Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
“‘I have always loved you, princess,’ Robin Goodfellow promised, his green eyes shining in the darkness. ‘I always will. And I’ll take whatever you can give me.’”
— JULIE KAGAWA, THE IRON QUEEN
“ A re you drinking apple cider vinegar again?”
I tried not to inhale too deeply as Ranger settled into the truck’s cab beside me. The stinkfest was coming either from the paper bag he clutched or from his coffee mug.
Whatever it was, it smelled rank.
“I only drink that thirty minutes after I get up. To get my digestive system working.”
I did not want to hear about Ranger’s digestive system.
His wolf could eat an entire mammal , my wolf groused. His digestive system is just rusty from being a vegetarian.
“Then what smells so bad?”
Why couldn’t he just drink Folgers like everybody else?
“Fermented tofu,” Ranger said, slurping from his cup.
“How do you drink that?” He needed an intervention.
Or a steak.
“You don’t,” he said placidly. “You eat it. I like mine with a nice breakfast congee. It has antioxidants and lowers the blood pressure. Skunk spray also smells bad, as does durian fruit and stagnant water.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why does it smell bad in here , you ding-dong. What’s in that bag?”
“You should be more precise in your question asking,” Ranger observed. “How was I to know you were initially inquiring about the contents of my bag? Which includes, thank you for asking, beard balm, hand sanitizer, a lip mask, and my personal identification. I do not want to be suffering from chapped lips or unkempt facial hair in an intimate moment. You might want to make some additions to your own bag.”
Glaring out the windshield, I bit my tongue. Snapping at Ranger would only make our ride unendurable. He was being obtuse and irritating on purpose.
He’s a Boone.
We’d finished up on set and were headed home, although first we needed to make a pit stop at the Piggly Wiggly. I’d dealt with the bat colony— again —and installed more bat mansions. I was hoping that the new habitats would convince the bats to stay off set once and for all. I was exhausted after waiting for them to leave at dusk and then installing a piece of loose screen over the entrance to their attic so that any stragglers could exit but no returnees could enter the building. Then I’d gathered some bat droppings, put up the new bat house, and sprinkled the poop around it. After being up most of the night, I’d had to collect Ranger from some mysterious task on set.
Ranger had been rude from the start. In fact, he’d been rude since spotting Momma’s ring on Sonnet’s finger. As it was none of his business who I betrothed myself to, and since it was still a secret, I was ignoring his petulant mood.
Ceding the paper bag battle, I rolled down my window. If Ranger thought a beard balm that smelled like three-day-old chicken and burnt tires was an aid to his love life, I figured he’d be disillusioned by the response he got from any lady friends.
Ranger sighed loudly from his seat.
I ignored him. We were almost to the store.
Another sigh.
Today’s forecast is for gusty winds.
Sigh. Sigh. SIGH.
I was relieved to pull into the lot and jump out of the truck. I sped into the store, still ignoring Ranger, although I heard him get out and shut his door. There was only a handful of items on my list, but I was distracted by the display of flowers in the produce aisle.
I wanted to show her how I felt. How much I’d missed her. How much she’d changed my life. Not that pink and green daisies expressed my sentiments, but they were a start. The kind of thing a loving man would do for his woman. I suspected I could spend the rest of my life trying to show her how much I loved her.
Buy them all. Or we could go to the garden center and buy some bushes. A hydrangea. Maybe get some drip irrigation and plant her a flower garden.
“Get the Dieffenbachia , with the white-and-green leaves.”
The helpful suggestion came from Jennie Dean, who’d popped up to stand next to me. As usual, she was in a slim, well-tailored black dress that looked to be dry-clean only. She wore taupe pumps, and her long blonde hair was pulled up in a sleek bun. She had on vintage pearls that had likely belonged to her grandmomma. She was also holding a big, dirty crate of pineapples. This equation was unbalanced: this little slip of a woman, dressed up for church or a job interview, clutching a box of tropical fruit.
I reached for the crate. Before I could help her, however, she’d set it down on the floor of the Piggly Wiggly and was reaching for a houseplant.
“Based on her TikTok channel, she loves tropical plants, so this is the one she’d like best. It’s also called ‘dumb cane.’” Jennie smiled up at me with her purple-pansy-colored eyes, setting the black plastic pot in my hands. “It might get as big as ten feet tall, but that would require exceptional care. And possibly a conservatory.”
I made a mental note that a conservatory would make an excellent wedding present for my bride.
And after we build it, we can furnish it! Get one of those daybed things, the ones with cushions, so we can do it surrounded by a tropical jungle.
“No roses?” I turned the Dieffenbachia in my hands, inspecting it for damaged leaves. It was a good one, moist and fertile.
“She prefers plants with roots,” Jennie volunteered. Her natural hair was an inky black, but her momma had started dying it blonde when Jennie was in high school. Her eyes were real unusual, however, a light violet color that no one in Moonlight Valley had ever seen before. She got accused a lot of wearing colored contacts, but her eyes were uniquely pretty. They reminded me of Sonnet’s eyes, when she let me see the real her and not the glamoured-up face she showed the world.
She was a striking woman, the kind who got asked to be a model and who was stared at a whole lot (and worse) by people who had no manners. Her daddy, Kip Dean, was always concerned about the amount of attention her good looks garnered, and he’d done everything he could to lock her up like Rapunzel in a tower. I’d never asked her how she felt about his protectiveness, but there also hadn’t been much of a chance. She was more sheltered than a Brugmansia in a northern garden and twice as awkward.
Bless her heart.
I gave her a small smile. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” She returned my smile with interest, then bent to gather up her pineapples.
I set Sonnet’s plant down in my cart and intercepted her. “Jennie Lee Dean, that crate is way too heavy for you.”
She muttered something as I snatched the crate out of her grasp, and it was not appreciation for my efforts to spare her lower back strain.
“I’ve got it,” she huffed. “I pick these up once a week. Pineapple hasn’t killed me yet. A little pineapple workout is good for me.”
“Those aren’t pineapple-lifting shoes. You’ll sprain something, and then your daddy will be all over me, asking how come I didn’t help out. Where should I put these? In your car?”
“I can carry my own pineapples.” She held out her hands, as if I’d concede this battle. I just looked at her, waiting. I had her pineapples, and we both knew I was bigger.
Makes you useful , my wolf said. Although you maybe should work on your delivery. I don’t think Sonnet wants us carrying her pineapples, either.
Sonnet would have to get used to my wanting to help her out, I decided.
My wolf snorted. Gonna be some FIGHTS in our house.
Finally, Jennie huffed, made a snorting sound, and conceded defeat. It wasn’t as if she could go somewhere else for her pineapple needs—there was a limited supply of tropical fruit in Moonlight Valley. “Fine. Please bring them to my car.”
Temporarily parking my shopping cart by the bananas, I followed Jennie past the registers and out to her BMW. She popped the trunk, and I carefully set the crate inside.
“I could have managed. I know you have a sensitivity to pineapple.”
Moonlight Valley was a small town, but I never failed to be amazed at the lack of privacy a wolf had here.
She added quickly, as if she was afraid that discussing my medical issue was inappropriate, “I’m not such a fan of pineapple myself. I don’t like tropical fruit all that much. And I hate baking cakes.”
Small town doesn’t know everything.
This was news to me; I was certain no one else in town knew, either. Jennie Dean hating pineapples and baking was like Santa Claus turning out to be a misanthrope who would have preferred going on a tropical cruise for Christmas rather than delivering a sledful of presents.
I crossed my arms, studying her face. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She grimaced. “I’ve made that hummingbird cake maybe ten thousand times. It’s goddamned boring. I apologize for the cussword, but cake talk gets me hot under the collar.”
“No problem.”
Jennie steamed on without seeming to hear. She’d got started and now she was fit to share. “I’m real good at baking cakes, but that doesn’t mean it has to be my life’s work. It doesn’t make me happy. I’m twenty-two, and I’ve calculated that I could easily have to make hummingbird cake for another seventy years. That’s more than twenty-five thousand cakes. I close my eyes at night, and I see cakes. At the very least, I should get to live on a pineapple plantation. Instead, I’ll be ninety-two years old, still making hummingbird cake in my momma’s bakery.”
“So why not do something else? Publish the recipe on Instagram and inform people that hummingbird cake is now a DIY project.”
Jennie frowned, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “I would love to have some kids. And my own house. I’d like to nest a while, stay at home with my babies and look after my partner. Or maybe I’d design wallpaper and have an Etsy business. I love wallpaper. It makes a room cozy. Someday, I’d like to see my wallpaper in Vogue or one of those decorating magazines.”
I had never given wallpaper much thought, but Jennie clearly had.
I wondered if there was a wallpaper-making book in that Dummies series my youngest brother bought to torture Ranger.
“You should do that,” I said gently. “Go make wallpaper.”
I figured I shouldn’t tell her to go make babies because that would sound weird.
Although it’s a great choice. She’d be a wonderful mama.
Jennie’s face fell. It was a slow, soft fall, like the time Ranger had been making a souffle and Knox slammed the door. It just gracefully faded from tall and proud to a confused muddle. Something I said had been the wrong thing.
Probably all of them.
She stepped toward the driver’s-side door. “I appreciate your pineapple hefting. I have to get back to the bakery and work on my genome splicing.”
I blinked. Somehow, we’d gotten from pineapple to baby making ( woot! ) to wallpaper to recombinant DNA technology?
“Just kidding,” she said. This time her smile was smaller and more forced. “I’m not qualified to operate a spliceosome. I’m licensed for stand mixers only.”
I was not qualified to handle this.
I watched her start the car, barely remembering to move out of the way.
Jennie Dean was famous in Moonlight Valley for three things: her hummingbird cake, her violet eyes, and being strange.
Shaking my head, I headed back toward the store. I had just reached the sidewalk when Jennie pulled up next to me and tapped the horn politely.
She rolled down the window and beckoned me over. “I plumb forgot to tell you! There was a whole swarm of news guys at the store when I arrived. They were looking for directions to your house.”
Uh-oh.
“Do you know what they wanted?” I asked carefully. With my brothers, you never knew. We’d had the FBI come knocking once, looking for Ranger, although he’d sent them away.
She shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. But if I were hazarding a guess, I’d suggest that it was related to your engagement with Sonnet Ruiz.”
Secret engagement, huh? How’s that working out for you?
I gaped at her. “How did you know we were engaged?”
“Everyone knows. She made an announcement on the red carpet earlier today.”
“I’m engaged to be married. My fiancé was unable to join me tonight. He’s a herpetologist researching the use of snake venom for treating diseases when he’s not rescuing bats and alpacas. Y’all will love him. His name is Maverick Boone, and he’s a professor in Tennessee. We fell in love while shooting my current show, and we’ll be getting married in the spring when the daffodils come out.”
Ranger paused the YouTube video and frowned. “You sound like some kind of hippy-dippy, backwoods tree hugger. Also, I’m not sure exactly which kind of Narcissus she’s referencing. I would need to know the specific type to determine whether it’s an early, midseason, or late spring bloomer.”
I was regretting inviting him to my panic session in the front seat of my truck.
“Shush up, you ding-dong. Play the rest.” Could I snatch his phone and finish the play job myself? Probably not. Plus, knowing Ranger, he probably had some kind of voice-activated passcode that would also fry my circuits if I tried to steal his device.
The video was an exercise in frustration. It was unedited and poor quality. The background noise threatened to drown out Sonnet’s words as she talked to some lady reporter. Who knew that a movie premiere sounded like a flock of angry flamingoes dodging basketballs in a gymnasium?
It was almost midnight in London right now. I knew this because I’d added London to my weather app so I could know what time it was where Sonnet was. Plus, then I could text her loving things like, Don’t forget your umbrella—it looks like rain!
We should deliver the umbrella. Google how to make that look sexy. Can you do a Fred Astaire number?
Ranger muttered something, glaring at his phone. I waited impatiently. He’d stomped toward my truck after I’d panic-texted him, still mad about not being the first to officially hear that Sonnet and I were betrothed.
When he started the video up again, I tried to make out more of the words while I scrolled through my text messages. And then checked my email. And my mostly unused Instagram account, which now had ten thousand followers. This was 9,994 more than this morning, when I’d been followed by no one whose last name wasn’t Boone.
She wasn’t answering her phone, either. It went straight to voicemail. Again.
“Y’all will love him. His name is Maverick Boone, and he’s a professor in Tennessee. We fell in love while shooting my current show, and we’ll be getting married in the spring when the daffodils come out.”
She beamed at the interviewer on Ranger’s screen, as if this was the best news ever. Obviously, I agreed with her. Beside her, Luke Hensley looked like he’d just discovered a hognose snake in his trailer.
We could make that happen , my wolf muttered.
I could but it wouldn’t be fair to the poor snake.
After the announcement, reporters peppered Sonnet with questions, but the video ended before she could answer. Ranger tapped his screen and fiddled with various buttons before sliding his phone back in his pocket.
I dropped my own phone into the driver-side cupholder and gripped the steering wheel of my truck hard enough to crack it. “That was not something we discussed.”
Perhaps we should have reviewed the definition of secrecy .
“From the sound of things, that Luke Hensley put her on the spot. He had all those folk thinking that he’d put your ring on her finger and that she and him?—”
“I don’t need a play-by-play, Ranger. I have eyes. And ears.”
Ranger actually shut up, which just went to show that today was a day for surprises. I should stop and buy a lottery ticket. Or keep an eye out for flying pigs. The only familiar thing was Ranger’s ferocious frown as he settled back in his seat, brows furrowing. He was good and irritated at me. I could read the words. They ran along the lines of Don’t let your bulldog mouth overload your hummingbird butt .
We sat there taking up space in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot for a long time. Ranger drummed his fingers on the passenger-side door; I considered an impromptu amputation. Or duct tape. He was beating out a rhythm like a doomsday clock.
“I don’t know what my next steps should be,” I admitted finally. It wasn’t as if Ranger would actually keep his advice to himself, and it was often spot-on. “Although if people are trying to find me, we need to warn the others not be shifting. Should I even be talking to reporters? Could I make things worse? Is it like chatting up the cops before your lawyer shows up? I feel like I should be talking this over with Sonnet—which is what, frankly, she should have done with me.”
I was feeling ever so slightly butt hurt at being cut out of our first public appearance as a couple. Hell, I hadn’t even been there. I was just the redneck punchline.
“Why not talk to them?”
“They might be asking questions about my checkered past.”
He shrugged. “Tell them the truth. Well, the truth about anything non-felonious. No one expects you to incriminate yourself.”
I glared at the windshield some more because I was still irritated with Ranger. “This is not how I hoped our big reveal would go. It makes me mad. We discussed a plan, and then she went ahead and did what she wanted without paying any attention to that plan. And now the one thing I wanted to avoid—my screwing up her career—is going to happen.”
“You’ll have to impose some consequences.” Ranger nodded sagely. “Lay down the law. Corner time.”
That man has some kinky tastes.
“You need to teach her a lesson,” Ranger said doggedly. “Seeing as how she’s disappointed you.”
I frowned. “It’s not my place to punish her. In fact, it’s no one’s place. Jesus Christ. She’s a grown woman. She makes her own decisions, does what she thinks best. If she spilled the beans to those reporters, then obviously...”
Damn it, I’d been played by my brother. He was trying to hide his smile as I worked through the obvious truth: if Sonnet had come clean about our relationship in the middle of a fancy premiere, then she had a good reason for doing so, and I would be a fool not to hear her out.
We’re gonna need to practice communicating. Some kind of secret I GOT THIS DUMBASS TRUST ME sign. Like one of those football signals!
My wolf wasn’t wrong. Fortunately, I planned on being an A-plus student for the next fifty to seventy years.
“You’re such an asshole,” I told Ranger.
He busted up laughing. “Yeah. I am.”
We sat there laughing like loons for a stretch. Should I be apple pies and smiles for the press people? I could have used one of Sonnet’s witchy charms about now, one of the like-me spells she was so good at. I’d be friendly yet firm, I decided. I’d chat. They could even come up and sit on the porch.
But not in the house.
Yeah. The house would be a step too far.
Be nice. Charming. My wolf sounded morose. Kiss their butts?
A step too far. And not maintainable.
But I would make them love me.
“If that man does anything to hurt you or Sonnet, I’ll end him.”
Ranger’s casual promise of violence pulled me right out of my thoughts. His face was grim, his eyes laser focused on some internal shenanigans of his. We might make inappropriate jokes about violence, but we’d always reserved it for a measured response. We did not initiate, if you didn’t count a little familiar wrestling on the porch and in the daylilies. Which I didn’t.
“There will be no felonies. Who are you threatening?”
“Darrell. He won’t get to you or Sonnet. Don’t you pay him no mind. He knows that as long as he’s in Alaska, I have ways of getting at him.”
I gaped at my brother. He was . . .
Serious.
“Ranger, you’re no murderer. You wouldn’t actually—” I waved a hand.
He gave me a smile. A fierce, focused smile. “No murder, big brother. Just some self-defense.”
What?
I had no words. I wasn’t happy about Darrell, and I sure as hell wasn’t tolerating his threats and insinuations—but I also did not believe in murder.
“No,” I said firmly. “As the head of this family, I’m telling you that you do not get to murder our daddy. And honestly, I can’t believe I have to say it, Ranger Austin Boone. You know our momma wouldn’t hold with it, either.”
Truth was, he didn’t look repentant. The words you’re looking for are ICY DETERMINATION. Those would be an accurate description.
I left it, though, and got us on the road. I didn’t have time to address Ranger’s statement right now, or whether he did, in fact, have some nefarious means of infiltrating the Wolf Council’s Alaska property to get at Darrell. It seemed likely, based on Jennie’s account of the earlier question asking, that I had a yard full of reporters waiting for me at the house, and I needed to be charming. That had to be my focus right now.
But just as soon as this media mess was fixed, I would bring it up again. Our daddy was a cancer, and he’d claimed more than enough of our family. I knew Ranger had suffered, like we all had. Darrell hadn’t had any patience with Ranger’s differences or his unusual perspective on the world. Ranger had missed out on all the regular father-son activities, but I didn’t think that committing a felony now would make Ranger feel better about that lack.
I did, however, wonder what Darrell might have done that I didn’t know about. I suspected that there was something in their past alright, something substantial to fuel such hatred.
Whatever it was, I still wouldn’t allow my brother to kill Darrell. It was tempting, but that was how a man lost his soul—and my brother wasn’t losing his too.
Being a mature, supportive partner ( In training , my wolf sighed), I did try calling Sonnet one last time as we pulled into our driveway. I got no response.
Strange cars and people were clustered in front of the house like flea dirt on a white alpaca. Some guys held cameras, others were setting up tripods and who knew what. There were two local news vans and some unfamiliar vehicles. The dogs in the barn were going nuts, barking, and the alpacas were kicking up a storm in their stalls.
As soon as I parked, the media was on us, yelling out my name and crowding both doors. Someone started knocking on the windows, as if they could chivy us out.
Idiots.
“How on earth do they think we’re gonna get out if they box us in like sheep for shearing?” Ranger locked the door, shaking his head. “What is the point of yelling and banging? Bless their hearts.”
I flashed my brother my best devil-may-care smile. “You stay here and be silent. Let me do the talking.”
“Stay here, be silent, let you speak for both of us,” he echoed. “I believe we should add a discussion of gender roles to our next family meeting, but right now I’ll acquiesce.” He settled back in his seat and made a zipping motion across his mouth.
As soon as I rolled down my window, two microphones and various cameras were shoved in my face.
“Do you have a comment about Sonnet Ruiz’s engagement announcement earlier today?”
“Does she know you’re a felon?”
“Are your family grifters?”
“How do you afford this place? Are you sleeping with Sonnet for her money?”
Bet they’d shit themselves if they knew about the shifting.
I smiled calmly while they shouted their questions, wishing I’d watched one of those YouTube videos on how to pose. For now, I had to settle for keeping my smile easy. They wanted a bad shot, but I wouldn’t make it easy for them. I wouldn’t be the ogre in this play.
When they started to run out of steam, I spoke over them. “Now, you all hold up a minute. I’m happy to answer your questions, but from the front porch if that’s all right with y’all. We can sit down, and I have sweet tea in the fridge. It’s plenty hot out here, and I could use a cool drink.”
Someone in the back muttered, Moonshine! But the rest of them seemed to wilt because I hadn’t yelled or threatened to call the cops. Or just outright shoot them for trespassing. They shifted distrustfully away from the truck so Ranger and I could get out.
I nodded and gave them a polite smile as I walked toward the porch. “Could you bring out the sweet tea for these folks?” I asked Ranger. “And some ice. We’ll be sitting on the porch.”
Ranger scowled but nodded. He did not look happy about our uninvited guests. I was relieved when he disappeared inside without any further comment.
“You’ll have to excuse my brother. We weren’t expecting company today.” Before anyone could yell out another invasive question, I turned to the reporter closest to me and held out my hand. “I’m Maverick Boone. Pleased to meet you.”