Stephanie gasped under the weight of the box of calendars she was carrying. Who knew a bunch of paper could be so dang heavy? The Macconwood Charity Calendar was a pretty big deal to the Pack, and as their reigning Miss July for more years than she cared to count, it was her duty to sell her fair share of copies.
She dropped it onto the hand truck and placed her hands on her hips, taking a moment to listen and look at the families who’d come to see the newly reopened Manning Farms.
“This is what you wanted, Daddy,” she whispered to herself as she looked at the new sign she’d commissioned for the place.
She wiped away the single tear that spilled down her cheek, shaking her head at her own silliness.
Stephanie wasn’t fond of mushy emotions. Just ask her stepdaughter, Cassie, and her husband David. The couple had welcomed their first child, a beautiful bouncing baby boy named Marco, just a few months ago, and Stephanie loved being an official nana, even if it made her feel a tad on the old side.
Cassie had snorted with laughter when she demanded the baby refer to her as Stephie and not Grandma or Nana, after all, she was too young and cool to be called anything like that.
“Too bad Stephie. You’re a granny, period.”
Her daughter always was a defiant brat, but damn if she didn’t love the female. She’d married Cassie’s father out of a deep affection for the man and his only child after his first wife had passed. Matt DeMarco had seemed the perfect man.
So kind and good. A terrific father, and an overall sweetheart of a human being. She’d been unable to get pregnant by him, but that was okay. Pregnancy was difficult for Werewolves or had been before the curse was broken.
Cassie had been a special kid with a sort of innate magic intuition that had allowed the child to see the Wolf within her stepmother. The little rascal had been taught to keep her new stepmother’s secret, and she’d been taught to avoid the Alpha.
Zev Maccon was a real dickhead. He hated normals almost as much as he’d hated Witches, but he wasn’t the only worry in her life at that time. Stephanie also had to ensure the Council of Shifters did not get wind of her new daughter’s abilities to see them.
Keeping the Shifter secret was very important to them and their survival as a species. Cassie had learned fast, and Stephanie loved her all the more for it. She might not have birthed the little girl, but she was her daughter alright, in every way that counted.
A small piece of her ached with regret at never having had more children. Stephanie’s Wolf growled softly inside her mind’s eye, and she felt the animal’s love for their daughter fill her veins.
Life was too short for regret. Even a Werewolf’s supernaturally elongated life. Besides, she had little Marco to dote on. That would be enough.
She smiled at passing customers and got back to work stacking boxes of that year’s calendar onto the hand truck. Thanksgiving was over and folks were already decorating for Christmas. Something she was deeply grateful for.
Her father had passed away over twenty years ago, and the family farm had sat unused ever since. She’d been loath to sell it, memories of the man who should have doted on his only daughter haunted her.
Her husband had never pressed her to sell, even when they’d needed the money. Matt had been fine with her refusal to acknowledge the Manning legacy. And she’d been fine with it, too. Until now.
Bitterness over her father’s treatment had gone on too long. The old farm was in excellent shape because of the caretakers the estate lawyer had hired, and really, all she had to do was open the doors.
The greenhouses were running superbly and were filled to the brim with white and red poinsettias. She’d notified the various Christmas tree lots they’d previously sold too that they would keep fields three and seven for their cut-your-own tree sale this year.
Some had whined, but many congratulated her on bringing back a wonderful tradition to Maccon City. The warmest thanks and praise had come from her Pack. The Alpha and his family included.
“I recall visiting the farm once when I was very young,” Rafe Maccon had told her when she’d informed him of her decision to sell her house in town to move back to her old homestead.
“My mother took me to see Santa Claus, and we cut down a six-foot spruce ourselves. It was one of my best memories. Zev, of course, wasn’t there, so go figure,” he’d said, reminding her briefly of his awful father, the former Pack Alpha.
“I’m glad you have a good memory of it, Rafe. I just felt it was time to bring it back.”
“Yes, I think you are right. My pups and Charley will love it for sure. So, who will you get to play Santa?”
It was that question that had stumped her when she’d started her plans to reopen Manning Farms all those months ago. And being the helpful Alpha Rafe Maccon was, he’d offered to find a solution.
Little did she know that solution was to come in the form of an almost seven-foot-tall army vet, who despite a brutal injury that cost him his right foot, was the most gorgeous man she’d seen in over a decade.
“Need a hand?”
Speak of the devil. Stephanie was glad her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her reaction to his sudden presence. She was too damn old to get all shaky over some guy!
Nicholas Winters.
Her Wolf had recognized him before her human half had caught up. He always smelled the same. Peppermint and dark chocolate. Kind of like the Mint Christmas bark she sold, along with cider donuts, chocolate truffles, and a million other goodies, decorations, and wintry odds and ends in the barn store next to the tree lot. Only Nicholas Winters smelled even better.
Sigh.
“No,” she snapped, ignoring the deep chuckle that followed. “I mean, no thank you,” she corrected.
“If you’re sure,” he returned casually.
Stephanie didn’t have to see his grin to know it was there. Smack dab on that sexy, chiseled face of his. Even with the full beard he kept, the same shade as his dark auburn hair, she knew his face was defined and rugged. Like most Werewolves, he was physically devastating.
And like most she-Wolves, her inner beastie panted at the very sight of him. She scoffed and struggled to push the now overloaded hand truck. Of course, the snow and ice covering the graveled parking lot made that near impossible.
With an impatient growl, big hands suddenly covered hers, and Nicholas’s arms enveloped her in their warmth before he gave the thing a hard push to get it going.
Just as quickly, he released her, and she missed his considerable heat the second he let go. Damn. She really needed to keep her distance from the too-young Wolf.
Hmmpf. Probably had his share of the young females in the back. No reason for him to be sniffing after her.
“Thanks,” she murmured, knowing full well he’d heard her before shoving off to the barn store where the calendars would be sold, but only from behind the counter.
She didn’t want any young children opening the racy calendar, even if it was for charity. Sigh. How she’d gotten roped into this every year was beyond her. Still, she’d do almost anything for a good cause. It was just her way.
The encounter with Nick, her sexy Santa, no matter how brief, sent her pulse racing, heart pounding, and dammit, her hands were still shaking. This was ridiculous. She was fifteen years his senior, at the very least.
No matter what her she-Wolf thought, Nicholas Winters was not for her. She just had to get through the next couple of weeks without doing something dumb. That shouldn’t be too difficult.
Sad whine.