Hunter knew damn well his uncle normally wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her if she could expose their kind for what they truly were. "You mean, the woman will be at risk." When Uncle Basil didn't say anything in response, Hunter swore under his breath. "You couldn't do it, and that's why you're retiring?"
His uncle avoided looking at him.
Hell, as if Hunter didn't have enough troubles to contend with. "All right. I'll take care of it. Are you going to have supper with us before you leave?"
"I already ate. Got a ticket on the next flight. I left a couple of salmon steaks out for you. Place is stocked with food so you won't have to shop for a while." Uncle Basil stretched his six-foot-two frame. "Looking forward to sunshine warming these old bones. Hips are bothering me something fierce. Figure the cold dampness might have something to do with it."
Then he leaned forward. "Your mother and father would have been proud the way you've managed to keep the pack safe all these years. Your people will return. Give them time. Just be sure and take care of the woman. Her brother most likely is going to prison for murder, but the woman's still a threat, unless she decides to move. Tessa Anderson's the name. Take care of it. And soon."
He stood and gave Hunter a fatherly embrace, then said his good-byes to Meara. Hunter waved as his uncle left in his old pickup, wondering why he hated to buy new vehicles as much as Meara hated to change where she lived.
Hunter walked to the picture window overlooking the Pacific Ocean and stared out at the gray day, the cold, fog, moisture--in stark contrast to the dry, burning heat and smoke of their abandoned home. Regret and relief warred with his emotions.
Meara slipped up next to him. "I don't like being here."
"You'll get used to it."
Knowing full well she wouldn't appreciate any attempt to console her, he headed into the kitchen and tossed the salmon steaks into a frying pan. He was determined to enjoy their newly acquired cabins, even if his sister didn't like it. Not that they'd had much choice. Settling with the insurance company would take forever and most of their savings were tied up in mutual funds.
"It reeks of fish here. How Uncle Basil could have ever stood it... I didn't remember why I hated this place whenever we visited. But that was it. The strong odor of fish and rotting seaweed." She opened a kitchen cabinet door, peered in, and then slammed it closed, rattling a couple of others.
"Eventually, you won't even notice it."
She opened another cabinet door and pulled out a can of spinach. "I want a mate! How am I going to find one way out here? You've made sure there are no other lupus garous in a four-hundred mile stretch of land."
So that was some of the trouble. Not that he'd had much luck finding her a mate in California either because she'd been so choosy.
"That's a bit of an exaggeration. Besides, when we rent the cabins, the grays will come from all over the country and you can find a mate."
He hoped. Never having discussed Uncle Basil's clientele with him, he assumed his uncle advertised on the Internet and in magazines that would help draw a crowd from all over. All Hunter had to do was tweak the ad to let alpha male leaders who were without a mate know his sister needed one.
Hunter flipped the steaks, seared them for a minute, and then tossed them on the rose china that had been passed down two generations. "What did you want us to do? The arsonists destroyed the forests and moving north to Oregon was the best thing we could manage."
She didn't reply and he sighed. "So, five members of our pack moved into the vineyards in southern California. What kind of a life would that be? We're used to hunting in woods during our nighttime excursions. No other lupus garous live in the area, so no worry about encroaching on another pack's territorial rights. Besides, Uncle Basil decided it was time to retire and was glad to gift us the land and cabins. It couldn't be more perfect."
"So what's this really about? Uncle Basil never once mentioned he wanted to quit the business," Meara said.
"We were happy in California. He knew unless something like this happened we wouldn't have moved a foot out of there."
She peered out the window. Her spine straightened and her mouth dropped. "I'll be right back." She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulders and headed outside.
He strode to the window and looked out.
"Hell."
It was the woman. Had to be. Tessa Anderson, the photographer. Petite, swallowed up in a white parka, she trudged toward their house with a camera strap slung around her neck. The camera bounced between her full breasts, which were accentuated by the snug fit of her pale blue turtleneck. Her jeans outlined curvy legs, and suddenly he had the most lascivious thought, wondering what was wrong with him at a moment like this, to be envisioning this woman naked with her long legs wrapped tightly around him.
A pink ski cap hid her hair, but her brows were red, her green eyes sparkled with fire, and her cheeks and pert nose were rosy from the cold. Full, sensual lips shimmered with pink gloss that begged for a man's caress. Her eyes garnered his attention again. Expressive, vibrant, full of life, yet a subtle sadness marred them.
Why was she wandering the woods alone when the night would soon cast her into darkness? Why here? Unless she had made friends with Uncle Basil and had come to see him.
Hell. No wonder he couldn't get rid of her himself.
Meara quickly confronted her, and Hunter raised the window to overhear the conversation. Even though he planned on talking to Miss Anderson, it didn't hurt for Meara to tell the woman the error of her ways. At the very least, giving Meara some control over their lands would make her feel more at home here.
Meara raised her hand to the woman in her path. "You're trespassing."
The woman's eyes narrowed and her brows knit together in a tight little frown. "Uncle Basil said I could take pictures out this way during the winter because he didn't have any B&B guests this time of year."
She had Uncle Basil's permission? What was the crafty old wolf up to?
"Uncle Basil?" Meara asked, her voice rising.
"That's what he told me to call him."
So, Uncle Basil had a relationship with the human female after all. Which wasn't like him.
"Well, his real niece and nephew have taken up residence, and Uncle Basil has moved to Florida. The rules are different now. Find somewhere else to take your pictures. Don't come here again."
The woman glanced at the house. Looking to rescue Uncle Basil? Or maybe she hoped he'd come out and save her from Hunter's sister?
Facing Meara, she offered her gloved hand. "I'm Tessa Anderson, a professional photographer. I live down the coast."
Meara folded her arms. "Then you must have plenty of photo ops on your own land."
Tessa stiffened and Hunter could see now the woman wasn't going to be easily persuaded. Her jaw tightened and her eyes flickered with inflexible resolve.
"Every area along the seacoast is different. And it changes as the tides pummel the coastline. It varies with the seasons also." Tessa tilted her head to the side. "Uncle Basil never said anything about moving. He isn't ill, is he?"
Hunter shook his head. He admired tenacious lupus garou women, but a human female like that could cause real problems. So why was he checking out her package again--the way her turtleneck caressed her breasts, the camera strap pressing between the sensuous mounds, outlining them further, and lower to the jeans accentuating her long, curvy legs.