Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Truer words had never been uttered. Hightailing it out of California with his infant son made Eric Mikkelson feel like some sort of criminal, even though he’d never broken a single law in his entire thirty-six years. Basically, he considered himself one of the good guys. Though his kind, the Vedjorn—bear shape-shifters—were by and large ostracized by the wolves, aka The Pack, since no one went around revealing what kind of shifter they were, his life hadn’t been impacted as much as it could have been otherwise.
No, this journey had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with protecting his son. He wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d gone on the lam. After all, he’d been granted full legal custody of three-month-old Garth in a court of law. Without restrictions. So if he wanted to drive across the country to New York in the middle of winter, infant son in tow, there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t or couldn’t.
He had his reasons, of course. Even before Garth had been born, he’d asked for and received permission to take a sabbatical from his job as a college professor. As soon as his then-wife, Yolanda, had begun showing, so had her disdain for the thing she carried inside her.
The more she’d ranted and raved, the more worried he’d grown. She, too, was bear, and their kind were dwindling. A pregnancy would normally be a time for celebration. Not with her. Instead, she appeared to be coming unhinged.
In her third trimester, she’d finally come to him and asked for her freedom. She hadn’t meant she only wanted out of the marriage. She wanted out of motherhood, as well. He’d negotiated with her carefully. Since he’d offered her a hefty settlement, she’d carried their son full term. Once Garth had been born, she’d refused even to look at the tiny, red-faced infant. She’d handed over the baby to Eric, checked herself out of the hospital and took off to have fun without being tied to anyone or anything.
The divorce had gone through without a hitch. Eric settled into his new life as a single father with bemused dedication and love. He’d been shocked to learn how much he loved his newborn son, and vowed to be the best parent he could.
He’d researched everything about babies. Heavily. Some things, such as the ingrained habits borne of years spent educating others, wouldn’t be changed. He’d felt competent and prepared, until the first time Garth came down with a high fever that wouldn’t break.
But he’d managed, and now, three months in, he would lay down his life for his son. Which was why, when his unstable ex-wife started showing up on his doorstep unannounced, insisting something was wrong with the baby and she needed to take him somewhere to have him fixed, he’d realized he needed to leave California for a while.
While he made his preparations, he’d received phone calls from colleagues and friends, informing him that Yolanda had been declaring to anyone who would listen that Eric had stolen her son from her and cheated her out of motherhood.
After he’d placated numerous people, the news got worse. Now it seemed that Yolanda not only wanted her son back, but she also wanted Eric dead. She’d gone twice to the Wolf Pack authorities, the Pack Protectors, and tried to convince them that Eric was a Berserker, a form of insanity unique to the Vedjorn. When a Berserker shifted from human to bear, he or she became a crazed killing machine. If Eric had truly been one, he’d be a danger to not only her son, but others. She also had hinted a few times that Garth might be a Berserker, as well. It was this last claim that worried Eric. He could defend himself against her attacks. His son could not.
The infrequent gene mutation among the bear shifters was the reason the others—especially wolves—avoided them. Since they were the largest group, the Wolf Pack had an entire division, called the Pack Protectors, devoted to ensuring humankind didn’t learn about their existence. True Berserkers with their indiscriminate killing would endanger not only the bears, but all the others, as well. This could not be allowed. Anyone even seriously suspected of being a Berserker was brought in and contained, until the accusations could either be verified or denied. True Berserkers, though few and far between, were exterminated.
And Yolanda had named Eric a Berserker. Since this accusation was serious, one might have expected her to have some proof. Something to back her up, incidents of killing and maiming. Since she didn’t, no one took her seriously. Including Eric.
Then, without warning, Yolanda had shown up on Eric’s doorstep demanding to see her baby. She hadn’t been even close to sober. He’d turned her away. She’d finally left, shouting about how their son needed healing. And how she was the only one who could provide it.
After that, she’d had an attorney friend contact him. Even though she’d willingly signed away all parenting rights, she’d now decided she’d changed her mind. Except she hadn’t really. He knew all this was somehow related to her intense need to heal her son. From what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she truly did believe little Garth would grow up to be Berserker. But everyone understood those signs wouldn’t start to exhibit themselves until Garth was able to shape-shift, which would be in his early teens. And if he truly ended up being Berserker, there was no cure.
With a bone-deep certainty, Eric knew his son wasn’t Berserker. Unfortunately, Yolanda appeared equally convinced he was, despite having no evidence to support her.
She’d shown up twice more at his front door, cursing, screaming and crying. And threatening. He began to understand his son was in real danger from the woman who’d birthed him. When he caught her breaking the window on the back door in order to gain entry to his home so she could grab the baby, he’d realized it would be better to disappear. In fact, his Pack Protector friend Jason had strongly suggested it.
So early one morning Eric had quietly packed his SUV, locked his house and taken off cross-country with Garth securely strapped in his infant car seat in back. The rest of his belongings had already been picked up by a moving company and would be delivered a week later, including his painstakingly restored 1969 classic Camaro SS.
His destination was the tiny town of Forestwood, New York, where he’d rented the bottom floor of a house from a website he’d found on the internet, hoping it would look the same as the pictures that had been posted. He no longer would be teaching college. Instead he would open his own business doing something that until now he’d considered only a hobby. He planned to start an entirely new life, focusing on his son and keeping his head down.
* * *
Though her new tenant was supposed to pick up his keys today, Julia Jacobs eyed the blizzard raging outside and figured he’d call her to reschedule. According to the stern yet clearly excited weatherman on TV, officials were advising people to stay off the roads. Whiteout conditions and extreme cold didn’t make for safe travel.
JJ didn’t mind. She’d been anticipating the snow with the eagerness of a child. She’d dreamed it, after all. And snowfall brought her joy. In all kinds of ways. At the first sight of big, fat snowflakes drifting down from the leaden gray sky, she was filled with the excited anticipation of a kid on Christmas Eve.
Though she knew she was out of sync with the rest of the world, winter was her favorite season. The crisp bite of the cold air, her breath pluming as she exhaled. She loved the bundling up, the sweater and scarf and coat and hat and gloves and boots. Stepping out into the white wonderland and making the first set of footprints to mar the unblemished perfection. The way the world went absolutely still and quiet the morning after a snowfall, and how wonderful it felt to sit inside her warm house by the fire drinking cocoa and watching the snow fall. Snow always felt like a new beginning, a chance to start over.
She sighed, glad once again that she was alone, that she’d left Shawn and the hustle and bustle of New York City behind. Even before his true abusive nature came out, her ex-boyfriend had ridiculed her love of all things winter, one of her many character traits that he’d found distasteful and disgusting. Of course, he’d been a summer person, while heat and blazing sunshine had only depressed her. That had just been the beginning and she’d finally broken free. This blizzard, already being ominously forecasted as the storm of the century, brought her nothing but joy.
She felt sorry for her new tenant, though. When he’d rented out the bottom floor of her house, his Norwegian accent had intrigued her. Of course, she’d Googled him after getting his name, noting he’d immigrated to California. She’d been impressed by his academic credentials. A college professor on sabbatical, he’d said. With an infant son.
The last might have given other landlords pause. After all, babies cried, and even though he’d be on another floor entirely, sound drifted in older houses like hers.
But JJ had never been a landlord before—heck, she was a brand-new homeowner—and she adored babies, so she’d immediately granted Mr. Eric Mikkelson the lease. He’d paid for two months up front, along with a perfectly reasonable security deposit. He didn’t smoke or have pets, so she privately thought she might have actually managed to find the perfect tenant.
Even the few fuzzy photos of him she’d seen online jibed with his career. He looked the part, a stereotypical professor, round wire glasses and hair in a ponytail. She hadn’t been able to tell if his hair was blond or gray, but supposed it didn’t matter. He had a baby, which made up for a whole lot of other things, including any lingering intellectual snobbishness. Lord knew she’d had enough of that with Shawn and his Wall Street friends.
Again, she quickly put the thought from her mind. Enough time had passed that she ought to be able to relax, but she still jumped every time someone moved too fast or she heard a loud, unexpected noise. At least she’d retaught herself not to keep her gaze trained on the ground anymore lest she be accused of flirting.
And the nightmares featuring Shawn had finally stopped. The horrible, awful dreams had her questioning her own sanity.
Heaving a sigh, she walked to the window to watch the beautiful snow fall, knowing this would instantly put her in a better frame of mind.
Meanwhile, meeting her new tenant would have to wait until after the storm. Which meant she was free to putter around the house, put a pot of butternut squash soup to simmer on the stove and go out and play in the snow.
Until she’d moved in with Shawn, she’d lived all her life in an apartment in New York City with her parents. If she and her friends had wanted to make a snowman, they’d gone to the park. Now, thanks to a distant great-aunt she’d barely known leaving her this house upstate in Forestwood, New York, she could make a snowman in her own front yard. The prospect excited her, probably more than it should considering she’d just turned thirty-four. She’d have to wait to build it until after the snowfall stopped, but still wanted to go outside and check out the snow.
After bundling up—two pairs of socks inside her snow boots, scarf, and wearing a soft knit cap under her hood—she took a deep breath and stepped out into the swirling storm.
Wow. Stopping just outside the front door on her stoop, she stared. This was coming down fast and furious. She guesstimated already six to seven inches had fallen.
And so beautiful. Slowly she turned, squinting as she tried to see down the street to the other houses. Other houses! She’d lived her entire life surrounded by tall buildings, in the crowded city. She thought she could get used to this new life. Everything moved slower here. The pace suited her just fine.
One month and she’d unpacked nearly everything. Of course, she hadn’t had much to unpack. Luckily, all her great-aunt’s furniture had come with the house, since JJ had none of her own. When she’d moved in with Shawn, he’d convinced her to get rid of her own few eclectic pieces. After all, they’d clashed with his sleek, modern furniture. Bohemian, he’d called it, with the same disparaging intonation one would use with a curse word.
Shawn. She hated how her thoughts kept returning to him when they shouldn’t. That part of her life was over. He no longer had any hold on her. He would never find her here. Even her mother had been sworn to secrecy, though she hadn’t been told why. Pushing him and her former life out of her head, JJ returned her focus to the perfect snowstorm.
Unable to resist, she dropped to the ground and made a snow angel, even though fresh flakes would fill it in quickly. With her face lifted to the sky, she felt like a kid. The icy flakes stuck to her eyelashes and her lips, even her teeth, since she was grinning. The cold air hurt her skin, which meant she wouldn’t be able to stay outside much longer, but she planned to enjoy what time she had.
The sound of a car door slamming made her sit up and blink away the snowflakes stuck to her lashes. What the... Someone had pulled up to the curb in front of her house. Driving some sort of compact SUV that she’d never in a million years have believed could make it more than a mile in this snow without snow tires and chains.
A tall, bare-headed man came around from the driver’s side. As she stared, her first thought was of the mythological Norse god Thor. She forgot about the icy wind, the snowflakes swirling like dervishes. Because as he strode toward her, his long, wavy blond hair swirling around his shoulders, her entire body came alive. He moved with a confident, easy stride, as if the snow and ice didn’t exist for him.
Damn. Realizing she was still on the ground, she clambered to her feet, dusting as much snow off her as she could before she looked up at him. And she meant up. This guy had to be way over six feet tall. Shawn had been six-two, and she’d bet this man would tower over him. Norse god, she thought again. Odd that she hadn’t had a single dream of him. She’d bet she would from now on.
“Um, hi?” she squeaked.
“Ms. Jacobs?” he rumbled, his bright blue eyes sharp. Oh heck, his voice definitely suited him. Made her go weak in the knees. And that accent...
Belatedly she knew who this must be. “Eric Mikkelson?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from showing.
“Yes.” He tilted his massive, unbelievably gorgeous head. “You weren’t expecting me? I believe I confirmed I’d be here this afternoon to pick up the keys.”
“I know, but...” She gestured helplessly at the storm raging around them. “You drove up here in this?”
“This?” Frowning, he didn’t appear to understand what she meant. Before she could elaborate, he turned back toward his car. “I need to get my son. Do you mind if we continue this discussion inside?”
His son. Struck dumb by both his recklessness and his masculine beauty, she nodded. Then, because she loved babies as much as she loved snow, she followed him over to the car and tried to peer around him as he unbuckled his son’s infant carrier.
She caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes peering out from a tiny, bundled up face. As she leaned in closer, her tenant, clearly not realizing she’d moved in so close, caught her with his elbow under the chin and sent her flying backward.
“Oof.” Down she went, right on her behind. Luckily, all her layers plus the several inches of fluffy snow provided lots of padding. Nothing got hurt except her pride.
Her tenant glanced back over his shoulder at her, clearly unaware what had happened. “Are you all right?” he asked, his cautious tone telling her he’d begun to consider the possibility that she might be nuts.
For a split second she debated telling him what had happened. Pushing to her feet, she once again dusted off snow, the cold dampness beginning to seep through her layers to her skin. And then she caught sight of Eric’s son, and completely forgot what she’d been about to say.
The instant the baby locked eyes with her, he grinned and wrinkled his cute little nose. All bundled up in his snowsuit, cap and mittens, he looked like a precious baby seal with bright blue eyes. As his daddy lifted him up, he cooed.
Like his father, his cuteness factor was off the charts.
“Come on,” she said, conscious of the freezing temperature and icy wind. “I don’t want him to get frostbite.”
Eric Mikkelson stared and shook his head. “He has Norwegian blood,” he said, as if that explained everything. “This snowstorm is nothing compared to the ones I grew up with in Norway. I dressed him warmly. He’ll be fine.”
Fine? She managed to refrain from shaking her head while she tromped her way through the deepening snow to her front door. When she turned back to look for him, for a second she couldn’t see him, the baby or his car due to the blowing, swirling snow.