Chapter 21
Big Papa
The sun was setting behind Dairyville’s one functional stoplight, laying long shadows across the sidewalks.
The bakery glowed like a lantern in the middle of the block, every pane of glass scrubbed clean, the interior so spotless it looked staged for a magazine.
Aspen was already waiting, posted up behind the counter with Oscar perched on her shoulder like a familiar out of a storybook.
She wore the red polka dot dress I loved, white collar crisp and hair up in a high ponytail that made her look a little younger than she was and twice as fierce.
I took an extra moment to look at her through the glass.
She’d set all the chairs upside-down on the tables, swept the black-and-white tile floors to a shine, and even left a single candle burning by the register—a homey little touch for a girl who’d lived in a small cottage with her mother.
But she wasn’t calm. Her posture was tight, hands clasped on the counter, her eyes darting not to me, but to the battered leather bag at her feet.
Even Oscar seemed on edge, his tail twitching with the kind of nervous energy I associated with incoming mortars.
I knocked twice; a habit from nights on patrol, and let myself in.
“Evening, Sunshine,” I said, voice gentle.
She gave me a smile, but it was thinner than usual. “Hey, Papa. You’re right on time.”
Oscar nodded gravely. “Punctuality is the mark of a gentleman, sir.”
I shot him a wink. “Just trying to keep up with the bakery standard.”
Aspen moved around the counter and came to me, but didn’t reach for a hug. She stood a little to the side, the air between us full of things unsaid. I wanted to pull her in, cradle her against my chest, but I waited. She’d had a day.
“Shop looks incredible,” I said. “You running a tight ship or just trying to impress the inspectors?”
She glanced at the ceiling, like she might find words up there. “Had a lot on my mind. Cleaning helps.”
I nodded. “You hungry?”
She nodded, but it was more of a reflex. “Yeah. Oscar and I skipped lunch to catch up on orders. It’s been a day.”
Oscar straightened his vest. “I am famished, sir. I hope the menu tonight includes your renowned triple-stack burger.”
I ruffled his fur, which made him chitter. “You got it, pal.”
We fell into step toward the door. I went to grab her bag—the one with the grimoire—and she snatched it up first, hugging it tight to her chest.
I raised an eyebrow. “You expecting trouble tonight?”
She looked away. “Maybe.”
The walk to the truck was quiet, just our boots on the sidewalk and the prairie wind.
I got her settled in, then waited until we were on the road before I said anything.
The sky was the color of bruised peaches, the kind of Western sunset that made you believe in God even if you didn’t much care for churches.
About two miles out of Dairyville, she spoke up, voice so small I almost missed it. “Something happened with the grimoire today. I hate to say anything. But… it scared me.”
I didn’t look at her, just kept my eyes on the blacktop. “Tell me.”
She fidgeted, one hand on the hem of her dress, twisting it around her finger.
“Oscar wanted to study some, we’ve hardly had any time to go through it.
Which I totally agreed. I was just flipping through it.
Then—” She paused, biting her lip. “I got a paper cut. A drop of blood landed on the page, and everything changed.”
I kept my voice steady. “What do you mean?”
She took a breath. “The blood made words appear. Dark words. I couldn’t read them, but I knew… I knew it was bad. The air went cold. All these words started appearing on the page; scrolling across. Oscar said he thought it was a spell that could drain a witch’s power. Maybe even kill them.”
I felt my stomach ice over. “And then?”
She hugged the bag tighter. “My mom’s handwriting appeared in the margin.
It said, ‘DO NOT READ. DO NOT FEED IT. WIPE IT AWAY NOW.’ Over and over.
So I cleaned it up—scrubbed off the blood.
The more I removed my blood, the more the words disappeared.
Then I shut the book and locked it. I think it’s okay, but…
” She looked at me then, green eyes wide and scared.
“I think that’s what the Wyrdmother wants. That spell.”
I didn’t say anything for a mile. I just drove, hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles hurt.
My mind spun back to every story I’d ever heard about the Verdant Hollow coven, about the lengths power-hungry witches went to just to keep an edge over their sisters.
If the Wyrdmother got her hands on Aspen, on her blood, it wouldn’t just be an execution—it’d be a goddamn feeding frenzy.
“Can we destroy it?” I asked. “The grimoire?”
Aspen shook her head. “It’s my mother’s. It’s the only thing I have left of her. I can’t just—” She stopped, voice shaking. “I don’t want to lose her twice.”
I reached across the console and took her hand, squeezing it hard. “We’ll keep it safe. Arsenal’s got a perimeter plan, and Oscar’s no slouch. Nobody’s getting through the bakery doors without going through me first.”
She tried to smile, but it wobbled. “You’re not scared?”
I forced a laugh, but the mate bond made it impossible to hide the truth.
She felt the fear in me, the protective rage, the way my body wanted to break something just so I could keep her safe.
But I kept my words light. “Not as long as you’re with me, Sunshine.
I faced worse than witches in the service.
You’re stronger than all of them put together. ”
Oscar poked his head out of the bag, voice crisp. “He is correct, Miss. And I shall alert you if I sense any enchantments. The wards around the bakery are robust.”
I nodded. “See? You’ve got the best team in Texas.”
She clung to that, and I could feel the bond between us settle. Not calm, but at least steady.
We drove the last mile in silence; the radio played a country ballad about lost loves and hard-won peace.
I pulled up in front of Pearl’s Bar & Grill and killed the engine.
The neon sign buzzed overhead, promising cold beer and hot pie, but tonight it felt like walking into a courtroom, not a diner.
I looked at Aspen, took in the way she smoothed her dress and checked her reflection in the visor mirror. She looked flawless, but her hands shook.
“There’s, uh, something I forgot to mention,” I said, voice low. “My parents are in town for the ceremony. They wanted to meet you. Just a quick dinner, nothing serious.”
Her eyes went wide. “Your parents? Tonight?”
“Yeah. They’re… well, they’re a lot. My mom’s a wannabe Texas debutante who never quite left the sorority house, and my dad’s a numbers guy. Oilman. But they’ll love you. I promise.”
She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I didn’t want to stress you more.”
She breathed out slow, then took my hand in hers, grounding both of us. “Let’s do this. Together.”
I kissed her knuckles, then her cheek. “Always.”
We got out and walked up the steps. I paused at the door, took a last look at her—my mate, my miracle, the strongest damn woman in Dairyville—and I knew we could take whatever the world threw at us.
Even if it meant walking straight into the lion’s den.
Pearl’s Bar & Grill was packed, typical Friday, and you could smell the fried onions and whiskey from the parking lot.
The dining room pulsed with old country music and the whoop of some ranch hand at the dartboard, but my attention zeroed in on the back corner table—my parents’ throne whenever they blew through town.
They were already seated, the whole damn tableau as perfectly staged as a bank commercial.
My mother sat ramrod straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted half an inch above everyone else.
Her hair was spun gold, slicked into a chignon so tight you’d think she was afraid of spontaneous movement.
She wore a tan pencil skirt and cream cardigan, a string of pearls at her throat—real, not costume.
Arms crossed, nails painted nude. She could have frozen a bottle of tequila with that gaze.
My father was the opposite: broad, hearty, dressed in an expensive navy suit that didn’t quite hide the bulk he’d built up in a lifetime of deals and handshakes. He stood the second he spotted me, smile wide enough to show every capped tooth. His watch cost more than my first motorcycle.
Jacob, my older brother, sat to their right, already half a glass deep in something that was probably three parts bourbon, one part ice. He gave a lazy two-finger salute and didn’t bother to stand.
I squeezed Aspen’s hand once and led her to the booth, Oscar tucked discreetly in her bag with the grimoire.
She looked like a goddamn vision—fresh, alive, something no Rice had ever brought to dinner.
I’d warned her, but nothing could prep you for the slow-motion car crash of a Rice family reunion.
“Mom, Dad, Jacob,” I said. “This is Aspen. My mate.”
My mother’s eyes flicked to Aspen’s neck, zeroing in on the claiming bite like a heat-seeking missile. Her smile didn’t move.
My father broke the tension first, thrusting out a hand. “Jonas! Son, you look like a million bucks.” He turned to Aspen and took her hand, holding it just a touch too long. “So, you’re Aspen. Jonas told us you’re the pride of Dairyville. I can see he wasn’t exaggerating.”
Aspen blushed, but didn’t wilt. “Thank you, sir.”
Jacob finally looked up, eyes a perfect match to mine, if a little more bloodshot. “So you’re the witch. Hope you like steak. They don’t do vegan here.” As though this were her first time here.
Aspen laughed. “If it doesn’t moo, I don’t want it.”
That got a snort from Jacob. “I like her, JT.”