifters, Tom didn’t dare show any interest in a human around here. In this town, every wolf would hear of it. Too much of a problem with rumor control. And a part wolf? What the hell did that mean anyway? “I’m off.”
Tom threw on his parka, grabbed his gloves, and headed out. He had no doubt a woman who was part she-wolf wouldn’t interest him in the least.
***
Decorated in Queen Anne-style furniture, Elizabeth’s bedroom at the B and B made her feel like she’d been transported to the past. The chairs had clawed feet, and everything from the footboards to the canopy over the bed was draped in ecru lace.
Elizabeth paced across the elegant bedroom. She had called North to arrange a time and place to meet with him. He had agreed to hand over the evidence of her uncle’s complicity in murdering her parents in exchange for the deed to her family horse farm, but the red wolf was not happy.
“What do you mean you’re in Silver Town?” North snarled.
“I’m writing the article for my newspaper here. Bring the evidence to the ski resort. You should be able to arrive there by two. Right?”
North didn’t say anything, but she could hear his highly agitated heavy breathing on the line.
“I won’t meet you at your place,” Elizabeth continued, disregarding how irritated he was with her. “I’ll be at the Timberline Ski Lodge at two.”
“You couldn’t have picked a worse place for me to meet with you.” North finally let out his breath. “If I have any trouble getting there—the road conditions are bad due to the snowstorm—I’ll give you a ring.”
“All right. See you this afternoon otherwise.” She ended the call and left the room to join Bertha, the owner of the B and B, in the kitchen for breakfast.
She hadn’t realized the B and B was run by a gray wolf couple, but she’d been fortunate that the husband was off on a trip somewhere and his wife was really nice to her. She thought maybe Bertha was just an oddity, but then again, maybe because Elizabeth wasn’t a gray wolf, Bertha didn’t care what she was.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Bertha greeted her. The woman had springy silver curls and a round face and a cherub smile that reminded Elizabeth of Mrs. Claus. She wore a colorful burgundy and blue floral dress that matched the bouquets of flowers sitting on the dining-room table, kitchen bar, and tables in the common room. Ivies wound around wrought-iron plant stands, and small ficus trees were grouped next to the big windows that looked out on a tree-filled yard blanketed in snow.
“Good morning. The kitchen smells delightful.” Elizabeth sat down at the table covered in white lace to have a cup of steaming-hot chocolate and a freshly baked cinnamon roll. The frosting melted over the top and dripped down the sides.
The scent of cinnamon filled the kitchen, and Elizabeth took in another deep breath. Just breathing in the sweet, sugary smell was bound to pack on the pounds.
“Are you sure the ski patroller won’t be too put out about having to drop by and pick me up?” Elizabeth asked before she took a bite of the homemade cinnamon roll. If she didn’t ski enough to burn up the calories on the slopes, she would have to run in her wolf coat in the woods tonight.
“No, Tom has to drive right by here to get to the slopes. His brother Darien said Tom works until noon and would bring you home anytime you’re ready.”
“He doesn’t have to do that. I can take the shuttle.”
The front door opened, bells jingling, and though Elizabeth couldn’t see the new arrival, she assumed it was her ride. She didn’t rise from the table, not wanting to appear too anxious or foolish if it wasn’t Tom.
“Tom, is that you?” Bertha called out. “We’re in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, is the lady ready?” Tom sounded a little gruff, annoyed, put out.
Just like Elizabeth had assumed he’d be. She should have called a cab, if they even had cabs in Silver Town.
Tom strode into the kitchen as if he was on a mission and ready to get it over with.
He was tall, and his light-brown windswept hair and shadow of a beard gave him a rugged look. His cheeks were full of color from the cold. His eyes were the same rich shade of light brown as his hair, and they were instantly locked on hers.
He took in a deep breath, and she did, too, in a wolf’s way of determining how someone felt. Instantly, she knew he wasn’t all human.
She got a whole lot more of a perspective than just emotions.
He was one hot-looking gray wolf. And that could mean trouble for her.
Chapter 2
Tom Silver stared at the woman. She was too a wolf. He took another deep breath of the cinnamon-filled air, of the woman’s sweet scent of red wolf… and something else. Coyote.
She was petite like a red wolf, but more than unusual because she wasn’t all wolf. He’d never met a wolf-coyote mix before. Never heard of a coyote shifter. Now he wondered if the coyotes he’d seen that dared encroach on their territory were shifters, not just plain old coyotes.
He immediately thought of the Native American legends of Coyote, the trickster god, full of mischief, a thief, wily and sneaky. And a shape-shifter. Maybe that’s where the tales had come from, based in part on the truth, just as werewolf tales of old were.
The lady’s hair was a mass of shiny, dark red curls. Her eyes were a clear blue-green, her skin ivory except for a pale smattering of tiny red freckles barely visible across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She was a busty little thing. The sweater was formfitting—the style that showed off a woman’s curves. And she had them in abundance.