The Alpha's Daughter (35 page)

Whatever disease of mind or heart that had
driven Griz to seek refuge in Gilead, it was being cured. She saw
the changes in him every day. He was more open. He laughed more.
He'd taken his place as a community leader, something he'd kept
hidden behind the closed doors of his office before. The magic of
Gilead was healing him the way it was healing her. There was one
huge difference, though. She wanted to stay and he would want to
go.

"We need to talk."

What is, is what's meant to be. He was a
doctor with the magic of healing in his hands. He was meant for
better places and greater things. She was the daughter of a low
rent gangster, an Alpha's daughter. She was meant to be a thing to
solidify an Alpha's power and enable his pack to breed. That's all
her father saw in her because that's all she was. She'd tried to
alter that so many times and always failed. For a little while, she
thought coming to Gilead had changed her. She was wrong.

What is, is what's meant to be.

"We need to talk."

Her anger and fear of his words were gone.
Her body felt numb.

Even her wolf recognized defeat. She'd won
the battle, but lost the war. Reason and clear thinking had
triumphed over her wolf's more simplistic needs.

Jazz finished her errands with a smile on her
face and a friendly greeting for everyone she met. She took time to
chat with each one. They talked about the weather and their mates
and the scare they'd all had. They haltingly asked about the doctor
in a roundabout way and Jazz knew what they were looking for, a
status report on Doc's love life. Her answers were laughingly
given, but vague.

None of them would ever guess that four
little words had broken her heart in two.

"We need to talk."

"Miz Mary wants to see you," Donna said as soon as Jazz
opened the door.

Livvy took the bags from her hand. "You'd
better hurry."

"She's been calling all over," Donna
added.

"It must be important."

"I laid out some clean clothes. You can't go
to the Mate's looking like that."

Jazz looked from one to the other. "What does
she want?"

Aunt and niece exchanged glances.

"Well?"

"She wants to know, um, what's going on." It
wasn't like Donna to be so hesitant.

"The whole pack feels it," Livvy blurted and
got an elbow in the ribs from her aunt. "Well they do!"

"She's gotten a few calls," Donna explained
and tapped her chest. "She probably feels it, too."

"Feels what?"

"How the hell would I know," Donna exploded,
"If I knew, I wouldn't have called her! All I know is that you came
knocking on my door this morning and told me to get my ass over
here and when you asked me for that list of names, you looked like
you'd take it at gunpoint if I didn't give it to you."

"You scared Brad," Livvy said a little
resentfully, "And he doesn't scare easy," she added loyally.

Jazz threw up her hands. "Oh, for God's sake.
What did he think I was going to do, bare my teeth and threaten to
eat him?"

Donna showed Jazz a one inch space between
her thumb and forefinger and shrugged, making a face. "Maybe a
little."

"Shit." Jazz blew out her breath. "Sorry. I
was angry. I'm over it now."

"Right." Donna put her hand on Jazz's
shoulder. "So why don't you go see the Mate. Forget changing
clothes. She's upset and she's too old to be upset. Ease her mind
and your own."

"Fine. Let me go give this stuff to Opal."
She reached for the bags.

Livvy held the bags away. "I'll do it. Opal's
hiding in her room. She heard you stomping around down here and
muttering to yourself. You frightened her, too."

Poor, timid Opal. "Aw, jeez. Let me…"

"Go!" Two fingers pointed in the direction of
the Mate's.

Jazz didn't want to see the Mate. She didn't
want any questions. She didn't want any go-get-em-tiger lectures.
She didn't want to hear about fighting ghosts. She sure as hell
didn't want to hear another love story with a happy ending. Unless
Miz Mary was offering a bed for the night where she could lick her
wounds in peace, Jazz didn't think the old woman had anything to
offer her at all. She was a sweet old thing, but her advice wasn't
worth shit.

Miz Mary was waiting for her on the porch.
There was no sweet old thing about her when she pointed her finger
at Jazz.

"You're going to have to learn to control
that," she said.

"What? Who did I frighten now?" She'd been
all smiles and sweet talk with everyone but, apparently, Donna and
Brad.

"Every woman in the whole damn pack, that's
who. You're broadcasting like you're Radio Free Europe." Miz Mary
held the door open and glared at Jazz like a recalcitrant cub.

"I don't know what I did!" Jazz slunk by the
old woman as if she expected a kick in seat of her pants.

"What you did was splatter your broken heart
all over creation. My phone's been ringing off the hook."

Well wasn't that just peachy. "My humiliation
is complete." Jazz followed Miz Mary into the kitchen. She eyed the
chipped mugs and the old teapot with a cracked lid.

"No, I'm not withholding my good china as
punishment. I packed it up. After all these years my hands got too
shaky. I lost hold of one the other day. I know they don't mean
much to nobody else, but they mean something to me. I couldn't bear
to see any more of them broken."

It was proof of how fragile the old woman had
become and Jazz was immediately contrite.

"Oh God, Miz Mary, I'm so sorry. I know how
much pleasure they gave you. Your mother would be happy to know how
you've cared for them all these years."

"I'm sure she is," Miz Mary assured her, "But
it's not about the teacups. Never was. It's about the love that
passed down with them. You remember that, Miz Jasmine. Love don't
die with the person who bore it. It changes, but it don't die." She
poured water from the kettle into the pot. "Now let's talk about
you."

"I was angry. No, I was hurt." Shit, she
wasn't going to talk about this. "I was upset. I'm over it. It
doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," the Mate said quietly.
"And it matters to every woman who felt it this morning. They hurt
with you. There's not a one of them that don't know heartache. It
scared 'em because they didn't know where it was coming from." She
sat back in her chair and grinned. "Course, you standing in the
middle of the road shaking your fist at the sky like you was
related to Miz Ezzy might have given them a hint."

Hopes that were rising plummeted again. "What
about the men. Did I broadcast to them, too?" Not that it mattered.
Every woman would tell her mate.

"No, and I've been thinking on that." The
Mate took a sip of tea and eyed Jazz like she was a specimen in a
jar. "I didn't have that kind of a connection with the pack until I
mated Leonard. You got yours through blood same as the rest of
them, but maybe you got something more. Like it or not, Miz
Jasmine, you are an Alpha's daughter and I think that gives you a
leg up on the rest of us Mates. I'm thinking you connect with the
females of the pack and if you mated an Alpha, you'd connect to the
men through him."

"Right," Jazz huffed, "Well that's not going
to happen. So how do I put that female leg back down?"

"You don't. You learn to control it. Like a
cub learns to control their temper. Right now you're like a spoiled
cub that wants the whole world miserable with him." The Mate smiled
when she said it, but Jazz heard the rebuke.

"Are you saying that to protect them I'm not
supposed to feel things?" It would be easy after today. She could
already feel herself dying inside.

"No. I'm thinking that's what you've been
doing for most of your life, not feeling things I mean. You were
protecting yourself from the hurt." Miz Mary reached across the
table and squeezed Jazz's arm. Her voice softened. "I'm thinking if
you let yourself feel back then, all those women in that pack would
have been living in a world of hurt. Your world."

"If that's true then I want to go back to
that world. The women would be a lot better off and so would I,"
Jazz said miserably.

"You care to talk about it?"

Jazz shook her head.

"That fool wolver say something?"

Jazz's head began to nod before she had a
chance to tell it not to. Her mouth opened the same way. "We need
to talk. That's what he said. We need to talk."

"Ah," Miz Mary nodded, "I know how
frightening those words can be, especially if your heart's set on
something that's a little frightening to begin with. You got your
heart set on Doc. Your wolf's got her heart set on him, too."

Jazz shrugged, but didn't deny it. "What does
it matter? He doesn't want me. Why would he?" She told the mate
about the box of clothes, about the chest and the picture she was
sure was Angelica. "I can't compete with that. Look at me. I'm a
thing that's only useful when it's attached to an Alpha."

Miz Mary's hand shot out so fast and
unexpectedly that Jazz had no time to draw back. Her cheek burned
and her eyes watered from the old woman's slap. Shocked, she stared
at the Mate.

"You said something like that once before and
I let it go because you didn't know better then. You know better
now or you ought to." The Mate was stern and completely
unrepentant. "I am not a thing. I was born with a gift and I have
shared that gift with this pack for over seventy years and it's
been my privilege to do it. I won't tolerate your insult to me, to
Leonard's mother or to any other Mate who has shared her heart with
her pack and held their hearts dear.

"You are not a thing, Jasmine Phillips. You
are a bright and fiery young woman with a good heart."

"I'm not that good, Miz Mary. You don't
know…"

"What were you doing this morning?" the woman
asked abruptly.

"Collecting clothes for Opal and her pups."
Jazz saw where the Mate was going with this, but it wasn't true.
"It was only an excuse to get out of the house."

"You want to get out of the house, you go for
a walk. You don't go knocking on stranger's doors begging clothing
for another stranger. In spite of your pain, you put another's
needs before your own. That's a sure sign of a good and golden
heart." She nodded to emphasize her belief. "You let that golden
heart of yours shine and you'll find others at your door looking to
share its warmth and they'll carry that warmth home with them to
share with even more.

"Jasmine Phillips, the Lord has blessed you
with compassion and the gift to share and lift the burdens of
others and you are worthy of the finest wolver to walk His good
green earth. You couldn't put a name to it, but you've known that
all along, else you would have taken the scraps your father threw
you and been happy to live the life those other poor women live. I
am not a thing," the Mate repeated, "and neither are you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't mean me, but the insult
was there just the same. Watch your words." She shook her bony
finger at Jazz. "And don't you ever call yourself a thing again.
Not ever. We clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." The Mate relaxed and smiled as if
nothing had happened. "Now tell me what Doc said when you told him
what you just told me."

Jazz lowered her eyes. "I didn't tell
him."

"Hmph. You didn't tell him, but you seem
pretty sure of what's in his head. Seems to me you might be putting
your fears into his mouth. We need to talk covers a lot of
territory. We need to talk about something good or we need to talk
about something bad. We need to talk about something that will
bring us joy or we need to talk about something that will bring us
heartache. We need to talk means you need to do some talking, too.
You need to tell him what you're thinking and what you're feeling.
He's not me. He has to be told."

"But what if…"

"I know. I'm telling you to lay your heart at
his feet and he might just stomp on it with those smelly old boots
of his. Or, he might just pick it up and hold it close and find
your heart a home with his. It's a risk and it's up to you to
decide if it's worth it."

The Mate picked up her empty mug and Jazz's
full one and took them to the sink. She turned and opened her arms
to Jazz.

"You come here and let me give you a hug to
prove there's no hard feelings."

Jazz could feel the frailness of the body
beneath her hands and the fading strength of the arms that held her
tight. Donna was right. This wise and generous old woman shouldn't
have to carry other people's burdens anymore and yet she considered
it a privilege.

"I didn't mean to insult you," Jazz said, "I
wish I could be like you."

"Ah, now." The Mate drew back and held Jazz's
face in her hands. "It took me seventy years to get here. You'll
get there quicker. I can see it in you. I can feel it. Once you
open your heart, there's no closing it back up. And that's another
thing for you to remember."

Armed with the Mate's words, Jazz was ready
when Bobby McIntyre dropped Griz off later that afternoon. Her
heart was beating like thunder and her mouth and lips were dry.
She, who claimed to be afraid of nothing, was terrified, but
determined to see it through.

She was still convinced his words would be
followed by one of the five heart crushing sentences that always
followed them in fiction, but she wasn't going to let him cut her
down and throw her away without of few words of her own.

She was sitting in one of the new rockers,
the ones in which she'd envisioned spending quiet summer evenings
with Griz. They were hers. He even said so and if he was going to
toss her out on her ass, her ass was going to land in one of those
chairs and those chairs were going to stay in Gilead. She would
rock in them, sleep in them and eat in them, under a tree if she
had to, until she figured out what the hell she was going to do and
whatever that was, she was going to do it in Gilead. This was her
home. This was her pack. If seeing her sleeping at the side of the
road brought him the least twinge of guilt, well, that was too damn
bad. He shouldn't have kicked her ass out in the first place.