The Alpha's Choice (6 page)

His head snapped up and cocked slightly to the
left, listening. He blinked, twice, and looked at Kat as if he was
surprised he held her in his arms.

"Fuck!" he hissed and pushed away
from her. This time, it was her grip on his shoulders that kept her
from falling.

Charles stared at her in horror, as if she'd
grown another head. A glance at her reflection in the glass of the
window showed he wasn't far from wrong. Her face was smeared with
the same yellow paint as his and her chocolate brown curls were now
streaked as well.

As soon as he released her, the
overwhelming passion she'd felt began to recede and sanity
prevailed. And why shouldn't it? Between his curse and shove and
horror stricken face, she felt about as sexy as a snail, yet not so
lucky as the slimy little mollusk. She had no shell to crawl into
and hide.

"Who put you up to this? You're
not one of us," he accused.

"That's a relief. I wouldn't want
to be whoever the hell you think you are," Kat snapped. She was
humiliated and furious with him and with herself for whatever it
was that came over her and made her act like a common…

Something in the other room caught Charles'
attention. "Quick. Wipe your face," he ordered. He scooped the
paint spattered rag from the floor, tossed it to her and began
tucking his shirt back into his pants. 

Kat scrubbed the rag, now stiff with dried
paint, viciously over her nose and lips. It was too late to
remove the paint which had dried to a thin crust, but that wasn't
why she scoured her skin and it sure as hell wasn't because he
told her to.

She could still smell him and the lingering
scent of woods and meadows irritated her nose. She could still
taste him, coffee and bacon and that unique flavor that was all his
own and she was sure she'd never look at breakfast the same way
again. Damnit! She still wanted him and that angered her more than
her initial lapse in judgment.

Her cleaning efforts only added the faint
odor of paint to the mix. Kat scrubbed harder. Foul words were on
the tip of her tongue when she heard the heavy front door in the
foyer open.

"You just set those right there, Buddy, and
go on out and get another load while I see what's what." The voice
was a woman's, high pitched and sing-song with a no nonsense tone
about it. "I can see right off this front hall won't do. Yes sir,
Buddy, we've got our work cut out plain as day. Go on, now, move
that truck and get those things under roof before it rains."

Chapter 6

Kat stood straight and hid the paint covered
rag behind her back as the woman came through the door to the room
where they stood and greeted them with a judgmental "humph".

Taking them in with hawklike eyes, her head
snapped from side to side like the predatory bird she resembled.
She folded her skinny arms over her nonexistent bosom and tapped a
foot that looked too large for her long, skinny legs.

Holy smokes! It was one of those dour
housekeepers from those awful gothic novels. If she'd been wearing
gray bombazine, Kat would have wet her pants.

This woman wore a cotton print dress buttoned
up the front to just below her neck and cinched at the waist with a
matching belt. Her shoes were black, heavy heeled and sturdy, the
kind Kat remembered the nuns wearing in the school she attended
until she was nine.

"Humph," the woman said again and there was
no doubt about the opinion expressed in that one sound. "Looks like
I wasn't a minute too soon." She looked them over again,
pursing her lips into a disapproving frown, and pointed a bony
finger at Charles who stood there with a belligerent look on his
yellow face.

"You, young man, had best be about your
business. Save your foolishness for the Road House and your
hanky-panky for a motel room. And you!" she turned to Kat. "You
look to be an intelligent young woman, once you get that paint
off. Not the kind to be charmed by a handsome face
and lustful body. You want to keep your reputation here
abouts, you'll use that sofa for settin' and nothin' more."
She ignored Kat's flaming face and looked around the room.
"There'll be no more carryings on in the parlor."

"Schoolroom," Kat corrected without thinking
and then blatantly lied, "That wasn't what we were doing."

"You're the housekeeper." Charles was clearly
bewildered.

"What you were doing is as plain as that
paint on your face… and elsewhere." The woman stared pointedly at
Kat's chest. Swiveling her head to Charles, she said, "Of course
I'm the housekeeper. Who else would I be?"

Yeah, who else? Kat looked down at her chest.
A perfect yellow handprint like the kind children make with finger
paints was emblazoned on her chest completely
covering her left breast and the hand that made it was clearly
not a child's. Well, damn. The evidence was pretty
incriminating.

"You aren't the housekeeper,"
Charles was saying and it took Kat a minute to realize he was
talking to her, "Who the hell are you?"

"I think you'd best be on your way, young
woman, to do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. And you,
young man, better get back to work. This place will be full up
tomorrow and the Alpha expects it done."

"I never said I was," Kat answered. "I'm the
teacher," she explained, though at that point she wasn't sure
anybody was listening or cared. "I'm supposed to be here."

"I
am
the Alpha!" Charles snarled at
the woman. "No, you're not!" he turned on Kat.

"Yes, I am." Who the hell did this guy think
he was?

"Good God Almighty," the woman breathed.

Having said pretty much the same thing when
she met him, Kat almost rolled her eyes, particularly since the
woman's hand went to her chest in the same heart protecting way.
She would have laughed if she hadn't been so angry at the man who
caused such a reaction.

The woman winced as she peered more closely
into Charles' yellow face. "It is you." She took a step back and
looked him over once again and shook her head. "Well ain't that a
fine howdy-do."

Charles looked more closely at the
woman. "Mrs. Gregory?" he asked, looking a little shaken
himself.

"What was. It's Martin now. After Bill died,
I married Stuart Martin and went north to live with his folk. Now
he's gone, too," the woman said with a hint of defiance as if
daring Charles to ask another question.

Charles didn't ask it. "I remember now," he
said instead and then he smiled his most charming smile and Kat was
amazed to see the older woman thaw under his warming gaze.

What was it about this guy that he could melt
the drawers off every woman he met?

"I didn't recognize you either," he
continued, "Good God, how many years has it been? It must be
twenty-five at least."

Mrs. Martin suddenly closed her eyes and
swayed dangerously. The woman's mouth opened and closed and opened
again. Her eyes popped open and her face paled. She swayed
dangerously. The predator had become prey; a gasping fish out of
water.

Kat ran to catch the woman before she fell.
"Don't just stand there. Help me get her to the chair," she snapped
at Charles.

Charles did more than help. He scooped the
woman up and carried her to the chair where he set her down gently
and knelt on the floor in front of her.

Mrs. Martin took a deep breath, shook her
head to clear it, and opened her eyes to the kneeling Charles.
This seemed to upset the woman even more. Fanning her
hand to shoo him away, she tried to rise.

"Don't need to sit. I got work to do. I'm
fine," she insisted. She tried to rise and quickly sat back down.
"Just give me a minute."

Charles lifted her chin with the knuckle of
his index finger. In an odd gesture, he leaned forward almost as if
he was zooming in for a kiss and sniffed sharply, twice. "When was
the last time you ate?"

"I'm fine. You go clean up and leave me to my
business. It's almost lunch and I got work to do. Leave me be," she
said bossily.

"When was the last time you ate?" Charles
asked again, his tone demanding an answer.

Maybe it was the tone of his voice which now
sounded deeper and more commanding or maybe it was the way he stood
up and over her that made his shoulders look broader, his legs look
longer, his whole body look more powerful. Whatever it was, Mrs.
Martin shifted back in her chair and averted her eyes.

"Day before yesterday," she confessed.

"Why?" It was another demand.

Mrs. Martin hung her head, clearly ashamed.
"I spent the last of our money on the gas to get us here."

"Why didn't you tell Begley you needed money?
He would have billed it to me." Charles' eyes never left the older
woman's bowed head.

"I didn't want you to think we came
a-begging," she whispered. She started to rise again.

"You sit until I tell you to do otherwise,"
he snapped and Mrs. Martin sat.

Kat wanted to be anywhere but in that room
witnessing this proud woman confess her penury and she was shocked
by Charles brow beating her. Her fist was clenched, ready to do
battle on the older woman's behalf. She started forward.

Charles hand snapped up, one finger raised.
Stop. Kat was brought up short. Charles didn't look to see if his
gesture was obeyed. His eyes never left Mrs. Martin.

"Becoming a member of this... family," he
went on in a stern voice, "was a condition of your coming here;
that and a release from your previous... employer. Do you honor
that agreement? Do you stand for me?"

 At his repetition of the same words
he'd used when speaking to her, Kat's fist unclenched, her
curiosity aroused. It was like being eight years old again, sitting
at the kitchen table doing homework, listening to her
parents talk about one thing while meaning something
else. She'd known they were talking in code, but didn't have
the key to break it.

"Of course I do and Buddy, too," Mrs. Martin
said, offended. "Where I go, he goes and you know he'll be
loyal to you." A little of the snap was back in her voice.

"Then why would you shame me."

"I didn't..."

"You did! It's my duty to see my p... people
are cared for, fed, housed. What would it look like if I let
someone I stood for go hungry, a widow no less?" His finger poked
the soft arm of the chair for emphasis and Mrs. Martin jumped.
"We're small. We're new. I'll be observed and tested and I
will not be found wanting. I stand for those who stand for me,
Tilda Martin. Don't you forget it."

"I won't, sir," Mrs. Martin said, nodding her
head sharply. She smiled at Charles like a mother proud of her son.
"It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."

He held out his hand and the housekeeper
placed her hand in his, he patted it and smiled affectionately. His
whole bearing changed as he returned to role of affable
painter.

"You sit right there. I'll get you some
water. Katarina will keep you company."

"It's Kat and I want to know what the..."

"So do I. We'll talk about that later,"
Charles said in that voice that oozed authority and expected
obedience. He turned to Mrs. Martin lowering his chin and raising
his eyebrows in a significant look. "You're right, she doesn't
belong here. You keep that in mind."

Mrs. Martin's nod contradicted her words as a
body hurtled across the room.

"No!" she shouted as the huge man wrapped his
arms around Charles and lifted him from the ground in a bear hug
that had the power to break the smaller man's ribs. "Buddy,
no!"

"Charlie!" Buddy danced around the room with
Charles dangling from his arms like a big rag doll. "I'm back,
Charlie. I'm back. I come home."

"Buddy Gregory, you put him down!"

"That's great, Buddy," Charles choked out in
a strangled voice, "Could you put me down now."

"Sure, Charlie, sure."

Charles bent in half and rested his hands on
his knees while he gulped in enough air to replace what had been
squeezed from his lungs.

"Well," he rasped out a laugh, "Buddy hasn't
changed much." He straightened and then bent backward with a groan
to realign his spine. "Good to see you, man, but I sure hope you
don't hug the girls like that."

Buddy was tall, six-six or seven to
Charles' six feet and where Charles' well-muscled shoulders and
chest narrowed to slim hips and long legs, Buddy was simply huge.
He dwarfed Charles with his massive neck, hulking shoulders
and thick arms. His broad chest crowned a thick torso and
wide hips that were supported by thighs the size of telephone
poles. Even though his back was to her, Kat could see the blush
creep up the pale skin of the ears that stuck out on either
side of his red ball cap.

"I wouldn't hug a girl like that, Charlie,"
the man said seriously and as if Charles should know better than to
say such a thing. "You got to be careful with girls. They're like
Mama's china tea cups and break real easy. And no huggin' lessin'
she's your girlfriend," he continued as if reciting a rule. "I
don't got no girlfriend. But you do," he said slyly and turned and
winked at Kat.

Three voices sounded at once.

"Buddy!"

"No, she isn't."

"N-no. I'm not." Kat was as quick to
answer as Charles and she hoped the others thought her stutter
was caused by the comment and not by her first good look
at Buddy's face.

Buddy Gregory was an albino with snow white
hair, colorless brows and lashes and pale, almost transparent blue
eyes. His lips, too, showed only a hint of color against the
gleaming white of his teeth bared in a childlike grin. It was hard
to put an age to his innocent and unlined face, but if she was
forced to guess, she'd say his late twenties.