Bobby laughed. “If we fill the house with a bunch of little shifters, that redesign isn’t going to look pretty for long. They’re going to tear it apart.”
Pen laughed. “Maybe. But not forever. Eventually, they calm down and learn to control themselves. Just like you did.” Pen kissed her way across Bobby’s fuzzy chest, and Bobby let the sensation warm him down to his bones.
“You know,” she said, “I’d be happy with you anywhere. In one of our tiny apartments, in a treehouse, in a hole in the wall. But if I’m going to be on bed rest as the twins’ due date approaches, I’m relieved that we’ll have all that space. I wouldn’t want to wolf out on the next full moon and end up tearing apart my rented apartment because you guys have to lock me in there to protect the babies.”
Bobby kissed her forehead. “I thought of that too. I’d prefer Rosemary stay with you and keep you supplied with fresh kills while the rest of us hunt.”
Pen pouted. “I’ll miss running with you.”
Bobby kissed her nose. “It’s only for a little while. Before you know it, we’ll be running wild together again, with a whole new pack of our own.”
An excerpt from her Big Shifter Daddy (Part 5 of 5 of The Big Easy Shifter series!
Her Big Shifter Daddy
Chapter 1
The box shoved to the back of the senior DuChamp’s dressing room closet had to contain something personal that Rosemary could use to honor the lives of her parents.
If she was to be expected to give a speech about Betsy and Lionel, she needed the truth.
Unfortunately, they were not there to be of any help.
And even if they were, Rosemary had no doubt her parents would be as stubborn and stonewalling as usual. They simply didn’t talk about the past.
But Rosemary could not be stopped. Not in love, and not in life in general.
Setting aside a lockbox and a rack of shoes from the 1980s, Rosemary hit pay dirt. The box had been decoupaged with flowers, lace, and old-fashioned valentines. It looked like something a much younger, more carefree Betsy would have crafted for herself. There was a decade of dust over some words written on a label on the side of the box. When Rosemary rubbed away the dust, the word “letters” was revealed.
“Eureka, baby!” Rosemary called to her husband, Ash, who was wrangling small children in the main bedroom. “I have found it.”
“Don’t swipe anything that’s too personal, baby.”
With the box gripped under one arm, Rosemary stomped out into the bedroom that adjoined the dressing room and placed the other hand on her hip. She shot a sassy look at her husband and said, “What on earth do you think we are doing here, Ashton? Looking for life insurance paperwork?”
Ash bounced the little one on his knee and looked up at his wife pleadingly. “Baby, I don’t want to know anything about Betsy and Lionel’s personal-personal history. Forgive me, but I ain’t the biggest fan of your daddy. And I have too much respect for your mama.”
“That’s because you’re a good southern boy. Now I’m just gonna open this box and make sure it has what I’m looking for, and then we can go pay our proper respects—fully armed with some great stories.”
Ash grumbled. “The sooner the better. Being in Lionel’s bedroom is creepy enough.”
Rosemary muttered back at her husband as she set the box down on the bed and gently eased off the lid. “You could have taken the kids down to the playroom while you waited.”
Too busy having her mind blown by what was in the box, Rosemary barely registered his reply about the little ones going through a phase fraught with tantrums every time their mother was out of sight.
She pulled out the first item, a small, yellowed envelope the size of a thank you note. On the front was the word, “Betsy,” but there was no stamp and no address. The writing was her father’s unmistakable penmanship.
“Whoop! Here. We. Go.”
* * *
Dear Betsy,
I am sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I scared you with the way I behaved. That was wrong.
You have to understand that you are the first and only person to whom I have ever admitted wrongdoing. Here’s why I did what I did: Jimmy Boudreaux can’t have what’s rightfully mine. He simply cannot have you. You and I are meant to be together. And not in the way you think. Someday I’ll explain what I mean.
My only regret besides you seeing me flatten a student out like that on the dance floor is that I didn’t pick you up and carry you off to be my bride. I would have, if the other prom chaperones hadn’t expelled me from the building.
You will find, in time, I can be as gentle as a kitten. But only with you. Anyone else who tries to take what’s mine will know the consequences of tangling with a predator.
Your protector,
Lionel DuChamp
* * *
Rosemary looked up from the letter and gaped at her husband.
“What?” Ash asked.
“I tell you what, this is the dirtiest of pay dirt and I am here for it.”
Ash rolled to his side and struggled to stand up, with a toddler attached to his leg. “Great, can we go to the thing now? These kids are wrinkling my suit.”
She clucked. “Just hang on a minute. I gotta put together the whole story. Lemme keep reading.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
Flipping through the stack of envelops and cards on the bed, Rosemary realized all of this was in chronological order. Judging by the dates, everything was a complete correspondence-based timeline of Betsy and Lionel’s courtship. Almost all of Betsy’s correspondence was sent on formal, luxurious stationary with impeccable handwriting, complete with stamps and postmarks. They looked like they’d been sent to his office rather than his
