The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (46 page)

Deacon grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in again. “You know, we were as good as engaged just a couple weeks ago.”

A smiled cracked across her stoic face. “It’s true. Forgive me if I’d like to maybe get to know you a little better.”

He feigned an impatient groan. “God, fine,” he said and snatched her up again, carrying her toward the bedroom. “So, where would you like to go after I shag you?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

He laughed, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her jaw as he swung her around, using her feet to slam his bedroom door behind them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Their host himself smelled like Christmas. Maggie shook the tall man’s hand, offering up a warm smile as he held the door to his home open for them to enter. Maggie’s stomach was in knots, despite having already met everyone present.

Still, knowing everyone was all well and good, but sitting down to a Christmas dinner with them all was something very different.

“Hey Deac, you know where the coats go,” Kirk Fenn said, giving his cousin a hearty hug and a pat on the shoulder. Deacon took Maggie’s coat and disappeared around the corner through the kitchen. Maggie stood in the front doorway taking in the house.

Kirk Fenn was Deacon’s oldest cousin, and he’d suffered the loss of his home less than a year earlier to a fire. Maggie remembered seeing it on the news – some lunatic set fire to the house, killing himself in the process. She now stood in awe of the home that was built in its place. The entre house was open, floor to ceiling windows offering a full view of the Atlantic Ocean and craggy coast outside. In the middle of the front room stood a ten foot tall Christmas tree, classic Frank Sinatra Christmas Carols crooning from a stereo in the corner. The house smelled of fir tree, spiced apple cider stewing away on the stove, and a roast pork loin in the oven.

Maggie almost forgot to breathe.

“Hey, sweetie. Come on in.”

Deacon reappeared by the door, taking her hand to lead her into the house. The Christmas tree offered a white, golden glow throughout the room, coupled by lights high overhead. Deacon’s entire family was already there – his mom was busy in the kitchen with John’s wife Catherine, and Kirk. John, Gracie and Bennett were slumped onto one couch, and Kirk’s girlfriend, Josephine Dalton, was curled up into a recliner, a tiny, struggling little bundle pressed to her breast. Though Deacon’s grandfather was standing with the rest of the men in the family, he kept darting his eyes over toward Joe.

Maggie let Deacon lead her toward the couches to join everyone. Deacon made quick work of introducing her to Catherine’s mother, Linda, and her grandfather, Hank Calhoun, both of whom sat curled onto a couch, sipping beers and enjoying conversation. Maggie heard their names an stopped a moment, recognizing who they – who Bennett was. She wanted to shake his hand, offer him her gratitude and respect for killing the man that killed her sister. Still, she thought now wasn’t exactly the best time.

Joe settled herself, lifting the baby up as she called to Patrick. “Alright, Grampy. Come on down.”

Patrick dropped his conversation with Deacon’s father and plowed across the room toward Josephine. Joe held the tiny bundle up to the older man, and he took it with such gentle care that Maggie almost teared up to see it. Patrick collected the baby in his arms and began to march around the room, his beard bouncing as he talked to her in exaggerated tones.

“She’s running hot, still?” Patrick asked, touching a hand to the baby’s forehead.

Joe nodded. “She is.”

“Have the doctors decided what’s wrong with her?” Gracie asked, her leg slung over Bennett’s knee.

Joe smiled, watching Patrick bounce her new daughter as he paced by. “Yeah, they’ve decided it’s not a fever; she just runs a little hotter than most kids.”

Maggie shot an intent look to Patrick, and watched his expression change.

He stared into the face of the tiny baby, his wide smile visible beneath his bushy beard.  “Is that so? Is that so?” He asked, his voice lilting in a sing song.

Maggie could see the elation in the old man’s face. His infant great-grandchild was a furnace – just like the rest of the shifters in her family. Though they wouldn’t know for sure until she was of age, it was clear baby Patricia was showing early signs of being a shifter.

Patrick may have gotten his baby bear, after all.

“Can I open a present, tonight?”

Joe turned toward the Christmas tree where her daughter, Rory, sat inspecting the gifts. Kirk’s father, Terry, was sitting on the floor beside her, happily shaking gifts with her.

“I already told you; we’ll open
some
tonight, but not all,” Joe said.

Rory snatched one of the gifts up. “Can I open one now?”

Joe began to reprimand her daughter, but Maggie’s attention was grabbed by John. Deacon’s brother appeared beside them, tugging Deacon’s shoulder, requesting his company outside.

“You be alright? I’ll just be a minute?” Deacon asked.

Maggie nodded, settling into that corner of the couch to watch the goings on around her.

This was unlike anything she’d ever known before. Her family didn’t celebrate Christmas like this, but more importantly, they didn’t celebrate each other like this. Her father spent Christmas Eve curled up in his recliner watching the news. Though the Talbot family was changing – rearranging to make room for new leadership, new reconnections – it still wasn’t a warm and fuzzy bunch. Even the return of her mother didn’t inspire a festive mood among her branch of the Talbots. It would take time to consider Karen a mother again. No one could fault Maggie for that.

“Alright, Gramps! Quit being stingy and give up that baby!” Catherine said, coming across the room with her hands outstretched.

Patrick’s brow furrowed, but he handed the bundle over. Maggie watched Catherine gush as she stared down into baby Patricia’s perfect little face.

Maggie found herself in the middle of half a dozen conversations, and didn’t see herself joining any of them, not because she couldn’t, or because she didn’t feel welcome, but because the idea of the whole affair felt foreign. She hopped up from the couch, making her way back through the kitchen to look for Deacon.

“Holy shit, brother! Holy shit!”

Maggie stopped at the corner of the hallway, listening to the conversation going on just ahead.

“I wanted you to be the first one to know.”

“Are you shitting me? This is awesome! This is amazing! Fuck yeah, man!” Deacon sounded as though he’d just won the lottery. Maggie wondered what news might make him sound so happy.

John seemed to be picking up on it, too. “What’s up with you, spaz?”

“Nothing. I’m just – I’m just excited for you.”

There was a long pause before John spoke again. “Mom told you we were having trouble didn’t she?”

Deacon exhaled. “Yeah.”

Maggie instantly understood. Deacon’s brother and his wife were trying to get pregnant and having trouble. John had told his mother about their frustrations, but despite the closeness between the two brothers, he hadn’t said anything to Deacon.

“I think he’s afraid I’ll blame myself,” Deacon said when he told her about his worries. “He’s right. I will.”

Deacon feared that Catherine Calhoun Fenn’s troubles with infertility stemmed from a gunshot wound she suffered when she threw herself in the path of a bullet intended for Deacon. 

“I just wish you’d told me, man. I could’ve been there for you,” Deacon said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Well, I didn’t want you to worry. I fucking know you. You’d beat yourself up over it, and we don’t even know if that had anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, well – if it did -”

“If it did, what? What, Deac? If I had a choice between having kids and my brother being dead, what do you think I’d choose?”

Maggie leaned around the corner, letting them see her.

Deacon shook his head. “That’s not the point.”

“It fucking is the point! There are other ways to have kids if we had to. As far as I know, bringing people back from the dead is still not possible. Hey Mag.”

Maggie gave a sheepish wave, coming up behind Deacon and wrapping her arms around him. Though he was fighting hard to hide it, he was getting emotional. Maggie glanced over his shoulder to the small piece of paper in his hands – an ultrasound picture.

“Catherine must be ecstatic,” Maggie said, smiling.

John scratched the back of his neck. “You have no idea. Was planning on giving this to Gramps tonight.”

Maggie took the picture from Deacon, having a closer look. She smiled. “You don’t think he already knows? Can’t he smell it on her?”

John shook his head. “Everyone thinks it’s rubbing off from Josephine. Now all anybody can smell is baby. Pretty sure it’ll be news. Merry fucking Christmas, old man.”

Deacon chuckled softly, and reached down to squeeze her hand.

Deacon had honored Maggie’s request, dating her as opposed to announcing her as his mate the way he had during the Kalmud. Yet, even with their frequent dinner dates, and the trips down to Ellsworth for the movies, Maggie slept at Deacon’s house much of the time. They’d even discussed moving in together, despite Maggie’s adamant request that they go slow. She was learning very quickly that going slow was almost impossible when you were that sure.

“He’s gonna love that,” Deacon said finally, handing the tiny ultrasound picture back.

John nodded. “He fucking better.”

“Hey, guys?”

They turned to find Bennett Calhoun slipping around the corner, his shoulders hunched just so. He slipped up to join them, glancing over his shoulder with the wariness of a man in hiding.

“What’s up, my man?” John asked, offering his wife’s cousin a hearty handshake.

Bennett nodded, nervously. “What is the likelihood that your grandfather will rip my head off if I ask him permission to ask Gracie to marry me?”

“What?!” Both Fenn brothers exploded, grabbing Bennett and shaking him violently, tussling his hair and smacking his back with such rough affection, Bennett almost fell over twice.

Maggie stepped aside, laughing.

“You sex fiend! Are you fucking kidding?” John asked, shaking him one final time. “Gracie? For real? God damn, that’s awesome man. You’ll be family twice over.”

Bennett gave a wary shrug. “Or he’ll say ‘no, fuck you. I don’t want my great grandbabies fathered by the son of a murderer.’”

They froze for just an instant.

“Naw, fuck that. He’ll be happy for Gracie. He’s changed quite a bit the past few years,” John said, slapping Bennett on the shoulder.

“And you are also the guy who shot the murderer in the face, so -”

Bennett pursed his lips, a wary look on his face.

John shook him one final time. “Tell ya what. I’ll tell him my news first, then you can ask. Guy won’t know what hit him -”

John was halfway through his sentence when the doorbell to the house rang. The two Fenn brothers rushed down the hall, but Maggie took a moment, touching Bennett Calhoun on the shoulder.

Bennett’s eyebrows shot up. “Hey, Maggie. What’s up?’

She took a moment, searching for words. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but – thank you. My family thanks you.”

Bennett’s brow furrowed in confusion, then realization struck and his eyes glistened. He nodded, but didn’t speak.

She didn’t press further.

Maggie glanced around the corner, watching Kirk wipe his hands on a towel before hustling out of the kitchen toward the door. She shot Deacon a questioning look. Who else were they expecting tonight?

The familiar scent of them drew her down the hall without so much as a thought. Maggie came into the grand front room and watched the hallway with the rest of the Fenn family. Her jaw fell open as Maynard, Karen, and Theron Talbot walked into the room.  Maynard was greeted instantly by a firm handshake from Patrick, who then introduced himself to Theron. Theron looked strangely comfortable compared to their parents, greeting Deacon with familiarity before accepting a beer. Theron’s hair was still long, hanging cleanly down to his shoulders, his sideburns growing long now after a year of living amongst hip city folk. He looked like the bass player in a grunge band, but a high class grunge band to be sure.

Karen stood there, frozen. She shot looks to each person in the room, her eyes drawn repeatedly toward the baby now in Catherine’s arms.

Deacon opened his arms to her, gesturing for her to join them and sit on the couch. She shook her head.

Maggie’s stomach tightened for an instant.

“We came to -” Karen paused, searching for the right words. “We had hoped to invite your family – the Fenns…”

Karen shot Maynard a look, her eyes pleading silently.

Maynard gave a half smile. Maggie hadn’t seen her parents interact like that in over a decade.

Maynard took a deep breath, letting his voice take on that ancient rhythm of his preferred language, even in English. “We’ve come to invite your kin to hunt with us.”

The room went deathly silent. Even the music and the baby seemed to lull for a moment. Kirk came back out from the kitchen. Patrick stepped forward, offering his hand to Maynard yet again. They gripped each other’s forearms, and held the gesture for a long moment.

A family hunt was a gesture so old, Maggie had only ever seen it mentioned once – at her unsuccessful engagement party. To see her father offer it was a declaration of loyalty. To see Patrick accept it, was even more so.