Chapter 12 Roscoe
TWELVE
ROSCOE
The week after Christmas, Reed exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for months. Not only had he had a successful season, selling more trees than in the past, our lease payment had settled his debt.
The farm was closed and snow blanketed the landscape in white.
For the first time since I'd arrived at Right as Rain(deer), there was nowhere urgent to be.
The pack was living in their cabins and preparing to build additional buildings in the spring, while Reed and I were together under his roof.
The ducks and chickens were in the barn and all work on Herbal Harmony had stopped.
Erik had returned from his Christmas Eve duties exhausted and we were all so proud of him. He regaled everyone about soaring over cities and the excitement if people glimpsed Santa’s sleigh.
“Are you sure you're up for this?” I asked as I loaded our suitcases into my car. Reed was bundled up in his favorite winter coat and his cheeks had a healthy pink glow. And as had become his habit, he rested one hand on his belly, even though he wasn’t showing yet.
“Roscoe, it's a cabin in the mountains, not a trek to the summit.” My mate laughed. “Besides, the doctor said travel is fine in the first trimester as long as I'm feeling well.”
The morning sickness had eased on Christmas Day, and we believed that was Santa’s present to him.
“I know.” I kissed his lips and then his belly, always in that order. “I’m just making sure.”
The cabin I'd rented was tucked away in the mountains about two hours from the farm. It was far enough that we wouldn’t have visitors knocking on the door at all hours of the day.
That had happened in the week leading up to Christmas and my mate was exhausted and ready for down time.
The Christmas tree season was done for another year and we were on vacation.
The cabin was close enough to a small town if Reed needed a doctor but we were looking forward to not having the outside world intruding.
When I turned off the main road and pulled into the winding driveway, Reed wound down the window. A blast of frigid air filled the car but Reed yelled, “We’re here,” at the trees weighed down with snow. “This is incredible. It reminds me of a Christmas card.”
The cabin was nestled among the pines, with smoke curling from the chimney thanks to the caretaker who'd prepared the place for our arrival.
“I love this.” My mate peered at the roaring fire and stone fireplace. “If we’d been here Christmas Eve, Santa would have come down the chimney when we were asleep.”
I nodded, not pointing out he would have missed Santa’s sleigh as it flew through the night sky.
I inspected the kitchen, making sure it had been stocked as we asked, while my mate was drawn to the window that overlooked a valley, covered in snow and without human footprints.
“No cell service.” I turned off my phone. “And no internet. There’s no one on earth who needs anything from us.”
Reed spoke over his shoulder as he tossed his coat on an armchair and headed to the bedroom. “I can't remember the last time I had nowhere to be.”
He squealed and I ran in, my heart thumping hard and my reindeer complaining about the loud noise.
“Look at this bed.” He fell backward and bounced. “Let’s stay tucked under the covers the entire trip.”
“Are you sure about that?” I pointed to the magnificent view.
“The first day anyway.”
We did stay in bed the first twenty-four hours. The rest of the time we cooked and ate and even though my mate’s coffee-making ability had improved, I brewed the coffee.
This was my first opportunity to see my mate doing nothing. He wasn’t checking the trees’ irrigation or tapping at the computer. There were no customers to schmooze. Instead, he napped while I read but whenever he woke, he’d glance at me, making sure I was still here.
“I’m not going anywhere, my darling.”
“Just checking.” He closed his eyes and snuggled under a quilt.
In the evening, I made dinner while my mate sat at the table and chatted. He didn’t much like cooking and with the amount of stress he’d been under, my aim was to make his life as worry-free as possible.
“Do you ever wake up and think you’re living a dream?” We were on the sofa tucking into a venison curry I’d made.
“Since I met you? All the time.”
He told me he wished his aunt was here to see her land being lovingly tended by the pack and to meet me. “But I have to believe she’s beside the goddess, smiling down at me.”
“Now you're stuck with a reindeer shifter and a mate who’ll be looking after you for the next eight and a half months.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
“Only eight and half months?” he teased. “I was hoping for at least eighteen years.”
“Let me rephrase that. Try forever.”
The second day, we took a hike through the woods. I pointed out deer and wolf tracks and Reed peppered me with questions about wild animals and their shifter cousins.
“Look at those prints.” We knelt and examined them while I scented the animals who’d created them. “These were made by a family of foxes who were here yesterday.” I went on to say the snow settling in the tracks was a sign they’d passed through at least twenty-four hours ago.
“Awww, I wish we could have seen them. I love baby animals.”
They wouldn’t have been impressed with a human looming over them so it was best they weren’t around if my mate wanted to cuddle them. Reed was great with the pack kids but since he’d become pregnant, he was more emotional over babies, whether they were human or animal.
He insisted my beast leave his tracks in the snow too, so I removed my clothes and shifted. Reed snapped a pic of him beside my reindeer saying that photo was for family only.
That evening, as we sat in the hot tub on the cabin's deck watching snow fall, Reed brought up something that had been on his mind.
“What do you think it'll be like?” he asked. “Raising a child who has a human father and a shifter dad.”
I considered the question. “Different. But also amazing.” I pulled him closer and the water lapped around us. “They'll have the best of both worlds with your love of trees and the land along with our shifter traditions.”
We’d have built in baby sitters. The pack was already preparing schedules of who would look after the baby and when.
Zelda and her friend Daphne were crocheting blankets, and Erik told me over the winter he was going to research organic baby food recipes.
Not just for our child but for the pack to produce and sell.
Some people might say they’d spoil our baby but an abundance of unconditional love wasn’t coddling or being overprotective. We could never have too much love.
“Until you and your pack arrived, I never admitted how lonely I was and now my life is overflowing with family, a mate, and a baby in my belly.”
He’d been part of our family since we met. Even if he’d refused to sign the lease, Zelda and the others would have found ways to sneak into Reed’s life while I looked on from a distance, hoping he’d recognize our bond.
“Let’s make this a family tradition,” Reed suggested as we packed the car and closed the cabin door for the last time. “Every year after Christmas, we come here for a week. You, me, and the baby.”
We high-fived and Reed raced back to the porch and whispered we’d see the cabin same time next year.
When we pulled into the driveway at Right as Rain(deer), the pack tore out of the barn to welcome us home, all talking at once about what had happened while we were gone and how much they'd missed us.
Reed lit up at seeing them. I marveled at him hugging everyone while Zelda asked if he’d been eating enough and Erik said he’d written and illustrated a book about reindeer for our little one.
This was home. Not just the farm or the cabins but being part of something bigger than myself, of having a family that chose each other and stuck together through everything.
When Zelda pulled me in for a hug and I told her it was good to be back, I was being truthful.
Becoming Alpha hadn’t sat well with me because Jerome ruled us much like an ancient lord.
I’d been wary at first about accepting the role because of my job and worried I’d lose the relationships I’d built since I was young.
But the pack rallied around me and we were more family than a hierarchical group. No one called me Alpha, thank gods. Returning to the farm and witnessing the genuine delight everyone had in welcoming us, it felt right.