Omega Moon Rising (Toke Lobo & The Pack) (27 page)

“That’s a good question,” Tokarz said.

“Have you heard anything from Jasper?” Luke asked.

Tokarz shook his head. “Call him. Find out what’s happening. Share what Abby just learned.” He held his now-fussy son against his shoulder and rubbed the tiny back.

Tokarz was so big and yet so gentle with the baby and the contrast brought an ache to Abby’s heart. Luke would be the same way with their child. And she wouldn’t be there to see it.

Restin dropped off Abby’s collected mail mid-afternoon the next day.

Abby sat at Granny’s kitchen table and leafed through the flyers and other forms of junk mail. She set aside the obvious bills—electric, telephone, cable. Most of it was addressed to Gary, and she felt funny opening it. “Isn’t it a federal offense to open someone else’s mail?”

“Not if they’re dead,” Restin said.

There were a few condolence cards, too, from Gary’s co-workers at the brewery and people from church who hadn’t made it to her mother’s funeral.

There was also an envelope from Sendall’s Funeral Home, containing a bill for an unpaid balance.

“I thought this was taken care of,” Restin said, snatching it from Abby’s fingers.

Abby snatched it back. “By whom? I don’t recall dealing with any of Gary’s expenses.”

“The pack took care of it.”

“What?” Abby frowned. She didn’t want charity from anyone, least of all the werewolves of Loup Garou. They’d already done more than enough by taking both her and Libby in.

“You’re Luke’s mate. We take care of our own.”

“I am not Luke’s mate. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

“Luke is wrong. Everybody knows you’re his mate except him.”

Abby shrugged, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She pushed the memory of Tokarz with his son out of her head. “It’s the baby. You’re all more concerned about the baby, and that’s okay. That’s a good thing. I get it. If I wasn’t pregnant, Libby and I wouldn’t be here.”

Restin stared at her with blue eyes edging the right side of sane. “The baby has nothing to do with mating, except as a by-product. Things are easier for you because of Tokarz and Delilah, Stoker and Lucy.”

“Gary had life insurance from the brewery,” Abby said, trying to get this discussion back on track.

“Luke’s problem is that he doesn’t want a human mate. He somehow believes that a lycan mate will bring him closer to restoring the family honor.”

“Luke has a funny sense of honor,” Abby retorted. “Taking pills so he can have sex? Seriously?”

“You’ve proved my point.”

Now she was confused. “What point?”

“Luke claims he took a pill before the two of you . . . made the baby. Now, you might consider this impertinent, but has Luke needed a pill since that night?”

Abby’s face burned. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he takes pills, I don’t know who else he’s been with.”

“Let me tell you what happened when we were on tour.”

“I’m not interested.” That had been the first time her neck burned. She assumed it was because he was looking at porn sites on the Internet.

“He pulled his usual at the bar after the show.”

“I don’t want to know this.” If she didn’t know, she couldn’t resent it.

“I don’t know if he’s told you, but he always tells women he’s diabetic, both to explain why he’s not drinking with them and why he might not be able to function sexually.”

“Yeah. He mentioned it. What a great line.” Abby scooped up the junk mail and carried it to Granny’s recycle pile. If she kept herself busy, she wouldn’t have to look at Restin. “He told me about doing that. He also told me he had the mumps as a teenager and was sterile.”

“He used that line on a couple of women at the bar that first night, until Tokarz reminded him he was married and sent him back to the motel.”

“Does Tokarz expect a thank you note?”

“That’s the same night he found your pictures online.”

Abby didn’t want to be reminded. Even though everyone in the pack was quick to point out she was a survivor whenever the topic came up, the shame was too deeply rooted to be plucked with a kind word or two.

“Look. None of us can force Luke to feel something he doesn’t. You can’t force me to feel something I don’t feel. You can rant all you want about mates and Ancient Ones and all of that werewolf stuff you have going on, but in the end none of it means anything. All I want right now is to collect my money from selling my song to Toke Lobo, take my sister, and get out of here. Out of Oak Moon. Colorado. Go someplace where it’s warm in the winter.”

“You will never be allowed to take that baby away from here.”

She hadn’t mentioned the baby.

She forced herself to say the words. The words she didn’t mean. “What do I know about raising a werewolf baby?”

“Exactly why you need to stay here.” Restin spoke as if there were no other option. That it was inconceivable to him, to any of them, that a mother could abandon her baby. Sometimes mothers had good reasons.

“Thanks for bringing my mail, Restin. I owe you one.”

Restin must have taken Digger Sendall’s invoice with him, because Abby couldn’t find it after he left, but that was a minor inconvenience. It took her all of five minutes to boot up Luke’s desktop and run an Internet search on the Sendall Funeral Home in Oak Moon, Colorado, D. Sendall, Funeral Director. Serving the families of Oak Moon for four generations.

She waited until the rest of the house was asleep before placing a phone call on Granny’s old-fashioned rotary dial wall phone. Sometimes living with nocturnal folks was a blessing.

“This is Abigail Grant calling.” She had yet to use her married name. “I received an invoice for services rendered, and I thought all of the costs associated with Gary Porter’s services had been paid.”

Whoever answered the phone put her on hold. Pastoral instrumental music meant to soothe the bereaved echoed in her ear and annoyed her.

“This is Digger Sendall,” the funeral director said when he finally picked up the phone.

Abby explained her confusion about the invoice she’d received.

“That was for your mother’s services, not your stepfather’s.”

“Oh.” Abby had thought Gary had taken care of those costs. “I must have misread the invoice.”

“I realize you’ve had significant loss over the past month, but—”

“No, no,” Abby said. “Of course. I might have to make arrangements for a payment plan.” There went a chunk of money from the sale of her song.

“I owe Gary some money from our last poker game—”

“No. I know what you’re doing, and it’s wrong. Gary should have paid for Mama’s funeral. I want to work out something with you.”

Digger agreed to draw up a payment plan.

“I’ll be in to sign it the next time I’m in Oak Moon,” Abby said.

“I can mail it to you,” Digger offered. “What’s your new address?”

Abby didn’t know, and felt foolish. She rifled through Granny’s recycle pile until she found a circular addressed to Resident, 400 Gouverneur Lane, Loup Garou, CO. She shared the address with Digger, then replaced the telephone receiver on the silver-colored hook.

Digger Sendall had always been good to her family, despite his friendship with Gary. If Abby recalled correctly, he’d given Libby her beloved Santa Claus pillow the Christmas after their father’s death.

Luke woke up feeling crankier than usual. Abby wasn’t in bed with him, which is where he wanted her.

He was no closer to figuring out where she belonged in his life than he’d been before he fell asleep, but he knew he couldn’t lose her. It was possible he’d accidentally marked her that night at the lake. That was the werewolf way. He certainly lost all sense of everything when he was with her.

Maybe Tokarz was right, and Abigail Grant was his mate. That might not be such a bad thing. It certainly explained an awful lot. And who was he to decide whether or not a mate was worthy? All he knew for certain was that he couldn’t stop wanting her. Couldn’t keep her out of his head.

Maybe he should just lure her back into bed and mark her, putting an end to the question once and for all. He could live with that. And making her his in every way would keep her from running away.

A phone call disrupted his musings. Jasper, finally returning his call. Once again, government demands took precedence over his personal life. But if Abby really were his mate, all of that would come crashing to an end. A mated male had priorities.

Abby sat in the kitchen, her chin resting on her palm, propped by an elbow on the table. The kitchen, as Granny had pointed out, was the warmest room in the house.

Luke came in, fresh from sleeping most of the day, scratching his chest. “Let’s go to the Oak Moon Mall together. You and me. I need to replace my laptop, you need a super phone, and I want some alone time with you.”

Abby mentally rolled her eyes. She was weary of playing Luke’s game. “You don’t need alone time with me. Stop feeling guilty.”

Something resembling hurt flashed across Luke’s expression. “Come on, Abs. It will do you good. The weather is going to keep us holed up here for the next couple of months, so we should take advantage of the pretty days while we’re still getting them. Change into one of the outfits we bought in Fort Collins, and we’ll make a day of it.”

“I’m not in the mood.” Seeing Tokarz with his son had really done a number on her indifference. She didn’t know how much longer she could fake her way through her weird relationship with Luke. Through the anguish of leaving her baby behind for Luke to raise.

“We need baby furniture.”

Oh, he so didn’t play fair.

“We can take our time and look at what we might want.”

“You go.” The words barely squeezed out of her throat. “Buy what you think you’ll need. I’m sure your mother would be more than happy to help you.”

“You’re Rosie Dawn’s mother.” Luke’s tone was sharp. As if he had a right to chastise her. “You should be making those decisions, not her grandmother.”

“I’m not your mate, Luke. I’m the girl you were forced to marry because you got her pregnant. I’m not even really your wife. I’m only the girl you want to nail.” Abby slapped her hands on the table. Being angry was so much easier than being passive. “I’m done with that role.”

She blinked back a spate of tears.

“When we got married, I had this . . . fantasy. This idea that my life would be like it was before my father died. A normal family life. You, me, the baby. Going to church on Sundays. Messy Christmas mornings. Me burning the biscuits and you laughing about it. Instead, I got a werewolf who just wants a fuck buddy.”

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m not blaming you for my fantasy. You should have told me about being a werewolf before I ever let you lift my skirt, but the fantasy and my disappointment are my own fault.”

“Abs—”

“No, Luke. No more. We’re not a couple. We’re . . . nothing.”

“The baby is still going to need a crib and clothes,” Granny said as she entered the kitchen with a laundry basket piled high with clothing. “Luke is right. You need to get out of Loup Garou while you still can.”

Libby pitched a fit about being left behind, but Granny sided with Luke and declared Libby had to stay in Loup Garou when Abby would have preferred the buffer of her sister’s presence. Libby was screaming when they left the house.

“She can’t always have her own way,” Luke said.

“She’s been through a lot the past month.”

“So have you.”

“I’m older. I can handle change better.”

“Stop defending her.” Luke helped her climb into his truck. “Libby worries me. She’s a manipulator.”

Abby was afraid to admit her own concern. She focused on her plan to get Libby out of Colorado. Away to someplace Uncle Dougie couldn’t find them.

Luke put the truck in gear and headed toward the road leading down the mountain. “Uncle Dougie pays attention to her. And she likes a lot of attention.”

Abby couldn’t argue with that. “Dr. Hostler said Libby was so young when Daddy died, that she might have bonded with Uncle Dougie, looking for a replacement for the way Daddy doted on her.”

“That would explain a lot.”

Abby studied the passing landscape, the nearly leafless aspens, the rocks, and the golden autumn light.

They rode in silence for about a mile before Luke spoke again.

“Another reason I needed you with me is because we’re meeting with some people the Feds want to talk to you.”

His lie hurt. Even after making up her mind to force a clean break with him, one more lie from him cut her. “Gee, I thought you wanted to spend time with me.” Sarcasm wasn’t her native language, but she was improving.

He glanced at her before returning his attention to the winding road. “I do. You’re not the only person in this marriage with some readjustments in progress.”

“What did Tokarz threaten you with this time?”

“No threats. Some food for thought. Humble pie mostly. A side serving of preconceived notions.”

“Right. Your mythical mate.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”