The Alpha's Daughter (47 page)

“
You’re our
healer.”

“
Cuts, bruises and broken
noses. They heal themselves
.”

“
You help Grace with the
cooking and cleaning and I know she finds it a great comfort that
you’ll be here when her time comes.” He lifted his hand to touch
her shoulder and winced inside when he saw her flinch. “I beg your
pardon,” he said as he drew back.

“
No
.” Faith caught his hand and brought it to her opposite
shoulder so that his arm was around her. “
My fault. I don’t mean to do it and I know I hurt you every
time I do. I’m sorry.
”

“
Hush now, poppet. I feel
privileged that you allow me the honor of touching you at all. I
know how hard it must be and I admire your bravery.” He led her
into the parlor and when he had her seated on the antique settee,
he closed the door to give them privacy to talk. He settled his
long body next to her tiny one, angling his long legs so that their
knees were almost touching. Almost.

“
I’m not
brave,
” she signed. “
Hope and Grace have stood up against Demons. JJ hunts them
while I…
”

“
Survived. Lived. And I am
so very glad you did. Every day, I admire your courage in facing
your fears and overcoming them. You are gentle and kind, a true
lady.”

Faith shook her head.
“
You don’t know me, what I’ve done, who I
was before.
”

Her life had become a series of Before and
After. Before her mother died and After, when she saw what a cruel
man her father was; Before she ran away to avoid her sister’s fate
and After, when she ran wild in the city; Before she was captured
by a demon and forced to be his plaything and now, another After.
The other Afters had held hope and plans for the future. Faith saw
no future now.

“
My dearest Faith.”
Broadbent reached for her hand, but waited until she nodded before
taking it in his. “Who you were doesn’t matter. Who you are
does.”

Who am I? She asked herself and answered. A
scarred husk of a woman who has nothing to offer. She had her
healing touch but what good did it do here where no one needed it
and she was too terrified to leave this House of Guardians to offer
it to those who did.

The other Daughters, Hope and Grace and JJ,
had left lonely, unhappy lives to come here and discover new ones
with purpose and men who loved them. There was none of that here
for her and yet, she was afraid to leave. The city terrified her
and where else did she have to go.

“
Faith.”

Broadbent’s voice called her back from her
maudlin reverie.

“
There’s something I wish
to speak with you about, something over which I have thought long
and hard.” He slid to his knee in front of her. “Faith Parsons, it
is my consummate desire to have you as my mate. I promise you I
will care for you and shelter you and protect you from all you fear
with every breath in my body, every beat of my heart. I will be
loyal and faithful and I will share with you all that I have. You
will never be in want.”

Faith’s eyes widened in shock and Broadbent
misunderstood.

“
I understand, dearest,
that consummating such a union would be too much to ask, but I am
willing to wait until you find it in your heart to trust me with
such a precious gift. You needn’t share my bed unless you choose
to. My parents have spent their mated lives in separate bedrooms as
do most others of their social set. It wouldn’t feel unusual to me.
Please, my dear sweet Faith, consider my proposal. I offer it with
the most honorable of intentions.”

How she wished she could say yes and be what
he wanted her to be. If she’d met Broadbent when she first came to
the city, she would have laughed at his gangly body and funny
clothes. She would have made fun of his flowery speech. Faith was
glad she hadn’t met him then. If she had, she never would have
gotten to know this gentle and generous man. She never would have
heard the stories of his bravery and loyalty from his fellow
Guardians.

Sometimes, on her worst days of mental
withdrawal, it had been Broadbent’s voice, kind and always
cheerful, that brought her back from the depths. He read Jane
Austen to her and it was just what she needed; gentle stories of
another time, where civility ruled. Jane Austen would have liked
Broadbent for his courtesy and honesty. She also would have frowned
at the offer of a marriage without love.

Broadbent loved her, but not in the way a
man should love the woman he asked to be his mate. And she loved
him. How could she not love this dear and noble man? But she
couldn’t be the mate he deserved. She couldn’t love him in that way
and she wouldn’t torture him with waiting for her to change. That
part of her was dead. She ran her fingers along his cheek down to
his chin and then she signed.

“
You flatter me beyond
measure
,” she told him and hoped he heard
Miss Austen in her words, “
To think a man
so honorable and good should make such an offer to one such as I is
a compliment beyond any I have had before or likely will hear
again. But I would be remiss to accept such an offer from a man who
does not love me.
”

Broadbent started to protest, but she
stopped the movement of his lips with her finger.

“
Nor I
him
.” She smiled to soften the blow.
“
We love each other as brother and sister
should, but that is not the kind of love to bring to your mating
bed. You know it’s true. Not once in your proposal did you offer me
your love. You couldn’t, you dear, sweet man, you couldn’t lie
about something so important.
”

“
Strong matings have been
built on less.”

“
But you deserve
more
.”

“
Is this where you ask if
we can still be friends?” Broadbent asked as he moved back to the
settee and settled in with a sigh.

“
Can we
?”

Broadbent smiled sadly. “I don’t have so
many I can afford to turn one away. I did mean it, though. We could
make a go of it. We wouldn’t have what the others have, but we
would have each other. It’s awkward being the lone wolf.”

“
You’re not alone. Dov and
Col aren’t mated either.”

“
Ah, you wound me. First
you turn down my offer and now you lump me in with the irritating
idiots.”

At that moment, one of the irritating idiots
was banging on the parlor door. “Hey Faith! You in there? Gracie
wants to know what happened to the sweet potatoes.” He jiggled the
locked doorknob.

Faith sighed and signed quickly.

“
They’re already in the
oven,” Broadbent called her message. “She hid them behind the roast
so you and your band of heathens wouldn’t eat them before
dinner.”

“
Broadbent? Hey Col!
Broadbent’s tryin’ to put the moves on Faith in the parlor. He
finally found one that couldn’t scream. Don’t worry Faith,” he
called through the door. “We’ll have you out before he figures out
what to do with it. Canaan can snap this lock open just looking at
it.” There was the sound of a scuffle. “Ow! Jeez JJ, I was only
having a little fun. Let go my ear!”

Broadbent stood and offered Faith his
hand.

"
I'm truly sorry if I've hurt you
,"
she told him and couldn't stop the tears. "
And I meant what I said. I'll carry this in my heart, always.
You'll find someone, someday. I know you will.
" Faith smiled through her tears. "
And then you'll happily bless the day that I said
no."

Excerpt from Changing Times

A Hidden Mountain Romance

Contemporary

Coming in 2013

Cob Thornton eased his way through the town
he hadn’t seen in twenty years. There were a few more vacant
storefronts, a few more boarded over windows. His mother had
written of Doc Hanson’s passing. Murray’s store was gone, too, but
he smiled when he saw the lights on in the corner diner. Someone
must have taken it over. Much to his childhood dismay, the Brinsons
had closed it when he was eight. How he’d loved sitting at the
counter with Rollie, ordering coffee and pie as if he was one of
the men. Mrs. Brinson always left plenty of room for sugar and milk
in his cup, but that hadn’t mattered back then.

He was tempted to stop, grab a cup of coffee
and see how the place had changed and it must have. Everything
changed. He only hoped his home hadn’t changed too much.

His uncle sure as hell hadn’t changed.
They’d argued twenty years ago when Cob enlisted and hadn’t spoken
since. His mother had written though, and he’d called her once a
month until the letters stopped and his calls went unanswered. The
bastard hadn’t even bothered to tell him his mother had passed.

Well, the old man would have to get used to
having him back. Half that house and half that land was his
mother’s and now it was Cob’s and he had plans, big plans. He’d
scraped and saved and invested his money for twenty years. He’d
dreamed of coming home to the mountain for twenty years, too,
though that wasn’t the plan when he left. Now he was back and no
one was going to stand in his way.

Cob passed the Post Office, also new, and
noted the mailbox marked ‘Tolliver’ seated on a post of rusty tire
rims welded together. He wondered which Tolliver it was. When he
was a kid, every other person you met was either a Tolliver or
related to one.

It wasn’t Dan’s. Cars were too damn fast for
Dan. His mailbox would sport a wagon wheel or a horse head.

Instead of narrowing, the road widened and
was paved. This was new also. Rollie had given John Preston right
of way through his land, but would never allow a public road.
Things changed.

The lane to the house hadn’t changed. It was
as overgrown and rutted as it was when he left. The yard, however,
was completely different; no cans, no bottles and holy shit! Were
those baskets of flowers hanging from the porch?

He parked the truck and retrieved his duffle
and his mother’s lessons kicked in. Front doors were for guests.
Cob headed around to the back. As he rounded the rear corner of the
house, debating whether he owed his uncle the courtesy of a knock,
he was brought up short by a sight he never thought he’d see, a
woman other than his mother hanging clothes in his uncle’s
backyard. It couldn’t be.

He paused to watch and think. Her back was to
him and her long, brown curls bounced along her back as she pegged
a towel to the clothesline running between two posts. She was tall
and slim as far as he could see. Her legs, extending from a pair of
modest shorts were long and as finely shaped as any he had seen.
Her shirt was sleeveless and showed a pair of muscular arms, but it
was one of those wide, smocky things so he couldn’t get a good idea
of her waist.

Her line was sagging and she bent to pick up
a wooden prop at her feet and Cob got a good look at a rounded
behind, a little wider than perfect, but eye-catching just the
same. She picked up a man’s shirt from her basket and that’s when
everything clicked.

The clean front yard, the flowers, a woman
hanging laundry in the mowed back yard. He looked beyond her and
saw a vegetable garden, something Rollie would never keep, but
Cob’s mother always did.

Things change. Some other family was living
in his house and that could only mean one thing. His uncle was
dead.

Cob was surprised at how hard that hit him.
How many times had he wished his uncle to burn in hell? He never
once thought the old bastard would actually do it. His mother was
always frail, but Rollie was like Big Rock; granite hard, immovable
and eternal. He was looking forward to having a knock-down-drag-out
with the old man. Cob was no kid anymore. He had plans and ideas
and the money to make them happen. He’d rehearsed the scene so many
times in his mind and now it would never happen. His shoulders
sagged.

"Oh God, not Rollie." Rollie was at the
bottom of all his dreams. Rollie taught him everything he needed to
know and some of those things had saved his life a time or two.
Rollie was his only living kin and the best damn distiller of
illegal corn whiskey in the mountains.

Cob dropped the duffle and leaned against the
house.

Lorelei heard a dull thud and a quiet groan
and dropped the wet overalls back into the basket. She looked up at
wooden screen door that led to the kitchen.

“
Rollie? Rollie honey? You
okay?” If the old man fell again because he refused to use the damn
walker, she’d kill him herself. It was hard enough to pick him up
last time and it niggled at the back of her mind that the old fart
did it on purpose, just so he could cop a feel while she helped him
up. He never fell when she was at work or if he did, he picked
himself up. “Rollie?”

“
Godammit woman, can’t a
man have a minute’s peace? What do you want?”

Breathing a sigh of relief she called back,
“Nothing. Sorry.” She bent to pick up the denim pants from the
basket.

“
He’s alive?”

Lorelei eeked and spun. She held the overalls
out in front of her like a shield. “Who the hell are you?”

“
Cob Thornton and this is
my house, so who the hell are you?”

“
This is not your house,
buddy.” She took a step back and toward the stairs. “Rollie?” she
called as loud as she could. “We got company! Now!”