Page 57 of Ash

Suzannah paused, her heart stuttering in her chest.

She hadn't thought about that.

So far, she'd only seen him at her house, but the night before, when she'd gone to sleep by herself, she hadn't really thought about where he'd gone.

What would she do when they were mated?

She started to worry, but she heard something in her head.

No, it wasn't Ash's bear, although she wondered if his bear might give her similar advice. It was Alice's voice instead. 'It's not about the place. It's about the people who are there.'

Suzannah felt a smile settle on her lips. "We'll figure it out, Hetty. We'll figure it out... together."

And that fire she felt in her soul? The flames climbed higher, making her feel warm and loved.

Yes, she was home.

Home in Mystic Mountain.

Ash arrived at the bakery at closing time, a handful of flowers held in his hand.

It hadn't been his plan, but as he walked down the mountain from his home, he would see flowers growing along the path. Each one reminded him of the beauty of his home. A beauty that he wanted to share with Suzannah.

As he collected them, he'd hear his mother's voice in his head. She would walk with him, gathering flowers for their table, and she'd tell him their names as they went when he was young. As he'd grown, she'd ask him to say their names. Some of his best memories were of those quiet times with his mother.

Memories that he could share with Suzannah and perhaps she could share them with their cubs... their children if they were blessed to have them.

The delicate spikes of foamflower that looked like little bursts of color. Bishop's cap with it's tiny white flowers along a stem. There were the purplish petals of the blue phlox, each of the fivenotched at the fullest part of the curve like he'd seen pictures of dogwood blooms. The yellow trout-lily where the name alone would be enough to make mother and son laugh.

He'd left behind the white blossoms of the wild strawberry plants because he hoped to share some of their deliciousness with her when they bore fruit, but he did add the red and yellow columbine and the pink wild geraniums.

He'd hoped for some iris flowers to add to the bunch, but they weren't blooming yet.

Soon enough they would show their pretty faces, and he'd get to share more of his home with her.

Home.

After the ladies had left, he'd gone into his parents' bedroom and stood in the doorway looking over the room.

When they passed on, he hadn't taken their room.

It felt wrong to move in. It felt like doing so would be erasing them from the house.

And his life.

But as he stood there, looking over the bed with its familiar quilts.

Their wardrobe, where their coats and clothing were folded away in the drawers was still full.

He stepped into the room and moved to the bed, brushing his fingertips over the carved headboard that his father had made for his mate. Two slumbering bears were carved with the walls of stone carved in relief around them.

Curled up at their side, there was a single cub.

His mother had once explained that his father, Anton, had left part of the headboard unfinished when he'd carved it at first.

After he'd been born, his father had added a cub tucked in beside them.

He knew there was another slab of wood cut from the same felled tree in the shed. His father had pointed it out once in his singular gruff way.

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