Page 5 of Bah Humbug Mate

Colby shook his head. “What you look like you should be is a grinch-shifter. I swear I’ve never known anybody who disliked the holidays more than you.”

“Well, we can’t all want to be fucking Santa Claus.”

“True. I’ve talked to the jolly old man about that, and he seems disinclined to retire. Besides, I think my fated mate prefers a trim and healthy mate with abs of steel.”

“Do you have a fated mate? Isn’t there some clause about gangsters having to forfeit?”

Colby leaned in and whispered in a conspiratorial stage voice, “We both know I’m not a gangster, and yes, I have a fated mate. I’ve seen her in my dreams.”

“Oh, good god. You’re worse than the rest of them.”

“Then tell me about what happened in Toronto.”

Dash chuckled. This was just the kind of thing Colby lived for. The lynx-shifter seemed to genuinely enjoy gossip—the juicier the better. “It seems I had a grandmother. My mother’s mother. The lawyer said she ran off with my father. They were fated mates, and despite my grandmother’s protestations, they left her origin herd never to be heard from again.”

“Your parents and the rest of your herd were killed in a forest fire, right?”

Dash nodded. “I don’t think about it much, and the way I grew up doesn’t really bother me, but it was kind of nice to know that once my grandmother knew I survived, she looked for me. She only figured out who and where I was a couple of weeks ago and by then she was too sick. She did, however, leave her entire estate to me, including the land, mansion, and buildings the herd had occupied for centuries. I told the lawyer to separate that, as well as the income and holdings. I don’t want to leave them with nothing.”

“That was generous of you.”

“Trust me. I’m still set to inherit a bundle. There’s just one teensy weensy condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I have to find a mate and get married by the 24th of this month, or all of it, including what I designated to stay with the rest of the herd, goes to a nasty piece of shit named Rudy.”

“Rudy? As in Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer?” Colby cackled. “I’m not sure which I like better, the fact that you have to find a mate and be married by Christmas Eve, or that the bad guy in the piece is that insipid character from the song and cartoon.” A shadow crossed over his face. “Damn, I wish Kyra was here. This is just the kind of thing the two of us used to laugh about.”

“You’ve got the word out. It’ll get to Kyra and Scott. If they come back, we’ll protect them.”

Colby nodded. “I know Graeme is looking too. If they end up in the Highlands with him or he hears anything, he’s promised to let me know.” He shook his head. “I should have told her. I thought she’d be safer if she didn’t know.”

Dash placed his hand on Colby’s shoulder. “You did what you thought was best.”

“You’d think I’d learn not to do that,” Colby chuckled.

* * *

When the door burst open and the beautiful young woman stumbled in, Dash couldn’t be sure if he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with one of the massive beams in the tavern’s ceiling or punched in the gut by a heavyweight champion boxer. But to say the effect was profound would be putting it mildly.

Colby was closer and got to her before Dash could even get around from behind the bar. Colby helped her to a bar stool where she sat down and began taking off layers of clothing and trying to untangle herself from a string of Christmas lights.

“Noel? Noel Brooks, right?” asked Dash. She wasn’t exactly a regular, but he’d seen her around town a couple of times. Mostly she and the rest of her herd kept to their Christmas tree farm located on the Alaska Peninsula north of Otter Cove.

“Yes, that’s me. I’m so sorry about the dramatic entrance. Just as I was opening the door, it was like some giant form of energy just gave me a big shove from behind.”

“Are you all right, Noel?” asked Colby, solicitously.

Why do I suddenly want to punch Colby in the face, if not outright kill him?

“I’m fine, Colby. I was just starting to set up our annual holiday shop and tree lot, but it’s really chilly out there, and I didn’t have breakfast. I remembered The Workshop and that it was warm, had a huge fire, and made the best burgers. I took a look at the weather; there’s a nasty storm brewing.”

Mystic River had become a mecca for hardcore holiday shoppers all over Alaska and northern Canada for homemade ornaments, stunning holiday trees, and homemade goods of all kinds—quilts, foods, and the like. The town hosted an art show, craft fair, and other tourist attractions. Many of those in Mystic River depended on the income they created during the winter holiday to see them through the rest of the year.

“There is, indeed. You might want to think about staying here in Mystic River. I could put you up at Windsong, or there’s Trudy’s B&B, or Dash has some lovely apartments upstairs, don’t you, Dash?”

Dash nodded.

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